#bonus points if you got that reference

[theaceofarrows]

Buckle up, this is going to be a long post⬇

Thinking about the unbridled chaos that would have been Hunter if he had gone to public school with Luz during they're time in the human realm

Would it have made sense for him to suddenly go to school, him the guy whose only previous experience with public education is an undercover afternoon at Hexside, a completely different realm where he didn't even attend class? No, it wouldn't have made any sense whatsoever.

But just imagine it. That you're a student at Luz's school and one day the weird girl who let loose a bunch of snakes in the school shows up with her "cousin from Sweden". This mysterious 16 year old dude with a facial scar who is an absolute beast in gym class whose got even the P.E. teacher speechless.

This guy who has a glare that makes even the seniors shudder and think twice about saying anything about the Noceda girl, and the one time the bully didn't take a hint and keep his mouth shut, and actually tired to take a swing at the guy, doesn't land a single hit because the Swedish dude breaks out some kind of Spider-Man moves and back flips out of the way and the bully ends up punching the locker instead and breaks his hand, and Swedish dude just goes "you would have broken your hand anyway with the way you were making a fist" whilst causally flicking a speck of dust of his shoulder.

He always spends his lunch period outside, and a cardinal shows up everyday without fail to join him. He's either having what appears to be an intense one sided conversation with said cardinal, or the bird is casually nesting in his hair while he reads a book and eats his lunch.

It turns out that all the teachers love him. The home ec teacher is so impressed with his sewing that she doesn't even mind that he nearly blew up the oven while they were making cookies. The math teacher loves him because he's apparently also a math whizz who can do college level problems. The P.E teacher is trying to recruit him for at least three different sports teams. The drama teacher loves him because He's a natural at acting and doing improv. He's always the first one to class, takes the most notes, he's super respectful to the teachers, reminds the teachers about homework, does extra assignment work for fun. This dude who is wicked smart and sarcastic, and witty almost all the time, and then raises his hand in history class and asks "What's a Spain?" With the most sincere expression.

Just imagine that

[nikkipettt]

And you're set free~

[s0up1ta]

he canonically went emo so i canonically went insane

[artscheese]

(SONIC SUPERSTARS SPOILERS!!!)

Uhhh I didn’t play the game yet but I drew these on the plane-

[olvine-and-tea]

theres something about these men that makes me so attracted to them but i cant put my finger on it…

[alangdorf]

A couple various Magolor outfits (Clash cause I realized I only had half finished sketches of that outfit and also Yukari Yakumo from Touhou cosplay for fun) and also Oh hey yeah that thing!

Ummm let’s see, words are hard right now but I should probably give my explaining myself spiel and I’ve already been putting off this post for like a month and a half. Clash outfit was fairly self-evident; I thought it looked good with the red added (apple colors hehe) and I of course couldn’t resist throwing some classic lolita in there. Unlike his usual outfit there’s not space for his wings to stretch out in the back bc Clash is like. Theoretically it’s chill but they’ve got a lotta post-traumatic stress/paranoia/insecurity that morphs into weird tension with the main gang back in the usual universe and then doesn’t fully start getting resolved until after Star Allies (I have other sketches of this outfit - and just other Magolor doodles in general; particularly I’ve been trying to figure out digitigrade leg posing - but I don’t feel like posting them here so I guess you can find them at um. Kirby live radio wiki community feed)

Yukari outfit I had the idea for cause I was thinking abt qi lolita again. Not much to say aside from I figured out why they don’t ever give her the parasol with this dress; it is a distressing amount of light pink to deal with and between that and the pose and parasol shape I sweated my way through most of this piece lol

Aaand Magolor Epilogue a.k.a. self-recognition through the other (derogatory) ….. TWO!! I had the idea for Master Crown boss to bear an uncanny resemblance to 2nd phase Magolor/Magolor Soul a long time ago but like. Turns out it was scarily close already; I just had to add a head and a couple fingers.

Ok that’s it see you in a half hour byeee

[itseivwhore]

♡ 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒑𝒍𝒆'𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 ♡

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Valentine special, day 11th : “Couple's dance”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pairing : Edward Kenway x fem Reader 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Summary : While patiently waiting for Edward to come back from some business affair around Great Inagua, from the balcony you were leaning into, you heard cheerful melodies coming from the dock. Unable to resist curiosity, you decided to walk near the tavern, quickly joining the collective amusement...thanks to Kenway, of course.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Author's note: I'm incredibly sorry if I'm one day late, also because I promised myself I wouldn't skip a day, but it was over the weekend and well here we are ;( BUT for you all to forgive me, I made this way longer than the last one shot I wrote + I even added some lyrics from one of the songs you can actually hear while standing near the taverns of pretty much all the cities/villages in AC Black Flag! I thought it was a cool idea, so if you want to give it a listen, here's the link!

Ps. I miss writing for Edward so much oh my gOD.

*˚ .♡⋆��ˊˎ -

The gentle lapping of the waves as they slowly washed up on the beach, together with the gentle, rhythmic sound of the cicadas singing, lent a peaceful, relaxing atmosphere that reigned unperturbed over the island. From the vast and airy balcony of the manor house where you were currently standing, you had a wide view of the beach and the pier, paying no attention to the darkness that embraced everything; your eyes immediately adjusted to the few, warm and soft lights coming from both the small bonfires on the beach and the numerous candles in the tavern.

Everything around you was motionless and surrounded by shadows, were it not for numerous fireflies that seemed like quick flashes of light dancing, suspended in the air. Sitting on a large, comfortable chair you had managed to get outside, that sort of strange, rhythmic dance caught your attention for a while, distracting you.

After you had lost yourself in watching the pretty insects, you looked away and noticed that a sultry, warm breeze was shaking the tree branches, even causing the sails of the Jackdaw, anchored near the dock, to move slightly. You also noticed the sailors who, having finished their respective jobs on the ship, jumped off and made their way to the tavern... from which immediately arose light-hearted laughter, joyous singing - and even some light brawling, which the wind carried to your ears.

