#but it also needs to stand on its own since smiles is doing king of the gerudo

[jinuaei]

Dude, you could make a drunken alastor with the reader, what would it be like? And what would happen?

(( I saw a short on YouTube of an animation, I thought it was so funny... I wanted to see a fanfic about it...

If you're curious: https://youtube.com/shorts/ZN2PBs-RsVM?si=12BtCleXiCO7BWkU ))

So I basically mixed both of these asks into one fic, sorry if its not what you wanted its 3 am and I don't know what im doing kk love yall byeeee. been a while since I wrote so please be kind

Additional art

Warning: Kind of yandere? tagging just in case, BAD ACCENT WRITING, kissing!, Drunk alastor

Alastor is a heavyweight when it comes to drinking, but still, his tolerance to strong alcohol is no match to the king of hell himself. The bottles that surround the both of them shine under the lights of the hotel, empty as the red eyes staring at the wall behind Husk. Which is rather concerning as the owner of said eyes is the loser of the impromptu drinking game, started by the loser himself.

Alastor has been taking big Ls tonight huh. Not only did he lose his own game with the king of hell, he’s also getting clowned on by his enemy. Speaking of, Lucifer is now gloating in front of Alastor about how ‘he’s better’ and ‘you thought you could defeat THE KING OF HELL???’, while the recipient is still mindlessly staring at the display bottles of the bar.

Concerned, you walk up to him with hesitation, not wanting to trigger the hunting instincts he has displayed every time you are around. He has always pursued you not in a romantic sense, at least you think so, but more of a predatory sense. Everytime you walk into the room, his head always snaps to your direction, the smile on his face spreading wider and the horns growing the closer you get. At first you would just ignore the ever growing static emitting from him, the fear of getting mauled and eaten by him increasing with the volume of the radio waves. 

The intimidating display of his horns always amp up too whenever the other men of the hotel try to talk to you, or just even approaching your general vicinity. The headaches that you leave with always render you unable to do anything for the rest of the day. But with how constantly he’s been threatening the whole room with his power and presence, it’s no wonder you’ve been trying to avoid him everytime you just even feel the shift of static in the air. You’d rather not be MIA just because Alastor’s radio waves make you ill.

However, when you’re with the girls, his presence becomes pleasant, the sharp noise turning into a sweet jazz song that calms your nerves. During those times, you find yourself appreciating his presence. When you talk to Charlie or Nifty, he likes to cozy up right next to you, butting into the conversation, and when either of them ask for help, he tries to include you into the task, even when you are not needed. For Vaggie though, he still does stand next to you but you guess that his face is not as pleasant as when you talk to the other girls as Vaggie always glares at him when tries to speak. Nonetheless, the girls are always treated better than the boys.

Onto the current task, you wave a hand in front of him, still hesitant as Lucifer is still trying to provoke the Radio Demon. Thankfully Charlie managed to drag him away from the bar, talking about how his father is also drunk. With the unsuccessful attempt of catching his attention, you instead call out his name. In response, his head snaps to you with a painful noise that sounds like his neck breaking.

“Are you good Alastor…?,” his stare is still there but it looks more focused compared to the past 20 minutes.

You wait for him to respond, or at least for his brain to work again. Alastor blinks slowly, his smile growing bigger as his eyes finally focus on yours. The empty gaze turns soft and sitting before you is Alastor not as the Radio Demon, but his truest most pure self. And now that you think about it, you don’t hear the faint hum of the radio coming out from him, it was pure silence. That is until he finally speaks to you.

“Hello sha…”

Your breath hitches. 

You did not expect the cajun accent that came out of his mouth, and by God was it hot. It took you longer than you wanted to respond, the sheer change of his usual accent surprising you.  And the surprise must be obvious on your face as Alastor chuckles at your bafflement. 

“Why, what’s wrong dear…?”

He speaks slowly, slurring some of his words, but the accent is still thick on his tongue.

“Nothing, it’s just… how are you? You’ve been staring at the wall ever since you lost to Lucifer.”

“Hm… Nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about what?”

“You.”

He purrs, the half lidded stare directed at you burns your body hot. It was nearly impossible to look away from him, but luckily he moved first, perching his head onto his crossed arms, looking adorably tired.

“So uh.. You drink whiskey huh?,” you fumbled, pointing to the various bottles that surrounded him.

He nods, still burrowed in his arms. The others are starting to retreat to their rooms, waving a goodnight to the people left in the lobby, which was you, Alastor and Husk, who is now starting to clean up the bar.

“You know, I haven’t tried whiskey yet.”

Alastor raises his head to look at you, mouth slightly opened as if to display his disbelief to your lack of taste. 

“Well, surely you have to try at least once!”

Husk was only minding his business, cleaning up the bottles on the table when Alastor yanks his arm and pulls him to demand a bottle of whiskey. The cat demon's face scrunched up, and he looks at you with a ‘are you fucking for real’ face, you can only smile sheepishly back. Being given no choice, he complies to Alastors demand, grumbling about wanting to sleep but needing to still clean up after you both. Feeling pity, you volunteer to do his work and let him go to bed, he eagerly agrees and practically books it upstairs. 

The demon left with you shows off the bottle he acquired, popping off the cap with a flourish. You try to find a glass to drink out of but Alastor had another idea. He drinks out from the bottle and before you can ask him to stop, he grips the back of your head and kisses you.

Your eyes widen, freezing in your seat in shock and awe. His hand moves under your chin and his thumb trails up to hook it through your lips and pulls open your mouth. The whiskey from his mouth transfers to yours, burning as you gulp it down your throat. He finally pulled away when there was no more whiskey left to transfer.

“Well, what do you think? Do you like it?”

The dopey smile on his face is impossible to ignore, he looks so pleased yet still so hungry, but the ever so gentleman still waits for your reaction.

Honestly, you don’t know if you liked the whiskey but you really, really, really liked the kiss.

“Yeah! Yeah, I liked it.”

“That's good! I’m glad my deer also likes the stuff that I like. Haha! Here, have some more!”

He nudges the bottles to you, but since it's midnight and you’d rather not have a hangover by the morning. So you refused, and he full on pouted, pouted! And he looked so sad too, his ears flattened and everything! 

You couldn’t bear to see him that sad, even though it’s actually terrifying seeing the Radio Demon, acting like a dejected puppy. So you came up with a solution to both of your problems.

Gingerly holding his cheek, your hands carefully pull his face to yours, his gaze curious but willing. You bit your lip before kissing him lightly, unsure of whether it’s okay or not to do this to the predator that has been haunting your days. The same predator who's now reduced to putty in your hands, eagerly kissing you back with vigour. He tastes of whiskey, which was what you were finding for, and slightly of blood, maybe his meal from earlier that night.

You pull away from him when you start to lose air from the kiss, he complies, his face dazed and the blush from the kiss spreads across his face. Catching your breath, you see Alastor move closer to you, he moves his face to your neck, sniffing it deeply.

“What are you doing…?”

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to accept me for so long...You don’t understand how long I’ve longed for you sha… To become mine,” he starts to ramble, the cajun accent still thick, and only getting thicker the lower his voice gets. His hands start to roam around your body, gripping your waist tight as he pulls you close to him, he would have pulled you onto his lap if you haven’t stood your ground.

“Oh… how I wanted to rip those damned men that try to take you away from me, ‘specially that cursed sorry excuse of a father, Charlie would be soooo much better taken care of by you n’ me. Nifty already thinks of you as her parent, to which of course I wholly agree with. You’d make a perfect parent sha.”

You stay silent as his whole body is now fully leaned against you. 

“I like helpin’ you out n’ Nifty, makes me feel like a proud father n’ a good husband… Ohhhh, i’d love to be your husband.”

“Sometimes, I like to follow you around to protect you from those disgustin’ dogs tryin’ to steal you away from me.”

What the fuck is happening? You thought this man hated your guts and only wanted to fuck with you for fun, but not like this. Yeah the kiss wasn’t good either but you only wanted to do it for bragging rights, like who could say they kissed the Radio Demon?? Oooh, Vox would have your head if he knew about this, that tv head of his and his weird obsession with Alastor. 

“Would you like to be mine sha?,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his face now planted on your chest as his face nuzzles on it, you can see movement under his coat but you ignore it in favour of looking at him.

“Well… uh…”

“Please…? Please be mine…”

He moves his face close to you again, his breath tickling your lips, tempting you to kiss him again. Your response gets stuck on the tip of your tongue, but luckily, you don’t have to respond as his body flops onto yours, his weight fully on top of you. You can hear his leveled breathing as he dozed off, cradled against your neck, a sign of him now being asleep.

Well shit. You’d have to drag this 7 foot deer up his room, and you pray that he doesn’t remember anything from tonight.

[targaryenimagines]

A Gentle Flame

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,701

Summary: After months of trying, you are finally able to give something back to your Khaleesi that she never thought she’d have again — an heir to not only House Targaryen but the Iron Throne. You just aren’t sure how you’d like to reveal the good news to your beloved; taking solace in your dearest friend’s company as he tried to help you in revealing the truth. Of course, you should have known that your dragon’s possessive fire would never be quenched — not even for Grey Worm.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, jealousy/possessiveness, and pregnancy.

Notes: Can be seen as part of the “My Khaleesi” series, but can also be read as a stand-alone as well. Thank you to the wonderful @rain-mikaelson for this amazing idea!

Series Masterlist

“She doesn’t know?”

You don’t have to turn around to see, with picture perfect clarity, the confusion that must have been etched upon your dearest friends face. The thickening of his accent alone told you all you needed to know.

“No,” you reply, setting the brush you had been fiddling with firmly back in its place on your vanity. “I only just discovered it. I went to the Palace Healer after I missed my second cycle in recent months.”

The familiar sound of leather rubbing against sharpened metal echoes through the air — a telltale sign that he was processing what had been revealed — as you begin to fiddle, once more, with the brush you hadn’t needed since the conversation had commenced.

“And the Healer?” He hedges out the question, hesitation clear in his tone. “She won’t divulge anything to the Queen?”

“No, I made sure of that. The only way Daenerys will find out I’m pregnant is from my own lips and no one else’s.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. “Why tell me, Your Grace?”

Twisting around, so you’re finally staring face-to-face with your closest companion, you can’t help the small, albeit genuine, twist of your lips as you smiled at him. “Because you’re my closest friend, Grey Worm.” You wave a hand in the air, even as a melancholic twinge echoes within your heart. “Dany always had Missandei and I always had you.”

“And you still do,” he intones, clearly fighting through the wave of emotions that her name still invokes within him. “You always will, Your Highness. For as long as I shall live and be able to raise my weapon to the sky in your honor.”

You’re touched by the fierceness within his tone — not doubting, for even a second, the sincerity behind his words; Grey Worm would always protect you, would always be there — but the knowledge of what the upcoming days would bring, causes you to lean back against your vanity with a heavy sigh.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to break the news, Grey.” Running a frazzled hand through your hair, Grey Worm simply observes as you sort out the various thoughts whirling in your head. “The Summit is commencing in five days, the guests will be arriving in two, and you know how Daenerys has been planning this for months.” Your eyes raise to meet stoic brown. “I can’t have her know I’m pregnant until after.”

He tilts his head. “I would assume the Queen would be ecstatic to learn the news, Your Grace.”

“She would be,” you state, confident in that knowledge at least. “But, I can’t have that be what she’d focus on this week. Even if she’d pretend to be business as usual, we both know how Daenerys gets when even the slightest chance of my safety is in question. How do you think she’d react or behave, with all these unknowns arriving in King’s Landing, if she knew I’m with child?”

Grey Worm doesn’t respond, he didn’t have to, not when the last time your life had seemed to be in peril was still so fresh within both of your minds. You had been ambushed returning to the Red Keep after a day in the city, a couple of vagabonds testing their luck against Valyrian and Dothraki blades, it had ended quickly, but your darling wife had not taken the news of no major injuries lightly; not when things could of had a different conclusion. Daenerys had been on a warpath for weeks, refusing to let any stone go unturned, until everyone she deemed responsible for such a fuck up was punished accordingly; whether that be the genial blacksmith that had sold them their weapons, the proprietors of the tavern the vagabonds frequented and loudly discussed their plans, or the guardsmen themselves that hadn’t realized there was a threat before it was almost too late.

“She can’t know,” you stress. “Not when this Summit means so much to her.”

There’s a beat of silence, wherein your closest companion simply observes you, taking note of what feelings must have been flickering within your gaze, before he inclined his head, an imperceptible motion that only the people who knew him would be able to pick up.

“What will you have me do?”

“I wish for you to stay close, my love.”

It wasn’t a request, nor a question, by the steely undercurrent that lay within her tone, the diplomatic smile on her lips causing her eyes to strain with the force of keeping her emotions in check. You could tell that Daenerys had begun to tire of playing host to all the nobles, both of major and minor houses, that Westeros seemed so proud to boast. However, the end result of what this Summit could potentially do, collecting all of the major players within the Seven Kingdoms to witness the power that is House Targaryen, meant that she was allowing herself to be docile for the moment.

At least until the single House that caused her hackles to rise appeared.

House Stark moved as a singular unit, bringing truth to the old adage that its members were like a wolf pack, but the lone man leading met your gaze solidly with his own steely brown. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by Daenerys, nor the guard standing mere feet behind you both, and you could practically feel the air thicken with growing tension. Something that would have caused Daenerys to take up arms if she knew of the life I’m now carrying.

“Your Majesties.” A familiar gravelly voice greets, his head inclining to the both of you. “It’s a pleasure for House Stark to be invited back to King’s Landing.”

His sentiment was clearly not shared with the two women behind him — the shorter of the two looking like she was about stab someone and the taller one’s lips twisting in bitter distaste — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Warden Snow,” Daenerys greets in return, her smile now almost looking like she was baring her teeth in warning; a sign of dominance that any wolf would know to back away from, unless it was a fight they were after. “I welcome you to the Summit with open arms. I do hope that the amenities within the Keep will be enough to sate you during the duration of your stay.” Violet eyes flicker to icy blue just behind him. “If there’s something you need, you’re more than free to find an attendant that will help you with any issue you may have.”

You stifle the urge to curse under your breath at Daenerys’ veiled insult. It was no secret that House Stark, namely the red-headed she wolf, was at odds with House Targaryen; ever since Daenerys had blatantly told them that the North would not be gaining any form of independence, siting there was no justification for it, as Daenerys had barely gained anything from the short alliance they had brokered during the Long Night. Nor did the North have anything to truly offer since The Wall fell.

It’s an argument that still caused an icy frigidity from members of House Stark now — one that Daenerys didn’t deign important enough to deal with at the present moment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ever watchful for what the scheming mutts could be cooking up in order to gain a modicum amount of power for their insipid region — which is why, due to their close proximity, you could feel the steady presence of Grey Worm at your back, his rigid posture even more tense than usual due to the news that only he, and the Palace Healer, were privy to. His close proximity is something you’re sure Daenerys has taken note of, if her varying glances throughout the night were anything to go by, but she was constantly pulled in different directions before she was able to speak the words that clearly wished to escape.

Although aware of your close relationship to the Captain of her Queensguard, she was also aware of Grey Worm’s unfaltering fealty to her and how he would never cross a line that Daenerys had drawn in the sand the moment she had claimed you as her own; you were off limits. The only time anyone should ever enter your personal space, barring her and your handmaidens, and even they had a tight leash to tread with, was if they were pushing you out of the way of immediate danger.

You had told Grey that his proximity would be a red flag to your wife, but his protective instincts seemed to not care as he stared impassively at the three individuals at the bottom of the dais you were standing upon.

Knowing that this could only go one way, if the looks that were being exchanged between Daenerys and the youngest Stark were anything to go by, you step forward, placing a gentle hand to the small of your wife’s back. “I believe it’s time to give your speech, Dany,” you murmur. “And we both know you don’t want to keep this crowd waiting.”

While Daenerys doesn’t turn to face you fully, you’re well aware that you have her attention, her body leaning against the palm of your hand, the simple touch soothing the roaring fire that might have been into a gentle flame.

“You’re right, ñuha perzys.” A gloved hand ghosts across your hip, but Daenerys keeps her gaze resolutely forward. “I’m afraid I must cut this rather delightful exchange short. It’s about the time that I should be addressing the room.” Violet eyes glint sharply. “Wouldn’t wish for anyone to think I favor House Stark.”

Crisis averted, you think, observing the whispered conversation between the three as they left to find their seats. For now.

A soft touch to your cheek causes you to almost jump out of your skin, the sight Daenerys’ concerned expression doing little to sate the racing of your heart. “Are you well, dearest?” Worry colors her tone, eyes flashing with a protective fire. “You’ve seemed preoccupied all night.”

“I’m fine, Dany.” You cradle the hand that’s currently still doing the same to your cheek. “It’s just been a long day. I’m anticipating when it’ll all be over and I’ll get to be alone with you.”

You could tell that your wife felt the same, but something still lurked in violet depths that you adored so much. Something that made you want to curse once more — sometimes you hated how perceptive your wife was, even if the knowledge that she observed you to the point that she could pick apart the very foundations of your moods set you alight with adoration, you couldn’t help but wish that Daenerys would let this slide.

“I’m anticipating the same,” Daenerys replies, stepping back to offer you her arm; a gesture that you accept instantly. “But, for now, we must be the royals that Westeros demands us to be.”

Keeping your gaze locked with the seat that’d be your home for the next few hours, you completely miss the look Daenerys sends Grey Worm as he diligently follows behind you, never missing a step, remaining your ever loyal shadow, and the way her arm tightens around yours that much more because of it.

“I truly don’t know why I haven’t killed them yet,” Daenerys mutters, running gentle fingers through the tangled locks of your hair. Violet eyes staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedchamber. “It’d be so easy then I could simply appoint a new Warden of the North that wouldn’t annoy me so.”

Huffing out a laugh, you rest your chin on Daenerys’ clavicle, staring at her with soft eyes, despite the topic at hand, and press a light kiss to the patch of the skin that was easily available. It was later, hours after the dinner had ended, with the moon hanging high in the sky, but, despite the weight of the day bearing down upon your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like you were floating; here, in this bed, with your darling dragon, tangled naked in the rumpled sheets of your marital bed.

“Because you don’t wish to deal with the hassle such an action will cause, beloved,” you reply, knowing that Daenerys would appreciate your insight. “You’ve already dealt with two wars in this infernal landscape as it is. There’s no reason to fight another so soon. Not so early into your reign.”

Tendrils of your hair curl around pale fingers, a soft look etched upon her face; an expression that Daenerys only leveled at you and Drogon. “So much knowledge hidden behind such a beautiful face.” She strokes your cheek, love speaking through every action and echoed in the look upon your own face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, which is exactly why I wish to deal with those blasted mutts.” Her arm tightens around your naked form. “I don’t trust them, and I know they don’t trust me, nor do I think they’ll just let things go. They have a personal vendetta against me and I fear they’ll use you to rectify it.”

You nuzzle closer, comforted by your Khaleesi’s sweet scent. “We don’t know what the future may bring.” Some more than others. “But, I have hope that I’ll be protected.”

What was meant as a soothing gesture, an affirmation that Daenerys would always be able to keep you safe, seemed to have the complete opposite effect. Her pliable body going stiff against your own, hand halting its comforting movement, a sharpness entering her gaze.

“Dany?” You question, rising up onto your forearms to peer down at her. The silence settling over you like a thick blanket, a brooding entity that meant she was deep in thought, an elegant brow furrowed as she tried to corral her rampant thoughts. “What’s the matter?”

Finally, after another beat of tense silence, her eyes slip to meet your own. “Do you feel that confident with your security detail, ñuha perzys?”

“Yes?” Not understanding where this line of questioning was coming from you couldn’t help the slight lilt at the end of your answer. “Of course, I do.”

A stormy look falls across your wife’s face. “Really?” She straightens to lean against her pillow, now peering down at you. “You feel so confident when those very people almost got you killed by random mercenaries? I find that hard to believe.”

“I thought we went over this when it happened, Dany,” you sigh, finally sitting up to be on a more level field. Knowing now that you weren’t going to go back to snuggling anytime soon. “The two responsible for the oversight were dealt with, by your own hand if you recall, and the rest have more than made up for it. They won’t fail me or you again.”

“It was dealt with so swiftly due to my Captain straightening it out,” Daenerys snipes, arms crossed over her naked chest, the thin sheet having fallen around her hips sometime ago. “I don’t even want to imagine what those fools would have done without him.”

A small smile curls your lips. “Yes,” you agree. “Grey Worm did an excellent job at handling the situation. I’m thankful for his help and continued support.”

Your wife’s cheek twitches due to force in which she’s clenching her jaw, a sight that causes worry to bubble within your chest. Something had obviously set her off, but you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure it out. Leaning forward, you gently take Daenerys’ hand, releasing her white-knuckled grip on the sheet, and cradle it.

“But,” you continue, ensuring you maintained eye contact. “If it wasn’t for you, my darling dragon, I know that I would have been lost long ago. You’ve saved me from so much, Dany. You’re my constant protector, my most treasured companion, and my loving wife. I could never ask for, nor want, anyone else by my side, and I’m so thankful that I get to call you mine.”

The tender words, coupled by the unwavering sincerity in your voice, finally causes Daenerys to slacken, violet eyes going soft as a hint of embarrassment reddens her cheeks. Slim hands soon finding their way around your waist to pull you back into her embrace, head nestled in the crook of her neck, as she seems to simply breathe you in.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Warm breath ghosts across your skin, a phantom touch that raises the fine hairs on your arms. “I think the long days, coupled with being around boastful imbeciles constantly, has muddled my mind more than I would like.” Long fingers curl underneath your chin, tilting your head back just enough so you could see the beginnings of a smile curling full lips. “Even getting to the point where I thought you were hiding something from me.” Daenerys huffs out a laugh, clearly perplexed at herself, even as you feel your blood freeze in your veins. “And do you want to know the funniest thing?”

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, a suddenly dry throat trying desperately to make any sort of sound. “W-What?”

“I believed Grey Worm was in on it.” Daenerys rolls her eyes, scoffing. “I couldn’t help but notice how attentive he’s been of you as of late. Always being one step behind you at all times.” Lean arms, that hide a strength few were ever privy to, flex around your body, pulling you closer. “Can you believe I thought something was going on between you?”

Laughter bubbles in your throat at the outlandish insinuation — you could never want, or ask for, anyone else — but the strain around your eyes, as you desperately tried to keep it together, was apparent, but Daenerys, lost in her own thoughts, obviously trying to come to terms with how she could come to such a conclusion, didn’t notice.

You weren’t sure if that fact was fortunate or not.

Soon Daenerys, curled protectively around you, falls asleep, after a final whispered apology, her gentle breathing a soothing melody that you have grown to adore over the years you’ve spent in her bed. Normally, you’d be quick to follow your Khaleesi into the land of dreams, but her words, the thinly veiled accusations, the quickly shifted in self-deprecating jokes, kept the lull of oblivion from claiming your mind.

The very notion that you’d ever cheat on Daenerys was laughable — something that would never cross your mind, an annoying gnat that you simply swatted away without a second glance — but the knowledge that she believed you wouldn’t keep something from her unsettled you. Of course, you knew you had good reasoning behind your decision, but it still stung all the same; feeling like you were betraying your wife somehow.

Your wife didn’t have faith in many people — the ones she used to were either dead, imprisoned, or gone from her life in some other fashion — which left only a small handful left: Drogon, Grey Worm, and yourself.

The Summit will be over in three days. You just have to hold out for three more days.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force the thoughts, and the feelings they invoke, from your mind as you nuzzle closer to your wife; heart aching when she instantly brings you closer in response.

Just three more days, my love, you think, pressing closer. Three more days and then I can tell you the news that we’ve both been so desperate for. Just three more days…

It never seemed like such a large amount of time before.

Guilt, you learn, did not go well with pregnancy.

You weren’t able to be around Daenerys for long after that night — knowing what you did and what you were keeping from her — which was something that could easily be explained due to how hectic the daily life usually was in King’s Landing; now multiplied even further due to the Summit. Feigning different duties around the castle was simple, even if you missed your wife terribly during the long hours apart, that ache was easier to handle then the one that erupted every time you looked into her soft gaze.

The guilt, coupled with your own growing symptoms of your condition, caused your stomach to twist constantly, ensuring that you spent a large portion of the day keeled over a bucket with Grey Worm standing watch.

Of course, after the first day, when you only greeted Daenerys with a fleeting kiss to the cheek, and an airy greeting mixed soon after with a brief farewell, your wife began to grow concerned, her gaze often seeking you out within the crowded room of nobles and dignitaries. Uncaring of anyone that may be trying to talk to her, her attention focused solely on you alone, something you wouldn’t normally mind, except for the simple fact that you’d sing like a canary if she leveled you with inquisitive look one more time.

You hadn’t come this far to mess up on the last day of the Summit; the final meeting being hosted in the Dragon Pit, recently reconstructed to an echo of its former glory. Although your darling son refused to even grace the structure with his presence unless it was to deliver you and Daenerys.

“Are you feeling well, Your Grace?” The familiar presence settled a half-step behind you, his accented voice a relief over the miasma of varying conversations that were occurring as people prepared to head over to the Dragon Pit. “Do you require anything?”

“No,” you reply, side-stepping an obviously over encumbered stable hand, as you spot the hulking obsidian mass that was Drogon; the people unfortunate enough to have left their things where he decided to land were scuttling around him like frantic ants, his own expression one of boredom if it was ever possible for a reptilian face to showcase such an emotion. “I’ll be fine for now. Thank you, Grey.”

At the sound of your approaching voice, Drogon swings his head in your direction, crimson eyes lighting up in recognition, as a gentle croon rumbles from deep within his chest. The people around him pause their activities, afraid that he may lunge any second, but your son didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he lowered his head to give you easy access to scratch the underside of his chin, pebbled scales warm against your cool fingers.

“I’ve missed you too.” You smooth your hand out against his jaw, an adoring smile on your face. “Need to make sure that I carve out more time to see you in the future.”

You can’t even begin to imagine how lonely he must feel — what was once three was now only one — if the ache in your chest was anything to go by it must be difficult; something you didn’t wish for your son to go through alone.

A son, you quickly notice, that was now pressing his snout against your stomach, a low rumble sounding from deep within his throat, not unlike the croon he released earlier, but this, coupled with the protective glint in his fiery gaze, made you understand, with perfect clarity, that Drogon knew. That he had no doubt about the life you were now carrying.

