#but these felt most important

[chloesimaginationthings]

Susie meets the friendly yellow rabbit in FNAF..

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[pennumbra]

So does anyone remember Storm Hawks

[elizabethrobertajones]

Canonical bunny hug.

(I know the weather transition didn't happen like that but NG+ isn't exactly generous with the transition to switching off the zone when technically Frog was halfway through Stormblood in the first screenshots :P)

(I just wanted to make them hug tbh. I may be back when NG+ comes here for real. Lamaty'i should be here to make faces in the background while G'raha and Krile facepalm.)

[karda]

gentle reminder that if situations like these are affecting you mentally and you genuinely feel like your world is ending, you need to take a step back. parasocial relationships can be so dangerous for your well-being.

17yo me would be having a mental breakdown right now over this, and it took a while for me to realize that was a problem. its ok to be upset, but content creators are not your friends, and you don't know them. you can't let them have that kind of control over your mental health.

[dykedvonte]

Honestly I see Jimmy's refusal to put Curly out of his misery less about his weird feelings of envy or his delusions but the fact Curly is all but stated to be a shield to Jimmy from his actions and people seeing the worst in him.

The only characters that Jimmy really interacts with one on one before the crash are Curly and Anya, two individuals he has wildly different relationships with. It's likely that Curly really did most of the talking between them as the pilots and the rest of the crew as staff. They didn't know of Jimmy's more reprehensible behaviors cause they never really had the chance to and Jimmy is subconsciously aware. If they had disliked him more than Anya would have told Swansea earlier or even Daisuke when things got really bad.

It's why he takes the immediate opportunity to blame Curly; He's the shield. He's saved Jimmy's ass more times than he can count and more times than Jimmy would ever admit. Even when he can't really do it anymore, he mentally shields himself from his own faults by putting Curly between them. Letting Curly die puts too much on him because he doesn't know how to function without a safety net.

In the end Curly only lives because Jimmy needs the idea that Curly will inevitably make things better to stay alive, meaning Curly has to live, no matter how much it pains him to do so.

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[undead-knick-knack]

[bottombaron]

Something about Nadja mentioning trying to lose her virginity multiple times on a beach in Antipaxos in episode 2

Something about Nadja's ghost wanting to lose her virginity too this season (meaning Nadja never had sex before she was a vampire), as seen from the trailers

Something about her relationship with her Sire, The Baron, knowing they had/have a sexual relationship and that he was most likely the one she lost her virginity to

Something about how Guillermo's turning is framed as a metaphor for his first time having sex

Something about her and Guillermo having time to possibly talk about all this in episode 5

[ambusterpm]

Gandalf as requested by @brethilach (thank youu)

You know not how difficult a task you've set me,,, I've always struggled so much with finding a way I like to draw Gandalf. I am mostly content with this. I was thinking he'd keep all sorts of bits and bobbles that he can wear on his person as he travels to remember the friends he's made. Saruman looks down on him for it, sees it as trashy and frivolous.

[rebouks]

Brynn: You are much more silent than usual today-.. are you going to miss me?

Wyatt was going to miss Brynn a great deal, but telling her that seemed harder than it ought to be, so he said naught instead.

Brynn: You are not comfortable being happy?

Wyatt squinted, something Brynn had learnt he tended to do when she was on the right track.

Brynn: Maybe you should not fight yourself.

Wyatt: Maybe you only know I feel that way because you’re the same.

And as she tended to do when he was right, Brynn dodged Wyatt’s comment.

Brynn: Do you think I stay, if you asked me to?

Wyatt: I don’t think you want me to ask that.

Brynn: No, I don’t…

Wyatt: Do you want to stay though..?

Brynn: I not sure it’s a good idea to leave home-.. not for a man I spend only a few weeks with.

Wyatt’s brow creased, though he quickly rearranged his face; she had a point, whether he liked it or not.

Brynn: Does that hurt your feelings?

Wyatt: No…

Brynn hummed and tugged on Wyatt’s hand, forcing him to stop and face her. It was obvious he was lying. He wanted to know whether this was just a holiday fling to her, or something more, but every time he even thought about doing so it felt like someone had rammed cotton wool down his throat. He’d promised himself he’d be more honest, but it wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped…

Wyatt: What exactly would you be leaving behind? I doubt you’ve exactly made anything for yourself there-.. not with Gael’s arm to cling to.