A bored sigh came out of your mouth, your patience running thin with each passing moment without Edward by your side. It was now an hour since Edward left you in the manor alone, saying he had to meet with one of the villagers down the beach to arrange a deal; he hadn't given you much information, leaving you only with a promise, saying he would be right back and you would spend the rest of the evening together, you in turn promising to stay there and wait for him...leaving a gentle kiss on your temple before disappearing into the darkness of the night, leaving you hopeful, waiting for him with such trepidation.

Trepidation that became anxiety, which faded into boredom and tiredness, thinking of the Captain's return while you were aimlessly watching the people far away from you in the distance.

Getting up from your chair, you turned your steps towards the balustrade and, leaning on it with your elbows, you began to look at the tavern and listen to the harmonious and cheerful sound of the songs that the sailors, together with the innkeepers, sang at the top of their voices. All that vitality, all that fun that was like an omniscient presence in the atmosphere of the island, only spurred you more and more to leave the manor and join in the commonl fun.

You looked over your shoulder, behind you, seeing the large chair you have been sitting on for almost a hour, pondering if to leave once for all and give in to your temptation, or if to keep on patiently waiting for Edward to come back, biting your lips at your indecision.

After all, you weren't going to be gone for long, you just wanted to relieve the boredom and waste some time, and you'd be back before he even returned. After all... if Edward hadn't returned until then, how could he ever return just when you weren't there? It really would have been a coincidence, wouldn't it?

And so, happily and firmly slapping the stone balaustra when you finally made up your mind, you swiftly jumped over the balcony, quickly walking down the cliff towards the dock, a satisfied little smile on your lips as the lights and the voices grew stronger and louder.

~ ~ ~

"We like to sneak out without keeping our promise, eh, sly fox?" countless emotions and thoughts overpowered your mind and body as soon as you heard that all too familiar voice and mocking grin; the need - the urge to flee, to run away or even to throw yourself into the water violently seized you as soon as you saw Edward walking towards you.

It had been a while since you had finally arrived at the tavern, taking a seat not far from the counter, silently enjoying yourself amidst the laughter of the sailors and the melodious voices of some young women, singing accompanied by violins; some couples were dancing merrily among the tavern tables, their quick steps on the wooden planks echoing in the air. You watched and savoured everything attentively, and the anxiety of having to return to the manor before Edward, was now long gone.

But as soon as your eyes caught sight of a tall, blond figure walking slowly towards your table, a slight panic took hold of you: not so much that you could do anything though. What could you possibly have done? He had obviously already seen you, you could feel his piercing blue eyes in the distance; there was no reason to run away after all. Edward could be very magnanimous when he wanted to be... plus his laid back expression and his quiet footsteps put you more at ease.

And here he was, standing tall and proud before you in his usual attire, hood down resting on his shoulders as he was looking down at you, who held his inquisitive gaze, without breaking eye contact. His rhetorical question, said in such a mocking tone and him leaning in more towards you, made you feel slightly in awe.

The captain received only silence in response: you did not know what to say or what excuse to make up. But you knew that Edward was as magnanimous as he was cunning, and it was useless to lie to him as he would immediately discover your lies. In short, it wasn't worth it, and the only thing to do was to keep looking at him with a straight face.

"I was just coming back, it was just a matter of seconds," he continued in an upset tone, raising his eyebrow and pointing with a vague gesture of his hand to the cliff in the distance.

You became lightly shocked in hearing his almost disappointed words, rising one of your eyebrows in a questioning look. Were you wrong, or was he trying to give you the fault, as to excuse himself for his own wrongs? But as you looked in his eyes, you noticed cheekiness twinkling in the blue of them, also finally seeing his usual smug smirk plastered on his lips. He was just genuinely teasing you– as always, and you know he enjoyed seeing you flustered just for the fun of it.

And so, hit by realisation, you decided to play his game, straightening your back as you leaned forward towards him, hands playing with the flame of the candle on the table.

"Seconds which became minutes...and minutes which became a hour. You didn't keep your promise" you replied defiantly, mimicking his grin, stressing each one of your words, reminding him of his own broken promise.

Edward seemed to be taken aback at your biting words, at which he let out an amused little chuckle, lowering his head and shaking it as he clicked with his tongue.

"I was looking for you, but I see someone is so impatient" he uttered with a low voice, murmuring this near your ear when he leaned in down to your face, placing a hand on the back of the chair, his stubble slightly brushing on your cheek.

"I apologize, Kenway" you breathed out with just a low voice, reaching out with a hand towards his cheek, caressing it, then sliding it down to his jaw and chin, touching his strong neck before playing with his necklace, smelling humidity and salt on his tanned skin.

"There should be a Captain in there somewhere" Edward whispered back in a suggestive tone, his nose nudging your sweet spot near your ear, making you shiver; drawing him closer and closer to you with both you mannerisms and voice, for then placing both of your hands on his chest, pushing him away from you, laughing in seeing his astonished expression.

Continuing to laugh you nodded to him to go get something to drink at the counter, and he obeyed as he gave you a wink; returning to your table with two glasses of rum, he sat down opposite you, saying nothing as you both watched the people dance in front of you.

"So how did the meeting go?" you asked loudly enough so that you could be heard, as the violins and voices only increased as you drank some of your rum.

"Everything's already sorted out, we just need to discuss where to build the brothel" he explained as he vaguely gestured over the houses; as he kept talking about his business in the small village, he somehow and sometime got distracted by glancing his sailors with their companions, who kept on quickly dancing around the tables, sometimes even stumbling over your own.

"This place changed a lot. I really like the tavern and the people, and how lively the atmosphere is" you expressed your thoughts loudly, gazing all over you and bittersweetly grimacing at remembering how lame and miserable the village was when you and Edward firstly arrived here; smiling fondly in seeing how much Great Inagua changed thanks to Edward's efforts...and money. You knew– and understood the need of Edward to find a new place to call home: to feel like home. And you always have supported him however you could.