“I know that you and your mama have this special connection,” you whisper, scratching his jaw. “Like the one that I shared with Viserion, but you can’t give her any hints about what you’ve discovered.” Crimson eyes flicker in understanding, his intelligence shining through. “Do you think you’ll be able to hold your protective instincts back for the day, Drogon?”

You knew, even as you asked, that it would be like asking Daenerys the same exact thing. Something that causes your stomach to twist once more. You could play off Grey Worm’s presence and increased vigilance, as he had been appointed to your guard until competent ones were found, but Drogon? Your wife would instantly be able to tell that something was happening, and it probably wouldn’t take her any time at all to discover what it was.

Which meant that you wouldn’t be able to fly with Daenerys to the Dragon Pit; something you had been looking forward to as it’d give you a chance to be with your wife, soaring over the city she had claimed, and may cause the growing suspicion to die within her gaze.

“Ready to go, ñuha perzys?” Daenerys’ lovely voice causes you to startle, wide eyes meeting her questioning one. “I believe we’ll be able to do a few laps around King’s Landing before the first people arrive at the Dragon Pit.” A charming smile catches your wife’s lips. “Giving us a chance to spend time with one another. I’ve missed you the last few days.”

The genuine statement causes your heart to twist, your stomach lurching, but you maintain your smile, hoping that you didn’t look as faint as you felt. “I was actually thinking of taking Nox.” You gesture to the dark stallion, his large stature easily seen over the fences of his stable. “Grey Worm has been meaning to show me something, and it’s on the way to the Dragon Pit, so I thought I’d just do both at once.”

While the genial smile doesn’t fall from Daenerys’ lips, the fire behind her eyes grows with intensity until it’s almost scalding across your skin. “Grey Worm?” At the mention of his name from his Queen’s mouth, the aforementioned man steps from his place in the shadows. Forever dutiful, even if it meant walking straight into the gaping maw of a dragon. “You wish to go with Grey Worm instead of me?”

Any other time the incredulous tone within your wife’s voice, causing it to turn almost shrill, would have made you chuckle, but you could see the darkness that was beginning to become apparent — one that had a propensity to turn lethal if it wasn’t dealt with appropriately — and you wanted nothing more than to chase those shadows away; to bring your wife back into the light.

Just a few more hours, you try to soothe yourself. Just a few more hours and this will all be behind you. You’ll be able to tell Dany and everything will right itself.

“Yes,” you reply, maintaining an air of obliviousness in hopes that Daenerys wouldn’t press the issue further. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to let Nox stretch his legs for some time now. You know how Dothraki horses can be, Dany. They’ll only get more irritable the longer they’re cooped up.”

Violet eyes shift from you, to Grey Worm, all the way to the aforementioned stallion across the courtyard, until they land back on you; the expression on her face made you glad that this would be the last day of the Summit, because you know that Daenerys was at the end of her patience, that she wouldn’t let you get away with this one. For now, as the sounds of various voices finally broke in through the haze of everything untold, and Daenerys allows herself to shift back into her queenly stature.

Even though, you knew, that it’d only take one more thing for the bow to break, and then nothing would keep her from finding the answers she’s seeking.

“Very well.” Her tone clipped, detached in a way that stings your heart, Daenerys easily mounts Drogon and stares down at you. “I hope that your journey to the Dragon Pit is fruitful, but do be prepared for the discussions that’ll take place once we return to the Keep.”

And, with those parting words, and one last gentle nudge from Drogon, Daenerys is in the air, soaring higher into the sky until she breaches the clouds. You wish, more than anything, you were with her and your son, but you know that this was the right course of action. Even if it felt like it was the absolute worst.

Grey Worm settles beside you. “I wasn’t aware there would be more talks after the meeting held at the Dragon Pit.”

“There isn’t.” Your stomach twists, meeting concerned brown eyes with a grim expression. “That was a direct summons for me, and only me, by my darling wife.”

The heavy doors of your bedchamber close with a sharp bang behind you, a sound that almost causes you to flinch if it wasn’t for the woman watching you from across the room garnering all of your attention instantly. Daenerys had already changed out of her court attire — wearing a simple dress instead of the black ensemble she had been wearing, the very one she had worn upon conquering King’s Landing — but she looked anything but relaxed.

“You’ve been avoiding me, dearest.” It’s not a question, simply a statement of fact, as Daenerys stalks towards you. “And I’ve been trying to figure out why. Why would my darling wife not wish to be in my presence? Why would my most cherished companion not wish to see me?” She’s closer now, close enough for you to see the rage that’s beginning to build in her slim form. “And do you know what I uncovered? The only possible reason I could come up with?”

You’re not going to like this. “What?”

“Guilt,” Daenerys snarls, lips pulling into a sneer. It’s clear she was trying to rein herself in, that her famous temper wished to unleash itself, but, even now, when she was at her breaking point, she’d never wish to turn it on you. Something that both breaks and reassembled your heart. “You’re guilty about something. To the point that you practically reek with it now. Of course, I truly don’t know what you could feel guilty about, until I remembered the conversation we had a few nights ago.”

Oh no…

She’s pacing in front of you now, a short line that doesn’t take her too far from you, but gave enough room to excise some of the energy bubbling within her. “A conversation wherein I explicitly told you that I believed you and Grey Worm were hiding something from me. Where you told me that I didn’t have to worry.” The sharpness in her tone, the accusation within her eyes, were like physical blows. “So, I truly don’t know what to believe. Should I believe my wife, who’s been pulling away from me, or should I believe my gut instinct and deal with the problem immediately?”

Your eyes snap to look at Daenerys, horror-stricken. “Deal with the problem? What in the Seven Hells do you mean by the that, Daenerys?” Stepping closer to your wife, when she doesn’t answer immediately, you can’t help the desperate lilt from entering your voice. “What have you done to Grey Worm? Did you do something to him? Answer me!”

“Begging for your lovers life already?” Anger twists her face, shrouding the deep love you know she has for you. “I haven’t done anything, but make no mistake that it means I won’t. I’m going to make that man remember that when you swear fealty to House Targaryen it’s for life, and there isn’t any room for dissenters.”

Lover?

An even more horrific realization strikes you like an arrow to the chest.

“You think he’s my lover?” Barring the complications that would already bring due to the environment Grey was raised in, you couldn’t even begin to comprehend him in that manner. Nor could you ever imagine wanting anyone else beside your wife. “No, Dany, no.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and move to settle on the end of your bed. This wasn’t how you wanted to tell her — over a nice dinner, after a nice ride on Drogon, or simply curled up together in this very bed — but you had created this situation and now you had to go with where it’s led you. Looking up, taking note that Daenerys had trailed after you, a gentle smile curls your lips and you beckon your wife closer.

“Grey Worm isn’t my lover, Dany. Nor will he ever be. I know that things have been tense these last few days, but I never wish for you to think that I’d ever be unfaithful to you.” Taking her hand, you tug her pliant body closer, even if you could still see the tension within the rigidity of her shoulders. “You are, and will forever be, my first, my last, and my always.” You place a tender kiss to her clothed abdomen, leaning into her comforting warmth. “Why would I ever want anyone else when I have my Khaleesi?”

Slender fingers run through your hair, the familiar motion allowing your eyes to slip shut contentment. “Then what has been going on, ñuha perzys? You haven’t been yourself and I still have half a mind to take Grey Worm to the dungeons to get him to answer me.”

Looking up, resting your chin on her abdomen, you peer into the violet gaze that you adore. “You’re not going to do anything to Grey Worm, Daenerys. He hasn’t done anything except be a good friend to me and faithfully serve me to the best of his ability.” Standing up, you easily maneuver Daenerys to settle in the position you had just been in, now looking down at your beautiful wife. “Which is something you’ve desperately wanted for me, if I recall.”

“Not if it means that I’m kept in the dark about you.”

The petulant pout causes a tender expression to fall across your features, love and adoration sparking within your heart, as you look at the woman that could turn the world to ash in an instant melting into your gentle touch. And, in that moment, you knew it was time.

So, without preamble, you take one of her hands and gently place it on your abdomen in return. “I didn’t wish to tell you until the Summit was over because it was too important to screw up, and I’m well aware how you get when my health is involved.” Your fingers ghost across her sharp jawline, watching as the beginning of her understanding begins to spark within her gaze. “Add our unborn child’s health too? The Summit would have ended like a Dothraki Wedding if you had your way, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein Daenerys digests the news, a multitude of emotions flickering across her face, before complete and utter jubilation takes its prominent spot.

“You’re pregnant?” Her hand presses gently against the spot you had placed it, wanting to get closer to the life that lay within. “We’re going to be parents?”

You grin. “We’re having a baby, Dany.”

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in the tightest embrace Daenerys had ever given you, happy tears staining the skin of your neck as she nuzzles closer. You’re well aware that she was going to have a talk with you about your secrecy at a later date, especially given the fact that Grey Worm knew before her, but, for now, she was content in simply holding you in her arms, the both of you sharing in the happiness the moment brought.

“Drogon won’t be alone anymore.” Violet eyes look down at your abdomen with utmost affection. “He’ll finally have a sibling again.”

You press your forehead against hers. “The dragons will be returning to Westeros, my Khaleesi, and the skies will once again be filled with dragon song.”

“And everyone will know the power of House Targaryen.”

“Yes,” you murmur, pressing your lips to hers in a chaste embrace. “As well as the woman who leads them.”

“The women,” Daenerys gently corrects. “For I’d still be lost if I didn’t have my darling Queen by my side.”

“And I’d never know that I was cold without the gentle flame of your love keeping me warm.” You lean into her touch, pressing your bodies firmly together. “You brought me to life, Dany, and I’ll never take the love you’ve given me for granted.”

Daenerys smiles. “Together we will bring back what has been stolen from my family, we will right the wrongs that have plagued this land, and we’ll ensure that our children will be able to reap the benefits once we’re done.” She smooths her hand across your abdomen. “Even if it means Fire and Blood will be paid in penance to make it happen.”

“Together.”

For one couldn’t be without the other — the Khaleesi and her Queen — as it always should be.

[novaursa]

Hey again! 😃 Ok, so I've got 4 requests for you (since now it's 1K words per person).

I was thinking of some "lost" scenes from that Alicent fic I requested, but this time it's about the Reader's bond with each of his children.

With Aegon - A scene in which R catches Aegon drunk after a night out, and pulls him aside to listen to his concerns about fulfilling his duties and being responsible in general. Reader remains understanding and tells Aegon that no matter how old he gets, he can always count on his help, but that he has to find his way on his own (Aegon looks more closely at his father and sets him as an example of how a prince/king should behave.

With Helaena - A scene in which Reader takes her to Essos for a trip to a jungle (idk if there exists jungles in Essos, but let's pretend they do) on a quest to find more exotic bugs. Should be fun and playful! Maybe R trips over a root and lands on his bum, and that's what makes his darling daughter laugh so much.

With Aemond - That one scene after he gets gifted with "The Pink Dread". The Reader comforts him and even dares to tell him that should he have had a pink(ish) dragon, that's the nickname that he would bestow upon it (think of how people would expect TPD to be some small creature - yes, like a pig - but no, it's a FRIGGIN' DRAGON! 😂😂😂). Also, R mentions how he sees a lot of himself in Aemond (particularly related to his own youth).

With Daeron - The scene where he visits him in Oldtown and where R goes all buddy-buddy with Gwayne (one of the only sane guys in HoTD, I swear). Daeron impresses R with his musical skills and takes him to see Tessarion (who is happy to play the part of a big puppy - like rolling around on its back and bearing its belly to get free scratches 😉).

Where Dragons Dare (Lost Chapters)

- Summary: Unrecorded moments with each of your children, that no Maester will ever write about.

- Paring: father!reader/targ!children (platonic)

- Note: Since this was regarding your previous request that was turned into three part series, I've made an exception for you. Enjoy. ❤️

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: 3/3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

You stride through the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep, the evening air heavy with the scent of incense and wine from the feast held in your honor. A king’s life is one of constant vigilance, not only for the realm but also for your own blood. The weight of your crown and responsibilities settles upon your shoulders, the unspoken burdens of the Iron Throne. It is a life you have come to accept. 

But not everyone does. 

The clink of armor catches your attention, and you hear a hushed voice speaking to one of the guards near the side entrance. You already know what you will find before you round the corner. Aegon—your eldest son, your heir—is once again trying to sneak into the keep after a night in the lower city. His form, slightly slouched, leaning against the doorway, makes it clear that his night's indulgences have taken their toll.

You sigh softly, but there is no malice in it. This is not the first time. It won’t be the last.

"Aegon," your voice, even and steady, cuts through the stillness of the night, causing your son to stiffen. He turns slowly, his eyes glassy, yet there is a flicker of recognition. His silver hair, unkempt, falls into his face as he gives you a sheepish smile, one that reminds you so much of his mother when she tries to conceal her worries. 

"Father," he mumbles, straightening himself as much as his state will allow. He’s a prince of the blood, but in this moment, he looks like nothing more than a wayward boy caught in the act.

"Walk with me," you say simply, motioning for him to follow. There's no need for a reprimand, not yet. You both know where this conversation is headed. You step into the open air, out onto one of the quieter terraces that overlook the city below.

Aegon follows, his steps slightly uneven, but he doesn't protest. The two of you stand there for a moment, the distant sounds of King's Landing below humming in the background. The city never truly sleeps, much like a king’s responsibilities. 

After a while, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You’ve been out drinking again."

Aegon leans on the stone balustrade, staring at the lights flickering in the darkness. "It’s not like anyone missed me," he mutters, his voice heavy with bitterness. "I’m no good at all this. What does it matter?"

"It matters because you’re the future king," you reply, your tone calm but firm. "Your actions don’t only reflect on yourself; they reflect on the crown, on our family."

At this, Aegon snorts softly, his lip curling into a sardonic smile. "Aegon the Unready, that’s what they’ll call me," he mutters, almost to himself. "They all expect me to be like you. I’ll never be that. I can barely stand the weight of their stares, let alone a crown."

There is silence for a moment, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below. The firelight dances across the sharp planes of your son’s face, making him seem older than he is, and yet still so young. You can see the weight of expectation, the fear of failure, all of it etched into his features. 

You step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, the familiar comfort of a father’s touch. "I wasn’t always certain either," you admit, the words carrying the weight of your own journey to the throne. "When I was young, I doubted myself just as you do now."

Aegon looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. It’s rare for you to speak of your own vulnerabilities. You are the king—stoic, dutiful, unwavering. But tonight, you let that mask slip, if only for your son.

"You don’t need to be me," you say quietly. "You need to find your own way. Being king isn’t about perfection. It’s about responsibility, about understanding that you carry the hopes and fears of an entire realm on your shoulders. And yes, sometimes it’s heavy. But that’s why we’re here—to bear it, so others don’t have to."

Aegon’s gaze falls to the ground, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone railing. "I’m not sure I can," he admits after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to fail you."

Your heart clenches at the vulnerability in his words, the rawness of his fear. You step closer, turning to face him fully. "You won’t," you say firmly. "Not as long as you’re willing to try. You will make mistakes, we all do, but that’s part of the journey. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, Aegon, always."

His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you see not just the rebellion, not just the stubbornness, but the uncertainty and the longing for approval. He is so much like you were at his age, fighting against the very things that would one day define him.

"You’ve always been there for me," he says, his voice softer now, more introspective. "I just…I don’t want to be a disappointment."

"You’re not," you reply, without hesitation. "And you never will be. You will grow into this role, just as I did, just as many before us have. But it takes time. You will find your way, but you must be willing to take the first steps. Recklessness won’t serve you well when you sit on the throne."

Aegon nods, swallowing hard. He’s listening now, really listening. You can feel the shift in him, the internal battle as he begins to process your words. His posture relaxes just slightly, and he looks at you with a newfound respect.

"I look at you," he says quietly, "and I see what a king should be. You always know what to do. How did you learn?"

You smile faintly, the memories of your own trials and lessons flickering in your mind. "By making mistakes. By learning from them. And by trusting in those who love me. You’ll learn too, Aegon. But you have to start by taking responsibility for your actions. If you want to be a good king, you have to be a good man first."

He nods again, more resolutely this time. There’s still doubt in his eyes, but also something else—a spark of determination, a glimmer of hope.

"I’ll try," he says, the words holding more weight than any drunken apology ever could.

"I know you will," you reply, squeezing his shoulder one last time before stepping back. "But for now, let’s get you to bed. You can begin to prove yourself tomorrow."

As you guide your son back into the castle, you feel the familiar pull of duty and love intertwine within you. The road ahead will not be easy for Aegon, just as it wasn’t easy for you. But tonight, at least, a small part of that path has been cleared, and your son—your heir—is beginning to take his first steps toward the man he will one day become.

The warm, humid air of the jungle clings to your skin as you lead Helaena through the dense foliage, her excitement as palpable as the buzz of insects that fills the air around you. She’s always been different from her siblings—quiet, introspective, but with a mind that sees wonders where others see only the mundane. Today, her joy is infectious, and as you glance over your shoulder, you see her eyes wide with fascination, darting from tree to tree in search of her beloved bugs.

"Father, look!" she exclaims, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She crouches down, her slender fingers delicately picking up a beetle with iridescent wings, the colors shifting from emerald to sapphire in the dappled sunlight that pierces through the canopy above.

You smile at her, marveling at how her joy lights up the whole forest, making even the most alien surroundings feel like home. "That’s a beautiful one," you say, stepping closer to inspect her latest find. "What do you suppose it eats?"

Helaena tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she watches the beetle crawl over her hand. "I think it feeds on nectar from the flowers," she muses, "or maybe the sap from the trees. Look at the way its legs move—so delicate, but strong."

You crouch beside her, nodding as you study the small creature. "You could be right. You always know more about these things than I do." Your tone is light, teasing, but there’s truth in your words. Helaena’s understanding of the natural world has always been beyond her years, her connection to it deep and mysterious.

The two of you continue your journey deeper into the jungle, the air growing thicker with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Vines drape lazily from towering trees, and the occasional call of a bird echoes in the distance. Helaena moves with purpose, her gaze constantly scanning the ground, the trees, the air above for any new creatures she hasn’t yet discovered.

"Do you think there are bugs in Essos that no one in Westeros has ever seen?" she asks suddenly, her voice filled with a childlike wonder that makes you smile.

"I’m sure of it," you reply, pushing aside a low-hanging branch to let her pass. "That’s why we came here, isn’t it? To find something new, something no one’s ever written about in their tomes or sung about in their songs. Maybe you’ll discover the most magnificent bug the world’s ever seen."

Helaena beams up at you, her lavender eyes shimmering with excitement. "And I’ll name it after you," she says with a giggle, skipping ahead a few paces. "A beetle, maybe, or a butterfly—something regal."

You chuckle at the thought, shaking your head. "I can’t think of anything less regal than a bug named after me. But if anyone could make it sound important, it’s you."

The laughter between the two of you echoes through the trees, light and easy, as you continue on your way. You’re not following any particular path—there are no roads here, no guides to lead you. Just the two of you, father and daughter, on an adventure through the wilds of Essos.

As you step over a moss-covered log, you glance back at Helaena to see her crouching low again, examining a cluster of bright red flowers. Her fascination with the natural world has always been a source of pride for you, something that sets her apart in a family so often consumed by politics and power. Out here, in the quiet of the jungle, she’s in her element.

You’re so focused on her that you don’t notice the thick root winding through the underbrush until it’s too late. Your foot catches, and before you can catch yourself, you’re tumbling forward, arms flailing as you lose your balance. You hit the ground with a soft thud, landing squarely on your backside.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then—

Helaena bursts into laughter, the sound bright and musical, like the ringing of silver bells. She clutches her sides, doubling over as the laughter shakes her small frame, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"Father!" she manages to gasp between fits of giggles. "You—you tripped on a root!"

You sit there for a moment, stunned, before letting out a laugh of your own. "Apparently, your father is no match for a jungle root," you say, shaking your head as you sit up, brushing leaves from your clothes. "I was so busy watching you, I forgot to watch where I was going."

Helaena, still laughing, steps over to you and offers a hand, her grin wide and infectious. "Here, let me help you up, Father. You’ve fallen in the dirt like one of your regal bugs."

You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet, though it’s more symbolic than anything—she’s small and slender, and you mostly stand up on your own. Still, the gesture warms your heart, and you smile down at her.

"I suppose even kings can fall every now and then," you say, brushing off the last of the dirt from your breeches. "Especially when they’re distracted by a daughter who’s far too clever for her own good."

Helaena’s laughter finally subsides, though her smile remains, bright and full of affection. "I’m just glad I was here to see it," she says, her voice teasing but sweet. "I’ll have to remember this next time Aegon or Aemond try to act all serious."

You raise an eyebrow at her, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. "Oh? Are you planning on using this against me?"

She shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe. It depends on how much I need to bargain with them next time."

The two of you share another laugh, and the moment feels light, easy—like the weight of the crown and the responsibilities you both bear have been left far behind in Westeros, forgotten in the simplicity of a jungle trek and shared laughter.

As you continue walking, you let Helaena lead, her steps more confident now as she moves through the underbrush. The jungle is alive with sound—chirping insects, rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen animals—and you find yourself marveling at how small and vast the world can feel all at once.

"Father," Helaena says after a while, her tone more thoughtful now, "thank you for bringing me here. I know there are more important things you could be doing back home, but…this means a lot to me."

You smile at her, feeling a swell of pride and affection. "There’s nothing more important than spending time with you, Helaena. The realm can wait a few days. Besides, I think we’ve both learned something valuable today—like how to avoid tree roots."

She giggles again, but there’s warmth in her eyes, the kind of warmth that makes you realize just how precious these moments are. The crown may be heavy, the throne demanding, but here, in the jungles of Essos, it’s just you and your daughter, sharing an adventure neither of you will ever forget.

"Now," you say, clapping your hands together as you glance around at the trees towering above, "shall we see what other exotic bugs we can find? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me falling on my backside this time?"

Helaena grins, her face lighting up with renewed excitement. "Let’s!" she says, darting ahead into the greenery, her laughter trailing behind her as you follow, ready for whatever adventure lies ahead.

The halls of the Red Keep seemed quieter than usual today. It was a rare stillness, the kind that hung heavy with unspoken tension. You could sense something had happened, though no one had yet brought it to your attention. You had spent much of the afternoon in the library, pouring over old maps of the Narrow Sea, but something in the air felt wrong.

As you rounded the corner toward the private wing where your children’s chambers lay, you heard faint sniffling. The sound was quiet, but unmistakable. You quickened your pace and followed the sound until you found Aemond, sitting alone on the cold stone floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His face was buried, but even from this distance, you could tell he had been crying.

"Aemond?" you called softly, kneeling beside him. "What’s happened?"

Aemond looked up at you, and your heart sank at the sight of his tear-streaked face. His usual stern, stoic expression was gone, replaced by vulnerability, the kind only a young boy trying so hard to be a man could wear.

"It’s nothing, Father," he muttered, wiping furiously at his eyes, though the gesture did little to hide the redness.

You sit beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Something has upset you, and I would like to know what it is."

For a moment, Aemond says nothing, as if weighing whether or not to burden you with whatever weighs on him. But eventually, his resolve crumbles, and he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s them. Jace, Luke...and Aegon. They—they played a trick on me."

You feel a tightening in your chest. You had heard rumblings before of the teasing that occasionally happened between your sons and your sister Rhaenyra’s sons, but this felt different. There was something more painful in Aemond’s voice.

"What kind of trick?" you ask gently, though you already have a sinking suspicion about what might have occurred.

Aemond’s cheeks flush with shame as he looks away. "They—they told me they had a dragon for me," he begins slowly, each word weighed with embarrassment. "I’ve always wanted one, and I thought… maybe this time…"

His voice trails off, and you feel your heart break for him. You know how much Aemond has longed for a dragon of his own, how he watches his siblings and cousins with their dragons, envy and longing etched into his every glance. 

"They said it was waiting for me," he continues, his voice shaking. "So I went to the dragon pit. I was so excited, Father. I thought—maybe, finally—" His breath hitches as fresh tears well in his eyes, but he quickly wipes them away, trying to be strong.

"And then I saw it," he says bitterly. "A pig. They dressed up a pig and called it the 'Pink Dread.' They were all laughing, all of them, even Aegon."

A cold anger flares in your chest at the cruelty of the prank. You can picture it all too easily: Aegon and the boys snickering behind Aemond’s back as he approached the animal, thinking, for one precious moment, that his dream had finally come true. You know how deeply this would have cut Aemond, how much it hurt him to be humiliated in front of his family. But for now, you push that anger aside. This moment is about Aemond, not them.

"Come here," you say softly, pulling Aemond into your arms. He resists at first, too proud to cry in front of you, but after a moment, he lets himself lean into you, his small frame trembling as he clutches at your tunic.

You stroke his hair, the familiar silver strands soft beneath your fingers. "I’m sorry that happened to you, Aemond," you whisper, your voice full of warmth and understanding. "That was cruel, and you didn’t deserve it."

He pulls back slightly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "They all have dragons," he says, his voice thick with frustration. "Why not me? Why am I the only one without one?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. "Sometimes, life doesn’t seem fair," you say honestly. "It can feel like the things we want most are the things we’re denied, no matter how hard we wish for them."

Aemond looks up at you, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "But one day, Aemond," you continue, your voice full of quiet conviction, "you will have a dragon of your own. I know it. And when you do, you’ll be a better rider than any of them, because you’ve waited. You’ve longed for it. That’s something they’ll never understand."

He listens intently, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words settle in. "And you know," you add with a smile, "if you ever did have a dragon that was pink, you could give it a name far more fitting than they ever imagined."

Aemond blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

You lean in conspiratorially, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Think about it. A pink dragon, breathing fire, soaring over the battlefield. No one would laugh then. And you could call it the 'Pink Dread'—a name that would strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. They would hear it and tremble, knowing what it meant."

For the first time, a small smile pulls at Aemond’s lips. The idea takes root in his mind, and you can see his imagination sparking to life. "The Pink Dread," he murmurs, as if testing the words. "That… that would be funny. No one would laugh at a pink dragon breathing fire."

You nod, your heart warming at the sight of his growing confidence. "Exactly. They may laugh now, but one day, you’ll be the one laughing."

Aemond looks up at you, his blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you see a younger version of yourself reflected in him. The same yearning, the same fierce determination to prove oneself, the same frustration at being left behind while others surged ahead. You had been that boy once, trying to find your place, trying to prove you were worthy.

"I see a lot of myself in you, Aemond," you say softly, your voice filled with quiet pride. "When I was your age, I often felt the same way. I watched others get what I longed for, and it made me feel… less. But it didn’t stay that way forever. And it won’t for you either."