Wyatt instantly regretted being so blunt as Brynn frowned slightly, a flash of sadness darting across her features.

Brynn: That is a cruel thing to say, no?

Wyatt: Maybe-.. though I’ve a feeling I’m right, so I’m not taking it back.

Brynn narrowed her eyes, he was right, of course. She had nothing of her own in San Myshuno. Everything she owned, down to the clothes on her back, had been paid for by Gael. She’d never thought about leaving before, she had everything she ever needed, technically-.. but spending time with someone who wasn’t afraid to interrogate her about such matters finally made her question her innermost protests, rather than burying them.

She didn’t like Gael, she didn’t like his friends or his apartment, she didn’t want him to propose, didn’t want to marry him, didn’t want to carry his children. It wasn’t ever supposed to be permanent; she wanted a life of her own…

Wyatt: Well?

Brynn: I not argue with you on my last day here.

Wyatt: We’re not arguing, are we?

Brynn: Exactly!

Wyatt ran his hand through his hair and sighed, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more. He was desperate to know how she felt before she left, desperate to know how she’d gotten herself into this situation, whether she wanted out or not. He thought she did, but for once, he wasn’t sure of himself.

Wyatt: I just meant-…

He huffed as Brynn leapt on his back with a chuckle, that was the end of that then. He’d never realised until now how socially inept he was with women-.. no, intimacy; but Brynn didn’t seem to mind, maybe she could relate. He was willing to bet she knew what he was struggling with. It almost seemed as though she were goading him into being honest, like he craved to be.

Brynn: Let’s find somewhere nice-.. if you tell me what you meant, maybe I tell you a story.

He shook his head and snorted, amused; that was definitely what she was doing, wasn’t it?

Wyatt had done a lot of terrible things over the years. Amongst countless other felonies he’d taken more than a few lives - some with his bare hands - but no crime he’d committed had ever caused his heart to beat as erratically as it did now. Against his “better” judgement and despite his pounding chest, he’d held Brynn close and told her how he felt.

He told her how much he’d enjoyed spending time with her, how pleased he’d be if she stayed, and how curious he was about her situation back in San Myshuno. Brynn had softened upon hearing his words, appreciative of his honesty; and in return, she’d told him how she and Gael met…

Brynn hadn’t left Del Sol to begin with, choosing instead to remain employed by Varius, which had eventually been taken over by new management. Never embroiled in Ashton’s more nefarious business ventures, the casino and its franchise hadn’t suffered much, remaining completely operational as a result.

Gael was in town for family and work, hauled to the top floor by some of his rather more enthusiastic associates. Clearly uncomfortable, she’d taken him aside and entertained him in a different manner-.. she’d clocked him eyeing a handsome waiter surreptitiously, felt him recoil from her touch; he might’ve fooled his colleagues, but he hadn’t fooled her. Enjoying an easy night full of free drinks and cheesy jokes, she’d thought nothing of his proposition to attend an upcoming event with him the following weekend.

The event Gael had invited her to was a wedding – his brother’s wedding – and Brynn had suddenly found herself referred to as his girlfriend. She’d thought it quite funny at the time, what an odd man, paying an erotic dancer to pose as one’s partner. The money was good though, and it was much more enjoyable than working in some stuffy club, even one as fancy as Varius.

But as things do, one thing led to another and before Brynn could second guess herself, she’d agreed to move to San Myshuno and stay with Gael permanently. Genesis had seen her arse about Brynn’s newfound source of income, her friends Ace and Robert had moved away, Del Sol was smoggy and garish, held memories she’d rather forget; why wouldn’t she move back to San My? She’d have her own room in a spacious apartment, she wouldn’t have to work, Gael said he’d pay for her to finish school; it seemed like a good idea at the time, like she could have whatever she wanted.

Except she couldn’t. Gael was a controlling - albeit kind - man, terrified of being discovered by his peers. He told her where to go and when, what to wear, what to say, and how to act. He’d take her phone from her if she’d get distracted at one of his precious galas, force her to attend wellness retreats with his colleagues’ insipid girlfriends and wives whilst he and his friends smacked tiny balls with silly sticks, drag her on family vacations to hot countries where she’d get accosted by mosquitoes and prickly heat.

He’d bemoan her lack of enthusiasm when she wasn’t her usual self, but it’d been so many years that Brynn didn’t even know who she was anymore. He’d felt guilty then, promising she could pick their next destination; that it’d be just the two of them, no pretending.