You wondered why he was not giving you an answer, and when you turned in his direction, you saw him shift his gaze from the dancing couples to you, and vice versa. Your eyes met, and somehow you immediately understood what he had in mind when he chugged down all the rum, for then slamming the empty glass on the table, some droplets flying around.

"Dance with me" he said from all of sudden with a decisive voice and firm expression, not giving you the time to realize what was about to happen: the Captain was already standing before you, towering over you. In the heat of the moment you didn't had time to properly think about his sudden proposal: but his outstretched arm, him offering you his opened hand and his encouraging and trustworthy smile made you immediately accept, throwing away any doubts or insecurities. After all, you decided to go to the tavern because you were bored and you wanted to have some fun. So why denying? Why denying a dance to your lover, who was so willingly and happily giving you his hand?

And so, widely smiling, you grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him pull you up from the chair, grabbing your waist as you placed one hand on his broad shoulder, for then finally starting to dance.

It had been a while since you had danced with someone, in that carefree way, not particularly following the rhythm of the cheerful music, not feeling embarrassed when by accident and emotion both you and Edward stepped on each other's feet, laughing amused at your awkwardness. Stumbling and colliding with other couples, not stopping for a moment except to drink and kiss each other appassionately and hastily, tongue crashing, tasting the alcohol on each other's lips, keeping on dancing, breathless, body against body, feeling each other's fanning breaths on your sweaty necks.

Spinning around the tables and other people, dancing wildly and messily for all the night, the ashen light of the moon and the hundreds of stars which enchanted you when Edward knocked you backwards, only to pick you up again soon after; your neck exposed to him who, inches away from your chest and leaned down on you, left a searing kiss on it, feeling him smile against your skin.

Seeing your wheezes, your hearts beating wildly in your chests and your heads that were spinning both from the twirls and the alcohol, you both decided that it was enough for that night. All the sailors and the women were passed out, some on the damp wooden floors, some on the chairs and some even on the tables... and some vomiting as they looked out over the water.

You and your lover found shelter in a corner away from everyone, still near the tavern, not too far away not to hear a last tune that one of the few awaken sailors was singing alone. Edward was sitting on his chair, and you on his lap, head laying on his chest, smelling his natural perfume, delicately lulled both by his now calm heartbeat and by the crackling produced by the small waves who hit on the Jackdaw.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, eyes closed and snuggled so close to him, your hands clasped around the back of his neck, you heard him humming something under his breath:

"Here's a health to the dear lass that I love so well, for her style and her beauty, sure none can excel..." smiling fondly when you recognized that he was softly singing along the lyrics of the song of the sailor.

"...there's a smile on her countenance as she sits on my knee" your smile only grew wider, your heart skipping a beat and shivering as he started to murmur the melody closer to your ear, his hands securely holding you.

"There's no men in this wide world as happy as me" he stopped to sing, falling silent and you bet that you could still hear his soothing voice lingering on the air and on the breeze.

"I didn't know you could sing so well" you joked in a sleepy voice, giggling amused when you felt his body shake for his chuckle.

"I used to sing a lot to myself while doing commissions around Bristol for my parents, when I was a boy, sweetheart" Edward answered as he played with a lace of your clothes, hearing a nostalgic veil covering his words, you humming as you tried to imagine his youth.

Silence returned to take hold of you both as you relaxed in each other's embrace,you giving one last glance at the tavern, at the people, at the village and at least, at the manor on top of the cliff

"Do you think this can feel like your new home?" you softly asked, almost scared of the answer he might would have given you when he didn't immediately answered you; pondering his words before your felt him placing his cheek on top of your head.

"Yes, it can" he whispered, feeling him squeeze your waists "with the right people"

[forgetful-river]

Madonna (2023)

I made so so so many different versions, I couldn't decide how saturated I wanted it

[hellcheercaine]

And she’s gonna getcha

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Life Eternal

This is an HOTD fanfic based off *another* fanfic, Second Sons by @avengingangelfanfic

The order I highly recommend reading in is Second Sons first (might take you a while, as it clocks in at well over 500K words!) and then reading my drabble prologue here:

Lastly, you can proceed with the story in THIS post!

Disclaimer: The events in this fic are NOT canon to the canon events of AvengingAngel's story! It was just an idea bouncing around and I asked for permission, which was graciously given, to put it in words. Gif credits are in the gifs themselves, except for the still image of King Edward, which is a screengrab from TLK.

Summary: Set 44 years after the initial events of Second Sons, Daemon Targaryen, son of Aemond and Lyanna, struggles to find his way due to his parents' fame. Who will he go to first in order to solve this problem?

Faceclaims: Daemon (Aemond as portrayed by Ewan Mitchell, except without the missing eye and his hair in a single ponytail)

Royce Baratheon (King Edward from The Last Kingdom, as portrayed by Timothy Innes)

Alphonse Baratheon (Osferth from The Last Kingdom, as portrayed by Ewan Mitchell)

King Jacaerys (Aragorn as portrayed by Viggo Mortensen)

Aegon II and Helaena (Tom Glynn-Carney and Phia Saban, but just imagine them way older!)

Word Count: 4400

Rating: T (mentions of death, mentions of violence)

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

In the first 25 years of the reign of Rhaenyra, the People’s Queen, Westeros enjoyed unprecedented peace and prosperity.  Save for the usual disputes between great houses over old wounds, the staving off of pirates who got too bold every couple of years, and the hard winter of 140 AC,those first 25 years were considered the Golden Age of the Seven Kingdoms.

It seemed once the new queen made short work of the extremist Faith Militant and the Flameborn in House Targaryen were revealed, no other major enemy desired a dance with the dragons who sat the Iron Throne.