Aemond frowns slightly, looking down at the ground. "You were like me?"

You chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. "More than you might think. I wasn’t always so sure of myself. It takes time, but you’ll find your way, Aemond. You’ll grow into your own, just like I did. And when you do, there will be no one more capable than you."

Aemond’s small smile widens slightly, the last traces of tears fading from his eyes. "I’ll remember that, Father," he says, a quiet strength returning to his voice.

You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You are strong, Aemond. Stronger than you know. And one day, the world will see that too."

As you sit there with him, the warmth of the Red Keep surrounding you both, you know that the sting of today’s prank will fade, but the lessons Aemond is learning now—about resilience, about strength, about finding his place in the world—will shape him into the man he will one day become. And you will be there, guiding him, as he grows into the prince, and the dragonrider, you know he is destined to be.

It had been far too long since you’d visited Oldtown, and the excitement of seeing Daeron again filled you with anticipation. His letters had spoken highly of his time here, his training, and how much he had grown, but there was nothing quite like seeing it for yourself.

The familiar scent of saltwater from the Whispering Sound mixed with the spices and perfumes of the bustling city as you made your way through its cobbled streets. Your memories of Oldtown were filled with childhood games, racing through the alleyways, and the company of old friends. One of those friends, you knew, was waiting for you just inside the Hightower.

As you passed through the gates, you saw him: Gwayne Hightower, your childhood companion and steadfast friend. He stood tall, wearing the colors of House Hightower, a broad smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you.

"Your Grace!" Gwayne called out, his arms open in welcome as he walked toward you with the easy confidence that only an old friend could have. "I was wondering when we’d see you again."

You smiled broadly, clasping his forearm in a firm handshake before pulling him into a warm embrace. "Gwayne, it’s been far too long," you said, clapping him on the back before stepping back to look at him. "You haven’t changed a bit."

Gwayne chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I could say the same of you, but we both know a crown has its way of changing a man."

You smirked, shaking your head. "Perhaps, but Oldtown doesn’t. It feels like I’m stepping back into my youth."

"And that’s just what Daeron’s been waiting for," Gwayne said, his voice filled with pride. "He’s been practicing something special for your arrival."

The two of you made your way into the Hightower, exchanging stories of the years gone by. Gwayne filled you in on Daeron’s progress, not only in his studies but in his musical pursuits, something that had come as a surprise to you when you’d first heard of it. Daeron had always been a quiet boy, thoughtful and dutiful, but you hadn’t expected him to take to music with such dedication.

As you entered one of the private chambers, there he was—Daeron, your youngest son, sitting with a lute in his hands. His bright eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly set the instrument aside to rise and bow.

"Father," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I’m so glad you’re here."

You smiled, stepping forward to pull him into a quick embrace. "It’s good to see you, Daeron. I’ve been looking forward to this visit."

Daeron stepped back, a hint of shyness in his expression, but there was also pride. "I’ve been practicing," he said, gesturing to the harp behind him. "Would you like to hear?"

"Of course," you said, sitting down as Gwayne settled in beside you, both of you eager to see how much Daeron had improved.

Daeron returned to his seat, his fingers brushing the strings of the lute with ease. The melody that filled the room was soft at first, delicate and sweet, but soon it grew into something more complex, full of emotion and depth. His fingers moved skillfully, the notes flowing effortlessly across from the lute, creating a sound that was both soothing and captivating.

You watched him closely, impressed by the concentration and passion in his playing. He had grown so much, not just in skill, but in confidence. When he finished, the last note lingering in the air, you clapped your hands together, beaming with pride.

"That was beautiful, Daeron," you said earnestly. "You’ve improved so much. I never knew you had such a talent."

Daeron blushed slightly but smiled, pleased with your approval. "Thank you, Father. I’ve been practicing every day. It helps me focus."

Gwayne leaned over, grinning. "He’s the pride of Oldtown, your Grace. Everyone speaks of his music as much as his dragon."

At the mention of Tessarion, Daeron’s eyes brightened even more. "Speaking of which, would you like to see her?"

"I wouldn’t miss it," you said, standing and motioning for him to lead the way.

The three of you made your way through the halls of the Hightower and out toward the dragon stable where Tessarion was kept. As you walked, Daeron talked animatedly about his time in Oldtown, how much he had learned, and how attached he had become to his dragon. You could hear the excitement in his voice, and it warmed your heart to see him so full of life and purpose.

When you reached the stable, you were greeted by the sight of Tessarion, her blue and silver scales gleaming in the soft light of dusk. She was still small by dragon standards, no larger than a large horse, but she had a regal air about her. However, that air of regalness disappeared the moment she saw Daeron.

With an excited rumble, Tessarion bounded toward him, her wings fluttering slightly as she lowered her head and rolled onto her back, exposing her soft underbelly in a clear plea for scratches. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—this mighty dragon, one day destined to be a force to be reckoned with, now behaving more like a playful pup than a creature of legend.

Daeron laughed too, kneeling beside her and rubbing her belly with both hands, her tail thumping happily against the ground.

"She’s just like a dog!" you exclaimed, amusement bubbling in your chest.

"She likes to be scratched here," Daeron said, his voice full of affection as he rubbed Tessarion’s side. "She’s still young, but she’ll grow big and strong. One day, she’ll be the fiercest dragon in all the realm."

"That, I have no doubt," you replied, watching as Tessarion nuzzled into Daeron’s hand, her eyes half-closed in contentment.

You knelt beside Daeron, reaching out to touch Tessarion’s shimmering scales. Her hide was warm under your palm, her breathing slow and steady as she basked in the affection. "She’s a beauty, Daeron. You should be proud."

"I am," Daeron said quietly, glancing at you. "She’s my closest friend."

There was something in his voice, a depth of connection between boy and dragon that was rare and powerful. You had seen it with your other children and their dragons, but with Daeron and Tessarion, it felt different. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that ran deep.

You smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "She’ll be a great dragon, Daeron, and you’ll be a great rider. Tessarion’s lucky to have you."

"And I’m lucky to have her," Daeron replied, his hand never leaving her side.

For a while, the three of you sat there in the dragonpit, Tessarion’s soft rumbles the only sound in the still evening air. The world seemed far away, the troubles of the realm forgotten in the warmth of family and the comfort of an old friend.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Oldtown in shades of gold and pink, you looked at Daeron, filled with pride at the man he was becoming. He had found his place here, among his studies, his music, and his dragon. He had grown into himself, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held for him.

"Thank you for bringing me here," you said quietly, your voice filled with affection. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."

Daeron smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "I’ve missed you too, Father. I’m glad you’re here."

And as Tessarion rolled over onto her side, thumping her tail against the ground with contentment, you realized that moments like this—simple, peaceful moments with your children—were worth more than any crown or throne.

[vaokses]

A ghost to its haunt (Pirtir, Ch.2)

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You set off ahead of your family towards King's Landing, attempting to escape the restlessness that overtook you as the day your betrothal is to be announced draws nearer. You find yourself a witness to what has become of the people you once knew as the King summons you all for dinner.

Word Count: 6.2k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Viserys is a terrible father, but you knew that already. Helaena is a dragonrider and has a close bond with Dreamfyre, the show can fuck right off.

A/N: Very little of Aegon here, I'm sorry. I promise next chapter will be more exciting. I hope you enjoy!

Title is from a diary entry by Virginia Woolf, "I come home - and I have a feeling returning like a ghost to its haunt."

Your hand caresses bronze scales as you come to stand on solid ground, and you find yourself fighting the instinct to command Vermithor to take you to the skies again as you face the awaiting party. 

You had hoped that if you were to arrive days before you were set to do so with the rest of your family, they wouldn’t have enough time to make a spectacle out of your arrival. 

Then again, a century-old dragon is perhaps not the best means of transport if you intend to catch them off guard. 

And so there they stand, the Lord Hand, his daughter the Queen, and the three of her children that still live in King’s Landing. 

You aren’t sure what it is you were expecting, but it certainly was not this. You seem to remember them wrong. All of them. 

The spirited even if demure Queen of your memories, of angry eyes and fingers gripping a knife and demanding retribution; has left in her place a shadow of herself, a woman of tired eyes that offers an almost sorrowful smile as she greets you. The anger though, the anger remains. 

The boy you last saw fighting back tears and putting on a brave face as the maesters treated his wound, stands tall as a man of his own right, wound hidden away behind an eyepatch and any of the humanity of your youth absent in his piecing stare. 

Aegon is no less a stranger. Though a mask of him remains, much like the casts of corpses the families of Old Valyria used to make to keep in their homes, the boy you knew once, capricious and uncaring about the legacy or future of any of it; seems to have died since you last saw him, leaving behind something you don’t entirely recognize. Gone is the heedlessness and imprudence of your shared youth, leaving in place something like wariness, like resignation. 

He seemed more spirited, livelier, when you were younger. You suppose you didn’t see then that he has his mother’s eyes -the anger, yes, but also the sorrow-, you didn’t notice then that he too shares in what seems a trait of his family of being uneasy in their own skin.

Your eyes meet, and though you find yourself with so much to say, you were taught better than to speak your mind, you know better by now than to let your heart get ahead of yourself. And neither the reproaches of it being his fault that you are to once again lose your home, nor anything else, something perhaps more foolish and far more careless, leave your lips.

Aegon looks back at you, eyes slightly wide in uncertainty and something else, something like expectation, and though for a moment you think he is to say something, lips parted forming for a moment in what you swear is the beginning of your name; he adjusts in his place, and looks away from you.

Finally, in a sea of strangers, there is a familiar face. Helaena looks familiar, feels familiar. Big eyes are fixed on you, though when your own gaze finds hers, she looks away. A smile, kind and warm and exactly as you remember, curves at her lips, and it gives you the impulse -the courage, the strength- you needed to approach them. 

The pleasantries leave your lips with ease after you exchange your greetings, “Such a welcome was not necessary, though I am grateful for your kindness.” 

“What was possible considering the…short notice of your arrival. It is essential for the people of King’s Landing to see you are welcome here, Princess.” The Hand states, each word chosen carefully. They can’t afford for the people and the Great Houses to think you a hostage, is what he means. 

It is Aemond who steps forward then, before you can even utter an answer, hands joined behind his back, head held high even if for a moment it faintly bows in greeting. It seems he gauges you for a moment, as who plans his next step on a board game, eye narrowing before he adds,  

“So as not to let them confuse your standing with your brothers’.” 

You swear you can hear Otto Hightower heave a sigh at his grandson’s words. 

Resigned, but with practiced familiarity after over a year spent in hostile territory, you fix your stance and return his words in kind. 

“Surely my brothers are as welcome here as I am.” 

“Hm. It just happens it is not a fair comparison, between my…dear nephews and you.” 

You are as much of a bastard as your brothers, and you are certain he knows, for his mother is no idiot, and must have put together the coincidence of your conception happening during Daemon’s short stay in King’s Landing after your mother and Laenor’s wedding. And anything Alicent knows, she feeds to her sons, or so has Lady Mysaria warned you. 

You would rather believe it is the slights your brothers committed against him, and the fraught nature of their relations, what leads him to see them as lesser than you, and not the thinness of their blood. You’d rather deal with vindictiveness than hypocrisy. 

“In your eyes, and the eyes of your family, perhaps,” You remind him. “Not the eyes of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. That I can assure you.” 

And it is no lie. You didn’t spend twenty months in foreign lands and sleeping in unfamiliar beds, drinking watered-down wine and eating overcooked duck, for your brothers’ legitimacy to be as challenged as it was before. 

“It was not the people of the Seven Kingdoms who built this dynasty, niece. Our family did.” He argues, now in your native Valyrian. It pulls at an old part of your heart when Aemond speaks confidently High Valyrian, it makes proud the girl that would let the candles burn until they died out sitting by him and practicing the intricacies of your native tongue.  

There’s a hint of a smile playing at your lips, for at his threat that it is the will and power of the men of your bloodline that can set the future of the inheritance, yours or your brothers’, you can answer with a threat of your own, 

“No, dragons did.” 

As if another part of this conversation, as if to serve as a reminder, Vermithor rumbles a low call, diverting your uncle’s attention to him. A clipped little hm leaves Aemond’s lips as he gazes upon the Bronze Fury, for the first time since you last saw each other in Driftmark years ago. 

You feel the slow breath of warm air leaving the old dragon’s nose, it warms your hands, carefully joined behind your back. From the corner of your eye, you see Helaena’s smile at the sight of him, so alike the smile you saw brightening her face the few times you took to the skies together in your youth. 

You know, though you dread to, that you are to command Vermithor to leave you behind, to occupy his place in the Dragonpit, but you hesitate. 

You first stepped into the Dragonpit many years ago, long before you claimed Vermithor, to meet Dreamfyre, and then Sunfyre, which Aegon insisted you did after hearing his sister had taken you to see her own dragon. You were but children, and the Pit seemed another world entirely, cavernous and strong and other, but now you look upon them and see nothing but stone, carved by men, for men, to soothe themselves thinking they control fire made flesh. 

You say nothing, instead turning around and looking into familiar bronze eyes. Vermithor’s answering rumble for a moment seems to imitate the shrill song Silverwing often directs at their eggs, and without another wasted moment he takes to the skies and towards the outskirts of the city, away from the Pit and towards the Kingswood. 

“Dreamfyre knows he is here. She has missed them,” Helaena mutters quietly, watching him fly away and shifting in her place, as if the she-dragon’s restlessness is her own. “They were one, once. They should have remained so.” 

You hum in agreement, watching the bronze dragon force the clouds to part for him.  

“Much like you and I, they were side by side almost since they hatched, no?” 

You turn to her with a smile, but the sharp gaze of the Queen keeps you from saying anything else or from deviating your attention from her. 

“Princess. You flew here.” Queen Alicent points out, something like accusation lacing her tone. 

You refuse to let your smile falter as you look upon the Queen and answer, “Any journey is made more entertaining, not to mention shorter, on dragonback, Your Grace.” 

“Eager, then?” 

“Restless.” 

“Ah,” She nods, dark eyes trailing over your body from head to toe. “Must be why you come dressed for battle, then.” 

You wear nothing too different from what any dragonrider would, and of course in your mother’s colors, but you won’t deny the dark chainmail over your sleeves, or the metal corset clinging to the red and black fabric, though subtle, are meant to resemble armor. It was a gift from your half-sister, readied for when your tour had meant to include King’s Landing. 

“Dressed for a long flight, nothing more. I’m sure any of your children, all experienced dragonriders, would understand.” You answer, ready to force them into the conversation in order to avoid an ambush. 

“A dress does make flying uncomfortable,” Helaena provides, as kind as you remember. Her gaze flickers to you, and she murmurs, so quietly it is almost silent, “A cloak for war, lies for battle.” 

___ 

Merely an hour after your arrival -barely giving you any time to reach the Keep in the carriage, much less settle in what you are told are to be your apartments-they send your handmaidens a message, instructing them to ready you for dinner, for the King is awake and well, and wishes to welcome you as the pain from his illness prevented him from doing this morning. 

The two handmaidens assigned to you -as yours must be somewhere in Blackwater Bay by now, making the trip here with the rest of your family- busy themselves without even a prompt from you, one tending to you in your bath and the other setting to straightening and readying the dress you brought with you on Vermithor’s saddle, along with a few other essentials.  

You count on your family to bring what else you might need, along with the rest of your clothes and jewels, with them when they arrive on their boats. It is a practiced routine by now, after so long travelling on Vermithor, to take with you only what is most important while a day or two later the rest of the servants bring the rest. 

“Is this…common? For my grandsire to attend dinner with all of them?” You ask one of the handmaidens as she brushes a conditioning cream onto your hair. 

You do not care about the routines in the Keep, that isn’t why you are asking. You want to know the kind of women they have assigned to serve you, as you did whenever you traveled ahead of your own handmaidens during your tour. 

“As any family meets as one for supper, Princess, so does the King’s.” 

These girls are terrible liars. 

You are surprised to find Princess Helaena waiting outside your apartments when you are leaving them to join supper. She stands tall, expression carefully void of any tells, and greets you with a murmur of your name. 

Not your title, not niece, your name. Strange, that you cannot recall the last time your name was preferred, or the last time it was not uttered as a call to heel. 

You accept her strange offer and let her walk you to the dining room, handmaidens and Kingsguards in tow. 

“You are wearing red.” 

“It is our family’s color. We are blood and fire.” 

“Mother never makes me wear green.” She comments instead of offering an answer, and it is only at her words that you notice this morning, while her brothers wore dark green -almost black, but you know better-, and her mother vibrant emerald, she wore a soft blue dress with silver details. 

“This dress is beautiful, Helaena.” You tell her, admiring the greys and blues of its silk, the various designs embroidered in its sleeves. 

She lifts a loose sleeve to show you. Your eyes trail over ling insects of many legs and of odd antennas, before stopping to linger on a spider of red and black.  

“I made these.” 

“Oh, they are quite impressive,” You admit, reaching for her sleeve but stopping yourself a moment before when the Princess stiffens up at the threat of contact. Lifting your gaze, you await permission, or an explanation perhaps, but Helaena merely looks away. Even if a tad thrown off balance by her reaction, you grant her distance and continue, “Are these…real creatures? I have seen nothing like them before.” 

“I copy them from drawings, or descriptions. Grandsire gifts me books that the maesters write about the animals and insects they find in their travels,” She tells you, and for a moment you are sitting with her on the stone steps of Driftmark’s castle on that last night, that last reunion, watching the spider crawling over your hands as she tells you about its origins, about the strings her grandfather pulled to gift her this creature, both of you unaware that your brothers were fighting in the tunnels below. The memory, the unexpected nostalgia that comes with it, catch you off guard long enough that the conversation dies out. After a few beats of silence, your aunt offers, “I’ll teach you, if you want.” 

“Oh.” 

“To embroider. Not spin.” 

“I-I would love to learn, I-…” 

“He is my brother,” She interrupts you, big eyes unwavering in their intensity. She speaks with certainty, with purpose, as if these scattered sentences hold just one meaning, “Despite the rest, b-before the rest. He is my brother.” 

“I was sent here as a bride, not an assassin. Is this a warning?” You try to jest, but she loses none of the intensity, none of the…anger. 

“Yes.” Helaena promises, surprising even herself at the statement, it seems. 

Seeming to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do or how to move, she finally decides to stride into the dining room that awaits you, leaving you behind. 

___ 

Your mother was right. By the Gods, you hate to admit it, but your mother was right. You should have never ridden ahead of them.  

The painfully small gathering has arranged you all around a small table, sitting you by the King’s side with Helaena at your other side, while your uncles and the Lord Hand sit across from you in the small table. 

Granted, in your travels you scarcely found yourself dining with a family lacking tension, it is almost a condition of noble blood to hate those you share it with, but there is something else to whatever haunts the family that resides in the Keep. Errant, a thought crosses your mind, a gratefulness to your mother to have taken you from here if this was to be the outcome for you as well. 

There lingers a lifelessness that reminds you of the marble model your grandsire keeps of Old Valyria, that makes you think of them all as beasts desperately trapped in the brittle stiffness of marble figurines. 

The Queen sits as tightly coiled as a spring, jarring tiny movements, almost spasms, as she as she takes her seat next to the King; though her eyes, big and anxious, trail over you all, jumping from person to person like an anxious deer’s. Yet, neither she nor anyone else comments on any of this strangeness. Perhaps this is what is normal for her, for them. 

Helaena has made it her mission to fold her napkin into some form or another, hunched over the table to focus on her task, and refuses to deviate her attention from it; while Aegon seems to have made his mission to discover how quickly he can sight the bottom of his cup, and appears to be making faster progress to his goal with each refill from the servants. 

And Aemond is making quick progress to losing his other eye, by your hand this time, if he doesn’t cease in repeating this maddening little trick with his knife. He throws it a tiny distance so it embeds on the table, then pulls it out. Repeats this once more. Then spins the round-handled knife on his finger, one, two, three times. Back to the table, and the cycle starts again. Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish.  

“I hear you came here on your dragon. How was your journey here, Princess?” Otto Hightower asks, and whether he intended to or not he has thrown you a rope to pull yourself out of the waters. After more than a year of travel and ceaseless talks with nobles, of endless dinners and constant lies and embellishments, an exchange like this is as natural to you as it is for Daemon to wield Dark Sister. 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. 

“Quite wet, I’m afraid, my Lord Hand,” You answer, accepting a small pork tart a servant offers you. Nodding your thanks, you continue, “Vermithor enjoys the rain, and cares not for my opinion on it. If he sees a storm nearby, he’ll take us to fly right through it.” 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. By all the Gods, what use have Lord Confessors for instruments of torture when Aemond and his Gods-damned knife trick exist? 

“I told you before, my girl,” King Viserys muses with a wry chuckle. “The idea that we control them is…is an illusion.” 

“We control them no more than we control our own children,” You tell your grandsire, agreeable smile, as is expected, on your lips. “Or our parents.” 

He seems to gather a deeper meaning from your words, and where you merely meant to compare the veteran dragon that claimed you as his rider and your parents’ own protectiveness, your grandsire takes it as a reproach of sorts, based on his downturned mouth, on his furrowed brow. 

“I…I know you must still resent my decisions. I myself have come to regret them, with the years,” You are certain your confusion must be clear in your face, but he pushes forward with a grimace of pain as he leans closer. “But you are mine own, Rhaenyra. In my eyes, know that none of them could even compare, you must kn-…” 

Queen Alicent interrupts him with a quiet whisper of his name and her hand resting on his shoulder, but you hear the unspoken words as if a dragon had roared them, as does everyone in the room, you are certain.  

You venture to look to your right and find Helaena hunched over the table, both elbows resting besides her plate, and fiddling with her napkin, still attempting to fold it into some shape or another, and unaware of or unwilling to react to her father’s words. But you notice the way she has made herself smaller, the way her shoulders are hunched up almost to her ears, and you feel your heart break a little. 

Prince Aemond is still relentlessly toying with the knife, but where the movements were practiced now they have a certain jitteriness to them, as if the repetitive motions are no longer the result of idleness, but of restlessness. It reminds you of the anxious flicks of Vermithor’s tail when he grows agitated. 

The only one immobile is Aegon. 

He is as still as a stone statue, arms extended and gripping the edges of the table as if catching himself from standing up -from fleeing? Or fighting?-. His eyes -by the Gods, he truly has his mother’s eyes-, wide in shock and shame and something older than himself, remain trained on the table before him. 

A breath, stuttered and shallow, and his gaze lifts to his father. Pain, disgust, and somewhere in them you could swear there is also rage. You’ve seen trapped wolves with that look, you’ve seen cornered snakes with that look. 

“Rhaenyra isn’t here, my love,” Alicent tells the King, “She will join us in a day’s time, to announce her daughter’s betrothal to Aegon. Remember?” 

At the reminder, as quick as a soldier standing to attention, as instinctively as if a command had been issued, Aegon’s eyes flicker to you, only to find you already looking at him. The minuscule smile he offers you is one of lips pressed into a thin line, it is bitter, it is defiant in the face of humiliation, and it is terribly sad. 

Cravenly, foolishly, you find yourself looking away. You turn to the King instead. 

“Yes, of…of course,” There’s clarity in Viserys’ eyes and his mind for a moment before the pain or the remedy for it seems to dull it once more. “Forgive me, child. You do look a mirror of your mother.” 

Your smile is a grimace but still sweet enough for your grandsire to answer with one in kind, but you find yourself stuck with no path forward, with no idea on what to make of this. What you know for certain however, is that you will forbid your handmaidens from ever again braiding your hair in the same manner your mother wears it. 

“When she came of age, I was drowning in an ever-growing sea of letters and gifts, proposals and requests for her hand,” He reminisces, nostalgia as intoxicating to his senses as the strongest of wines. “I’m sure it was no different when you did.” 

By the Gods, you want this conversation to be over, you have wanted for few things more fervently than an end to this uncomfortable and dreadful affair. 

Stiffly, carelessly, you answer, “I wouldn’t know, I refused to hear of it.” 

“Ah.” The King concedes, leaning back, disappointment and something impossibly close to grief clouding his gaze.  

With a deep breath, through gritted teeth, you force yourself to add, “W-Which she tells me she often also did, when she was my age.” 

“She resisted my every attempt to find her a match, as I’m sure she has told you,” He says, not wasting a moment to return to the bittersweet draw of memories. He lifts his cane to aim the ivory dragon your way with a smile on his lips that almost makes him have the healthier and rounder face of the grandsire you remember from your youth. Almost. “And I hear you resisted as well, and set off in your tour to make your own choice. You inherited her beauty and her temperament.” 

But you didn’t inherit her temperament, and you don’t look like her. And though you love her, you aren’t like her, in your faults and in your virtues. 

You understand, however, that it is yet another mask, another face. Some will wish to see your mother’s daughter and nothing more, and so you know that if you aim to win -and you do- that is the face you ought to show. 

“I can only hope, grandsire.” 

“It does warm this old man���s heart to know you walk willingly into this union, child,” Willingly? Your nails dig like claws onto your thighs, and from the corner of your eye you notice Helaena stop in her folding of the damn napkin and turn her gaze to you. “Despite the sacrifice it demands from you, despite the kind of man you must marry.” 

He hasn’t said his son’s name. Hasn’t even looked at him since dinner started. 

Now that you think about it, you doubt he has looked upon any of his children at all tonight. 

And he hasn’t looked at you, not really. Not without seeing the face of the daughter he lost, the daughter he failed. 

And though you ache to tell the King that were the odds to be even slightly more in your favor you would feed Aegon to Vermithor without hesitation, not in virtue of who he is but instead who he must become; and though you know what you must answer with is gratefulness for the recognition of your sacrifice, agreeable demeanor and a sweet smile; it is an old instinct, older than the one learned during your family’s self-imposed exile to Dragonstone, what decides your next words. 

“It is no sacrifice,” You tell him, lie coming naturally to you, a skill in no small part Aegon helped you develop, with all the times in your youth that you lied to cover for him. “As you might remember, we were quite close, all of us. I am glad to return here, and I could ask for no better match.” 

He knows you are lying. He is old and dying but he knows you are lying. 

At least your grandsire remains as you remember him, and will take the comfort of an empty lie over the difficult reality of truth. He smiles, a sentencing. 

“That is good to hear, sweet girl. It gives me hope that our House will remain united, able to withstand what tribulations are to come.” 

“As it should. Only a dragon can kill another. Our House is invulnerable as long as it remains one,” You agree, as is expected, as is demanded. It is unbefitting, untoward, unthinkable, to have you admit you have often thought about it all burning, breaking, crumbling. To admit you have often wished for it. “I am honored to do as expected from me, and uphold the family, the crown.” 

