#deanna young

[angelsdean]

there's someone else we forgot to say happy birthday to today, eric kripke's wife, deanna. yes that is her real name. he is so normal<3

[gorgynei]

chetney and deanna circa 500 pd

[erzvolnes]

fearne: i can scry on deanna anytime i want BH: how?? fearne:

[cringefaecompilation]

i thought canon szorlok in critical role made me mad, tell me why LUDINUS DA'LETH LOOKS LIKE HE'S THIRTY

[auroura101]

Just a small thought I had while doodling :^)

[contemplationncoffee]

If You Wanted Me Dead, You Should Have Just Said || Multi-Female

[cultfaction]

Land of the Giants

Land of the Giants was a science fiction television series that captivated audiences during its original run from 1968 to 1970. Created by Irwin Allen, the mastermind behind other iconic sci-fi series like Lost in Space, The Time Tunnel, and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, the show takes viewers on an imaginative journey into a world where a group of people find themselves stranded on an…

[o0anapher0o]

I know Lwaxana was originally written as a horny cougar joke but I kinda love the idea that betazoids have a different reproductive curve than humans and reach peak fertility in their forties or fifties. There would be a whole cultural idea around having to have at least a few decades of life experience and a well established career before you're even considered ready to raise a child.

All this to say that Lwaxana having Deanna in her twenties was probably a huge scandal. Like, this girl from this incredibly prestigious family having the equivalent of a teenage pregnancy and then, because the father is a human the child is basically disabled as well. Prime gossip material.

I believe that is why Lwaxana is like that. She had to learn to not give a shit about other people's opinion very young and she became the legend of a federation ambassador and the woman who will live her best life no matter what just to show them.

[shanastoryteller]

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Daryl keeps his promises. A little smut. Fluff. Sugary sweet. Sigh. I love Daryl Dixon.

Promises

The look on Daryl’s face as Maggie places his son in his strong arms will be burned into your memory for the rest of your life. When his wet gaze lifts to yours the look in his blue eyes can only be described as wonder.

“…h-he’s so small…”

As if on cue the miniature version of himself lets out a mighty wail and the archers wonder melts into fear. “Ya think he’s okay?” His voice is quiet and full of worry. “He’s perfect.” Maggie assures, wiping at her own happy tears as Daryl rocks the baby in his arms gently soothing him back to sleep.

Maggie gives you one last check assuring everything looks good before telling you how amazing you’ve done. “You make having baby’s look easy Y/N.” Despite an agonizing eleven hour labor everyone is healthy and Daryl’s fear turns to relief. “He’s going to be hungry soon. I’ll come get him in a little while so you can get some rest.”

Once Maggie is gone Daryl sinks to the bed beside you running his thumb over the babies soft cheek before handing him over. It’s your turn to look at him in wonder, fresh tears pooling in your eyes as you bring him to your chest. “Ya did good today.” Daryl assures, his deep familiar voice soothing the baby as you smile up to him. The love you have for this man is all consuming but now that your son is here you feel your heart expand with the love you have for him. “We did good.” You whisper, brushing your hand over a tuff of soft dark hair. Daryl hasn’t left your side, not today or any day before.

He’s kept his promise to you.

“I love you.”

You meet his eyes again, a deep ache filling your chest as you nod. “I love you Daryl.”

“W-what we gonna name ‘em?”

You look down into your son’s bright blue eyes, running a finger over his forehead to watch them roll back in his head - a sudden smile creeping to his lips. You’ve seen that smile before.

“Daryl.”

“Yeah?”

You look up to the man beside you, your smile so bright it brings on his own - matching the one on the tiny face in your arms. “His name is Daryl.” The archers eyes go wide at the thought as he looks down to the baby in your arms. “He’s going to be your twin. May as well share your name.”

You return your gaze to Daryl Jr. as he drifts off to sleep with a quiet coo as his father leans over to place his lips to your temple. “I love you.” He assures again the words rattling deep in his chest as he leans back on the headboard and brings you into his arms.

X

Five years later.

You look up as Daryl struts into the house with a trail of children behind him. The closest one being his exact replica down to the small leather vest he wears proudly. “No tools allowed in the kitchen young man.”

Daryl Jr. gives you his father’s sly grin, placing the borrowed wrench in his back pocket as you cross the room to grab him up and cover his dirty face with kisses. “Me now mommy!” You place Junior back to his feet and grab up the next one, spinning three year old Sophia around the room as her loud squeals pierce the very earth then you’re smothering her with just as many wet kisses. “Where have you been princess?” She’s just as dirty as her brother.

Thanks dad.

“We helpin’ daddy fix his moto-cycle!”

Sophia produces her own smaller wrench, bursting into a fit of giggles as you narrow your eyes playfully. A second later Daryl is leaning in for his own kiss - sinking his hand into the back of your hair to hold you against him as his tongue brushes your lips for access. “Awww! Daddy kissing mommy!”