Such a difference to the tragic years shortly following the birth of Prince Aemond and Princess Lyanna’s 7th child, Daemon.  Before the terrible times of turmoil, let us tell of this last instance of happiness for The Dragon Blade and his Princess of Hearts.  

The much beloved son came after 6 equally loved daughters: Catelyn, the eldest and born in the midst of the Crown’s battle against the Faith Militant, Laena, second and named for her grandsire’s second wife and Queen Baela’s mother, Alicent,their third, named for her father’s mother and who grew to share Prince Aemond’s love of books, Alyssa came fourth, named for her great-grandmother, followed by a fifth daughter, Daenys, who together with Alyssa stuck to her elder sister Alicent like a shadow.  A sixth child, seemingly the last (for it was 7 years after the birth of Daenys that this occurred and following this birth, it would be ten years before Princess Lyanna’s womb would quicken again, everyone of the mind that she was going through her change of no longer being fertile) turned out to be another daughter, whose name was decided upon to be Rhaenys. 

“By your leave,  we have decided to name her Rhaenys.” Prince Aemond had famously told The Queen Who Never Was, upon his arrival at Driftmark.  He had taken up the habit of flying upon Vhagar to announce the births of his children to the lords and ladies of various houses. 

So it was when Princess Lyanna brought forth a son.  While she stayed in King’s Landing with the King Consort and Queen positively preening with pride over their latest grandson, Prince Aemond flew to the great houses his daughters had married into: Caswell (for Laena), Umber (Daenys), and lastly Baratheon (his eldest, Catelyn, had married Lord Royce).  Two of his daughters, Alicent and Alyssa, had married Aegon II’s sons, Maelor and Valerion, respectively. They resided in the red keep with the rest of the family, seeing to the celebrations.  King’s Landing was full of joy, its citizens celebrating yet another dragon born.

No one could predict the absolute horror that was to come, the calamity that would begin with the murder of her grace Queen Rhaenyra and her Lord Hand and husband, King Consort Daemon, in the city of Braavos.  

No ravens came but a messenger on a ship arrived with a barebones crew to deliver the horrible news.  Braavos would have been burned to the ground by command of the newly made King Jacaerys, had his fury not been assuaged by the Dragon Blade.

Prince Aemond, having been made Hand of The King in the war council immediately following the news, felt the matter stank of outside forces plotting against Braavos.  The city and its holdings  had always been friendly with the crown, had sent much needed aid during the hard winter, always paid tariffs when in Westeros’ ports instead of covertly trying to weasel out of them and all the sea lords had immediately condemned the murder.  What’s more, Caraxes and Syrax had not attacked the city.  The two dragons instead flew to Mereen and began setting that city aflame before being fended off by canons, spears and all manner of debris being flung at them with catapults.  They did not immediately return to Dragonstone or King’s Landing, only appearing later at the deciding battle of the upcoming conflict.  It was not long after the war council that the White Worm came to King Jacaery’s court with the information she had been tasked to uncover the moment messenger’s had informed House Targaryen of the killings.

So the ravens flew from the Red Keep all over Westeros: Rhaenyra, Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, and her husband Daemon, King Consort, were dead by orders of Khal Drogo, self-styled king of Slaver’s Bay.  Khal Drogo was determined to be the Stallion Who Mounts The World, and only House Targaryen had any hope of standing against his mighty army of giants, wizards and slaves.

It seemed that King Jacaerys, who history would come to know as Jacaerys the Defender, would have his mettle as a ruler first tested by this tyrant.  A funeral was held for his late mother and stepfather, the much loved Queen and King, their bodies having been delivered personally by a council of sealords from Braavos.

The funeral procession was a most heart wrenching sight.  Flowers were tossed as the bodies passed by.  The smallfolk wept and wailed.  Even the guards had visible streams of tears flowing from their faces.

Saddest of all was the procession of the new King and Queen’s family.  King Jacaerys and Queen Baela steadily walked by, their bodies rigid and faces like stone.  Crown Prince Aemon followed, tear tracks clear on his face, his eyes full of fire and looking determined for revenge.  The Lord and Lady of Driftmark, Lucerys and Rhaena Velaryon, came after, followed by Aegon II holding steady Princess Helaena, all their children following.

Prince Aemond and Princess Lyanna had fallen behind with Lord Rick Tully, they struggled with him to comfort and raise up Lady Alicent Tully, who had collapsed on the path and was screaming with intense sorrow.  The people of King’s Landing could only watch in sadness as Aemond, Lyanna and Rick took to kneeling on the ground, attempting to get a hysterical Alicent to stand and walk. Her words were heard by all nearby.

“Don’t make me do it!  Please, gods, don’t make me do it!! I cannot I cannot do it please do not make me-”

—-------

Daemon Targaryen closed the history book.  It was looking to be yet another disappointment in what he was searching for, as was every book and scroll that talked of his late parents.  He had read so many that by now he could predict how the maesters, septas and scholars would choose to portray his mother and father: in every way except as people.  Rubbing his temples and standing to search for another book in the library, he contemplated his next move.

It was always the same.  They were devoted to each other, moved and operated almost as one unit, songs were written of them, their words and actions immortalized on paper and stone, and yet…they felt like strangers to him.  He had lost them in the last battle of the war against Khal Drogo, when he was but a year old and King Jacaerys had afterwards issued a rather strange decree: no one was to talk to him of his parents until he came of age.

When he was a small boy, he did not see the reasoning for such a thing, but soon learned.  Prince Aemond and Princess Lyanna were akin to mythical deities for the people of King’s Landing and all throughout the seven kingdoms, second in popularity only to the People’s Queen herself, Rhaenyra.  King Jacaerys did not want Daemon to grow up under the pressure of living up to them.  Though they were all aware of the decree, it didn’t stop little comments constantly peppered into Daemon’s interactions with the smallfolk.