Brynn had never imagined bumping into Wyatt again, but she’d often thought of him, wondering what he’d done after that fateful phone call. She’d almost felt proud of him, in a way-.. it wasn’t easy to turn against your upbringing like that, against your friends, against yourself. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and he hadn’t taken it for granted, which was more than could be said for a lot of men she’d trusted in the past.

Having landed herself in hot water more times than she could count over the years, Brynn had learnt to be wary of her gut, but she couldn’t deny being drawn to Wyatt; she admired the change in him, despite the fact he seemed unaware of it himself. It was freeing to spend time with someone who didn’t expect her to act a certain way, someone who knew where she’d come from and what she’d been through, yet didn’t appear to judge her poorly for it. He’d done terrible things and so had she; it was nice, being on an even playing field for once.

Brynn had subsequently returned home more disheartened than ever, completely uninterested in her so-called life with Gael. She’d hoped Wyatt would call, hoped she’d get a taste of that freedom in her self-imposed cage, hoped something would magically change. But it hadn’t.

Wyatt: So, you’re not happy anymore?

Brynn: I am very happy here, with you-.. but that scares me.

Wyatt: Why?

Brynn: Because it means I have to confront the fact that I am not happy at home, and that is something I have never done before. I always find someone to take me in, but is always with conditions, I am never free-.. never happy.

Wyatt: Are you safe at least..?

Brynn: It is painfully boring, sharing a home with Gael, but he is not exactly aggressive.

Wyatt scowled; not exactly? That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he ought to strangle-..

Brynn: I not want you to get involved, I think I would like to do something on my own for once.

Wyat: Okay…

Brynn: I put my foot down and leave, even if it means I have nothing. I not want to run to anyone else, including you.

Wyatt: That’s why you don’t want to stay?

Brynn nodded, it would’ve been easier to tell Gael to stuff it and stay here, but that was what she always did; fall into someone else’s hands. Being with Wyatt was different though, it made her want to choose him because she wanted to, because she could, not because she needed to. If that meant she had to throw everything away and strike out on her own first – even though she had no idea how to – then so be it.

Though he was glad to know the truth, Wyatt was less than thrilled with Brynn’s plan; but she craved true freedom, and after everything she’d endured – in part due to his own transgressions – he figured he owed her as much.

Wyatt: I won’t stop you then…

Brynn: This is why I love you-.. you help set me free in the end, like I to you.

Wyatt: You love me?

Brynn: You love me too, no?

Wyatt dipped his head in agreement. He wasn’t sure how it’d happened so quickly, but there wasn’t much point denying it any longer.

Brynn: Say it…

Wyatt: I love you too.

Brynn: Is not so hard, right?

Wyatt scoffed quietly and shook his head.

Wyatt: I don’t know-.. I’m sweating.

Brynn: [laughs] Ew-.. me too though.

Previous // Next

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Thirty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 33

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five][Part Twenty-Six][Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight][Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] Part Thirty-Three [Part Thirty-Four] [Part Thirty-Five]

Violins played a lively tune as your and your new husband danced for the first time as a married couple.

Your focus had been intense for the first round of dancing as you were by yourselves in front of the entire wedding luncheon, but luckily by the second other couples were invited to join. Marigold and her husband were the first to come onto the floor, with plenty of others on their heels. You finally felt as if you had the chance to stop watching yourself so closely and perhaps truly look at Dale.

He looked splendid in his navy suit, the gold trimming that would look heavy-handed on others merely looked elegant with how easily he wore it. Despite the dancing—you felt your carefully styled curls, the ones framing your face, starting to lose their sleek definition and could see the evidence of movement whenever they flew in your vision—Dale’s hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Was it silly to hope the cause was something inhuman so that you could feel better about your own inability to maintain such perfect composure?

His black hair was neatly contained by its low tie, a golden ribbon that complimented his suit. His breath was controlled too—deep but not panting as yours was. His hands weren’t sweaty where they held onto you, at your waist and your own hand as the dance instructed. It was leaving you feel rather self-conscious about your appearance.

If he was nervous about the crowd as you were, he’d not shown it. Although perhaps you’d been distracting yourself with anxiety over the crowd so none could build at the way his eyes hadn’t left you, his gaze more intense and focused than usual. You couldn’t afford the liability getting lost in his blue eyes would incur, at least you couldn’t when you were alone with him on the dance floor.