Daryl Jr. makes a face with his tongue sticking out as Judith bounces down the stairs behind Carl - pushing blonde wisps of curly hair from her eyes. Once Sophia sees her bestie all thoughts of you are gone and she’s kicking her tiny legs to slide down your body - hitting the floor running.

The borrowed house that Deanna gifted your group all those years ago is much louder now - especially when the whole gang is here, like tonight. You wave to Carol and Tobin as they shuffle into the house and before long everyone is content with full bellies and the sound of children laughing. Your group is scattered through out the house - Abraham laughing with Sophia, Rosita gazing into Gabriel’s eyes. Eugene and Tara are arguing about the rules of some board game they found while Rick runs his hand over Michonne’s growing belly. Little RJ will be here before long bumping Hershel from being the newest baby in the group. You glance over to Maggie and Glenn who are smiling and talking softly as they take turns rocking their fussy boy to sleep.

Then there’s Daryl. You spot him leaning against the kitchen counter with his eyes trained on you and when you smile at him his shoulders relax an inch, nodding to the staircase that will lead you to your shared bedroom. You feel the heat in his gaze, warming you from the inside out as you turn to Carol with wide eyes. The way Daryl looks at you makes your heart race. The idea of getting a few minutes alone with him sending a surge of pleasure through you. Carol gives you a knowing grin - silently assuring she’ll keep an eye on the kids as you practically run to Daryl and take his offered hand.

A minute later your back is against the bedroom door and Daryl is kissing you like his very life depends on it - sinking his hands into your hair roughly as a groan passes between you.

“…fuckin’ need ya.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair as he pushes you into the bedroom - locking the door behind him before he’s kissing you again. That’s a mistake he won’t make twice - Junior still tells everyone he meets the story of mommy and daddy hugging…, in the bed… naked.

You shake the thought as you push Daryl back to the bed, watching him unclasp his belt with the determination only a busy mother can appreciate. It won’t take long for Junior to snake past Carol in search of his favorite person in the entire world - the man beneath you.

You lose just enough clothes to straddle his lap as he grasps the nape of your neck to bring you to his fierce kiss - filling your mouth with his slow tongue and your cunt with his rigid cock. “F-fuck, Y/N.” The deep moan following your name proves that you don’t get to do this often enough, placing your palm to his broad chest as he grasps your hips - working you up and down his length quickly. “F-fuck. M’not gonna last like this.”

A surge of pleasure rushes through you, working your hips faster as Daryl fucks up into you roughly - his head falling back to the bed with a desperate groan. The devotion in his eyes take you over the edge, burying your face in the bend of his neck as you breath him in - moaning against his jaw as he joins you a second later - gripping the back of your hair while he fills you deeply - riding our your orgasm that has your entire body quaking in his embrace.

“T-that was…” You can only sigh with relief as Daryl wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest while he stays buried deep inside of you. “…so good, Daryl.., you make me feel so good.” His dick throbs inside of you at the thought, his only reply a low grunt as he tries to regulate his breathing. If he were a betting man he’d say you both have less than two minutes before a miniature version of yourselves show up knocking.

X

Carol is still grinning as you and Daryl make your walk of shame back into the kitchen, both looking properly fucked for the first time in a long time. You try to smooth your hair as Junior runs into the narrow room and wraps his arms around your hips. “Where’d you go mama?” He demands, realizing his dad is standing behind you suddenly. Despite bringing him into this world Daryl Jr. crawls through your legs to get to Daryl Sr., play punching him in the thigh before he’s jerked up into the air and hanging upside down - his wild laugh filling the house. “Stay here with aunt Carol. I need to show your mama somethin’.”

“Are you going to do more naked hugging?”

Daryl gives him a stern look which closes his mouth and straightens his back. Ugh, if only you could be the dad for a day and your children would listen to you like that. He ruffles his son’s hair after sitting him on the table in front of Carol and places his hand to the small of your back, guiding you through the kitchen and into the cool night air.

Daryl slips his hand in yours as you make your way to Daryl’s home away from home - Aaron’s garage. A dim light is on in the corner and the room is cast in shadow as he rummages through the junk piled up on his work bench while you glance around. You take in your son’s handy work - several toy trucks smashed at your feet and a discarded hammer under the bench. Before you can go for it Daryl kneels before you but he’s not looking for the hammer - he’s holding out a shiny river stone in his palm, offering it to you.

“What are you——?”

“Will ya be my penguin?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you meet his nervous gaze, the smooth stone in his hand shining like a jewel in the dim light. “Yes.” You say without hesitation, sinking to your knees before him as he lowers his hand and offers you the stone again. “Jude found a book last week about penguins…, says they give their mates rocks as a symbol of their love…”

Tears rim your lashes as you take the beautiful stone from Daryl, turning it over in your hands as you appreciate the way it shines. “…there’s no one I love more than you, Y/N.” You tighten your fist around the stone and lean forward to kiss him, whispering how much you love him against his parted lips.

You kiss him again as he brushes the tears from your cheeks. “I want you to be my wife Y/N. I want every part of you. I promise to love you more every day.”

…and you know Daryl Dixon doesn’t break his promises.