In his growing years, he didn't understand them. As a teenager, it got infuriating.  Daily, as he walked about the city, he was always told he was his father reborn.  Many would add that he may be his father in looks but his heart was all his mother’s.  His own wants, his own ambitions, his own words even, were continually dismissed as people would try to prod him into acting like his parents, people he never knew. His cousin, the King, suddenly did not seem so unwise with his decree.  Had it been obeyed fully, Daemon guessed he could have grown up not feeling so inadequate.  He used to hate it at first, resent it, this constant shadow of his parents ever looming over him everywhere he went.

Now, a couple of weeks past his 19th nameday, he finally felt a desire to know them as a son should.  His sisters, far older than he, were not much help.  Daenys and Laena lived away from the Red Keep, their own holds to rule along with their husbands and own families to look after.  Alicent was always busy either with her namesake library or their grandsire Daemon’s university, Alyssa ever at her side.  Rhaenys had married into House Stark some years ago, far too remote to regularly converse with even by raven. 

Catelyn Baratheon and her husband Lord Royce were the ones he was closest to, despite them having approximately 30 some years on him, their eldest son Alphonse his dearest friend.  Ravens to and from Storm’s End were common, visits on dragonback frequent.  Daemon’s brilliant white dragon, Parthurnaax, enjoyed flying to Storm’s End to cavort with Caraxes, his grandsire’s old mount, who had been claimed by Alphonse. 

 Daemon shared a special bond with his slightly older nephew: save for the signature Baratheon brown hair, Alphonse had Aemond Targeryen’s face as well.

He understood the impossible comparisons to some degree but his parents insisted he shared only a face with his grandsire yet even they could not help but admit the truth when he had asked: though Alphonse had a softer version of the late Dragon Blade’s face, it was his son Daemon who had grown to be the very mirror of him (save for not having a missing eye himself).  

Alphonse and his uncle were quite close, as close as brothers would be, the result of having been fostered in King’s Landing until he came of age himself.  Alphonse had often found himself reassuring his uncle after a particularly bad day.  

“Let them talk.  Saying a thing does not make it so.  You are Daemon Targaryen, not Aemond the Dragon Blade.” Alphonse would say.

Catelyn, while never having an in depth discussion with Daemon about her own father and mother, as per King Jacaery’s decree, insisted that the stories told by the people and the histories written by maesters and septas would never come close to doing justice to the memory of Aemond and Lyanna.  Royce, who had also known them well, agreed.  Three years past, on Daemon’s 16th nameday, they both offered to sit and talk of them with him. 

Still in the throes of his frustrations of not being considered his own person, he had angrily refused with all the vehemence of a 16 year old determined they were the only one in the world feeling such anger.  Daemon had even refused to answer Catelyn’s ravens for a few months after.  Alphonse had tried to make peace with them but was unsuccessful until communications were initiated by Daemon himself again.

Now, at 19, it was Daemon who broached the subject once more.  One week since he had sent a raven and still no answer.  No matter.  There were periods of time when Catelyn took up to two weeks to respond, duties as Lady of Storm’s End keeping her busy.  Daemon was happy to wait, now that he was sure of what he wanted. 

—-------

Daemon did not have to wait long.  2 weeks after sending a raven, he was summoned by his cousin.

“His Grace, King Jacaerys, invites you to break your fast with him and Prince Aegon the Elder, my prince.” Ser Arryk informed him one morning, as he was just leaving his chambers.  Daemon knew it was not an invitation.  His presence was required.  Ever since his spat with Catelyn, despite having reconciled, he felt that the King remained short with him and it was best not to antagonize him by refusing an order.

He made his way to the vast family common balcony on a far end of the keep.  It offered the most expansive, amazing view of the city.  When he got there, Helaena was also present, she and Aegon milling about the smaller table full of food and transferring morsels to their own plates before seating themselves at the bigger table.  King Jacaerys, already seated at the head of it, laughed at something Aegon said.  Servants stood by the door but the atmosphere was relaxed.  So it was to be an informal meal…

“Cousin. Uncle.  Aunt.  A lovely morning, is it not?” he called out as he entered.  They all turned and he saw it, the look everyone always gave.  Like they thought for a moment that Aemond Targaryen stood before them until reality set in.  It was hard not to think that way for them, he supposed.  Daemon had grown his hair long as Targaryen men traditionally did but still snuck in a bit of defiance: instead of the half ponytail favored by his father in all paintings he saw of him, he kept his tresses tied back in a single, low ponytail.  

“Daemon.” Jacaerys said. “Come, I have a task for you.”  He motioned for him to sit in the chair across from Aegon and Helaena, who both smiled and nodded at his presence.

Daemon sat, taking a glass of wine offered by Helaena.  He faced the King.  “What is it?”

“Alphonse tells me Storm’s End has need of a dragon.  Him and your sister Catelyn are due in Braavos for a diplomatic trip on behalf of the Crown.  Lord Baratheon would appreciate your presence until they return.”  Jacaerys bit a piece of lamb off his fork as he finished speaking.

Daemon was confused for a moment.  “Did a raven come?  I wrote to Catelyn weeks ago and have not received a response.”

Aegon chuckled a bit.  “That is because Alphonse wrote to us on her behalf, since Catelyn was momentarily away with Royce, dealing with some border dispute.  Apparently they gave him leave to read their correspondence and when they got back they didn’t feel sending another raven was necessary…”

“It was the right decision, in the end.” Jacaerys put in. “Catelyn hasn’t the time right now to really give you the discussion of your parents that you deserve.  This trip is important.”  At this, Daemon snapped to attention. 

“I’m sorry, nephew. “ Helaena apologized.  “ We visited them on dragonback the other day.  Everyone is aware now, that you are ready to know the truth.” she said simply, as was often her way.  Daemon felt his cheeks burn.  Everyone?  Everyone knew his business?!  Catelyn would pay for this.  Alphonse too!