The first couple fast paced dances gave way to slower waltzes and you found your focus drawing tighter and tighter onto Dale and Dale alone. His confident steps, his large hands on you, his strength supporting you. His unwavering gaze—the affection and warm regard you still didn’t quite expect to see on Dale’s face, let alone directed at yourself. 

The dance slowed further with no more twists or jumps, no more parting only to come back together for brief seconds. You were pressed against him, your skirts no match for Dale’s competent steps and hold. He wasn’t as warm as he should be, but even that was welcome and spoke to how wonderfully unwavering he felt at the moment. As if nothing could stand against him and win—and you at his side.

He pulled you closer still and you could feel the soft velvet of his jacket brush your cheek before you remember your audience,  only enough not to give in to that final indulgence of resting your head on his shoulder, no matter how tempting it seemed.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sana?” Dale murmured, inclining his head closer to be heard over the music.

“Yes,” you replied, not seeing any reason to keep the easy answer to yourself. “I am.” You allowed him to steer the primary dramatic turn this dance has, spinning out and back to be caught in his arms in a move that heightened the intimacy of being held so close by contrasting it with the seconds you were apart. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, re-securing his grip on you. “I’m glad we don’t have to worry so much about managing other dance partners today. I’d prefer to only dance with you.”

“There are more talented dancers out there,” you couldn’t help but point out. You were always worried he had to slow himself down to keep up with you, who got winded so much faster than he did. “Even in here. Why—”

Dale shook his head. “But they aren’t you. You suit me best and I’m enjoying having you all to myself.”

Heat rose in your cheeks as you resisted the urge to hide your face against his chest. It was hard not to follow that line of thinking, let alone rebuff it or tease him back. Not on when he’s your husband. Not when you get him all to yourself tonight. His dancing skills easily morph into what other talents he might have, physically and in how he complements and anticipates you. 

You heard your name on his lips, questioning, but teasing. Trying to draw your eyes back to his instead of at his shoulder.

The next murmur of your name is accompanied by a jolt that’s out of place with the dance. Slowly, you realize that Dale isn’t in front of you, but to your side and that you’re sitting down. Sitting down in a carriage.

You blearily blink your eyes open, adjusting easily to the low afternoon light. You are comfortable and warm and so almost immediately close your eyes once more. The cushions of the carriage are plush and Dale is a solid comfort at your side, supporting your head so your neck isn’t even sore—the usual consequence that befell you if you sleep sitting upright. Instead you’re so relaxed you don’t want to move from your spot.

“We’re only a quarter of an hour from our destination,” Dale says, his voice low and quiet. “I thought you might want to be awoken before we arrived.”

“Thank you,” you reply, your hand coming up to your mouth to cover a yawn because he is correct. You’ve no desire to be jolted awake and out of the carriage in a hurry. 

While you get your bearings, you see Dale pop the last bit of a pasty into his mouth. Your own mouth floods with saliva, not only because you realize you’re hungry. You get distracted from the thought of sustenance by the sight of Dale licking his fingers clean. You wonder if the privacy the two of you are currently enjoying is why the red of his tongue seems more vibrant and its length seems longer than you remember.

Dale must notice your preoccupation because he gives you a sheepish smile, hiding his teeth and tongue behind soft lips to say, “Help yourself to what remains. I’m afraid that I ate the majority of the offerings.” He reaches forward, careful, you realize, not to jostle his right arm which you’re still clutching to your chest as he picks up the basket. He offers it to you. “I left you the mushroom pasty.”

You reluctantly let go of his hand to accept the offered pasty. You smile at his thoughtfulness: meat would have been far more likely to upset your stomach, especially in a pasty. “Thank you.” You keep your other arm still entwined with his, holding it to your side. It’s nice that it's been warmed from how you’ve been holding it. 

Dale makes no effort to reclaim his arm from your possession. Instead he fills the silence with easy conversation as he had been when you must have drifted off. He tells you about the part of the journey you slept through—where there was trouble, which road he noticed should be next on your list for improvements, and how often they stopped to water the horses. 

From all this, you gather you’ve made pretty good time. The sun’s only just beginning to set. Dale doesn’t press you to wake up faster or try to get you to contribute more to the conversation. It makes you think of what a morning might be like with Dale, him talking about your plans for the day while you can wake up at your own pace. 

Of course you don’t even know if you’ll be sharing chambers or have separate ones—you’d not had the nerve to ask and no one else brought it up. It varied quite a lot among couples to your understanding—noble ones that is. 