“You possess an admirable sense of duty, of sacrifice, Princess,” The Queen compliments, to which you know you must answer with a smile. Elbows leaning on the table, Alicent rests her chin on the back of her joined hands and asks, “Did you inherit that from your mother also?” 

The smile, as false as a vow made in wine, falls from your lips instantly. 

The Hand clears his throat, straightening in his chair, and at her direct attack there is not the calculating, almost proud look in his eye that was there the night she wielded a knife against your mother. He looks tired, disappointed and irked, but mostly tired. The look in his eyes reminds you of the Dragonkeepers in charge of herding the hatchlings. 

“We will cease with these…these quarrels at once. Otherwise, our dinners, and our lives, will feel entirely too long,” It steals the ground from under your feet, the breath from your lungs, to hear him say such a thing. A lifetime. “Prince Daeron sent word that you were able to meet with him in Oldtown during your travels, Princess.” 

Once again, The Hand saves you all, and thankfully diverts your attention from your own spiraling thoughts. 

“Yes, my Lord. He and Ser Gwayne were kind enough to take me on a few outings and show me around. As beautiful a city as I ever saw.” You tell him, and though the answer is practiced and instinctual, it is no lie. The most innocuous street a thousand years old, every stone that makes up its castle witness to a hundred battles. 

“It is a wonder.” Otto agrees. 

You should bite your tongue, until it bleeds if you must, you know you should. But you didn’t inherit your mother’s temperament, and you want to remind them. Foolishly, recklessly, you want to remind them that you do not run when cornered. 

So you add, “One must thank the Gods that your ancestor had the good sense to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. It would have been a shame for such a wonder, such a House, to burn.” 

“How fortunate the Hightowers are, then,” Aemond drums a short little beat with his fingers on the table, drawing the attention to himself. “That of the dragons capable of such destruction, only Vhagar remains.” 

“Yes, marvelous creature that she is. Yet long past her prime,” You retort. “In all her might, Vhagar is a relic of days sadly gone from us.” 

“Hm.” Another drum of his fingers on the table, and though he is still a stranger, you notice the clear tell of anger on him, a twitch on his lip, the slightest widening of his eye. You’ve seen Dragonkeepers with decades of experience burned to ash for the simple mistake of not heeding the creature’s warnings. 

You will gain nothing from antagonizing him, and while you may amuse yourself by prodding to see what it is that makes him tick, you are aware Aemond remains a weapon you ought to be careful not to see turned at you. 

In your months travelling through Westeros, entertaining conversations with Lords and Ladies from the most brilliant to the dullest, from the most hostile to the meekest, you have learned almost everyone has exposed nerves. Most are aware of them, and attempt to guard them, as you yourself have attempted to guard your own over the years. 

Others, in arrogance or desperation, find themselves unable to. And while your grandsire’s need for peace -perhaps not peace, but merely the absence of conflict, not an extinguished forest fire, but a land devoid of air, where not even embers might linger alive- was something you expected would be easy to learn was his weakness, you are surprised by how swiftly you understand pride is Aemond’s. 

“I have not seen you ride her in years, I fear neither my memories nor the stories I have heard must do either of you justice now, after so long bonded,” You admit, false sweetness twining with honest admiration. “Once I am settled here, would you take me to see her, uncle? We could fly together.” 

You would think a praise as plain as those extended to some Lord or another during your travels, a request as simple as this, would not so easily disarm him, but it seems to. 

A twitch of his mouth, as if he stops himself from giving a quicker answer, and Aemond leans back in his seat. A retreat.  

Another drum of his fingers on the table, but there’s a nervousness to the movement now, and you fight for control to keep the smug smile off your lips. 

“Of course, Princess.” 

You bow your head and mutter a quick kirimvose, and catch yourself slipping, offering an honest smile. A part of you, still the child that would linger long after the candles had started to die out practicing Valyrian with a book recounting the Conquest, is still filled with awe at the mere thought of Visenya’s dragon. 

And the part of you that felt her blood sing when Daemon made you take flight with him on Caraxes and Vermithor and taught you all he could of how to lead a dragon during war, during a true dance, wants more than little else for a chance to prove yourself against the Queen of All Dragons and her rider. 

“A most excellent suggestion, sweet girl,” The King praises. “Two of the oldest living dragons, the two branches of our House, flying as one again. It will remind the Realm we stand as one.” 

Must everything be for the good of the Realm, to send a message? Must everything be for appearances’ sake? You merely wanted Aemond and his hoary dragon to be reminded you and the Bronze Fury remain faster, better. 

Reminding yourself to play, and desperate to close any openings these people might find, you search for a shield. 

“I have dearly missed the musicians from King’s Landing. Many fond memories of my youth involve their melodies,” You announce, entirely more chipper than you have ever been naturally. Turning to the King, you prompt, “If you please, grandsire?” 

He acquiesces, and orders the music start with a slight cough at the end of his words. He reaches with a clammy, cold hand and squeezes your fingers once before letting go. 

Strangely, perhaps in the most bizarre interaction you’ve had since arriving, you find the Lord Hand regard you quietly and offer you a nod when your eyes meet, as if approving.  

With your future betrothed seemingly intent on ignoring you and Aemond back to his maddening little game with his knife -it is strange, that even in such distinct actions and attitudes, the brothers remind you in the same way of the lions the Lannisters of Casterly Rock presented to you when you arrived, and the incessant circles the poor beasts would pace, forsaking food and water to keep up the mad repetition their time in captivity had impressed in them-; you find yourself with no remaining choice but to bother sweet Helaena. 

“Are dinners in the Keep usually…like this?” 

Like a castle a stone away from crumbling to dust, like a barrel leaking oil next to an open flame. Like an open wound, dug into by uncaring, rotten fingers. 

“No. The pain makes father sleep a lot, so he doesn’t join us. Grandsire is always too busy to attend,” She tells you, intent on achieving on the folded napkin the perfect angle for what you know is a dragon. “And usually no one talks to me.” 

“Oh.” 

She taps the dragon’s snout once, twice, to further correct its position. Looks at it for a few beats of silence, studying it. 

“I hope that changes with you here again. I haven’t had a sister before.” 

Though her wording is strange, it is no different from the way the girl you remember from your childhood used to speak. You allow yourself a smile, honest for once, “Neither have I.” 

“You have Baela and Rhaena,” She argues without thinking, before her eyes widen and rise to meet yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“No use in lying to you, is there?” 

She breathes a warm little laugh, but ducks her head, even as she admits, “Everyone still tries.” 

“I can assure you it is not meant as a personal offense, Helaena,” You promise her, “To many it becomes an instinct. It is no longer a choice they can make.” 

Her brow twitches, as if something bothers her, and she does a miniscule shake of her head as if to rid it of something. Instead of sharing thoughts you are certain are itching to be voiced, Helaena presents the napkin dragon to you. 

You take it with careful hands, and bow your head with murmured, yet heartfelt, thanks. 

___ 

Dismissed from what you are certain has been the longest dinner of your entire existence, you walk with Helaena to your room, your handmaidens having gone ahead of you to ready each of your rooms. 

In your hand the cloth dragon is carefully cradled, and you muse aloud about where it is you will place it. 

“Rhaenyra taught me to make these. I used to make them daily for father, for him to put next to his marble ones,” Helaena reminisces, “He discarded every one of them. Aemond found them one day, tried to hide them so I wouldn’t know.” 

“I take it he didn’t succeed.” 

“My brothers are terrible at hiding things, both of them.” 

“I know, and so are mine. Remember when Aegon and Jace agreed to steal Sunfyre and Vermax from the Pits to have them race? Days before they were giddy, couldn’t for the lives of them hide they were up to something.” 

“You cursed at them in Valyrian and in Common when you found out what they were planning.” 

And yet you still went with them, as did Helaena. Even Aemond, grumbling the whole way, joined you and watched the dragons fly overhead with you all.

Foolishly, you find that you remember that day fondly, even though Jace refused to talk to you for a week after finding out you had bet on Sunfyre winning. 

Instead of admitting that memories of a shared youth linger fresher in your mind, closer to your heart, that you would like, you argue,  

“It was an objectively stupid idea. If our mothers had found out they would have had their hides. And ours.” 

“They found out.” 

“They did?” Your smile falters. Even to this day Jace boasts about the time he stole his own dragon from the Pits. “My mother never said anything.” 

“Mine did. She-…” She stops, startles at a thud from within your room as the servants move about. She shakes her head again, though you gather it is memories and not something relating to her dreams that she aims to clear from her head now. “They found out.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell that to my brother, he still believes himself some masterful thief for pulling it off.” You tell her, attempting to bring levity back into the conversation. It feels like yet another mask, for no one’s benefit, and you aren’t sure what to make of both the realization that you wear it even now, and the fact that you refuse to drop it.  

You both come to a stop in the door to your apartments -what used to be your mother’s apartments, instead of the rooms you occupied when you were last here-, and Helaena speaks again, 

“You couldn’t know, but I…I…” Her hands spasm, open and close, one, two times. Like dying spiders. “You hurt me, by leaving.” 

“I never meant to.” 

“I know. You didn’t have a choice,” She concedes, but the stiffness remains. Helaena lifts her head a little higher, hands joined together before her. “It doesn’t change that it hurt, however.” 

“I…” 

“Goodnight.” 

She bows her head as a goodbye and doesn’t wait for an answer before she takes her leave. 

Thank you for reading! Some chapters of this series will skip in time a bit, so if there's anything that wasn't clear or that you'd like to know about the time in between, or any skipped scenes, or stuff from the past, feel free to ask!

Taglist: @21-princess

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[feyhunter78]

The Floret Flower

Description: Cregan has fallen for the flower maiden who smiles so sweetly at him, if only his honor would allow him to act. Also, PSA I'm not gonna be using the gifs of the HOTD casted character, he just kinda looks really young to me and it icks me out. We are fancast Cregan only girlies on this blog (no hate to the actor!!! Just my personal preference)

“Go on, taste the sun.” The words echo in his mind, spoken to him by an old washerwoman as he traveled South. Her words had an air of mysticism and promise about them, one he found much easier to believe every time you crossed his path in the Godswood, ducking your head shyly, a bashful smile on your face.

A radiant, radiant being you are, with the grace and beauty of a flower maiden, brimming with life in a way he knows can only be brought to fruition in the South.

“Lord Cregan, good morn.” You say sweetly, flowers woven in your hair, a gown of light blue adorning your figure. It has been many mornings of you greeting him. Of you hanging upon his every word, fussing over him when exhaustion shone on his face, and the pleas, and arguments of noblemen echoing within his skull. The smell of death and ashes is thick in the air everywhere but the Godswood, everywhere but where he saw you.

It would not be difficult, throw you over his shoulder, get to his horse and ride for the North. It would be a long ride, and you would surely fret and cry, but there would be enough time on the road for him to reassure you. To soothe you and assure you that he had done what was best. It would not be safe for you, not a delicate flower such as you. Ever since he has taken control of King’s Landing, its men were like beasts, prowling for any unattended maiden to take as a bride. His own men could barely find the time to wrangle their southern brothers into a more honorable way of going about satisfying their needs.

“Lady y/n, are you alone? Where are your guards?” He asks, glancing around for the very men who were supposed to be watching over you.

You scrunch your eyebrows and look around as if you had not even noticed they were missing, keeping your voice light as you approach him. “Oh…well, I am sure they are around here somewhere.”

He bites back a heavy sigh of frustration. These King’s Landing guards were utterly useless, he would need to assign some of his own men to you. ��They should be near you at all times, it is not safe for a lady to wander the Keep unaccompanied.”

You cross the remaining space between you and him, and look up at him, smiling brightly, standing far, far too close. “Well, I am not unaccompanied now, am I? Not since you are here to protect me.”

Gods damn him, he cannot resist your smile. “You are right, My Lady, but still—”

“Your guards must be near you, to protect you.” You say, pitching your voice down in an attempt to imitate him. “It is unsafe for a maiden of your virtue to walk amongst these war-fed beasts.” Cregan stifles a laugh, but you hear it and your expression changes, a victorious light in your eyes. “I knew it, I knew I could make you laugh!”

His chest warms at your words, had you really been attempting to find ways to make him laugh? Him? The man who stormed into your home and seized control with bloodied hands, whose allegiance was to the very side you were against, not only due to family ties but personal ideals as well? “I am honored that you would dedicate even a moment of your time to my amusement.”

You cast your eyes downwards, and he cannot tell if it is a demure act or a bashful one. “You have been so kind to me, it is the least I can do.”

“You are easy to be kind to, My Lady.” He says truthfully, delighting in the way you take his proffered arm without delay.

“As are you, My Lord.” You look up at him and the sun hits you perfectly, a halo around your head, your skin glistening, your lips stained a tantalizing reddish color from the berries he knew you had eaten earlier. He knows all that you eat, drink, your movements throughout the Keep, who you speak with, who you did not speak with, it is all known to him. Obsessive his sister Sara would say, she would tease him mercilessly for his over interest in you, but he cares not.

Taste the sun. By the gods old and new, he wants to. He wants to taste you over and over again, wants to steal the sun and bring it back North with him.

“Is that so?” He cannot help but poke and prod, desperate to hear you sing his praises once more.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I see what you are doing, Lord Cregan, if you wish to hear your virtues tolled there are plenty of bards around that would do so.”

“You have caught me.” Cregan relents, smiling softly down at you before smoothing his expression once you both near the entryway back inside the Keep. He cannot be seen as showing you favoritism, not when there may still be cravens and traitors about. He will not have you marked as a weakness of his, a potential target.

“It seems you cannot escape my notice, in words or actions.” You say teasingly, your breasts pushed up tantalizingly as you press yourself against his arm, body turned towards him, your head tilted up to meet his gaze. “I am simply too astute.”

You do not make his mission easy, no, even though he is sure you have not a single impure thought in your mind, his is swimming with them as he feels his head dip down, his eyes flickering to your lips.

Before he can lose his grip on his honor and kiss you senseless, he is saved by a pair of passing noblemen, and he straightens up, putting distance between the two of you. “That you are, Lady Florent, it is honorable for a lady to possess a good sense of such things.”

You give him a quizzical look, followed by a slight pout, and unhook your arm, clasping your hands together before you instead, putting on an air of polite indifference. “I thank you for your kind words, Lord Stark.”

You walk in silence, footsteps echoing on the marble floor, until finally Cregan spots your familiar door. “My Lady, this is where I shall leave you.”

You nod and break away from him, your skirts sweeping across the floor with your quick movements. You reach for the door handle then pause, your back still to him. “Do you find me unpleasant, My Lord?”

“Unpleasant?” He echoes, unable to fathom how you would come to such a conclusion.

“Or is it that you find me shameful to be seen with?” You turn on your heels with your words, tears shining unshed in your eyes.

“Lady y/n I—do not understand, where have these thoughts sprung forth from?” He says, taking a step towards you, arms outstretched as if to collect you in his arms and hold you close to his chest.

“You turn from me, close yourself off from me whenever others appear. Have I shamed you? Am I hideous? Do you find myself, and my house that lowly, that you cannot stand to be seen in my presence?” Your words are harsh, but your tone is soft, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan grabs your shoulders, pulling you into his embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head. “No, no, Lady y/n, it is nothing of the sort, please, banish such thoughts from your mind.”

You look up at him, tears collecting on your cheeks, a heartbroken expression that feels akin to a knife through his chest on your beautiful face. “Then what is it?  Because I cannot deny my feelings any longer, and I do not wish to be made a fool.”

Go on. The words echo in his mind, and he grips the chains around his will tighter, he cannot break, not now.

“Tell me the truth, tell me you do not desire me, and I shall abstain from your presence.” You say, gaining strength from anger as he stands silent.

Taste the sun.

“Speak, Cregan Stark, deny me or take what is being offered.” There is no room for argument in your tone, he must make a choice or watch you smile in the arms of another.

The chains slip from his grasp, and he cups your face, crashing his lips to yours.

I wanted to make this smutty so bad, but the inspo was simply not there today

HOTD TL: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

[pigfacedbitch]

Dating Hort of Bloodbrook

summary : general headcanons of dating Hort while being the princess of Camelot.

word count : 0.7k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Hort x Reader, Sibling! Tedros x Reader

warning/s : discrimination against Nevers and Evers.

here is my masterlist!

Note : I know this is late but this has been on my unfinished works since the movie came out. I fell in love with Hort, he is so cute and loyal to Sophie 🥹. I haven't read the books but I might soon when I need to escape reality again.

You will likely be a year younger than Tedros.

Because of the heir and the spare™.

I know it sounds bad but some rulers actually do those.

Tedros is extremely overprotective over you, especially when Queen Guinevere ran away with Lancelot and King Arthur died.

He's like the typical older brother you see in movies; handsome, buff, (kind off) a meathead, and annoys you to know end.

Will also be the first one to come to your defense.

When you got to the School of Good, you were determined to destroy the image of being Tedros' little sister.

Which results to you preferring to be a hero in your own story than being a queen in someone else's.

As expected, you quickly became friends with Agatha.

Not afraid to stand up to those who think girls are inferior to boys.

While the other Evers found the Nevers horrible for being future villains, you have a neutral perspective towards them.

After all, the School of Good has many stuck up and vain students.

Meeting Hort was definitely a memory to remember. It was when Professor Dovey took the first years to the Wish Fish (Let's pretend Agatha didn't free them).

When you put your hand on the water and begin to think of a wish, you didn't feel the water swirling like Agatha told you she experienced,

Instead, it was hand that intertwines its finger with yours.

And it harshly pulled you down the water.

The girls' screams and the professor calling out your name in panic caught the boys and Tedros' attention, running to the 'rescue'.

Under the water, you see someone smiling at you, or at least that's what you hopes he's doing.

A Never named Hort, son of Captain Hook.

Tedros immediately pulled you out of the water, with Hort in tow.

The angry professor commands the nearby guards to bring him back to the School of Evil and how Lady Lesso will surely punish him.

"It seems like I'm your wish, my lady."

He expects you to be disgusted like the other Evers. To his surprise, you give him the sweetest smile he has ever seen in his life.

"That you are, Hort of Bloodbrook."

To say Hort is surprised was an understatement.

You didn't only smile at him but also knew his name.

Cupid's arrow struck him at that moment. His villainous smirk drops, staring at you with wide eyes as much as he could before they were out of sight.

Tedros, who saw the whole thing, was not pleased and gave you a warning on how Nevers can't be trusted.

After your encounter, Hort seeks you out more.

You didn't mind, he is an odd yet funny companion.

He also doesn't care for one's physical appearance like the girls do or how you're nothing but a pretty face with a royal title like most guys think.

He encourages you to be yourself, like Agatha does.

You two would get judgmental looks from both sides.

Sophie was pissed, not only because Hort was losing interest in her but being the princess of Camelot is everything she wants to be.

So is Tedros. And everyone else who sees you together.

Agatha is just worried and would remind you to keep your guard up.

But you enjoy each other's company, that's what matters.

Hort was in love with you the moment you met but it took you a longer time to realize your feelings for him.

You only told Agatha about it but Tedros overheard.

Believe me when I say that Tedros will demand you to be examined.

"She's not under any spells, my prince."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh my God, I love Hort and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Everyone in the hall heard you.

Silence before a giddy howl ensues.

Hort runs to you and gives the biggest hug you could ever receive.

Despite being initially embarrassed, you returned it.

Before he could kiss you like he always dreamed of, Tedros stops him.

He pulls out Excalibur and points its tip on Hort's neck. Your brother will mercilessly give the poor boy threats if he broke your heart or hurt you in any way. Agatha joined in without words, just sending a warning glare on his way.

Hort would be lowkey terrified but so happy at the same time.

I mean you love him back. He could take a fucking army if you command him to.

Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey would only look at each other in disbelief, worried for what happens next.

[thetxtdevil]

ok this might be a dumb request but ughh please bear with me bc I had this dream of it and oof it was hot ✨️😂 ok so yeonjun being lucifer, the big devil man finds out he has a soul mate, who is yn, and he like commands her to give him all of her and live with him in the underworld and during their sexy time she said yes 😅 it was spicy! But yeah I'd appreciate it in your writing style lol

This gives me Hades and Persephone vibes, love this idea.

also this has some religious themes so be aware!

--nsfw--

Yeonjun is a king, an evil barbarian that rules the hells, feeds off people’s fears of one day ending up in his kingdom being his faithful servant. Standing on a porch of his crumbling castle, he looks over the fiery fields finding the screams... boring. Yeonjun needed something, was it blood? revenge? no, it was sex! His blood curdles more than usual thinking about taking time for the devil himself. He had all the supplies and people to please him but he wanted something more.

Thats when he decides to travel up to the mortal world. Amongst the transportation, dark hues of red changes to earthy browns then Yeonjun is hit with the aching brightness of God's creation, the sun. Yeonjun's burgundy skin turns tan, his crisp hair into raven black silk, black eyes turn into softer brown ones, and his usual exposed body was covered by a black suit. It was time, time to find his soulmate.

Walking around the town he was transported to he finds humans entertaining, and weirdly crime increases since he's been there. Yeonjun laughs at the innocent people being controlled by evil something they're not used to so they end up doing a poor job of stealing a car, throwing rocks that miss, being caught in their lies. Yeonjun's attention from the dreadful sight was caught when he sees you. You were dressed in all black just like him standing in front of a church. He watches closely to your expression, it was full of disgust. Yeonjun was surprised, a beautiful angelic women like you in distaste looking at such a holy thing.

Yeonjun glides closer to you, "Disliking the view?" you chuckle at the man's question.

"Uhh yeah, is it that obvious?" you stop to look at the man and fall embarrassed, he was devilishly handsome.

"I was never one for God's good deeds and begging for them." You quirk an eyebrow at the man's comment. "I'm Yeonjun, what brings you to this sickening church?" he asks but already knows why when you shake his hand, he saw your uncle arrive in hell not too long ago.

"My family member died and well, I don't have a good background in the church"

"That makes two of us" Yeonjun's smiles warms your heart, slight flutter fills your stomach when you see a hint of his fangs from the toothy grin.

This is the girl, this is his soulmate, now how to make her to go to hell with Yeonjun, he's going to have to figure that one out in his own terms.

---

The cold air envelopes the town as the sun fades away and the night is in full bloom. After the funeral, you spent the rest of the day doing errands but sulking about not asking out the beautiful man.

You twist and turn in your bed not being able to sleep, but you must have drifted off when you lift your head to see a shadowy figure. The moon's rays in your room usually shine cool blues but right now the room was illuminating red. The color takes over your vision in a haze suddenly feeling hot. Paying no mind at the sleep paralysis demon you start to take off your clothes stopping yourself from getting overheated.

You look over at the shadow once more too comfortable with its presence, "What, are you an incubus or something?"

A dark chuckle escapes the shadow making you shiver, "Oh y/n you know exactly what to say."

Yeonjun gets closer to your area of vision, crawling on the bed to hover over you. You lost all common sense, you felt no reason to ask how he got in your house, you didn't stop his hand from caressing your naked skin, you even failed to care that he was undressed this whole time. His feature were so close to yours, admiring his seductive eyes, the curve of his cheeks, his plump lips that were so close to yours. You try to lean in for a kiss but he backs away.

"Before you can have me, you have to give me all of you and live with me in the underworld for eternity."

Conflicted, you stop for a moment, giving up your whole life for a man you just met? You weighed the pros and cons but the longer you let the devil wait the more you mind begins to fog. His hands explored your body, lightly pinching your nipples, digging into the plush flesh of your thighs, lips turning into bites against your neck. You have forgotten your place on earth, Yeonjun wasn't heaven he was lustful hell that you fully have given into.

Yeonjun relaxes your body down into your sheets kissing you passionately. You open your eyes to look at him again only to find that your weren't in your room anymore, you were in hell. Blackened cobblestone walls surround you, with arched windows that look down to a world like looked like you were inside lava.

Looking back at Yeonjun his tan skin was now red, cheek bones heightened, forehead adorned with long sharp horns. You accepted you fate with your soulmate as you wrap your hand around his big cock lining it along your wet aching hole. "For eternity." The devil smiles pushing into you, deliciously stretching you while biting deep into your collarbone as a sign of claim.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[imsodishy]

Come and Knock on Our Door

also on A03

(this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience)

March, 1987   

She hears them before she sees them, which means Steve has lost the battle for his car’s stereo for the three hundredth day in a row.  

Robin is standing in the slush on the curb outside the Columbia campus bookstore with her chatty co-worker Francis, with her messenger bag clutched to her chest so she doesn’t do something insane like swing it full force into Francis' fucking face. Which wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t. Francis isn't the worst or anything. He’s just really jazzed about the philosophy classes he taking. And he loves the sound of his own voice. And he can’t take a hint or a subtle no, or a really fucking pointed no. And, okay, he kind of is the worst, but Robin needs the job, it accommodates her class schedule, and she’s rarely shares shifts with Francis. So Robin will just continue to tune him out while he blithely goes on and on about solipsism or whatever the fuck.  

When the BWM rounds the corner and comes into view she sighs in relief.  

Eddie’s got an arm hanging out his backseat window, drumming aggressively along to the aggressive song the beemer is blasting, when he spots her he sticks his head out too, “Buckley! This guy bothering you?” he hoots, as they pull up to the curb. Her body language must be more starkly uncomfortable than she realized.  

Before she can deny it, Billy is crawling out the fucking passenger window like someone who doesn’t know how doors work, sitting himself on the ledge, and slinging his arms over the roof of the car to glare silently at Francis.  

Steve turns down the music to a bearable volume, “Problem, Robin?” he slides his ray-bans down to the tip of his nose to give Francis an unimpressed once over like he’s still King of Hawkins High, like anyone in New York should give a shit about him. It’s an attitude that’s depressingly really effective in a lot of situations. When he’s in a good mood Steve says it’s all about confidence, when he’s being a moody butthead he says it’s all just bullshit. Either way, it does the trick.  

Francis is bug-eyed and slack jawed, and blessedly silent for the first time all day, staring at the spectacle that is Robin’s day to day life.  

“Well,” she says with cheery a smile and a smack to his shoulder, “That’s my ride. See ya, Frank.”  

She rounds the car and Billy climbs the rest of the way out the front window before he opens the door for her, shuts it behind her, and then drops himself in the back seat behind her, through the actual door this time, at least. And he does it all while maintaining extremely hostile eye contact with Francis over the roof of the car.  

Robin gets shotgun, always , is the only car rule Steve has been able to consistently enforce so far in their time as a unit. She’s not sure how or why.  