“You should leave as soon as possible.  Catelyn and Alphonse will take flight as soon as they see Parthurnaax in the skies.” Jacaerys continued.  “The groups causing trouble in their lands have been quelled and Lord Baratheon has more than enough men to keep it that way, but the presence of a dragon will ensure things remain peaceful.” 

Daemon said nothing, staring at his plate.  Helaena began talking, attempting to snuff out the tension brewing.  “Lord Baratheon loved your parents well, Daemon.  I’m sure he would be happy to talk about them with you until Catelyn returns.”  Still, Daemon said nothing.  Jacaerys took notice and put his fork and cup of wine down, looking to him.

“Nephew-”Aegon began, trying to diffuse the situation but Daemon cut in.

“All this blustering is unnecessary, Your Grace.” he said, the last two words laced with venom.  “Be direct with me: you are not sending me to assist Storm’s End.  Lord Baratheon needs help fending off raiders like my dragon needs help killing the sheep for his meals.” 

The servants tensed, Aegon and Helaena remained silent.  Jacaerys was now fuming but his voice remained calm.  “Cousin...what reason would I have to not be direct with you?” he asked in a silky, irritated voice.  He stared unflinchingly at Daemon, who stared back but seemed to second guess his decision to lash out.  He may be family, but Jacaerys was still King of all Westeros.  If Daemon were anyone else, he would surely be sleeping in the dungeons tonight for daring to speak in such a way in the King’s presence.

“I am not a child anymore.” Daemon said.  

“The fact has not escaped my notice, despite you currently having the attitude of one.” Jacaerys said.  “Come now, there's no need to be angry.  I am not using any pretext to send you off.  Your long awaited talk of your parents is merely a pleasant addition to your mission. Think of this as more a favor to me” his voice softening, Jacaerys continued. “I may be King but Vermax and I cannot be everywhere at once.  It would soothe my mind to know my coast remains under protection of a dragon.”

Quick as it had come, Daemon’s anger dissipated at the caring tone in his cousin’s voice.  Helaena reached out to hold his hand as Aegon spoke up.  

“We will certainly be happy to talk of your parents further with you when you come back.” Aegon said with a smile.  “No more sidestepping the subject, nephew.  You deserve to know them fully as we did and to love them as we all still do.”

Feeling he would cry if he spoke, Daemon merely nodded stiffly at them all and started to eat.  Jacaerys began to speak of the weather with Aegon and Helaena as if it were the most riveting topic, all of them pointedly ignoring Daemon’s silence.  He would speak to them again when he felt ready.

—-------

Of all days for Storm’s End to have clear skies and a shining sun, Lord Royce Baratheon thought it auspicious that it would be today.  His brother-in-law, Daemon, had arrived a few hours ago.  Royce happily greeted him in the courtyard despite the reserved demeanor that initially met him.  

“Brother, it is good to see you.” Daemon seemed jittery and restless.  Royce tactfully led him to his library and had refreshments brought.  It was best to just get on with it, Daemon had waited long enough.

“How are Catelyn and Alphonse?” Daemon asked, hands clasped behind his back as he paced the library, ignoring the lemon cakes and tea brought.  

Royce smiled, his hands clasped to his stomach.  “They are the same.” He took a lemon cake and nibbled at it.  “Catelyn infuriating with her winning of bets against me, her own lord husband.  Alphonse insists we arrange his marriage because talking to any maiden causes him to break out in a cold sweat and so making a match himself would be impossible, according to him.”

“He had gotten better at that, last I saw him.” Daemon chuckled.

“Has he?  I have yet to see such a thing.”

“Perhaps it is just the fact that he cannot do it under your eye?  He says you scare him.  Not in a way that you would mean him harm, but just the way you carry yourself.  As if you could achieve the greatest things in history.”

“I would hardly say talking to a maiden is one of the greatest things in history but your sister might become cross with me if she heard me giving voice to such an opinion.” Royce joked.  

Daemon laughed and the older man looked on fondly.  He was so like his father in appearance, but he laughed like his mother…

“Well…I think everyone in all of Westeros by now knows why I am here…” Daemon began.  “I don't even know how to begin to…I just…I know nothing of them, really.  All those histories, their great achievements, they tell me nothing.  Of mother and father.  I don’t even know what to ask!”

Royce sighed. 

“You do not have to confine yourself to only ask of pivotal moments, you know.  You can ask me anything of them, however mundane you may think it to be.”

“Truly?  You would not think me wasting your time?”

“Not at all.  I've been waiting for us to have this conversation with much anticipation, actually.”

“Anything?” Daemon asked again, still not quite believing he would finally get to know what his mother and father were truly like.

“Anything, brother.  If you wish to know what jokes would cause your mother to roll her eyes, I will tell you.  If you desire to know what the most frequent source of your father’s irritations was, I will spare no detail.  Ask away.”

“Well…” Daemon began, looking out a window. “...I actually wish to start with knowing  what you thought of them?  When you met them.  How they make you feel?  How did they treat you?  You were just a boy, after all.”

Royce examined the painted ceiling as he began talking.  “I was so… terrified when my mother, gods rest her soul, brought my sisters and I to King’s Landing.”

Daemon sat on a chair, arms on the sides of it, listening intently.  Royce stayed standing, slowly walking around the library, idly brushing the spines of books as he talked.

“All each of us had ever known was the cruelty of my father.  He had the power, so he had the right to treat us as lesser, as he so insisted upon telling us at every opportunity.  As soon as he was not in the vicinity, mother would contradict his word, try to build us up after father would tear us down.  ‘Cruelty is not the way.  None of you deserve this wretched treatment, you deserve kindness and love and happiness.’”

Daemon’s eyes began to mist over but he said nothing and let Royce continue.