Sometimes it came down to space if it was possible—certain city houses with their limited space chose to prioritize rooms for entertaining or children over separate master and mistress chambers. Other times it was about practical comfort. Some sleep in the same bed but also maintain separate chambers for dressing and other personal matters.

Callalily swears if she had to sleep in the same room as her husband every night she’d murder him due to the snoring alone. But Asher and his wife never sleep apart. Marigold says it depends on what else is going on, their moods—how hot it is. 

You just added this to the list of matters you’ve never had the privacy to discuss with Dale. At least this would be decided to some degree tonight since you would be going to sleep somewhere. Although your nap had refreshed you. And tomorrow, and ideally the rest of the week, you’d be able to sequester yourself away with Dale and talk through everything else while you settle into your new marriage. After everything that happened, you aren’t going to let any more time go by without doing so. It’s tonight that’s still in question.

You take the time while listening and thinking to check your hair and clothes, getting them back in order from being rumbled by your nap. Even these little worries are starting to feel less daunting and more exciting, as you remember your dances, as you sit pressed against Dale in comfort, as you now know you and he are on the same page.

The carriage jolts to a stop, propelling you out of your thoughts and into the present. Dale reluctantly pulls out of your grip and you fight the urge not to let him. To hold on tight instead. No matter how ridiculous it would make leaving the carriage. You are a newly wed couple, surely some amount of foolishness is expected.

Still, it’s clear Dale’s intent on playing up his role as lord and husband, alighting from the carriage to offer his hand to help you down while a footman holds the doors open. Carefully you get to your feet, legs stiff after having been seated for such a long journey.

A small number of servants are lined up awaiting your arrival, including those you know and the ones who must be local to this lodge. You still feel rather sleepy and tired from all the socializing. It’s as if your mouth and mind know no more is officially required of them and so they’ve given up. You let Dale take the lead and had reclaim your hold on his arm as soon as you are able to. 

He looks startled but indulgent, which you are more than willing to accept.

You listen and do greet the housekeeper, but otherwise you allow yourself to be taken for the tour without much input or effort. It’s a lovely house, secluded and far smaller than a typical estate, obviously meant for only a few main guests or to be a wayhouse on longer journeys. It’s older, but well maintained. The traditional style is why the servants are housed separately. 

You feel as though the first floor tour goes by fast, but you start to feel some alertness, some anticipation, start to edge out the sleepy contentment that’d been lapping at your veins, when you go upstairs. It has well furnished studies, including a detailed map of the grounds the housekeeper goes over with you, in case you wish to ride or hunt. She doesn’t spend too long on it though, a twinkle in her eyes that makes you more self-conscious of your newly married status even more than some of the jokes made at the wedding luncheon.

The fact that she goes next to the bedrooms does not help you regain hold of your composure. She opens a door down the hall and allows you and Dale to enter first. “Here is the mistress’s room,” the housekeeper informs you. “Given the size of the house, the traditional dressing and sleeping rooms are combined.”

“They’re very nice,” you say for lack of anything better coming to mind. Your heart sank when she opened the door. You’d been hoping for a combined suite as it would take care of some of the awkwardness. Although perhaps it is only you who feels that way. Dale certainly is showing nothing of the sort. He’s only spoken with the housekeeper during the entire tour, though he’s glanced at you at times. 

Now he just nods, allowing you to take the lead as she shows you the various accommodations and where certain trunks of yours had been placed. Dale’s focus is entirely on you and you can nearly feel his scrutiny like a tangible thing. It’s enough to let you know not to meet his eyes or you’ll become ensnared by his gaze, as you always do when he gets like this. 

As it is, you manage to make all the appropriate affirmative noises and agreements, answering the housekeeper’s minimal questions. Before you know it she’s shown you the entire room. Just as you’re wondering what will happen next—will you stay here or follow her and Dale to his chambers—when she puts a hand on a door you realize she’s not opened.

“Your shared sitting room is through here,” she explains, opening said door and leading the way through to a very nice, spacious sitting room. You listen with one ear to her talk of the furnishings and history but your focus is on the door opposite the one you came through.

The housekeep doesn’t spend too much time here before she’s saying. “… and finally, the master’s chamber.”

She gave a similar tour of his rooms while you try not to overthink your grip on his arm nor stare at the bed, with its fresh and luxurious looking bed linens. The sheets are white but the covers are blue. You don’t know why you’re fixated on such inconsequential details. Maybe they’re just the most innocent aspects of the bed you can distract yourself with.