She's also not sure how or why this is how her life is turning out. If anyone asked her to recount the story of how she came to be sharing a house in New York, with this particular array of boys she could probably lay out the steps one by one pretty easily, and coherently, but it wouldn’t really clear anything up.  

The short answer is Steve Harrington suddenly started collecting strays after high school. Which no one who knew him for the first eighteen years of his life could have predicted, Robin can confidently say that as someone who did know him then, or at least knew of him. So its Steve's fault, basically. He collected the three of them like weird dogs, and he found the house they're renting too.  

Just before they peel out Steve turns to her and says, “Who's the clown?” maybe loud enough for Francis to hear, maybe on purpose.  

“He's a turd,” Robin says dismissively once they’re on the road. “Listen, I need to talk to you guys.”  

Because she does, and she's been putting it off since the phone call on Tuesday. Told herself it could wait a day, and then Steve had a jam-packed work schedule, and then Billy was cramming for a big test he was stressed about, and then Eddie's hours were so odd she just couldn’t find a good time to sit them all down, and if she really put her mind to it she could just delay, delay, delay until the bomb dropped in their laps and they all exploded in a giant mess.  

She wasn’t sure why that seemed kind of appealing, but she figured it was probably a bad sign.  

Billy leans forward, hand gripping the headrest of her seat, “That guy bothering you?” it’s the same question Eddie asked before, but with a wildly different tone of menace behind it.  

Eddie tries to wedge his face in next to Billy, “You need us to talk to him Robbie? Lean on him a little? Scare him into backing off?” Eddie says like a parody of a tough guy. Billy shoves him back over to his side of the back seat with an annoyed grunt, but his grip on Robin’s seat relaxes a bit too.  

“The only people who find you scary are people who have never had a conversation with you,” Steve snorts, “Not even a whole conversation. Just a passing interaction. You're a scarecrow.”   

Eddie squawks.  

“Pretty sure Buckley’s packing bigger guns than you, dude,” Billy says and Eddie squawks again, louder and more dramatic.  

“Untrue! Buckley, flex real quick.” He demands, as he tries to shake an arm loose from his permanent leather jacket/denim vest combo.  

“No,” she says. “Listen-.”  

“There's more than one way to scare a square,” Eddie goes on, “Just because I'm slender and svelte, doesn’t mean I can't be intimidating.”  

“Sure. But you're not intimidating though,” Billy drawls.  

“This is character assassination!” Eddie’s too loud for the confined space of the car, “I terrorized Hawkins High! They thought I worshiped the devil!”  

“And they kicked your ass on the regular. No one was scared of you, dude.”  

“Guys!” Robin tries to interject, desperate to get this conversation on track.  

“You know,” Steve says, hand peeling off the wheel to gesture at Eddie, “If you wanted to bulk up you could try working out with us sometime.”  

“What about any interaction we’ve ever had makes you think I would want to do that?” Eddie asks.  

“You were literally just complaining about being a scrawny little weakling,” Billy says.  

More (mostly) mock outrage from Eddie, “Not any of the words I used actually. I’m lithe . Like Mick Jagger, you meathead.”  

Billy snorts.  

“Shut up!” she finally shouts them down. All three of them give her sidelong looks like that was a little uncalled for. She takes a deep breath and gets right to the point, “My mother is coming. This weekend. She is very concerned about my living situation.”  

“Little late outta the gate, isn't it. It’s been, like, months,” Billy’s right, except for one thing.  

“Yeah,” Robin tugs at her bangs, “She was not aware that I was living with three boys until now. She thought I was rooming with my cousin April.” Who, when caught out by her own mother that she was not attending Columbia with Robin, but was in fact trying to make it as an actress in New York, had sung like a canary, trying to deflect some heat off herself. It hadn't worked, incidentally, Aunt Janine was also headed for the Big Apple to lay down the law. “The fact that I have been lying to my parents for months didn't really help matters.”  

“Your dad’s not coming up though?” Billy checks.  

She shakes her head, “Couldn’t get time off. Just my mom, taking the Greyhound up tomorrow to assess how far I’ve fallen.”  

“You want one of us to pretend to be your boyfriend?” Eddie offers, “We're all single, you can take your pick.” He strikes a pinup pose, nearly elbowing Billy in the face by accident. Billy elbows him in the ribs on purpose.  

“God no! Absolutely not. Any hint of impropriety, forget it. She’ll tie me up in a sack and ship me to a women’s college. I have barely negotiated a stay of execution pending a visit. She cannot under any circumstances think I'm involved with any of you,” she pauses to gag at the thought, “So, you guys need to be on your very best behaviour. Okay?” she pleads  

“Okay,” Steve says dubiously, “But, she spent your whole senior year convinced I was going to get you pregnant. And I’m pretty sure I did nothing to deserve that.”  

That’s true. Steve worked very hard to project good respectful boy who is not trying to have sex with your daughter. But, even though it was the truth, it never did him any good with Sharon Buckley. The fact that he is one of the three boys Robin now lives with definitely didn’t help her mother’s freak out.  

“We're just going to have to make it work, okay?” She can already tell that she sounds panicky about it, she doesn’t need Steve awkwardly patting her knee to make the point to her.  

“We'll make it work,” he parrots back. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we’ll clean the whole house-“  

“Real clean,” she butts in, “Not teenage boy clean.”  

Eddie says, “Hey I’m twenty-one, remember.”  

“All the more reason you should know how to wash a fucking dish by now.” Billy mutters. Eddie smacks him and it devolves from there. Billy quickly gets him in a headlock.  

Eddie squeaks, “Uncle! Uncle!”   

“Uncle Wayne can’t save you now dipshit,” Billy laughs.  

Steve throws an arm back blindly to smack either or both of them, “Stop kicking my seat you assholes. I swear to God I will crash this car and kill us all!”  

It has to go well with her mother. She really doesn’t want to lose this.  

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Eddie says, as he's carting another load of laundry down from his room (Robin's got him doing a preliminary clean before she goes in there to help. She categorically refuses to deal with any or their dirty undies, and she will never compromise on that), “If my room looked really lived in? Since were trying to prove everything is above board and nobody is a bed hopping harlot?” He’s been kind of vaguely complaining all afternoon, but he hasn’t actually been slacking off.  

The house they share in the Bronx is tall, narrow, and a little rundown, in a neighborhood full of tall, narrow, rundown houses. Eddie's room is just the whole third floor all to himself. Which is ideal, because he's a rabid collector of junk and it gives maximum room for his knickknacks and oddities to spread out without taking over shared spaces.  

The second floor has Billy and Steve's rooms and the boy's bathroom, which they squabble over constantly.  

Robin’s room is on the ground floor, along with the living room, kitchen, laundry room, and her own bathroom, which Steve is not allowed to use for his hair routine, no matter how much he bitches about Billy hogging their sink. If she gives an inch she'll be drowning in hairspray in no time.  

“There's a fine line between ‘lived in’ and ‘biohazard,’” Steve says. Robin has him vacuuming, which right now means he's cross-legged on the ground trying to extract a sock that was under the sofa and is now tangled up in the beater-bar of their second-hand machine. She told him to move the sofa first, but did he listen?  

“Easy for you to say, rich boy. Missing your maid yet?”  

“For the millionth time, we didn’t have a maid!” and they're off on that we’ll tread track, Robin tunes out the millionth go ‘round of Steve insisting a cleaning lady is different than a maid, because she only came once a week, not every day.  

Billy's been tasked with deep cleaning the kitchen, because he's the only one who can be trusted to do it undirected.  

Robin's been trash bagging anything that she deems Not Mom Safe, saucy albums and posters, cheeky mugs and the like. She's not actually going to throw their stuff out (she quite likes a few of those posters), but she is going to stash it all under the porch for the weekend.  

She's made all three of them swear on their lives that their porn is locked down like Fort Knox. Which will have to be good enough. She’d rather die than have first hand knowledge of any of their jerkoff material.  

She's peeling down their calendar that's purportedly advertising power tools, but is covered front to back in bikini babes, when Eddie exits the laundry room and asks, “Is all this really necessary?”  

“Yes,” Robin says without hesitation, “She's like a dog with a bone. Anything could set her off.”  

Billy pauses in the kitchen, “Set her off like how?”  

“Lectures. Endless ones about all the dangers of sex, and how sex is everywhere, and you need to be prepared, and the urges and dangers, and dangerous urges, and on and on until you just wish the earth would swallow you whole.”  

“You know,” Eddie says speculatively, “There’s an easy fix, if she's so worried us dirty boys are gonna compromise your genteel virtue.”  

“Oh yeah? What's that, Casanova?” Billy asks, turning back to the sink he was scrubbing.  

“We could pull a triple-Tripper.”  

Steve scrunches up his face, looks around to check he’s not the only one who’s lost, then asks, “A what now?”  

“Jack Tripper. Three's Company?” Eddie clarifies, then, when that clarifies nothing (obviously), he singsongs like a grade school teacher trying to lead the class to an obvious answer, “We pretend to be homosexuals.”  

Robin freezes. Trash bag full of half naked babes in her hand.  

“Is that what went on on that show?” Steve wonders out loud before his eyes drift to Robin and he notices her deer in the headlights routine, “Uh, would that be… bad?” he asks her tentatively.  

Because Steve knows. Steve’s the only one that knows. Since they got accidentally way to high after a shift at the mall the summer they started hanging out and she word vomited all over him (she also real vomited on him that night, but that was incidental).  

In her frozen prey animal state she cannot answer him, of course. What she can do, is clock the other body that has gone unnaturally still. Standing in the kitchen with a sponge clenched in his fist. In stark contrast to her wide-eyed panic, Billy’s face is entirely blank. Eerily blank.  

A year ago she wouldn't have hesitated to say he was angry, disgusted by the very concept. He'll, even just a couple months ago. Now though…  

No, though. That's an insane thought. Surely.   

Probably.  

Definitely.  

On the bright side, the insane thought (quickly dismissed, not at all camped out in her brain for later obsessing over, no sir) knocks her out of her torpor enough to choke out, “Uhhhh, we’re not hatching any hi-jinks, okay. We're just going to show her that I have my own room, and my own bathroom, and very plainly show her that no one here is having any kind of sex!” She swings her arm like she’s axing that idea, which only calls attention to the soft-core calendar still clutched in her hand. She hastily stuff it in the trash bag.  

Steve nods slowly at her and mimes taking a deep breath, she copies.  

Billy silently goes backs to scrubbing the sink somewhat more aggressively than he had been.  

Saturday, after her morning shift, Robin goes to the bus depot alone to collect her mom. Steve had offered to drive her, but the car is almost never worth the hassle honestly, they've been using it less and less the longer they've been in New York. He should maybe just sell it, like Billy sold his before the move, but she knows Steve feels better having it just in case. Anyway, it’s good for when they go back to Hawkins on breaks.  

Honestly the main reason she says no to the lift is… she just wants a chance to see her mom alone for a second. Maybe she can prime her a little, really try to sell that everything is fine and dandy, but mostly… she just wants to see her mom just the two of them. She hasn't seen her since Christmas and she misses her. Sue her!  

When her mom steps of the Greyhound it’s easy to forget for a second all the stress this visit dumped on her head. She’s got the same mousy brown hair as Robin, swept half up to keep it off her face, and she’s wearing the same pea-green puffy coat she’s had for a decade. Robin can’t help smiling.  

It seems like Mom’s in the same boat, big reflexive smile that it takes her a second to lock down into Concerned Mom Mode as she drops her bag by Robin’s feet. “Let me get a look at you,” she squishes Robin's face between her palms and manually bobbles her head around, this way and that way, like maybe she’ll be able to see the debauchery if she catches it in the right light.  

“Hi Mom. How was the bus?”  

“Smelled like grass. I think it was that guy,” she lets go of one of Robin’s cheeks to point unsubtly at guy with a long gray ponytail, “Toking up at ever rest stop.”  

Robin smacks her hand down, “Mom! You can’t just point at people.” she hisses, mortified. Some of those warm fuzzy mom’s here feelings instantly evaporating in the heat of her embarrassment.  

“Oh, I can’t point out pot heads, but you can shack up with a bunch of boys? Is that how it is in the big city?”  

So that lasted about thirty whole seconds.  

“Mom,” she huffs, flapping her hands, “We are not ‘shacked up.’ We’re just four people in a house. It’s nothing scandalous.”  

“Then why hide it from us?” Mom swipes.  

“Because you would have been worried.” Robin parries.  

“Because it’s worrying, sweetheart. We don’t want you throwing your life away for some boy. Three boys? It’s a minefield, this could derail you so easily.”  

“I’m not going to throw my life away.” Robin rolls her eyes, grabs her mom’s bag and starts leading her to their subway stop, “They’re friends. Good ones! They support me. Billy’s at Columbia too!”  

“Your education is not less important than your boyfriend’s-”  

“Oh my God, I am not dating Billy!”  

“-You can’t drop out, even if he-”  

“Who the hell is dropping out?!”  

“Robin Caroline Buckley, do not curse at me!”  

It goes about like that the whole ride home.  

It's bedlam in the middle of the living room when they get home. Because of course it is. Because that is the house she lives in.  

Billy’s got Eddie by the arms and Steve’s got his ankles and they’re swinging him like a sack of potatoes between them. Steve and Billy are both obviously post run, sweaty and a little ripe. Eddie is screeching, “I’ll be Mick Jagger! I’m Mick Jagger!” over and over. He’s the only one of the three of them with a shirt on. It’s got a girl in a metal bikini on it.  

“You are no Jagger, jack-ass,” Billy snorts.  

Eddie notices the Buckleys in the entryway first, says, “Oh fuck, what time is it?”  

When Steve looks their way his eyes go wide and he immediately drops Eddie’s legs, letting him thump down with an oof and enough force to nearly bring Billy down on top of him.  

Steve gamely smiles his goodest good boy smile, as he hustles over, hand outstretched, “Mrs. Buckley, so good to see you again. How was your trip?”  

Mom looks at his hand, looks over his shoulder at Eddie struggling to his feet and Billy climbing over the sofa instead of walking around it like a normal human being.  

Steve forces a laugh, “We were just, uh…”  

“Trying to entice Munson to join us in some calisthenics,” Billy cuts in, “Physical fitness is so important.” He thrusts out a hand same as Steve did, but a good boy smile is nowhere to be found. His smile is distinctly smarmy, Robin hates it on sight. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley, nice to meet you. Billy Hargrove.”  

Climbing to his feet Eddie is out of breath, despite the fact that he was not the one hauling a whole person’s body weight around. “I successfully dodged gym class for six years I refuse to be pressganged into it now just because you two are masochistic, meatheads. Hello Mrs. Buckley, it is my sincere pleasure to meet you.” Robin thinks he might be aiming for good boy but the smile comes off a little… insane.  

Rather than just sticking a hand out to be ignored, Eddie grabs one of her Mom's in both of his and gives it a very earnest looking shake. Then he gestures expansively with one hand, the other keeping hers trapped, “Welcome to our home.”  

Her mom definitely doesn’t know what to make of Eddie, a common reaction. But she's got a long standing opinion of Steve: Risky. And she's clearly formed a quick opinion of Billy based on, just, everything about him: Risky Squared. She’s tightlipped, observing their bare chests like a pair of sweaty time bombs. The hand Eddie hasn’t claimed is wrapped tightly around Robin’s wrist like she's thinking about running all the way back to Indiana with her daughter in tow.  

Robin turns big, doleful eyes over to Steve. He grimaces and mouths ‘ Sorry.’   

“Mom-“  

Ripping her hand out of Eddie's, her mom whirls on her, finger pointed firmly in Robin's face, “No, no. How can you possibly expect me to just leave it alone? I cannot just pretend that there’s nothing going on here.”  

“Nothing is going on though, I swear,” Robin pleads.  

Her mother scoffs, “I am not naïve, Robin. I am a nurse, I know what young people get up to, I see the fallout of it every single day.”  

“Mrs. Buckley-“ Steve tries.  

“Put a shirt on, for Christ sake!” she snaps at him.  

Steve yelps, “Yep,” and hightail it to the laundry room. Comes back with a shirt on and a spare that he lobs at Billy’s head. All three of them are just standing there, looking so goddamn awkward, obviously wanting to help and with no idea how to.  

They spent their whole Friday cleaning. Today’s the first day of spring break technically. They were planning to get drunk, watch a bunch of horror movies, and throw gummy bears at Steve every time he had a bad movie opinion.  

Instead, this is happening.  

“Sweetheart,” Mom entreats, “I know you never want to listen when I try to talk to you about boys and sex, because you think it’s icky,” and Robin tries desperately not to squirm or cringe, “But you can’t stick your head in the sand. Condoms can fail, and you're not on the pill, god knows I tried when you first got your period-”  

Robin loses the battle and cringes away, but the boys are right there , shuffling around awkwardly. She’s pretty sure she heard Steve whisper a horrified, “They can?” when her mom mentioned condoms. She really doesn’t want to talk about any of this.  

“-No! Listen to me! I know you want to just, la-la-la,” Mom sticks her fingers in her ears, just when Robin is embarrassingly close to doing that exact thing, “And not think about it, because it grosses you out. But you have to think about it! Because if you get pregnant-“  

“I'm not going to get pregnant!” she protests.  

“You might!”  

“I won’t!”  

“ Robin ,” her mom sighs, beyond exasperated.   

“I'm a lesbian!”  

Sharon Buckley is, for perhaps the first time in Robin's entire life, at a loss for words.  

In the silence, Eddie gasps quietly, “A reverse-Tripper.”  

Steve thumps the back of his hand into Eddies gut, hisses, “No, dumbass, she's just gay.”  

“Oh shit, for real? Right on,” Eddie whispers.  

Billy’s face is carefully blank again.  

Steve clears his throat, “We should, uh,” he points to the ceiling and raises his eyebrows at her, asking silently if she wants them to clear out. She’s not sure she does, but she nods anyway.  

Steve herds them up the stairs. He’ll probably lay down the law while they’re up there. Necessary or not.  

Once they’re gone the first thing her mom says is, “What on earth is a reverse-Tripper?” eyes unfocused, sounding slightly perturbed.  

“It’s not a thing,” Robin says, “Eddie makes up his own things a lot and they’re mostly, you know, nonsense.”  

Her mom blinks, refocuses on her, searching her face like she’s looking for a sign of it. “Robin, are you- You're not just trying to shut me up, are you?”  

Robin tucks her elbows in, folds her arms around herself tight. “No. Mom, I’m gay.”  

“Okay, we should- let's sit down,” her mom says, gesturing to Robin’s own sofa like she’s the host and Robin’s the guest. They should sit, that’s a good idea.  

But then once they’re seated, knees angled towards each other, Robin can barely look at her mom she’s so tense. She focuses on the green coat, she’s still wearing her coat. Robin is too, no wonder she feels overheated.  

“Sweetheart,” they’ve been sitting in silence for... who knows how long, days maybe, when Mom speaks, “I hope you know that all I have ever wanted, all I have tried to do, is give you the best chance to make it. To get you to adulthood, to a point where you could go out into the world and have the opportunity to do... whatever you wanted to do.”  

Robin nods, because it seems like she should.  

Mom’s eyes are shiny when she takes Robin’s face between her hands, “So if you’re out in the world now, well, not if, you are, you’re out in the world now- and I am so proud of you, sweetheart- and if you’re telling me that what you want is a... a girlfriend?” Robin nods again, a tiny nod, barely a nod at all. “Then I am thrilled you have the opportunity to want that. I love you.”  

Robin launches herself at her mother, smothering her and her puffy green coat in a hug, “I love you too, Mom.”  

“It can’t be all you want though,” Mom keeps talking, even all choked up, “You have to finish school.”  

“Mom!” Robin laughs.  

They reset.  

She calls the boys back downstairs, and they creep down all unsure until they see her mom smiling on the couch. Billy and Steve have both cleaned themselves up in the interim (Eddie has not changed his shirt). They all get real handshakes and a much more gracious intro, they give her a tour of the house.  

She catches her mom having a quiet, concerningly earnest conversation with Steve at one point. When she asks him what it was about he says, “She asked me if I knew all last year, and then she wanted to thank me for having your back.” Then, after a pause, “Also she wanted to make sure i understood that even if condoms aren’t infallible I should still always use them. She had stats.”  

“Well, she is a nurse,” Robin tells him.  

Eddie snitches about the stuff hidden under the porch, so her mom gets a cup of coffee in a mug with a sunbathing pinup girl’s butt prominently displayed and Bottoms Up! in a cheerful font on it.  

Billy waffles wildly all day between being weirdly flirty with her mom and being even more weirdly awkward and quiet, like he can’t figure out how to act. Robin corners him in the kitchen eventually and pokes his ribs until he snarls at her. “You’re being super weird,” she informs him.  

“I know.” He tilts his head back against the cupboards, closes his eyes, and doesn’t elaborate.  

Out in the living room Eddie’s telling some story, arms waving wildly and face gleeful. Her mom is laughing.  

“She’s really nice,” Billy says eventually, eyes still closed.  

“Yeah, she’s pretty okay,” Robin replies, leaning her head on his shoulder.  

On Sunday Robin and her mom meet up with aunt Janine and April in Manhattan for lunch and a debrief. They also seem to have come to some kind of agreement. April apologizes to her about ninety times, and Robin lets her grovel a bit, even though it worked out alright in the end.  

Aunt Janine tries to stir the pot at one point, says something about Robin’s living situation with pointedly raised eyebrows over her mimosa. Mom looks at Robin, pats her hand, and says mildly, “Well, they’re nice boys.”  

Robin smiles so big her cheeks hurt.  

After lunch Robin takes her to the bookshop, to show her where she works, and lets her terrorize Francis for a little while.  

Monday morning Mom goes home. The boys all get big hugs at the bus stop, their reception ranging from enthusiastic to baffled with Steve falling somewhere in the middle. Robin gets the biggest hug, and her mom cradles her cheeks between her hands for a long moment. She says, “Be safe,” and gives her a kiss on the forehead.  

They all wave until the Greyhound is out of sight.  

And so ends the Mom Visit.  

Monday night they get down to their briefly delayed spring break plans. Steve and Eddie aren’t students, of course, and all four of them still have work this week, so it’s not much of a break. But for tonight they have a stack of movies, a stock of adult beverages, and a pile of very childish snacks.  

Robin, Billy, and Eddie are in the kitchen dumping various configurations of sugar and salt into many bowls, Steve is in the living room setting up the VCR.  

“I can't believe you had us convinced your mom was a total prude, when, all along, t’was you.” Eddie pokes a finger right up in her face, which she slaps away. He does it again, and again, switching hands each time she smacks one down, and cooing, “You the prude,” each time.  

“I'm not a prude,” she protests.  

“Oh yeah? Then instead of Poltergeist you wanna watch some porn?”  

She gives a heartfelt, “Ewwww,” to that thought.  

Billy tosses a handful of skittles at Eddie as he leaves the kitchen, studding his dark hair with colorful little pellets.  

Robin fiddles with a bag of chips, “It just- It was never relevant. It was never going to be relevant, even- even if there were girls like that around, it’s not like I  would be, you know,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows as if to say prude because she can’t even say it, “It’s not like they’d be interested in me.” If she just keeps staring at this bag of chips she won’t have to see whatever stupid face Eddie is making.  

“What are you talking about? Robin, you’re great!” he says.  

“I’m not exactly a hot commodity,” she tells her bag of chips.  

Eddie spins her around by the shoulders to make her face him, “Look, Buckles-“  

“Don't call me that.”  

“-Hawkins was a stupidly small pond. It was a puddle. No one’s thriving in a puddle, not many fish in a puddle. But we’re in the ocean now, baby! And when we do find some fish ladies of your persuasion-”  

“Gross.” Robin interrupts again, because she has too.  

“-When we do find them,” he continues on louder, “You will be an irresistible lure to them.”  

“That metaphor was strained dude.”  

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna talk problems?” He asks, leaning back against the counter beside her, “My actual, pretty much twenty-four-seven, standing right beside me competition is Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and Billy ‘Hard-Body’ Hargrove. Okay? I am the one who is screwed.”  

She just sips her beer and absolutely does not share her suspicions that Billy’s not in any kind of competition with Eddie for dates.   

Robin can see Billy and Steve in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, chucking candy at each other's open mouths. They’re already getting competitive about it, she can tell. Someone’s going to end up with a corneal abrasion from a skittle tonight.  

“But then again, who knows?” Eddie tilts his bottle towards hers, “It’s New York City, baby. Anything can happen.”  

She’ll drink to that. 

[chloe-skywalker]

Obvious - Peter Pevensie

Peter x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 807

Summary: Peter meets a girl in Narnia that might be part of his prophecy?

Authors Note: First ever Peter Pevensie Imagine and first ever Narnia imagine

Masterlist

Narnia Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“The White Witch is coming. You all must work on your skills.” Aslan told the young Kings and Queens.

“Will you teach us?” Lucy asked walking closer to Aslan as they followed him to their tent.

“We all will young one. I do have someone in mind to teach you all different things.” Aslan answered Lucy with a heart felt chuckle.

“Who?” Susan asked once they stopped walking, wondering who the loin had in mind.

Aslan turned to face the children before answering the older girl. “She is skilled in everything you all will need to know, no matter the situation at hand.”

“A girl?” Edmund asked pulling a face and for that Peter smacked him upside the head.

“We would love to learn from her.” Peter smiled apologetically to Aslan on behalf of his brother.

“Agreed.” Lucy and Susan said at the same time also smiling.

“Yeah, whatever.” Edmund mumbled rubbing the back of his head.

Aslan gave a nod. “Then you’ll all start tomorrow. As for now, get some rest. You’ll all need it.”

^ ^ ^

“I see you all are ready.” Aslan said as he approached the field he had them escorted to.

“We are.” Susan nodded, she was ready to learn.

“Good, Your teacher should be here soon.” Aslan stated before looking around to see her figure coming through the mountains. “An there she is.”

A girl around Peter and Susan’s age came down the hill on a beautiful black stallion. As she got closer her features became more apparent and Peter, well Susan had to nudge him to close his mouth.

“Hey, I hope you all weren’t waiting to long.” Y/n smiled sheepishly as she dismounted her horse.

“Nonsense, Y/n.” Aslan smiled at the young warrior. He had known her, her entire life. Seeing the girl always brought a smile to his face. He knew she was the perfect one for this. “Y/n this is Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter.”

Y/n smiled giving a gentle wave. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Children this is Y/n. She’ll be the one teaching you all.” Aslan explained as he also introduced them.

“Its nice to meet you.” Susan spoke up since Peter couldn’t stop staring. She reached out and the to shake hands.