“You can imagine my fear when mother dragged us to the Red Keep.  Words mean very little when what you actually witness is something different.  Save for our  mother, kindness and love did not exist to us, especially not from those with power.  Our father was a mere lord and he treated us as if we were scum so in my mind, the Targaryens, the rulers of the seven kingdoms and higher up in authority than him, would far outstrip his cruelty to my sisters and I.  I had heard stories of this new Princess of Hearts, but I thought them the same as fairy tales: made up fantasies.  For no Targaryen could possibly be so kind!  Oh, and your father, the Dragon Blade.  Well, I was in awe of tales about him but if I ever met him in person I would never have expected him to be anything other than deadly and vicious.  He was like Balerion The Black Dread to me. ”

Daemon did not look away as Royce turned to face him.

  “I did not believe it when Rhaenys, She Who Might Have Been Queen, vowed we would not be imprisoned.  Daeron and Joffrey, despite their friendship with me when my family arrived, insisted we would be treated fairly and still I did not believe. They were not the ones in power, our very fate in their hands.  The Dragon Blade had my father thrown to the dungeons for being rude with his words, so I prepared myself to be screamed at and possibly beaten when we were brought before the Queen…when your grandsire ordered everyone out, Rhaenys pulling us back so mother could talk to him alone…I thought it was over for us.”

Royce smiled sadly, continuing his story. 

“I wanted to cry when everything turned out for the better, when the Hand promised we would not suffer for my father’s sins.  I wanted to crawl up into mother’s arms, to praise her for being the bravest woman in the whole world for facing King Consort Daemon Targaryen himself… but we were in court and it would not have been proper, of course.” He laughed lightly, brightening the mood and Daemon smiled, keeping his silence so Royce could keep talking.

“It just…as soon as I saw there was nothing to fear from Daemon or the Queen, I felt like I wanted to know everything about them, these silver-haired dragonriders! Quite sure father would have beaten me to within an inch of my life if I had dared to ask him if he had magic.  Lyanna must have had patience to spare, with all the impertinent questions my sisters asked of her family and bloodline.  Her not simply boxing their ears and sending them off to their chambers as my father would often do was a miracle, to be honest.”

Daemon laughed at this along with Royce.  Hearing him speak of these things, it was as if he were there himself, watching it all unfold.  

“Oh gods, if your over protective mother had known how clumsy Cassandra was, holding Catelyn would have been out of the question.  It's a good thing babies and pottery bear no resemblance to each other or my wife would have ended up on the ground as soon as Lyanna had handed her off.”  Daemon was crying with laughter now, Royce smiled with glee, allowing him to catch his breath before going on with his recollection of things. 

“And when your father appeared!  It was very jarring to see what, to me, seemed like a deadly creature sidle up to your beautiful mother and gently give her a kiss. She did not fear him whatsoever! I was in shock, I think.  I expected him to ignore me since ,compared to everyone else present, I thought myself of no consequence.  He actually squatted down to talk to me.  Me!  A lad of a mere 5 years.  This man who even the guards at home spoke of in fear,  who had my father imprisoned just for talking!”

Daemon leaned back in the chair, listening intently.  Hearing all this, he felt as if he were meeting his father and mother for the first time.  He felt Royce’s joy and enthusiasm.  

“Being around them, your parents… it just felt safe.  I didn't sense any hooks later to be reeled in for favors from their kindness, like with other lords and ladies…there was no barrier of formality. I didn't feel like my nerves would snap if I made a mistake with court decorum.  I did not feel stupid and worthless.  They did not paint us with the same brush the rest did due to my father’s actions.  I felt I could be myself.  It was quite freeing, let me tell you.”

As Royce continued to talk, servants replenished the food and drink.  Daemon continued to listen well into the night, happy to finally get to know his mother and father.

CHAPTER 2

[evodevo-geekmonkey]

OK random question: If Kit were to date another fictional sapphic character (not Jade) which would be the best match? Just working on a fanfic idea and looking for suggestions (as I’m too lazy to just invent an oc lol). 

The only thing I’m coming up with is Willow from Buffy (But literally just because of the name lol) so looking for ideas if anyone has any. 

[multi-royalty-arc]

WE’RE THE NEWEST MEMBERS OF THE CLEARED DRAFTS CLUB @malka-lisitsa 🥳

[dc-comics-enjoyer]

Whenever the Bats would complain about any of their tech malfunctioning, Bruce would definitely be the type of dad to go "Back in the days, I didn't even have that" (and of course he overdoes it) :

Dick : This grappling gun's jammed again !

Bruce : Be grateful. I used to scale buildings by hand with a hook and rope.

Dick : Yeah, yeah.

---

Tim : The encryption program is too slow to crack this file.

Bruce : I cracked codes with a pencil, paper, and a lot of staring.

Tim : [rolls his eyes]

---

Jason : The comms in my helmet cut out mid-fight. How am I supposed to fucking coordinate with the other dickwads ?!

Bruce : When I started, I had no comms. Hand signals and pigeons were my options.

Jason : ... Pigeons ?

Bruce : Yeah, now quit whining.

---

Damian : Father ! My sword tracker isn’t syncing properly !

Bruce : Know what I used to do when I lost track of my gear on the field ? I used this thing called "my eyes" to find it. Maybe try that.

---

Barbara : The Batcomputer is practically prehistoric at this point. Maybe it’s time to invest in an upgrade.

Bruce : Prehistoric ? I started with a notebook and an encyclopedia. Plus, I had to cross-reference everything manually. How’s that for prehistoric ?

Barbara : Sure, Grandpa.

---

Cass : My night vision is acting up. Can you fix it ?

Bruce : When I first started, I had to rely on the moonlight. You’ve got infrared, thermal imaging, and sonar. Don’t take it for granted.

Cass : ...

Bruce : ... Fine, I’ll fix it.

---

In the group chat.

Tim : Just survived another sermon about the olden days and gratitude. I swear, I’ve got a migraine.

Steph : Yikes. What was it about this time ?

Jason : Let me guess. How he had to hack into systems using a pocket calculator and sheer willpower ?