The housekeeper is briefer with her explanation for this room as it’s a mirror of the mistress’ chambers. Soon enough she guides you both back to the sitting room to wrap up. “Would you like anything, my lord, my lady? Vitals to keep up your health, preparing the beds, your body servants?”

You look up at Dale, who, as he sometimes does, seems taller than he had even back in the carriage. Since you just had some food in the carriage, you are satisfied. He’s the one with the big appetite.

He smiles down at you before looking back at the housekeeper. “We ate before arrival and on our journey. Tomorrow morning will be sufficient.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It has been such a long day,” Dale continues. “I believe we’ll retire for the evening. Tell Mr. Murray I will send for him in the morning, if need be.”

“Please do send Miss Adir to me,” you ask, knowing your dress is harder to get out of than Dale’s attire. Perhaps on a more ordinary day you’d be able to manage on your own, but for tonight with such a fancy gown, you need the help. If you were sharing a room, perhaps you might have asked Dale, but as it stands now, you haven’t the courage to ask–especially not in front of the housekeeper.

“Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper leaves to fetch your maid while you and Dale stay behind in the sitting room.

“It’s a charming house,” you say, feeling the need to fill the silence in a manner you haven’t since you’ve woken up.

“Indeed. How are you feeling?” Dale asks, a little more nervous and a little more sincere now that you’re alone together. “Still tired from the journey?”

You shake your head. “No, I feel rather rejuvenated from my nap.” You shift where you stand as you resist the urge to fuss with your dress—it had dug in in certain places while you slept and is far past beginning to feel uncomfortable. The lace in particular at your neck is becoming itchy.

“But you wish to change,” Dale guesses.

“Yes.”

“Of course, I agree,” Dale says and shifts his shoulders in his jacket. “Would you like to join me in my room when you’ve refreshed?”

“Yes,” you reply, eyes on the door where Miss Adir is entering. “I shall rejoin you shortly.”

Dale nods, his expression polite, but his eyes stormy. Not that you can ever truly tell what his eyes are telling you–all the signs to read are off for him. You’ll need time to study him better. Which you now have because he’s your husband. You’ve no notion of his experience, but perhaps he’s nervous about everything as well. Or maybe there are additional considerations for tonight given his nature you can’t even fathom. 

You turn and head for your rooms, not enjoying how performative everything is starting to feel, especially with another person present.

Miss Adir quietly chatters about her trip. She points out where certain of your items were put away and what is still packed while she helps you out of your overgown and skirts.

You make affirmative noises and give quiet answers to her questions about your own trip. Soon enough, you’re left in your shift alone. “Thank you, Miss Adir. That will be all for tonight.”

“Of course.” Miss Adir looks as if she would like to say something further but instead she just curtsies. “Good night, my lady.”

You finger the wine colored silk ribbon that is woven into the lace trim on your chemise while you listen for the door to shut, occupying yourself with brushing your hands along the skirt to ensure it falls correctly. Even after you’re alone, you waste more time, fussing with your hair and clothes until you can delay no longer.

Once it’s making you more tense to stay here, delaying, you leave your chambers, cross the sitting room, and walk through Dale’s open door.

You shut it quietly behind you, eyes searching for Dale. You frown at the sight of him, only his jacket removed and his waistcoat unbuttoned, sitting on the corner of his bed. He looks still remarkably dressed, as you might find him in his private study. Not how you’d expect to see him in his bed chambers on the night of your wedding. “Dale?”

Dale looks up and stares at you like he’s never seen you before despite the fact that he also looks as if he’s waiting for you. He blinks and gets to his feet. Your eyes dart to the lamp on the wall—it's not really dark enough to need one, but the shadows guttered with his movement in a manner that betrayed his nerves. When your eyes go back to his, he looks chagrined and the shadows still. “Apologies.”

You’re not sure what to say since you feel so throw off your own expectations. He’s acting as if there are still more secrets to spill and it’s got your nerves twanging. “It’s fine. Is everything alright?” Dale doesn’t look nervous as a person might on their wedding night. He looks nervous like a man on trial would.

“Yes, of course,” he replies. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“I…sure.” You hesitantly walk over to where he’s gesturing and seat yourself on the corner of the bed. “Yes.”