“Likewise your majesty.” Y/n smiled.

“Please just call us by our names.” Lucy smiled at the older girl, enjoying the energy she let off.

“Yes, please.” Susan nodded in agreement with Lucy’s statement.

“As you wish.” Y/n nodded agreeing to what they had asked. “Shall we get started?”

With that Y/n started showing them different things. Such as knife throwing, basic field first aid, archery, and now sword fighting.

“You should introduce yourself personally.” Susan suggested to Peter as she walked over to stand next to him. The two watched Y/n teach Lucy ways for her to use a sword at her weight and height disadvantage.

“Should I?” Peter genuinely asked.

Susan nodded smiling at him, she had never seen Peter so into a girl before. “You like her. I can tell. Hell, it’s obvious Peter.”

“That obvious?” Peter grimaced smiling shyly.

“Yes. But it seems she is oblivious to it.” Susan nodded towards the Y/h/c-ed girl a few feet in front of them. “Go for it.”

Once the two siblings were done talking they noticed it was Peter’s turn now that Lucy was done. How convenient.

“Hey, Peter right?” Y/n asked smiling up at the blonde as he approached her for his turn.

“Yeah. Y/n right?” Peter smiled nodding at her. He noticed that he had done a lot of smiling around her today.

“Yeah.” Y/n let out a light laugh at the boy's words. How they mimicked her own. Y/n looked up at Peter with a smile. “You ready Peter?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded pulling out his sword.

“They’d be cute together.” Lucy giggled nudging Susan whose face matched Lucy’s.

“They would be.” Susan agreed

Aslan chuckled deeply standing next to the young women.

“What's so funny?” Lucy asked Aslan smiling mischievously at the loin.

Alsan smiled over at the two and they could tell he knew a lot more than he let on. “There are many prophecies for the daughters of Eve and the sons of Adam.”

Susan squinted her eyes before asking. “Are you saying that who we end up with is also prophesized?”

Aslan nodded with a hum. “Part’s of them, yes.”

“So are Y/n and Peter?” Lucy wondered out loud smiling over towards Peter and Y/n’s direction.

“Yes young one, they are. But let’s keep that between us for now.” He gave Lucy and Susan a knowing look. The girls couldn’t help but smile at eachother. They wouldn’t tell their brother but they couldn’t wait to watch their love story play out.

[pinkthrone445]

~I need a favor~ Part 1

Part 2

Pairing:Brienne of tarth x Reader

Warnlings : (+18) None I think.

Gender: mostly fluff.

Summary:Returning from a big battle, your friend Brienne has news that will change both of your lives forever.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

You smiled as you felt the sun gently warm your face, stretched your muscles and sighed without yet opening your eyes. Today Brienne was coming back from one of her intense battles and that made you very happy, you missed her a lot. You and the blonde were friends or something like that for a while now, you were both attracted to each other, that was obvious, anyone who saw how you looked at each other and talked would notice. But you never tried to do anything about the mutual feelings because of her work, which required her to spend a lot of time away, she said she didn't want you to stay for weeks or months waiting for her not knowing if she would come back or not, if she was alive or not, she said she could never put you through that; but even though you were nothing, you still waited for her with anxiety and fear, even though you were nothing to each other, she was everything to you.

But none of that mattered, today she came back and that made you happy. Brienne would always stop by your house when she came back, even before she went to hers. But it was also true that your house was practically hers, too, because she spent more time in your rooms than in hers.

With laziness but excitement, you got out of bed and changed your garments, going to the kitchen so you could prepare an elaborate meal for when she arrived, you also made yourself something quick for breakfast.

The knock on the door surprised you, but it surprised you even more when the blonde was there at your door when you opened it, she had arrived much earlier than expected. Her face still had dirt and blood stains, that showed that she had not yet gone to present herself to the king to give a summary of the battle, she had returned from the battle directly to your house, which was very rare that happened since seeing the king as soon as she returned was a direct order that she should not break. But still she had broken it and was standing in front of your door with a big cut on her eyebrow, or something had gone horribly in battle or you didn't know what had happened, you tried to caress her face but she grabbed your hand preventing it, she quickly entered your house and locked the door. You followed her with your eyes as she walked around your house, just at that moment you noticed the cloth bag that she had hanging on her shoulder and resting on her hip, the blonde was muttering things to herself avoiding looking at you and without staying still for a second, she had not even said hello to you

-"Brienne... What's going on, you're scaring me, are you alright?"-You spoke slowly, worried that your voice would scare her. For the first time she looked into your eyes, the blood from the cut was about to cloud her vision

-"I am fine... I... I just need... To think..."-She muttered half lost, gripping the straps of the bag she was carrying tighter, so hard that her knuckles cracked white, with delicate steps you approached her

-"At least let me clean your wound"-you whispered but she took a step back looking at you scared, you were about to insist until you noticed how her bag moved on its own and you looked at her with more confusion

-"I need to show you something and I'm going to need your help, a favor for which I'll be in debt all my life, but there's no one else I can turn to for this" - she spoke with pleading in her tone of voice, and grabbed the cloth bag carefully-"Don't scream please" - she whispered before opening the bag and showing you a baby wrapped in a piece of cloth, sleeping peacefully with his thumb in her mouth, it was a small baby no more than a couple of months old. You opened your eyes wide and looked at her scared and confused

-"What did you do Brienne, where did you get that baby? Whose baby is that? "-You whispered, unable to take your eyes off the little creature that was now in the blonde's arms. The baby was small, but in your tall friend's arms, she looked even more tiny and fragile. They looked like an illustration of the books your mother read to you when you were little, where the paintings in those books exaggerated the size of people or things to generate great impacts on the memory of the reader and to show contrasts between the characters.

Brienne was holding the baby very carefully in her arms, but her body was shaking, when she looked up and fixed her gaze on yours, you could see the fear she had of holding the baby in her arms, even her eyes were a little watery and her lip was also trembling, she was terrified to hold that child in her arms, she was terrified to have such a fragile life depending on her

-"When we were coming back from the battle... We saw villages burned by the wildings, there were burned bodies everywhere, slaughtered bodies everywhere I looked, there were too many, so many that it turned my stomach and made me feel sick. As I was about to leave the place to continue on our way, I heard a cry in the distance, it seems that no one else paid attention to it except me, when I got closer to the origin of the crying, this little baby was wrapped in thick and warm furs next to the body of a dead wild woman. I knew that if the others saw the baby, they would want to kill it because it belongs to a savage and they hate them and I know that maybe the savages would have come back for him, but winter is coming and I couldn't leave it there to his fate hoping they would come for him. So I did the first thing that came to mind, I emptied my cloth bag and laid him down there carefully and brought him with me, fed him with milk from animals I found and took care of him as best I could, but I don't know what to do now, no one's going to believe he could be mine 'cause no man wants me and if they find out he's a savage, they'll kill him and I don't want that... I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to help me take care of it, I can't do it alone"-Brienne begged, her voice trembling, and her eyes dropped a few tears

-"Brienne I would give my life for you and you know it, but I don't have the resources to raise a child, you know I don't make much cooking... Besides, I don't know anything about children..."-You whispered, still surprised to see the baby

-"I'll bring you everything he needs, food, clothes, medicine or whatever... I've also seen you take care of the ladies' children, you're excellent with them, at least you have more experience than me and that's already a big step forward. I won't leave you alone, I'll help you in any way I can and I'll come every day, but please help me, I'm begging you..."-the blonde pleaded, hugging the baby to her chest. The truth is that you owed a lot to her, If you had a house it was thanks to her, the same with the job you owned. She always got you what you needed and since you didn't have a family, every time you got sick, she took care of you. This was too much to ask, but you couldn't deny her anything.

-"Fine, but for the smell of him, he just popped and you are going to change him, and when you're done, you'll let me clean up and heal your wound"-You responded and went to finish the meal, you were very nervous and scared but you wanted to keep your composure because you had never seen the blonde so scared to do something as she was at that moment and you wanted to be someone she could trust and lean on. As you cooked, you watched as the blonde struggled to change it, meanwhile, the little baby touched its own diaper, staining its little hand and then passing it through your friend's arm, which made her scream and the baby laugh.

As you watched the awkward and beautiful interaction, you couldn't believe what you were doing, you had agreed to raise a baby with a woman you were madly in love, with the same woman you dreamed of starting a family together and who unintentionally, maybe it would become a reality.

[clockwise-works]

Witching hours? Yup saving that one lmao.

I guess with the Zelda angle I'll omit it for now unless a really good idea pops in my head, since your also not a big fan of the Zonai and how their handled. The only idea I kinda had was instead of redoing "sent to the past to aid past warriors" like with the descendants, maybe Terrako gets damaged in the first battle with Ganondorf while using its power and time gets all jumbled up, with each region being shattered into different points in time, and Zelda missing in response.

Definitely looking forward to that interquil coffee house concept! More fluff never hurt 🤣

I swear you made a post talking about Miphlink TotK and I liked a lot of points in it and don’t have a chance to reblog but maybe I’m going insane 😂

Anyway, I’ve got a whole morning to vibe and am trying to figure out if I’m gonna vibe with Miphlink Baby Brainrot

Your definitely not going insane, I just wanna reassure you on that.

Being completely honest I ended up deleting it about 2 nights ago. I definitely regret it now, but at the time it had gotten maybe one note over a little under a week's course, and I began to think it wasn't all that good and I was flooding the miphlink tag with garbage, or that i was annoying people and directly tagging you was overstepping (which im certain isnt the case, just that late night worse case thinking). I think i also ended up removing two art posts since i wasnt happy with them, so my lesson has been learned. Don't make unchangeable decisions about your blog at 3am 😅

As for the post itself, I am glad that you liked the points! I could try to retype it up and readjust some stuff with hindsight (like instead of saying Sidon got sent off to Yona's domain when Link went missing, he was simply visiting Yona's domain prior to Ganondorf's awakening, and has remained there when everything went to shit. Still a little contrived, but not as much). The main thing I wasn't happy with was Zelda, as it seems like see was still boxed into "being sent to the past." One of the coolest parts of AoC was watching her grow and become more self-assured and confident, eventually leading all of Hyrule herself. She had dominant control over the story in the present, and it would be cool to see that continue in a Zonai Age AoC followup story, but it's tough trying to figure out what to do with her. Unfortunately I am at work, so if I do type this up again it would take some time, so Miphlink Morning Vibes will most likely be over 😔

[midnightsun-if]

Since some of you have been curious about the ROs parents, I thought I’d just make a comprehensive list for you all! It’ll also help me in having something to easily reference back to when it’s needed.

Arthur Kingston — Father

Personality: Holds a great love for the outdoors — fishing, gardening, bird watching, etc — there isn’t anything like being surrounded by the crisp air of nature. A steadfast presence, never wavering or faltering, Arthur stands by his family through any storm; always willing to be a rock, always willing to shoulder their burdens if it meant they’d smile just a bit brighter.

Appearance: Standing at around 6’6”, Arthur has a lumberjack physique — strong but still looking huggable. Medium brown skin causes the gold within his honey brown eyes to stand out, complementing the dark black of his curly hair; that he typically cuts short, only ever allowing it to grow out during the winter months.

Ursula Kingston — Mother

Personality: Stricter than her husband, Ursula expects order and discipline within her house, but, despite that, she’s extremely loving and never feels more at peace than when her cubs are with her. Even if she’s hard to read at times, and her barking orders can be quite intimidating, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for her family. The absolute epitome of a mama bear.

Appearance: With a taller stature, around 6’3”, Ursula has a stout physique. Medium brown skin complements the sharp brown of her gaze, allowing for her dark brown curls, that she typically has styled to just beneath her chin, to stand out elegantly. She’s a woman that exudes strength and serenity in equal measures.

Alaric Voltaire — Father

Personality: Alaric is a steadfast man that doesn’t take failure lightly. To some he can seem cruel — even to his own family — but he’s deeply committed to the vampiric race; ensuring its continued survival well into the future. He’s cunning, ambitious, perceptive, and, above all, intelligent enough to use the aforementioned traits of himself like weapons.

Appearance: He’s an imposingly tall man, standing at around 6’9”, with a muscular physique. Chilling sea green eyes, that are reminiscent of an endless winter, offsets the almost boyish onyx curls that frame his face, the longest of which falls to just over his shoulders; bringing focus to the dips of his cheeks and sharpness of his jaw. He has a fair complexion.

Yvonne Voltaire — Step Mother — ⟡

Personality: Yvonne, despite what some may expect, is a gently soft-spoken woman that offsets the chill her husband constantly brings. However, don’t let her sweet smiles and docile disposition fool you — there’s a reason she caught Alaric’s eyes enough for him to marry her. She’s a woman that would do anything to get what she wants or to protect her family.

Appearance: Dwarfed by her husband by a foot, as she stands only at 5’9”, Yvonne makes up for it by the general aura of her presence upon entering a room. Golden white hair falls to the middle of her back in waves, bringing out the honeyed undertone to her porcelain complexion, and complementing the ocean blue of her gaze. She has a slender build with a light musculature.

Lucian Aurelia — Father

Personality: He’s the kind of man to be in the middle of court with his child proudly situated on his thigh. Family, to him, has always meant the most — it’s fortunate that his wife has a propensity for dealing with the nobles and dignitaries. Soft-hearted and soft spoken, it’s of no surprise that many liken him to a teddy bear.

Appearance: Standing at a modest 5’6”, King Lucian has never let what he lacks vertically influence him the slightest. Thick honey-blonde locks of hair fall across his a beige-toned forehead, always being met with a flippant comb-through by his fingers, which brings out the warm gold within his gaze; crimson rarely ever making an appearance. From days of throwing his children into the air, or practicing with his guard, or running through the halls of the palace in a game of tag, King Lucian has developed a rather buff physique.

Elena Aurelia — Mother

Personality: She puts her responsibilities to the Eclipse Throne above all — even if it means she’s absent at times — but Elena has never wavered in shielding her children from any harm; even if her husband is the one they typically go to. Having a quick wit, paired with a silver tongue, and an attention to detail, Elena has done much for the supernatural world as a whole.

Appearance: Queen Elena stands at around 6’4”, her tall stature complementing her lithe physique. Raven black hair, that seems iridescent underneath the sun, falls down to her hips in a beautiful cascade; bringing out the pink hue of her full lips. Golden tanned skin causes the crimson within her dual-colored gaze to stand out, but the soft aureate quality acts as a gentle backdrop.

Dante Grant — Father

Personality: An apex predator, if there was ever one. Dante Grant enjoys the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation that thrums through his being, bloodlust coursing through his veins. He’s sadistic, only rarely showing mercy, but even then you’d probably wish you were dead, and revels in the fear he instills in others. It’s an intoxicating drug that he’ll forever chase the high of.

Appearance: An intimidating man standing at 6’8”, with an olive complexion. Black hair is styled neatly, with the sides cropped short and the top a bit longer, sometimes causing the strands to fall across his forehead. He has dark brown, nearly black, eyes that are as cold as obsidian. Dante has numerous tattoos: both his arms have sleeves, across his chest, and on the left side of his neck. He has a muscular physique.

Lucinda Grant — Mother — ⟡

Personality: Many who meet Lucinda Grant liken her to a viper with one key difference; a viper doesn’t smile before it strikes. Getting people to do her bidding isn’t a challenge — her powers of persuasion making it easy for people to listen; never realizing they’re being played. She’s said to not have a gentle bone in her body, but it’s an unspoken rule to never mess with her pups.

Appearance: Lucinda stands at 6’2”, having a lean physique that belies the strength her lupine form possesses. Dark brown hair, that has soft curls strewn throughout, falls to her shoulder blades, always elegantly styled and maintained. Her golden-olive toned complexion brings out the sapphire blue of her gaze, filled with a cunning intelligence.

Deimos Wilde — Father

Personality: Emotionally unavailable (read: awkward) is one way to put him. He doesn’t truly know how to convey the thoughts within his head into words, which is why they typically translate into actions; even said action is only a pat on the shoulder. Extremely loyal, willing to lay down his life for the pack, he’s tough and won’t ever back down from a fight.

Appearance: Deimos stands at around 6’0”, with an athletic physique. Golden brown skin — marked with a few tattoos — brings out the sharp black of his gaze, the left one being a stony gray — a scar running through the brow to the top of his cheek — after a fight gone wrong. Ebony black hair is cropped short; another scar running from the base of his skull, a little behind his right ear, to the top of his shoulder. He takes great pride in the scars dotted across his body as they showcase his willingness to sacrifice for his pack.

Lyraea Noire — Mother

Personality: One never truly know what’s going on within her mind; a master at carefully choosing her words to never fully commit, or implicate, herself, but still offering some substance to keep someone interested. Flirtatious and seductive, common qualities among succubi and incubi, Lyraea seems to exemplify it — a goddess among them… One that many have tried, and failed, to tie down. Her only true commitment being to that of being a mother.

Appearance: With an hourglass figure, Lyraea complements her stature with the heels that typically adorn her feet; bringing her height of 5’11” to upwards of 6’3”. Shimmering purple eyes, that are reminiscent of an amethyst, bring out the gold within her silvery-blonde hair, allowing for her golden tanned complexion to stand out even more; her skin marked by three tattoos.

Nathaniel Presley — Father — ⟡

Personality: An inquisitive nature is the first thing anyone would take note when it comes to Nathaniel Presley — an undeniable thirst to learn more, to find out the hidden wonders of the world — it’s that exact that he’s passed off to his child. He adores the world and all the wonders it brings — from a mighty waterfall, to a delicate butterfly, and a rolling storm — with an almost childlike sense of awe.

Appearance: Not standing much taller than his wife at about 5’5”. Light brown hair typically falls haphazardly across his forehead, as he typically forgets to style it, which complements the tanned complexion of his skin. Gentle hazel eyes taking in the world from behind thin-rimmed glasses. He has a slender physique.

Althea Presley — Mother

Personality: Home cooked meals and big family gatherings are the crux of who Althea is; extremely family oriented, she’d break her back if it meant getting everything prepared for everyone to enjoy. With a gentle, yet firm, touch, she doesn’t play around when it comes to academics and hobbies, but she’d always support her children in their endeavors — no matter what.

Appearance: Having a stature of only 5’0”, Althea truly brings life to the phrase “tiny but mighty”. Golden brown hair falls to just over shoulders, bringing out the golden undertone to her beige complexion, and complementing the underlying gray within her cobalt blue gaze. She has a petite physique.

⟡ — Symbolizes the RO prefers them over the other; if it’s not included then they don’t have a favorite (or don’t prefer one over the other).

Important Note: Caden has been excluded as they don’t have any (living) parents — and referencing their family in general is spoilers. Blake’s other parent is a mystery in general and Sloane’s family is complicated in general (the only one I can truly reference being their father).

[vadersassistant]

Endgame Chapter 1 (Darth Vader x Reader)

I am princess of Ethereaan, successor to my parents, the king and queen, even though I was the youngest sibling. My older sister was born with several disabilities, enabling her to not be able to fulfill the role. That left only me to take her place, at the ready to lead a planet all on my own, since I hadn’t courted anyone yet.

“I can’t believe it’s already today,” I said.

“It’ll be great just do what you always do,” Skai encouraged, helping me slip on my dress as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I met her dark eyes, a smile appearing on both of our faces.

“Are you going with anyone?”

“Not as of right now no,” she sighed. “However, if a trooper were to ask me to dance, I’d say yes.”

“Sounds good to me,” I shrugged.

“Are you going with anyone, your highness?” her emphasis was purposed, alluding to my suitors.

“My father refused,” I said. “He wanted me to remain open minded, so the option of courting an imperial still remains.”

I shot Skai a nervous smile, as she gave me a knowing glance. It was clear the two of us agreed on how absurd it was, but still we were at a disagreement. I liked to take the high road, swallowing down the issue and making the most of it, while she preferred acknowledging it, and swindling her way out of it.

“It’s okay, if he believes that’s best then I will do as he says,” I reasoned.

“It would look good for Ethereaan, inner rim and all,” she added. “Especially with the event, you could really make a show out of this.”

“Still a little shocked,” I laughed once we finished up, going towards the door of my bedroom. “Empire Day is such a big deal.”

Empire Day was the anniversary of when the imperials resumed power and the chancellor transitioned to emperor. Every year an inner rim planet was chosen to have a ball for it, hosting hundreds of senators and high-ranking imperials in celebration. Speeches were given, parades planned beforehand, and fireworks at the end. My father and Palpatine were very close, due to Ethereaan’s trading in minerals and weaponry. It made sense that we were chosen for its third year.

Skai was quick to open the door, resuming her handmaiden personality in the process, as I fulfilled my own as princess. We headed over to the dining room to meet with the rest of my family, walking fast but not in a hurry. My posture was like a beam going down my back, as the ends of my dress fluttered naturally. It complemented the Ethereaanian colors well, those being blue and white with silver. The corridor was open, stain glass windows defining the walls while stone floors laid beneath our feet. The large room dawned quickly, my mother and father waiting at the end of the table, perking up when the doors opened.

“Good morning,” I smiled, greeting both.

“Good morning, sleep well?” mom asked.

“Mm, better than usual,” I answered while stretching. I paused, going over to see my sister before sitting down. “Good morning, Karai.”

‘Good morning sister,’ she said through sign language. Karai could hear but couldn’t form sentences, so we used sign language instead. She also couldn’t walk well, which is why we used a wheelchair when she needed to move.

I smiled, and softly squeezed her hand before finding a spot. Before me were blueberry pancakes, with Jawa juice and fruit, made by the palace chefs. I watched as the steam rolled off it, as one of the servants put it down. I mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him as my father stood up, almost at the same time I sat down. He was tall, the tallest person I had ever seen, standing at six four. When he stood up, it often meant his words were to be taken as high demand.

“There have been some recent updates to tonight’s event,” father spoke eloquently but serious. “We are to host a feast beforehand.”

“With whom?” I asked.

“Several high-ranking officers in the Empire,” my mother clarified, seeming uneasy.

“Is there something wrong with them?”

“Lord Vader will be in attendance; we are to escort him and the others personally to the ball.”

There was a moment of silence, my mom looking at my dad like they were telepathically speaking. Her body language was obviously tensed, his similar.

“Who called for this?” I wondered.

“Emperor Palpatine personally asked of it, since he cannot attend this year due to a personal emergency,” dad explained.

“Of course, I understand,” I said.

“Good, you must get ready right away, it is already later than usual,” mom advised. “Arrive at the gaming room, we shall entertain them while all the guests arrive.”

“I will see you then,” I waved to them, standing up as Skai shadowed me.

The moment the doors shut again, and I was out of the public eye, Skai dropped her mannerisms and drew her mouth agape. I watched her press her weight to it, like she wanted to make sure she wasn’t heard.

“Lord Vader?!” Skai whisper-shouted to me as we made our way back to my quarters. “I mean—I knew he was going to be there, but to dinner? Being escorted?”

“If the emperor wills it, we don’t have much of a choice,” I shrugged.

“He is referenced to as the Dark Lord (Y/N),” Skai’s voice was laced with fear. “If I mess one thing up, I could die.”

“So, evade him all you can, nothing will happen,” I assured.

Vader was Lord of the Sith, and Palpatine’s right hand. He was the most powerful force user in the galaxy, like a guard dog to the emperor. He could destroy a planet’s population with no question, he had destroyed many planet’s populations with no question. It was said that darkness followed everywhere he went, his attitude ruthless and unmerciful. It was do or die, and if you didn’t do something right, you died anyways. Everyone knew of his name and what it meant, and only the current rebellion went against it.

Once we got to my room several other handmaidens arrived, makeup, accessories, and outfits in hand. It would be several hours of prodding, but I didn’t mind, I knew it was for the best. I allowed them to get the upper hand, strategizing about the night in the process.

After showering, applying traditional Ethereaan makeup, putting on my dress made for the event, and styling my hair, I was complete. I tried to help as much as I could, but the handmaidens refused every time I raised a hand. The hours flew by naturally by conversation, the time quickly running out. All that was left now was to slip on a pair of heels. I needed to wear a pair that was significant and matched well, but were also easy to move in. There was no doubt I would be dancing tonight, and I knew I’d get blisters if I wasn’t careful.

“All done,” Skai sighed satisfactory.

“Thank you, all of you,” I said, standing and getting a feel for the shoes.

“Of course, milady,” they spoke synchronized, before quickly dismissing themselves.

I watched awkwardly as they left my room, before turning back to my friend and following. The gaming room was on the way to the large dining area, it was like a casino, with a vast number of activities inside. I visited it often when I was free, knowing how to entertain others being a part of my role. A side of me genuinely enjoyed it, often playing against the handmaidens or Skai specifically.

An assortment of lights decorated the place, Skai and I both looking around and taking it in. All the machines had their mechanisms. The Dejarik tables, better known as holochess, blinked in the back of the room. The Sabacc cards were littered around their designated surfaces. The arcade games lined the walls, an assortment of pinball machines taking most of the space. Finally, the pool tables caught my eye, sitting pre-prepared with all fifteen balls set in a triangular shape.

I walked over, picking a pool cue that fit my hand and motioning to hit the white cue ball. I hadn’t played in a while, but I decided it would do.

“I think someone is coming,” Skai told me, as other servants began to filter in. They were carrying drinks, ready to handout.

We both watched the door, and before either of us could spark another conversation it abruptly opened. There were two guards holding either side, and I saw my mother at the front of the crowd.

“You may entertain yourselves here as we await other guests,” she said, welcoming the several men behind her. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, Admiral Motti, Admiral Piett, Director Krennic, Admiral Yularen, and Grand Moff Tarkin,” the queen introduced. “Esteemed guests, this is your majesty, Princess (Y/N),” my mother then introduced myself.

“Pleased to meet you all,” I bowed my head obediently.

“We are still waiting on a few, so I shall leave you to it.”

I nodded my mom off, quickly going to personally introduce myself as she left. I shook all their hands, meeting their eyes and acknowledging them. The servants soon followed, offering light alcoholic beverages on a silver platter. I watched as the guards held the doors for several storm troopers as my mom transitioned out. They all silently lined the room, watching in case of emergency. There was always rumor of the rebellion, people trying to take shots at the Empire. Especially at an event like this, security was called for, although I wasn’t sure if anyone would have the gut to do anything with Lord Vader here.

“There is an assortment of games to choose from, I am going to play pool if anyone would like to join me?” I offered.

“I would be honored your majesty,” the odd one out said. He had blue skin, navy hair, and a white uniform.

Thrawn, I repeated his name in my mind as I walked over to the table. The rest followed, making conversation amongst themselves. It seemed they were more interested in watching than playing separately, which I didn’t mind at all. It would be easier to keep track of everyone that way, as more guests arrived.