Tim : Close. It was how he used to decode encrypted files by hand and climb five stories to cut the power while it rained.

Steph : Classic. Did he end with the “you don’t know how easy you have it” speech ?

Tim : Oh, absolutely. With a bonus lecture about how he built the Batcomputer.

Jason : Next time, just tell him you don’t care.

Tim : And risk another hour ? No thanks.

[crheativity]

Mc/Yuu that when given genuine affection from their friends such as a small gift or just being told that they enjoy being around them, they just get really quiet and look at their friend with shock and disbelief, tearing up a little bit and just going "...oh..." in a real small voice.

Bonus points if they're not usually emotional like this.

It would be fun if it was the overblot gang since they just got some gifts themselves, or maybe ADeuce duo...idk man, I just want some wholesome friendship, I feel like there aren't enough fics like that in this fandom-

WARNINGS: Can be read as platonic or romantic, some of these might be longer/shorter than others, all of them care about you but (almost) all of them are bad with Emotions. also there are slight references to book 6 in Idia’s section if you squint

COMMENTS: AWH this is such a cute idea! And yes, there should definitely be more wholesome, platonic fics! Also, sorry these are short D:

Wait, crap, you’re tearing up? He just got you a present- are you okay?? He’s low key worried about you, unsure if this is just you being extremely excited about his (amazing) gift or if there’s something else going on. Either way, he’s quick to figure it out and reassure you as best he can. He’s torn between feeling bad about making you cry and being happy you liked his present so much. Either way, he pulls you into a hug and rubs patterns into your back until you feel better.

You’re crying?! Ohhhh crap oh crap oh crap- he doesn’t know what to do! Was his present that bad-? Once you reassure him and tell him you love it, he relaxes a little bit but is still clearly distressed. He isn’t very good at figuring out why you’re reacting this way, but his genuine care for you shines through and helps you feel a little more comfortable in his own way.

Wh-what?? Did he do something wrong-? He did a bunch of research, so he had assumed that this gift would be something you’d appreciate, not tear up over! Riddle is. Confused. And scared. He’s new to this whole “having friends” thing, and he thinks very highly of you, so the thought of messing up is pretty scary. He’s at quite a loss of what to do. When you reassure him and tell him you’re okay, he’s very relieved. He makes a note of how much you appreciated the gift and is determined to do more for you. If he has to get used to having friends, he wants you to get used to receiving the affection you deserve, too.

Awh, come on. You’re seriously tearing up over this? He ruffles your hair affectionately, giving you space to process your emotions while staying nearby. He doesn’t quite get what all the fuss is about - all he knows is he got you something and then you “exploded into tears” (you did not, he’s exaggerating). He sits with you until you feel better and tries to think of ways he could give you stuff without you “freaking out” like this. Maybe some money left in your pockets would be a good idea…

As soon as you tear up, he wants to go hide in his octo-pot. He knew it, it was a stupid idea. He should’ve gone with the other present idea, maybe then you’d be less disappointed. If you even still want to be friends with him after this. The moment you explain that you’re really happy, however, his mood does a complete 180, attempting to both comfort you and gloat a little at the same time. He would pat you a little awkwardly on the shoulder, wanting to express he appreciated your vulnerability. He’s definitely making notes on things he could spoil you with.

He freezes. Dang, he thought it was something you’d like. If not, that’s okay, he did keep the receipt. You can take it back to the store and get a refund if you’d- oh? You liked it? He’s another one that would try to comfort you and feel smug at the same time. The thought of making anyone but particularly you so happy is a little jarring to him, and your way of expressing emotions is definitely unexpected, but he’s glad he got you this. Maybe he’ll get you something better next time.

For once, Vil is speechless. For a moment he just kinda stands there in surprise, before sweeping you into his arms for a hug - completely ignoring how his clothes might crinkle. He didn’t think you would react that way, and - although he’s pretty sure you’re happy - he wants to comfort you anyway. Once you confirm you’re actually happy, he thinks your reaction is sweet and endearing and pure. He’s definitely buying you more things if this is your reaction to it,

The moment you say “oh” and start to tear up he’s internally going say sike rn. Bro was not prepared for Emotions. He can hardly handle his own feelings, why’d fate dump him with someone else’s?! Especially since they belong to someone he cares about. He’s not real good with other people, let alone taking care of them. He wishes Ortho was here - he could google Top 10 Ways To Comfort A Friend Who Randomly Starts Crying. Idia kinda just ends up patting your entire head awkwardly and saying “there there” through his tablet. He knows it’s pathetic, okay?

He’s utterly confused. He followed the Human Customs of buying a gift for someone you care about, why are you displaying a negative reaction? Was the gift not satisfactory? Lilia said this would be enough, although perhaps he should’ve gone with his original plan and bought you significantly more. Were you perhaps disappointed? Once you reassure him, he almost laughs. He thinks your reaction was very cute, he will be buying you significantly more things. Prepare yourself.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

ko-fi.com/kiki13

[sillylotrpolls]

Bonus internet points will be awarded to anyone who actually tries this exercise before voting.

Assume you need to get the spelling at least somewhat close, and if a character has multiple names, only one counts. Also, if a character doesn't have a canonical name, I'm sorry, but "that guy's wife" doesn't count.

For reference, if you can name the 9 members of the Fellowship, the eponymous Hobbit and his 13 dwarf buddies, 3 prominent women, and the guy who runs the Rivendell B&B, that's 27 characters right there. And you probably also know the name of a dragon.

For further reference, Tolkien Gateway has 637 (!!) pages dedicated to Third Age characters. (Don't click that link until you've voted, of course)

Edit: Your humble pollmaker gave this a try, and got as far as 73 before deciding she was too tired to keep trying to remember dwarf and Silm names. If you also want to share (and don't mind people being incredulous at your having forgot ____), pastebin allows you to paste text and share it for free. :)