He paces in front of you and just as you’re about to ask again about what might have happened since you left him less than half an hour ago, he says, “So… I suppose you want to talk.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on “talk” that you don’t completely understand. You blink and repeat slowly, “Talk?”

“Yes, since you know I haven’t always been Dale and that I am a demon,” Dale elaborates. You still feel some surprise at him finally speaking plainly after so long of talking around the subject even after this morning. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”

“Oh!” You’d expected to ask such things tomorrow, not tonight. Not on your wedding night. It's obvious now that Dale’s given no thought to traditional wedding night activities. He’s obviously as focused on reassuring you as he had been back in his study. And you want to know more. You want to know everything, of course you do. You’d only thought…but no. He’s right. “I mean, I do.” Best to resolve all this now so he can start to trust in your acceptance. Best to get it all out in the open, in your new privacy, before something else got in the way. “Yes.”

“Well, we finally have some privacy,” Dale says, echoing your own thoughts so closely you almost smile, “and I don’t want you to be nervous or unsure about me.”

“I am sure of you,” you feel the need to say. You stand up because while you’d had other ideas for tonight, reassuring your husband you trust him certainly seems more important. “However, honest conversation is never bad and is overdue. I’ll brew some tea.”

Still, it’s harder than you think to swallow your disappointment. You take advantage of the distraction and familiarity preparing tea provides–the way it allows you to look away from and ensure your face isn’t giving away your chagrin. 

Of course Dale would value a conversation about his nature and his experiences and clarifying with you over something so, so human. He’d said something about a mate, but who knew what that truly meant to him. You had no real idea if demons even had sex. He must know what humans did on their wedding nights, but it's clearly not on his mind now. 

He pauses every now and then in his circuit of the room to hover a bit over you and the tea table, before backing off in a manner that makes it clear he’s not sure of his welcome still. 

But what about that kiss? You mind wonders with some frustration. Was that just something he thought humans did? Did he think it was expected and complied, but hadn’t truly want to? Or maybe he simply didn’t care about this sort of physical affection? You begin to feel rather shallow and base in your preoccupation.

As you finally pour the tea into a cup for each of you, you tell yourself that you can only manage one thing at a time. For now, your focus has to be on understanding Dale and what he wants. You can figure the rest out later. He’s your husband now. You’ve got plenty of time.

You sit back down on the bed, cup clutched in your hand, while Dale takes his gratefully. To your mounting disappointment, he sits at the vanity instead of next to you.

“So,” he says, after a sip of tea, “where would you like to begin?”

[Part Thirty-Four]

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about the cursed mummy working at a rodeo and the connection to lassos and wrangling bulls and foreshadowing. Something something about buck wearing a moustache when he dresses up as billy boils which connects things to Eddie.

How rodeos are connected to Texas in the general psyche. The idea that Eddie needs to go and wrangle with his bull in the next episode - Helena.

That she has been constantly trying to Buck him off but he needs to hold on in order to break the curse she has been on his life - the play on Buck being a massive support to Eddie - that gives him the strength to stay on and win the fight and pen the bull.

That he needs to break free of that curse in order to transform into his true self and how the werewolf is a representation of that happening and also a foreshadowing for the shaving off of the stache

[cunty-rex]

In Defense Of Anakin Skywalker

I came across some "anti anakin" blogs today and the main thing I noticed was how they all failed to mention Palpatine's role in everything. While yes Anakin did some pretty horrible things (like killing an entire tribe of tusken raiders) all his actions as Vader are a result of him being groomed. Does that abstain him from all guilt? No, of course not, but it's quite telling that their argument centers around how Anakin is just "such an awful person" and doesn't deserve his redemption arc when in reality his redemption arc is the only one that works for him. Anakin killed Sidious, the man who'd groomed him and turned him into his puppet and coerced him into doing terrible things. It feels quite intentional how these blogs neglect Sidious while simultaneously putting all the blame onto Anakin when in reality he's merely another pawn in Sidious's grand plan.

There's also the fact that Darth Vader isn't the same man as Anakin Skywalker, a distinction made both by Sidious and Vader himself. Anakin was - and is - the young boy from Tatooine that dreamed of being a Jedi knight someday. Vader is person that Sidious groomed him to be for over ten years. The only time we truly see Anakin during the OT is when he kills Sidious and saves his son, breaking free of the control that Sidious had over him for so many years. Vader dies when Sidious dies, and Anakin goes on to live as a force ghost. There's no better ending than this for Anakin, nothing more fitting.