“You may go first,” I ushered as he picked a pool cue from the rack.

“Thank you,” his smooth but deep voice gratified.

He leaned over the table, his hand outstretched so that the shaft of the stick laid between the thumb and pointer finger. Drawing it outwards, the tip bumped into the cue ball and against the triangle of colored ones. A stripped ball fell into the top left hole, meaning he could shoot again.

I stepped away from the table, allowing for the Chiss to move freely. He went to the right, attempting to hit another stripped ball into the top left. It was better he did so, since that meant he’d be two balls down. It was an easy shot, slipping in gently into the pouch. The admiral smiled victoriously, looking up at me with red eyes.

“Have you played this before?” Director Krennic asked after sipping on his drink. He held the champagne cup almost cockily.

“A few times as of recent, yourself, Director?” Thrawn rebutted.

“Yes,” he sounded amused. It was apparent that he was questionable of the Chiss and his species but wouldn’t openly admit it. “What about you, your highness?”

“Yes, I grew up learning an assortment of activities including this one,” I said, as Thrawn missed his third shot.

My gown flowed as I paced to the other side of the table and looked at my options. The balls were cluttered on one end, making it hard to take an open shot. It would be best to try and angel one to ricochet off the side and into another, not to mention, I had to avoid all colored balls and the eight ball in the process. I was now deep in thought, strategizing while in movement.

Looking at the ball I wanted to hit, I angled the shaft of the cue and bent over. Aiming for the ball, I hit the tip slightly harder than the Admiral, and watched it clash with the wall then the other ball. It slid into the top right corner easily, offering me a second chance.

“Impressive,” Thrawn mused, making me smile.

I lined myself up once more with another ball, a clear opening being made due to my previous shot. I sunk it in once, more tying my score with his. This made the others become more intrigued, quitting their conversation, and coming to watch the game. The setup was now difficult, as the only shot I could sink would most likely be my last. I did it anyways, pressing my hand down onto the tables fabric and practicing the movement. I hit the ball lower than previous, making it roll into the left middle pocket, the cue ball along with it.

I laughed, making the rest of the room join in comfortably, motioning for the Grand Admiral to take the ball. He could now position it wherever he wanted, looking to the bottom right pocket where his previous ball landed. His expression was calculated, like the war general he was. The game was close, too close for anyone to predict its outcome. Thrawn continued to slip the ball in and went for another hit, while an unfamiliar noise came from the hall.

All of the imperials turned, including the Chiss, several adjusting how they appeared. It sounded like a respirator, a methodical breathing sound that was almost rhythmic. I knew it was him.

The doors opened more rigidly this time, and there he stood, my parents behind him.

He was taller than my father, with broad shoulders that held up his cloak. His entire outfitting was black, with armor fitted over a tunic, and a belt meeting his waist where his lightsaber hung. The most prominent feature was his mask, slightly tinted red visors with a modulator at the front. You couldn’t tell whether he was looking at you or not because of it, and no one knew what he looked like underneath in the first place. 

I felt something cold run up my back, seeing the others also find a similar fate. It didn’t affect me though, still standing straight with my head facing the Sith. Everyone nodded their head, whispering a ‘my lord’ in harmony. The cold lingered, like it was sitting on my shoulders, wrapping around my figure.

“There are still a few more guests we must attend to,” my father clasped his hands. “We will return.”

“I missed my last shot, your majesty,” Thrawn said right after. I didn’t see it for myself, but I was at no disadvantage by it.

The crowd willingly turned back to the game, seemingly preferring to look at this than the dark lord. I noted that Skai had disappeared as I went back to playing, taking in the situation at hand.

The balls were now all spread across the surface, distanced enough that it was easy to take a shot anywhere. There were nine left, eight if you didn’t include the one you could hit.

The eight ball was guarding the top right pocket, while the cue ball currently sat between the right middle section. My best and only bet was trying to angle my shot so that it would hit the top wall and knock into the other with enough force. That way it would roll into the bottom left corner, since all the other shots were crowded with striped balls.

I needed to hit it hard, my hand placement carefully holding the shaft of the stick. This was my only option, I reminded myself, as I went to hit the cue ball.

“Why take that risk when there are several easier shots?” Grand Moff Tarkin asked.

“If I were to hit this one,” I pointed to the ball that stood by the top left corner. “I would make it, but then wouldn’t be able to hit another.”

“So, you are taking a risker shot instead, in hopes of gaining the lead,” he finished. “And you have trust in yourself that you can do it?”

“I do,” I said.

“Well go ahead then, I apologize for the interruption,” Tarkin ushered.

I nodded and smiled, bending down again to become leveled with the pool cue. I inhaled, getting a feel for the shaft again before exhaling and following through. The ball hit the wall, clashing with the other, and landing almost perfectly into the hole.

“Impressive,” Thrawn murmured.

I went to take another shot but before I could the doors behind us opened and we all shifted.

“It is time for dinner,” my father announced, a few more imperials behind him.

The guests began to follow the king and queen out, but not before I stopped Thrawn.

“I can take that if you like,” I waved my hand out, ushering for his pool cue.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he handed it to me softly, his hand grazing mine. “You are very talented.”

“Thank you, I enjoyed playing,” I admitted.

I put both cues’ away, before returning and noticing that the Chiss had waited for me. With a soft expression he waved for us to walk together, into the corridors of the palace. I couldn’t see the crowd ahead, due to Vader’s cape billowing in front of us as we left. We were all very close and compact though, and due to my knowledge of the layout it wasn’t an issue. I simply walked with my hands behind my back, as we made conversation.

“Your planet is beautiful, the best venue so far for this event.”

“I agree, I am glad we’ve been given the opportunity to do this,” I nodded.

“Do you explore the city often?” he asked.

“Yes, when I can I like to interact with it as much as possible,” I answered.

“Perhaps I will have to see it for myself.”

We stopped at a dead end, the entrance to the dining room now in front of us. I turned around, hearing a rolling sound, only to see my sister in her wheelchair, and Skai behind. Thrawn quickly noticed as well, bowing his head to her before entering the large room. It was magnificent, a long table with an uncountable number of chairs around it, and large chandelier overhead. Banners and windows decorated the walls, our family crest imprinted on most.

It was a known thing that Lord Vader didn’t sit or eat at events, so a chair wasn’t offered for him. Instead, nametags located each person to their seat, my parents sitting at the front of the table. Next to my father on the left side was my sister, then myself, then Grand Moff Tarkin. Grand Admiral Thrawn was next to my mother, the Director next to him, and a stream of admirals down both sides. We all pulled out our own seats, Karai sitting in her wheelchair close to the table. Lord Vader came to Tarkins side, standing behind the two of us. His shadow would have entirely covered me if the light wasn’t in front of us. I didn’t think much of it though, instead turning my attention to my sister as glasses of water were set down on the table.

“Are you excited?” I asked her, forming sign language with my hands.

‘Kind of, I hope the food is good,’ she answered.

“I’m sure it will be,” I answered, continuing to sign to her.

She didn’t enjoy large events like this, the crowds and lights often overstimulating her. She would most likely be at the ball for a bit in the beginning and then circle around the venue with Skai, where less people were.

“Can you speak fluently in sign?” Grand Moff Tarkin asked me.

“Yes, I chose to learn it at a young age,” I told him.

“Why?” he wondered. “I thought a child would not be motivated to take on such a tedious task.”

I noticed Vader turned his helmet, looking down at me as I spoke.

“I wanted to be able to communicate with my sister in a way that was convenient for her,” I said.

“Even though it was laborious for yourself?”

“I never found it laborious to begin with, I only thought about what it would do for her.”

“Your actions are commendable, Princess (Y/N), the emperor has spoken highly of you,” Tarkin commented.

“I am honored,” I thanked him.

My father made a toast before the food was served and soon enough, we were eating. I felt odd for most of the process, although I couldn’t place why. It was like someone was watching me, like something was resting on my shoulders, a comforting weight that felt protective. I thought it would leave once we made our way to the venue, but it never did, it just lingered.

The walk there was calming. After a long dinner and discussion, we were outside while the sun set, walking on the docks over to the ballroom. It was separated from the palace, but still on the lands where it was located, surrounded by the lakes. The sun set over us, while the trees shaded patches of the path we walked on. I was at the front of the crowd, walking with my sister and Skai while my parents spoke to Tarkin behind. It seemed everyone was still on edge due to the dark lord, Skai especially being unnerved, as he walked right behind her.

I looked at her as she held a death grip on my sister’s wheelchair, attempting to look as professional as possible. My face was like stone, remaining neutral without a hint of discontent. The only thing on my mind was the conversation behind me, my fathers authoritative voice being hard to block out.

“Do you plan to continue aiding the Empire in the future, and extending the contract?” Tarkin asked my father.

“Yes, we hope to.”

“Hoping and doing have two separate meanings,” a baritone voice replied, the sound of Lord Vader’s breathing stopping when it came. I knew it was him, for the first time this entire night, he had spoken.

“Of course, my lord, we will extend the contact when the time comes,” my father said, almost timidly.

The conversation was cut short at that moment, reaching the venue. You could hear the noise coming from inside, the sound of a live orchestra, and talking specifically. Hundreds of people stood, lights blaring as food was served by droids and music filled the ears of everyone passing. The doors opened and an uproar of cheers followed, welcoming the main hosts into the room.

The night went smoothly but rather quickly. I couldn’t count how many people I had spoken with, let alone had to dance with. That included Thrawn, who was the first to ask when he had the chance. I mostly traveled around, meeting people, and greeting anyone and everyone I saw. I hadn’t seen my parents much, but that was a natural consequence in this kind of arena.

The most prominent people were the storm troopers, who lined the entire space. They were clones, taken from the previous war and recommissioned after the republic fell. The way you could tell was their voice, all of them having the same accent when speaking. Skai thought they were cute; I knew she was around here somewhere. Occasionally I’d check to see if she was dancing with someone in the center, but it hadn’t seemed to happen yet.

This was one of those times, as I weaved through tables of congregating people and made my way to the dance floor. I looked at the duos of people slowly swaying with one another, hoping to point out her straight black hair in the crowd. She still seemed to have disappeared, but I didn’t mind it as long as she was fine. The time would come, and I would never let her live it down when it did.

I turned around, sighing almost defeatedly when I saw that someone had approached me. The people that were once close to me had spread out and turned their backs, the reason why standing dead in my tracks. I looked up, as a shadow towered over my figure. It was only now that I realized the weight on my shoulders never left.

“Your highness, I did not get to properly make an acquaintance with you earlier, I do apologize,” Lord Vader said.

“Oh, no worries my lord,” I replied.

“Have you had the opportunity to dance with anyone?” he asked. His voice was intimidating and commanding. Vader stoked fear in anyone he came near, the exact reason why the two of us weren’t near anyone else.

“Yes, it has been quite enjoyable to be able to,” I answered.

“I presume I may as well, princess?” Vader followed up.

“Of course.”

I was extremely surprised but tried not to think much. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, becoming quickly consumed by what was about to happen. Vader lent me his hand, bringing me to where the rest were. The song had changed, the orchestra shifting to a tune that sounded romantic but not distinct enough to name.

Dancing with Thrawn had been methodical, he was incredibly experienced at it, his footwork riding against my own. The rest also had their own special touches, and as the night went on it became apparent that they shared a common goal. But that was nothing like this, this was different. I was dancing with death, the dark lord of the Sith, the most powerful man in the galaxy. He could easily snap my neck if he wanted, and yet I reminded myself  he hadn’t.

The Sith’s hand was much larger than mine, his touch very strong but shockingly gentle. If I wanted to free myself, I wouldn’t be able to, but it was comfortable, not harsh. I thought it might squeeze me to death at first, but it was the pure opposite. Vader’s other hand slowly rested on the small of my waist, circling to my back. My hand sat on his breast armor, shoulder placement feeling unnatural due to height difference. His cloak covered the two of us, the front of my vision entirely corrupted by the man in black.

Finally, our other hands interlocked, mine once again becoming small in his. So far, it had been the same experience as the rest, up until I felt something creep up my back. It was that same cold wind, the weight on my shoulders spreading to my entire body, pulling me close to him. I unexpectedly wavered, what felt like a haze washing over my senses completely. It felt like something had invaded my mind, a feeling I had never experienced but was able to place. I blinked hard out of shock, assuming it would go away, but was surprised when dark tendrils came into my peripherals.

It was only for a moment, but relief came along with it. I looked around, everything was blocked out except for him. I couldn’t hear anything but the music, and Vader’s breathing.

“How?” I doubted myself, thinking I was going insane. I tried to let go of him to rub my eyes, but his grip was far too strong to attempt it.

“Do not resist,” Vader spoke. “Look at me, do not worry about anything else.”

It felt like my legs were moving on their own, and I hadn’t even realized I was still dancing until I looked up at him. It was the force, all of this, was him. I felt helplessly relaxed in his hold, protected beyond compare. It was like his presence was everywhere, all consuming and invading. This was not the same experience as the rest, it was better. I found myself entranced, and enjoying this, as the lights felt like they had dimmed.

Still a million thoughts ran through my mind, wondering why this was happening in the first place. He showed affection for no one, most thought if he was to marry it would be with another Sith if it was possible. They thought he was too powerful for anyone else, that he couldn’t love someone.

“Sith do not have to marry one another.”

My eyes widened up at him, realizing the rumor that he read minds was true. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable, wondering if the crowds also heard his words. Part of me wondered what the people would think of this in general, whether the Empire would point it out in the tabloids. I had no shame in dancing with him, but it could change my planet’s reputation forever.

“No one can hear this conversation but the two of us, this event will not be remembered by anyone if you do not wish for it,” the Sith read my mind for the second time, and I felt my face heat up.

“How is that possible?” I asked. I believed his words; my question was out of genuine curiosity.

“Search your feelings, your memories will remind you,” Vader ushered.

The conversation between Skai and I replayed in my mind. I knew, I just didn’t want to admit how powerful he truly was. I didn’t want to admit how much I was enjoying this. The fact that I condoned his merciless killing, and the fact I was in the arms of a man that could do horrific things without blinking an eye.  

“I didn’t know you enjoyed dancing,” I admitted, hoping to shift the conversation.

“I don’t.”

“We can stop,” I assured him almost naturally. “I don’t want this to bother you.”

“No, this does not apply,” the force kept me in place as he spoke.

“How so?”

“Because the reason you offered to stop, you differentiate from every single person in this vicinity.”

“I understand,” I maintained eye contact, swallowing almost nervously, because in truth I had no clue what he meant.

“Do you?” he asked me.

“I want to,” I said.

“You shall.”

The cold feeling that once laid on my back now felt warm, a tingly sensation in my mind that rested gently. The song ended, and we stayed together, the haze around me fading. Once I noticed, I was quick to take in my surroundings, easing back into the sound of chattering. My sights rested on a girl with long, straight black hair, and a tall man with blonde shaved hair and strong jawline.

She seemed to notice too, her eyes locking onto mine, and within and instant, Vader turned to see what shocked me so much. Skai looked owlish, holding onto a clone who had different armor than the rest. She looked me up and down, as I remained a neutral face, but a slight waver in my lips made it clear I agreed with her surprise. She had danced with the Storm Troopers captain, while I had danced with the lord of the Sith.

I watched as Skai looked up to meet Vader’s gaze and immediately looked away. She was terrified, but also flustered looking at the clone before her. He was handsome, not my type, but handsome.

I returned to Vader, having yet to be released from his grasp, his respirators sound being the most consistent thing of the night.

“Thank you, your highness,” he said, as if nothing happened.

“It was an honor, my lord,” I left in harmony with him, the two of us splitting.

I needed fresh air, to get away from the overwhelming lack of space amidst the crowd. I saw Skai leaving too, heading towards the opposite door that I was. I assumed she was returning to Karai, who most likely was outside. My heart rate picked up; I could feel it.

I hurried towards the outdoor corridor, swallowing harshly as I met the cold nights air. I needed something, anything to snap me out of whatever just happened. I was intrigued of all things, a part of me wondering if it would ever happen again. The sound of Vader’s breathing had disappeared in exchange for crickets chirping in by the tall grasses and the sound of the lake water moving about. All of it so harmonious and yet I couldn’t relax to it. I needed something new to latch onto, something that would stay constant.

It sounded like something pressurized hit a surface. I looked around, to see absolutely nothing different, and yet there was now a repetitive beeping sound ringing in my ears. At first, I thought I was hallucinating, forcing myself to create the pattern in my mind so that I would calm down. It was only when it began to speed up that I realized the severity of the situation.

My eyes wandered to the stain glass window as my hands held onto the rail behind me. I looked just a bit closer at it, to see a subtle blinking light on a small circular dome. It was only a moment later that the noise got too fast, and I saw the door at the end of the hall open, but there was no time to see who it was. The sound was so loud that it felt like my eardrums blocked it out, a fire of red and orange fumigating my senses as I tried to cover my face with one arm. It was a stupid move I decided, closing my eyes shut, only for them not to open.

FIRST CHAPTERRR its totally not like 5k words but wtv it only gets better from here.

NOTE: Karai's disabilities are based on my experiences IRL since I have family who struggles with it. Hope you enjoyed!

[eternalchiyo]

𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜 ~𝔻𝔸ℝ𝕂: ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖~

Hello, hello! I am so excited to finally share my little story with you. I hope you have fun reading!

Summary: Chiyo is ordered to pack her things and start living in the human world.

Word Count: 1923

„Close your eyes,” the boy said.

She closed them and felt something cold touch her neck. After he moved away from her, she opened her eyes again and looked down. An amber pendant was now hanging around her neck.

The girl looked at the boy, a curious look on her face. She wondered what this was about, there was no special occasion for him to be giving her presents.

“It reminded me of you.”

He wasn’t very talkative by nature, more so if it came to showing his emotions. But the stone from the pendant radiated the same warmth he felt whenever he was around her. Mesmerized he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way she looked at him when she smiled. Her eyes were almost sparkling and emitted the same kind of warmth.

Only for him, his everlasting spark.

Chiyo was lying in bed, doing nothing except staring at the ceiling. She turned her head when she heard a quiet thump against her window. A big moth had flown against the glass, trying to get to the only available source of light, the candle by her bedside. There weren’t that many lights on at this hour and she didn’t really need one either. However, she still liked to have it around. It was weirdly comforting.

She stood up from her bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet as she made her way over to the big window. The moth flew inside when she opened it.

Then she caught it with both her hands.

She observed the struggling insect as she held it by its wings. They were so delicate, so easy to destroy, if she wanted to.

“You poor thing…” she said quietly, her delicate pale fingers slowly tearing through the wings until she ripped them off completely before throwing the creature into the flame.

Earlier that day she found out her father was sending her to that house. Ever since she heard that, her mood began spiraling downwards gradually. She didn’t want to see him again, yet alone live under the same roof as him and his brothers!

She overheard the servants talking that it was by direct orders of none other than King Karlheinz himself. She respected the Vampire King, of course, but she felt that her father was a bit too eager to please him. He was obsessed with trying to be favored by the King. Why? She had no idea, they were relatively wealthy, or at least had a high enough standing at court to be part of all the important festivities and high enough for her to be able to casually get to know his sons even though she was only half a Vampire.

Being able to get to know the King’s sons also meant she knew how horrible they could be, and she worried about the reason she was told to go live with them. She never found out why. Of course, she had tried to fight back against her father, but he only chastised her with a hard slap to her face, telling her how much of a spoiled brat she was. Her cheek still hurt where his ring-clad finger had hit her.

One of the things she learned years ago though, was that the King never did something without reason. The brothers would also often comment on how their father used people as pawns. Like a very elaborate game of human-sized 3D chess. So there was definitely some sort of reason that he wanted her there and it would be very beneficial for her to find out why. She doubted any of his kids would know and there was very little time before her departure. Chiyo disliked that.

She did hear about the sacrificial brides that were sent to the Sakamaki sons every so often, and she also heard about their tragic fates. Surely, they wouldn’t be interested in sacrificing one of their own. Then again, she hardly was recognized as one of them anyway. Vampire society made it painfully clear it didn’t like her ever since she first stepped into court as a young girl.

“God, I hate this.”

Too bad God didn’t exist.

She was sitting inside a black, fancy car. She didn’t care enough to know what brand it was; a car was a car. All she knew was that it was black and shiny and that she did not like the smell of the leather seats. She preferred the carriages from the demon world, but she realized they might be seen as a bit outdated in 21st century Japan.

She had visited their mansion in Japan once when they freshly moved in there. She wasn’t sure how many years ago that was, her sense of time betraying her since she spent most of her day-to-day life in the demon world.

The house looked bigger than she remembered. The sun was already setting when she arrived. The familiar that drove the car also carried her luggage inside the house, but soon enough she was left alone in the empty hallway.

It didn’t seem like there was anybody at home right now. While she did not expect a welcoming wagon and flowers upon her arrival, this was disappointing. She felt so out of place. Business as usual.

She crossed her arms and huffed, sitting back against one of the velvet sofas.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard the door from the main entrance open.

“Huh? Do you smell that as well? Someone’s here.” She heard the distant voice say. Did that mean they weren’t aware of her arrival?

“Oh? It looks like Chiyo from the Himura estate decided to pay us a visit.”

Tall, dark hair, and this way of articulating himself.

“Reiji,” she said. She knew nobody else that was so stuck up in their way of speaking.

“Chirin, what are you doing here? Did you miss us?”

She looked at them in disbelief. They really didn’t know!

“What is that disgusting half-breed doing in our house?” This angelic tone could only belong to that brat, Kanato.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? Direct orders from your father,” she said.

Everyone was visibly confused, the question of ‘why’ hanging between them heavily. She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to.

Their gazes shifted to the oldest when he entered the room. Shuu seemed like he was going to just try and escape everyone, using the flight of stairs, hadn’t he been discovered by his siblings before he managed to.

He stared at the group lazily before shifting his gaze to Chiyo for a moment. He frowned slightly at the sight of her.

“Right…he mentioned something like that, but it was too troublesome to pay attention to the details,” he said and made his way through the carefully stacked suitcases, knocking some of them over in the process. His younger brother sighed exasperatedly, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I apologize. It seems there has been some miscommunication here, so we weren’t able to prepare for your arrival. We do actually have another guest staying here at the moment.”

Another guest?

It turned out, in the time she hadn’t seen the odd family, a few things had changed in that household.

Kanato successfully expanded his wax doll collection for one.

The other thing was their long-term guest that went by the name Yui Komori, who was painfully human. How she survived for so long, Chiyo had no clue, but she either had enough wits to escape blood-loss for months, or there was something else special about her. Both would be equally impressive. The rumors about the unfortunate young girls being sent to the Sakamakis in the human world turned out to be true and Chiyo assumed most of the vampires running their mouths were jealous of the free meals that such an arrangement implied.

Reiji arranged so that a room on the upper floor was prepared for her as soon as possible. It was far away from the triplets but dangerously close to Shuu. Seeing as her stay in this house had been marked as indefinite, she would have preferred it to be as far away from him as possible.

Chiyo groaned as she threw the last one of her suitcases open. Unpacking was never a favorite of hers. She blew at one of the strands of hair that came loose to get it out of her face.

She wanted to go home!

The helplessness of her situation annoyed her. At least the rooms came with big closets, so she could fit all of her dresses.

“Huh… how did that get in here?”

An amber necklace was between the fancy fabrics of her favorite clothes. She hadn’t seen this piece of jewelry for many years, and she had no idea how in the world it could have made its way inside her suitcase. She didn’t recall putting it in any dress pockets but maybe she did and just forgot about it.

She took it out and let it dangle in front of her face. The big stone glowed as warm as ever, as if it were new. But it wasn’t. It was as old and outdated as the feelings associated with it.

It reminded me of you.

She threw the necklace away. It landed between the pillows on her bed.

What a jerk.

“I can’t believe you simply ‘forgot’ something important like this. Do you not listen to our father at all?” Reiji asked. He was pacing around the living room, complaining as per usual.

Shuu was sprawled out on one of the couches, one earbud inside his ear so at least it looked like he was listening to his brother. Yes, he had been listening to what their father told him, but he simply decided to ignore the fact that this woman was going to live with them for who knows how long. Besides, that guy hadn’t specified that he wanted Shuu to relay this information to anyone else.

“It would have saved me a lot of trouble had you just told me she was arriving, but no, you choose to make running this household even more difficult. If you do not want any responsibility even though you are the eldest, then at least try to not make it any more complicated for me.”

The track on Shuu’s MP3 player ended and a new one began playing. Chopin.

He tried to focus on that instead of Reiji’s irritating voice.

“Are you done complaining?” he asked finally.

What use was there getting worked up about this after the fact? She arrived here fine and alive anyway. She had a room and was probably arranging her perfume bottles or something pointless like that.

“Good grief,” Reiji said, “there really is no point in trying to talk any sense into you.”

“Exactly, so you can leave me alone now and do something more worthy of your time.”

Reiji scoffed and left shortly after.

That woman was already getting under his skin. He was irritated and not even his favorite music could help calm him down. Shuu had done his best to erase the memories he had of her. Up until now he had the impression of having done a good job. Clearly that was not the case at all, when as much as looking at her almost made him lose his cool. Even now he could feel her presence, her scent already clinging to the furniture in the room. How terribly troublesome.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Songbird

Dream of the Endless x Musician!Reader

Summary: Ever since the Apollo incident, you haven't gotten a good night's sleep. It was not because of the anxiousness that came after that horrible encounter, it was by design. After all, you would not have to fall on your knees and beg to the King of Dreams again if you do not enter his domain. Boy, did that backfire.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: BRUH I WROTE 5k SMUT AGAIN BYE, no feminism in sight, themes of polytheism, fem!reader, egyptian goddess insert, possessive!dream, smut (dom!dream to soft!dream, hair pulling, begging, thigh riding ig, vaginal penetration, cock warming), typos, etc.

A/N: yeah so 🫶 today we get on our knees So this is a continuation to Left In Hell (p1) and Sounds Like Heaven (p2). You do not need to read them to understand, but I highly suggest you read part 2 at least to get the reference of the summary and to understand why dream's so mad HAHAHA I feel like i've made yn into this mystical, immortal-esque being but i dont actually know whats going on with her so just roll with it. who knows maybe i'll keep writing for musician!reader Also @aralezinspace gave me some ideas for this fic. TY LOVEY. And I'm tagging @rosaren2498 cause i said i would if i continued

"You look horrible," Meret judges.

I dart my tired eyes at her silky black hair and perfectly smooth skin. She crosses her toned arms and not a wrinkle interrupts her face as she knits her brows at me.

"I will always look horrible in comparison to you, my goddess," I retort as I press my hands together and mutter a solemn greeting to her.

She raises her nose, "no. Usually, the mere entrance in my shrine makes you glow," she nears me and places a hand on my cheek, "but you have damaged yourself, as you have clearly been avoiding the master of dreams."

The heat of her gaze makes me gulp.

Meret hums, "why is that, my love?"

"There is a reason why I have been more devoted to you these days," I force a smile on my tired features.

Meret pulls her hand away and raises a brow, "and here I thought you've finally grown tired of that bacchanal Apollo."

The goddess of rejoicing strides to her throne. I find some clarity at the sight of her swaying hips.

I clear my throat, "you are thinking of his brother, my lady."

Meret sits on her throne and waves a hand. She crosses her legs and her pale blue chiffon skirt slips to the side, revealing her shapely legs, "they are all the same to me." She drops her hands to her armrest and tilts her head, "did you not bring an instrument with you?"

I tent my hands in front of me and push away the face that springs up in my head, "I thought you would enjoy if I recounted the Songs of the Nile for you today instead."

"Oh," she smiles, "well, it has been a while since I have heard its tune."

I bow before her then lift up my voice with the song I had learned ages ago. I sing to her until her dwelling blooms with flowers by her own delight to the worship. My voice echoes in her chamber and time passes gently as I finish my tale.

Once I am done, Meret stands from her throne and applauds me, her entire being left with a glow, as, I find, is my own.

I am in a way revitalized, my eyelids don't feel as heavy, yet there is a lingering fog in my mind.

She praises me in ancient Egyptian, and I curtsy at the words, though I do not understand.

Meret walks over to me and places a joyous kiss on my lips. Once she pulls away, my head spins at her sentiment.

She grabs my face, "another song, my child."

I nod enthusiastically, "as you command, oh goddess."

By the time I finish my 10th song, I meekly decline her pleas to continue with another selection. Her encompassing essence in the snug realm had forced all my tiredness away after all the worship. But it was not because I had gotten reinvigorated now that I wanted to leave. It was because I knew the trickle of time may seem slow here, but that did not mean the same thing to the waking world.

"Will you have your goddess get on her knees for you to sing once more?" Meret offers.

I then me drop to my knees and I shake my hands in defeat, "I would not, oh Meret, I-"

"I understand," she sighs, waving her hands, "you fear the passing of time in your realm," she adds, "time is annoying, is it not?"

I merely nod.

She, who had gone back to the throne, walks back to me and pulls me to my feet, "it is a pity that you are so loyal that man."

I suck in a breath, "Apollo is-"

"But I do not mean the sun child," she presses a finger to my lips, "the Endless you are fleeing from has been whispering for me to release you after I declined his request to enter my domain."

"Dream..." I shiver, "has been calling for me," my shoulders tense.

Meret narrows her eyes, "if my daughter is being harassed by the King of Dreams, then I shall have you stay here with me until he tires."

I grab her hands. She feels me shudder as I say, "no! No!" I even my breathing, "that would not be necessary."

"But it is," she takes rubs her thumbs on my skin, "I am your patron, and I-"

"He is also my patron!" I quip nervously, "and I-" I blink rapidly and force out a smile, "-should not chose to anger him any more than I have already."

Meret's face begins to darken.

"The King of Dreams is why Apollo is stuck still in a void," I nervously chuckle, "I would not have another one of my precious divinities answer to the same fate," I choke on my saliva momentarily, "nor do I want to wake up in a darkness I cannot escape."

Before Meret could speak, I urge her with a shaky voice, "please let me go back home. Please. I beg of you."

She weighs the sincerity of my voice.

"My goddess, please," I drag out desperately.

She huffs, "as you wish."

With a wave of her hand, a portal appears to my side. I give her one last curtsy and step into the vortex.

A shiver runs down my spine when I make it to the cold hallway in front of the door to my apartment. The temperature was not a good sign.

I enter my home and immediately look for my phone and check my phone for the date.

I release a shudder at the sight of the digital calendar, "it's fine." I heave, "it's only been a month." I drop my phone to the coffee table and stretch my back, "I thought it would have been at least two, considering the one aria was so-"

"You have been avoiding me."

I turn behind me and gasp at darkness that suddenly cloaks my room. At the heart of it was Dream's pale and angered face, towering over me as though I was an ant, which would not be so far from how someone like him would see me anyway.

I tear my gaze away from him as he calls my name out in a warning.

I clear my throat, willing the fear out of my system, and point to nowhere in particular, "I had... errands."

I make the mistake of turning back to him and my very soul nearly leaves me.

When I tear away from him again, he stops me. His large hand traps my jaw and turns me back to him. He does not apply force, he does not need to. I do as he wishes as behold the searing heat of his glorious face.

My chew my lower lip as he steps forward and peers down at me with his cold blue eyes, "you will look at me when you are speaking to me and I am speaking to you," he lifts my head up higher that my lips nearly touch his as he leans forward, "am I understood?"

I nod.

"Good," he breathes out, sending a shiver down my spine.

Dream examines my expression and blinks before he speaks, "these errands of yours, they have forced you to lose sleep?"

"I-" I can't tell him the truth, "I am busy."

He tilts his head, "that does not answer my question."

I find great difficulty in keeping his gaze.

He calls out my name again, and I turn to him and freeze.

"These errands you have to your gods and goddesses," he words carefully, "have they forced you to lose sleep?"

My lack of better judgement gets the better of me, "y-yes."

He hums so gutturally I feel it echo in my thorax. Dream finally releases me then allows a fraction of space between us, "then I will exact a punishment to Meret, who-"

"NO!" I grab his coat and hang my head low in shame, "I-" I stutter and feel goosebumps rise on my skin when his hands find my arms.

I lift my head up to him and heave at the expectant and hard gaze he held.

"I-I... was lying," I mutter so lowly that the sound barely leaves my lips. I knew he heard it though, seeing how his lips pursed.

"The truth is, my lord," I gulp, "I have been avoiding you."

"Yes," he retorts, "as I said moments ago."

Dream prompts me to straighten myself up, and once I do, his hands travel to my sides and pulls me close to him.

As I am sure the sound of my pulse echos in his ears, he leans down and nearly chokes me with the look of his glassy blue eyes, "I wonder why you wasted great efforts in losing sleep, as though there is a realm I could not reach you-" his hands travel up my ribs, "-could not hear my songbird's sweet voice."

A sharp shudder escapes me when he bends down and sucks in a deep breath against my cheek. My hands instinctively dart to his own, and the moment I do so, he grabs my wrists and pulls away. He is disgusted, "you smell like your goddess."

I open my mouth but find no reply.

Dream's eyes dart down, "she even made it a point to stain your lips with her rouge," his eyes slowly dart back up, "or perhaps this was your scheme," he raises his brows.

I dawns upon me that there was most definitely lipstick stains on my lips.

I open my mouth, but speak not a single word when his fingers brush on my lips, "there is something to be done about this," he mutters, "don't you agree?"

I squeak an undiscernible response.

"I have just worn out your ears with my chastising, did I not?" Dream questions, "and your voice tired after repeating your pleas of mercy."

His fingers rake my back, just below my shoulder blades, "and yet," his other hand cups my jaw, "you insult me worse than you did before, in a way that tells me you do not place value to my words."

"My king, I- I-"

He raises his brows.

"I-"

I cannot continue.

He visibly does not enjoy this.

I whine, feeling tears cloud my eyes, "I-"

"Save your voice," he commands, swiftly drawing away from me, "you will need it when I wear out your entire body with my chastising."

I am sent reeling but his severe words, left as still as a statue.

I watch him as he walks over to my sofa and sits upon it, as though it was his throne. Dream turns to me and my frozen state, "have you any complaints, songbird?"

I choke on my spit and clear my throat.

He awaits my response and feel my palms sweat.

"Do you not think it is fair of me to seek retribution of your spite?"

I shake my head.

"Very good," he speaks plainly.

I fidget with my hands while Dream relaxes against the cushions.

"If your goddess can make her most devoted musician sing, then I expect nothing less for myself," the King of Dreams states with finality.

I release a breath and point a finger, "would you like me to bring out an instrument, my lord?"

He hums, "you are willing to play so suddenly?"

His tone was laced with an accusing knowledge, knowledge of the fact I did not bring any instruments to Meret's shrine, lest I trigger more jealousy out of him.

If I had played his Harp of Dreamlight, then he would hear me and demand audience, as it was his right. But if I had played any other instrument, say the Flute of the Desperation, or my Marimba of the Tides, then he would have still heard and made reason to scorn me over the fact I am not using the precious gift he mended with his bare hands.

I do not make the mistake of noting any of this.

"I am always willing to please my patrons," I curtsy.

He merely blinks, "then play Death's piano," the said piano materializes in front of me, "and sing me her lullaby?"

I turn to the seat in front of the instrument then back to Dream, "you want me to sing Death's Lullaby?"

"I have yet to hear your rendition of it."

I shudder under his gaze then turn to the piano, "as you command, Dream Lord."

I open the fallboard once I sit before the piano. I straighten my back as I close my eyes. I begin to play the chords and the melody of the song, giving myself a moment to recount all the lyrics as I do.

I feel agitation build inside me when I am unable to recount all the words in my head.

"Dream," I mutter, opening my eyes to look at the black and white keys under my fingers.

The hair on my nape rises when he speaks my name out in response.

"I don't think I remember all the words."

"I will not hold it against you if you hum the part you cannot recall."

With the reassurance, I start by humming the lullaby's tune before attempting to sing it. Once I do, I sway my head in beat and find myself finally relaxing even with the Endless' presence.

This does not last as I, not only cease my singing, but also my playing when I feel hands come upon my shoulders. With a shaky grunt, I regain composure and continue my performance, tensing against him before easing myself back to calmness.

"Very good," Dream praises, brushing my hair away before placing a kiss on the side of my neck.

I breathily rasp out the lyrics and forget the rest when he begins to suck and lick my skin.

He does not seem to mind that I only manage to play the tune on the piano while I shakily breathe when I feel him wrap his arms around me.

As far as lullabies go, this one was as short and briefly meets its end. I do not mention it to him however and decide to simply repeat the lullaby over and over again until he asks me to stop.

I press on a few wrong notes when Dream's hands begin to massage my breasts. I am unable to hold back my moan when he does.

He ceases his kisses then hotly whispers, "now play me the Ballad of Nightmares."

Like a true puppet, I quickly transpose and restraighten my back as my fingers climb up and down the keys.

He hums and pulls away from me fully, leaving my head spinning at the loss of his tender touches. I crane my neck up at him and feel my stomach tighten at the sight of his pleased expression.

Before I could reach the section where I would sing, Dream's deep voice causes me to freeze, "I would prefer if you only sang to me this time."

I immediately nod and stand from my seat.

The next moment, the piano is gone and Dream pulls me against him.

I look up at him, open mouthed, and blink rapidly at the sight of his moistened lips. I gulp when he leans closer.

"Well," Dream starts, hands taking my hips, "sing for me."

He begins to push me back, and so I walk backwards as he directs. I gasp when I am pushed on the sofa. I bounce slightly when Dream sits to my side.

I steal a quick look before turning away and closing my eyes. I begin to sing the first verse but choke on my words feel his fingers on my abdomen, tugging my top off.

He raises his brows at me when I turn to him, "you do not require clothes to sing, do you?"

My voice goes silent and my breathing quickens.

Dream's expectant look makes me stutter, "I- no-"

"Then do not stop on my account," he dismisses as he frees me off my top.

I continue the song, goosebumps and all, as Dream brushes his fingers on my collarbones and then works to rid of my bra. I try not to think about how warm and large his hands are when he frees my breasts and massages them. I especially try not to think of how my core throbs when he bends down in front of me and takes my pert nipple into his eager mouth.

My hand darts to his messy hair and my thighs press tightly against each other. I reach the chorus when he wordlessly instructs me to stand before him.

I am severely aware of how his eyes are glued on my chest as make my way between his legs. His hands grab my sensitive lumps before travelling down to pull my bottoms off.

I am proud of myself that I do not even hitch when the cool air hits my bare thighs. I do, however, not fault myself for needing a moment to gulp when he squeezes my thighs and brings a finger up to my soaking heat.

I stop all together when he stands before me and grabs my hands. I feel blood rise up my neck as he towers over me.

The king tilts his head, "did I tell you to stop?"

I shake my head quickly. I continue my song.

He guides my hands onto his shoulders, "you can sing and strip me, can you not?"

I nod eagerly as I continue with the second verse.

He places a quick kiss on the pulse point on my wrist, "very good."

I pull off his trench coat hastily and drop it to the floor. I then take my time brushing my fingers up his toned stomach as I rid him of his shirt. I am glad he does not deny me this pleasure.

When my hands grab onto his waistband, he moves away and grabs the area himself, "eyes on mine, pretty girl," he mutters, making me turn back to his crystal blue eyes.

"I will do this myself," he says undoing the button on his pants, "I do not need you more distracted than you already are."

It was a chore to keep my eyes on him when I could still see him in my peripherals.

When I begin to mess up the chorus, Dream clicks his tongue. My heart is too loud for me to even hear myself properly at this point, if I'm being honest. Once he is as bare as I am, he sits down on the couch and grabs me by the hips, forcing me in front of him.

This time, he pushes my legs apart with his knees and sneaks in between my soft thighs, "you sung so beautifully the words moments ago. I am disappointed you cannot remember them now."

I screw my eyes shut as I try to rejog my memory. It is futile when Dream grabs the back of my thighs and urges me toward him. My hands grab his shoulders as I climb on him.

I release a moan when my wetness lands against his toned thigh. He allows me the courtesy of continuing my lewd desires as I stammer over whatever the fuck I was singing in the first place.

The next moment, he reels me close to him and I hiss when I feel his hardened length rub against me.

His hands grip my sides tightly as he rocks against me, "I did not tell you to stop."

"D-Dream-"

"I did not ask you to beg," his voice falls deeper.

Heaving deeply, I test my voice before continuing with the rest of the song, but I rip my eyes open when and fall silent when Dream stills and blurts, "from the beginning."

I whine, chest inflating and deflating with reluctance.

"You are in no position to decline me," he leans in, pushing his pulsing hard-on against me, making me bite my lips to conceal my whine.

"I will burn traces of your devotion to others," he mutters as he brushes his nose on my neck. Dream feels bitterness rise up his throat as he speaks, "will you dare deny your king of this?"

"I-"

He pulls my head back by the roots of my hair, causing me to whimper and grip him tightly, "I will not have you agree, only to shirk me and pray tribute to your false gods."

"My lord, I-"

"You are my music maker," he mutters, "you owe your allegiance to whom gifted you your talents," he growls, biting the throbbing pulse on my neck, "I am your master."

His one hand moves to my core, "your maker," this thumb massages my sensitive nub, "who will make you come undone all over me."

"Morpheus, my lord, please!" I whine out.

He chuckles darkly, "you do not even know what you beg for."

"Exact your punishment on me, I swear I will not answer to anyone else's calls but yours."

He finally releases his grip on my hair and places both his hands on my waist, rubbing the surface up and down, "then sing for me," he grips my hips and elicits a whine from me once he sheathes himself in my slickened folds, "while I relieve my frustrations in your heat."

I catch my breath at the feel of the stretch, "Dream, please."

He purrs, hips barely rolling beneath me, "what are you begging for this time?"

"I-" I lean close to his face, "I don't think I can sing everything."

I bite my lips when he stills and looks at me, "then shall I stop?"

I shake my head furiously, causing him to chuckle, causing me to squeak at the feel of him.

"You must not fall mute while you sing," he brushes my hair behind my ear, "or else it would not be singing, would it?"

I whine in a mix of worry and need, "but what if I forget the words," I mutter, grabbing his wrists that were by my sides as I rut against him.

He growls in protest, hands flying off me before he seals me tightly against him, hindering any further movements, "you are too audacious for your own good, girl."

I pant against him heavily.

Dream eyes me darkly, "fine. In the nature of your punishment, for every time you fall silent, you will repeat the ballad from the top and I will not allow you relief until you finish every word."

I whine, "Morpheus-"

"Or," he cuts me of, "you can speak my name with every ounce of adoration in the moments you forget the lyrics."

I nod eagerly to his words.

"Do not be so quick to agree," he mutters, leaning back on the cushion as his hands find my hips again, "I can tell if you speak my name in vain."

"Morpheus," I drawl instinctively as he begins to move underneath me.

"Very good," he croons, leading my hips with his hands, "but that is not the opening words to the song, little one."

And so I draw in a deep breath and rack my brain for the start of the words, lest my Dream maker stop his ministrations.

I begin my singing and Dream rewards me by rocking more eagerly and allowing me to I rock in sync against him. For the most part, I manage my musings clear enough to make out the words and the tune. If it was your first time to hear the song though, I'm sure it would not have made sense to you.

There is a slight hitch in my voice when Dream begins to latch his lips on my collar bones and graze the area. My hands find his nape and my fingers dig into the roots of his hair.

I feel glorious on him, especially with how successful I am with my singing.

I persevere all the way to the chorus, but then that was when Morpheus shifts and flips us over. He pushes my back on the cushioned seat and my head props on the arm chest.

At this point, I struggle with my lyrics and he seems to enjoy it. I end up a sputtering mess and don't have the wits to say anything but his name.

He smiles as I grab his face and whine. He rolls his hips deliciously into my and my legs anchor him in the perfect position.

"Dream, oh, Dream, you feel so good."

His thrusts bring unholy sounds to my mouth.

"I don't remember that part of the song, pretty girl."

Fuck the song, I could care less about a stupid ass-

"Will you continue your tune, or shall I withdraw and use my hands instead of your throbbing-"

"No, please!" I whine and shake my head as I latch my fingers around his neck. "Morpheus, please, please, give me a chance."

"Well, when you say my name so sweetly," he sighs, quickening his actions, "I would hate to see my favorite songbird suffer," he grips my legs tightly, "not when she's submit to me willingly."

I moan out his name while I finally remember the next words to the song. I hit all the wrong notes and even modulate to a different key when he maneuvers me up. My body is trapped in the corner of the couch and he begins to brutally ram into me.

My head falls back and my voice strains as my tongue helplessly hangs out. I gasp for air as he grows relentless.

Oh Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus. Morpheus.

That's all that could come out of my lips at this point.

He hums and steals one gasp of his name from my lips. It does not end my holy mantra though.

Dream utters, "I quite like this song."

I do nothing but squirm, especially when one of his hands begin to fiddle with my sopping heat.

The sounds of me are absolutely obscene.

It is music to his ears.

"Do you think your beloved Meret or Apollo would enjoy this song as much as I?" he quips harshly, though his voice is not strained at all.

For once he does not enjoy the fact my only response is his name.

He snaps his hips particularly harshly, "I am asking you a question, my dear."

I dumbly whine as I gain the wits to look at him. My jaw hangs low at the sight of his dark gaze while he absolutely annihilates me.

"If that poses too hard to answer, then I'll ask something simpler," he leans his forehead against me, "who is making you feel this good?"

My legs tighten around him, "you."

"And what is my name, dearest?"

"Morpheus," I whine, "my- my Dream, my king of dreams and nightmares, my-" I squeal, "my king, my love, my -"

He hums and rewards me with a kiss on my jaw though my response is all very messy, "very good." He licks my throat as he thrusts, "and again-"

"Morpheus-"

"Again-

"Morpheus-"

Dream continues like this, making sport of burning his name on my throat, up until my words are muffled and my breathing escapes me.

All at once, I am wild with pleasure, burning from the core of my very being, as I coil tightly around him, both with my limbs and from within. I can barely make out any coherent sounds as I am blinded by my undoing. I come around him with a noise I'm sure my neighbors are not enjoying.

"Very good, my girl," he praises, "very good for me, indeed," he kisses my neck, "will you allow me a few moments to chase after release?"

I nod furiously and grab his face, "fuck, Morpheus, please, come inside me. Please, please, please."

He only groans in response as he chases his own high.

I cry out when I feel him spasm inside of me. He draws out a prolonged sigh as he thrashes his hips. I'm merely a moaning, boneless, mess as he draws every last grain of delight out of him and into me.

Even though I am helplessly shaking beneath him as his movements heavily persist, I am utterly pleased by the feel of him coming undone in me.

Once he finally slacks, I manage to catch my voice and my breath as my toes curl and my belly rolls.

I attack his neck, eager to mark him the way he surely marked me.

Dream moans and snakes his arms around my torso, pressing me closer against him, if that were possible, "pretty girl, this is your punishment, remember?"

"Wanna make you feel good," I mutter against his skin.

He lifts his head as he groans, raising a brow at me, "I can practically hear the aching of your core. You cannot possibly take me now."

I attempt to kiss him but end up pouting when he dodges me, "I thought you were punishing me, my king."

"You make me out to be so cruel," he croons, brushing his nose against mine, "I did not even hold true to my threats," he ghosts his lips on mine.

He rolls his lips against me and I am unable to mask my sharp whine.

"You've proved it to yourself, girl," he mutters, "you would break against me."

My stomach flutters at the idea, "then break me."

He draws my name out in a warning and feels the shiver that runs down my spine because of it. Dream lifts face to look down on me with disappointment, "you are more insolent than you have proved."

I nibble my lip, "I can be a good girl for you," I release my lip and offer a soft smile, "or a really, really bad girl."

"I wonder how much worse you can become."

"I can show-" I gasp and tighten my arms around him when he begins to move, "no wait, I'm sorry, please don't leave," I press my cheek on his shoulder and quickly beg, "please don't leave."

Dream shifts before he stills, "but is this not uncomfortable for you?"

"I like the way you feel," I admit, "I don't want you to pull away."

I relax when he rearranges me in his arms.

Effortlessly, Dream keeps me cradled in his arms as he rearranges us on the sofa. He is back beneath me and my legs are straddling his.

We both release a sigh of relief.

I lean back on the crook of his neck and begin to work on his hickies.

"Do not test me, girl," he warns so fervently I feel my womb quiver.

I whimper as he wraps his arms around me and moves his head to hinder my actions.

"I'm not testing you, my lord," I complain, taking his face in my hands, opting to kiss his face instead, "I'm worshiping you, adoring you, loving you."

Dream relaxes at the notion, then chuckles. The vibrations of his laugh leave me whining. He leans back and exposes his milky neck to me. I eagerly attack throat as he says, "very good."

[adickaboutspoons]

🤡🛒⛔ for the meme!

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I prefer to think of most of my WIPs as in long-term holding patterns, but yeah, there's a couple that will prolly never get developed further. There's one I wrote to entertain my Discord girlies (g/n) as an canon-divergence to 1x7 where Jack is drunk enough to black out before whippies part II & drunken Ed goes to see about Stede reading in his bunk. And I quoted entirely too much "Tess of the D'urbervilles" and there is drunken knifeplay.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I'm constitutionally incapable of not comparing Stede to the sun or going on at length about Ed's incredible eyes. You know it's an envinoveritas joint if Stede is deeply oblivious or, at the very least, nobly restrained when it comes to Ed, because he's fundamentally incapable of believing that anyone, much less *Ed*, could be attracted to him. Oh, also I'm a little obsessed with Ed creatively swearing in his head - if the fic is from his POV, there WILL be at least on instance where he's all "Fucking fuck a motherless poxy cock-swallowing twat waffle of a duck taint in hell."

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh? I think I'm a pretty funny writer, but I don't really laugh at my own jokes. That said, I'm not above a self-satisfied smile. Here's a scene from a Taskmaster AU I've been pecking away at for the entertainment of my Discord girlies (g/n). The premise is that, while recording the tasks, Stede got assigned a solo task to send cheeky texts to Greg's phone every day for five months, only to find out at the record for the in-studio part of the show that Greg hadn't received a single one; Stede had sent them all to the wrong number. Which started to text back after the episode aired...

He climbed out of bed, wincing just a little when he stretched and cursing his old bones. He went to the bathroom, brushed the bog-taste from his mouth, pulled on some clean clothes, then grabbed his phone to go downstairs and put on some tea. A calming brew might be just the thing, depending on what William S. Hornberry, Esq. had to say. Will answered on the second ring. “It’s already on telly, Stede. You really just need to put Channel 4 as far from your mind as possible,” he sighed into the phone without any preamble. “No - I mean, yes, I know. This is not about that. Well, adjacent to that. What I mean to say is I got a reply. From the person I’ve been texting in error I mean.” There was another sigh down the line, and the sound of Will taking a sip of a calming brew of his own. “Okay. Let’s have it.” “What?” “Read it to me - what does it say?” Stede picked the Taskmaster phone up off the counter and thumbed the power button. He undid the lock screen (a picture of Greg’s disapproving face staring out at him), and pulled up the text window. “Oh! There’s more since I went to bed last night!” he said. He skimmed over the new message quickly. So far, no indication that this was going to go south! Excellent. He judiciously tempered his excitement until he heard Will’s opinion, though. Will waited in polite silence. Stede cleared his throat, scrolled back up to where the messages started, and read it all off to him. “‘Loved the show tonight.' 'Been loving the texts even more.' 'Keep ‘em coming.' 'Sexy.' That’s all the stuff from before I went to bed. The new stuff says: ‘You deserved more than 2 points for Kings Quest. That game rocked.' 'Let me know when you’re done playing with floppy things. I’ve got something hard I think you might be interested in.’ So what do we think? Doesn’t seem like they’re inclined to sue me, right?” “Well, if he is, he won’t have a leg to stand on now that he’s flirting back,” Will answered with a hearty chortle. “Flirting? What - no! Just being cheeky, surely? Giving as good as they got.” Another heavy sigh heaved its way down the line. “Stede, I say this not just as your lawyer, but, after all these years, someone I hope you think of as a dear friend. You don’t have the best track record when it comes to realizing someone is flirting with you.” “I think I’d know if someone was flirting with me.” Stede huffed. “Name one time you’ve seen someone flirt with me and I didn’t recognize it.” There was a long silence. So long that Stede pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the call had dropped. “Just-” Stede pulled the phone back to his ear quickly, “Just send yourself screencaps from the Taskmaster phone, ok? Just in case it gets deactivated? That way you’ll still have the evidence. Leave it to me to prove intent.” “Okay,” Stede agreed. “Do you want me to forward it to you as well?” “God no - I don’t want your Etonian smut. Not until absolutely necessary at least.” “You’re hilarious,” Stede said wryly. “No, that’s your job. Goodbye, Stede. I’m charging you for the whole hour.” “Hilarious,” Stede repeated and rang off.