[changingplumbob]

Introductions: Sarah - Part 3

Deanna: How are you feeling about this? What are you thinking about being in the villa?

Sarah: Sounds like a party!

Deanna: *laughs* We'll have to wait and see

Sarah: I currently live in a dorm, so I don’t expect it to be too different

Deanna: I certainly hope we can do better than dorm food

Deanna: Have you brought any keepsakes from home?

Sarah: I really couldn’t come without my fully-modded custom-built gaming laptop. I mean, probably there are computers here, but they’re not my computer. It’s a beast, but it’s also my baby

Deanna: We do have computers! But you can obviously have your baby with you, we'll just switch out the regular PC when you're in the villa

Sarah: Awesome

Deanna: This reminds me I do need to upgrade my PC, Joey keeps badgering me about it

Joey: So Sarah, how do you think that went?

Sarah: Deanna gave off a really reasonable and responsible vibe, plus she let me ramble about my laptop so that's a win

Joey: I could talk computers all day but I better let you go, see you at the sorting ceremony

...

Devin: Okay De, how was that?

Deanna: I mean... she seemed a little immature. I know that's a harsh criticism since I'm young and many of the contestants are, but hopefully it was just her competitive nature that will calm down in the household groups

See you tomorrow where we will meet our next contestant Billie.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 127 (In Brindleton Bay Without the Boys)

cw: pet death (I warned of a second death after Elsa this weekend and there are so many pets...)

The dawn of spring didn't mean much in Brindleton Bay. With snow slow to melt and coats still a necessity, the girls of 3 Sable Square were happy to spend the day inside while Ash and Conrad built a treehouse in the cool spring sunshine an hour away.

Heather was teaching Lavender to say please and thank you in the living room, and Hazel finished doing some online research.

"Suri's coming to Brindleton Bay for a date tonight," she said to Heather. "I want you to like her."

"Why wouldn't I like her?"

"You haven't even taken down the picture of me and Nic's wedding day from your living room wall, sis. And you got weird when I told you I was spending Love Day with Suri."

"I didn't get weird," she protested. "I'm just...I was contacted by the producer of Dating Deanna and they want to bring the contestants here for an event at Shelly's Animal Haven. Shelly's asked me to volunteer onsite to make sure the pets are looked after during filming, and the producer wants me, Conrad, and Gord to judge the contestants."

"Won't that be weird with Nicola there?"

"They said she wouldn't be there that day but I haven't said yes yet. I wanted to talk to you first, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I would normally be too nervous to say yes to something like this even with the exposure, but I love helping Shelly's whenever I can..."

Hazel chuckled. "And this is hosted by Devin Villareal?"

"You know I love her movies! But I'll say no if you want me to."

Hazel offered her sister a friendship bracelet fist bump. "I don't want you to say no to that kind of exposure for Buttercups and your clinic."

"You can say no, you know. I'd rather support you."

"You do support me. You haven't even asked me to pay rent yet. I want you to do the show, but things with Suri and I are getting more serious, and it really matters to me that you like her."

"Hazel, if you like her, I'll like her. I'm positive."

She hugged her little sister in support, and Lavender interrupted their sweet moment.

"Auntie Hay-Hay read with Lava?" she wondered, dragging her aunt to the books on the coffee table to read while they waited for Suri.

Heather still felt a little sad about the way Hazel handled her divorce, but she wanted to like Suri for her sister's sake and she busied herself baking brownies to prep for her arrival.

Why she was baking treats for a girl who wanted to be a baker, she wasn't sure. But she did like brownies. Maybe Heather just wanted sweets.

The baking was done by the time Suri arrived, and the young chef noticed as soon as she walked in the door. "Something smells amazing! Brownies?"

"My sister bakes when she's stuck inside," Hazel said, and Heather put her plate down on the coffee table in protest.

"I wanted chocolate!" she argued, greeting Hazel's girlfriend with a friendly smile. "Hi Suri, it's great to finally meet you."

"Same. Hazel talks so much about her family, it feels like I know you already!"

She sat next to Heather on the sofa while Hazel and Lavender danced to the music coming from the Grimophone they still hadn't returned to Bella Goth. But Bella didn't need it now that she and Grim were officially a couple, and with Lavender into sounds, they'd turn it on for her as often as quiet-loving Heather could stand it.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know more about you. With a teacher like your grandmother, Clara, I'm sure you can bake far better brownies than mine!"

"Maybe, but as long as brownies are gooey in the middle and strong on the outside, they're always perfect. Anything less than that, they're just cake or chocolate cookies."

"Are you planning to take over your grandmother's pastry shop in Henford?"

Hazel cleared her throat from the makeshift dance floor across the coffee table. "Well, Alex Goth was saying now that George Brindleton's..." She mouthed the word 'dead' to keep Lavender unaware. "The owners of the Salty Paw are looking to sell."

Heather turned to Suri with surprise. "You want to run a dive bar?"

"Not at all! I mean, I want to keep the liquor license, but I'd love to turn it into a cafe during the day, sell my pastries there. And maybe a slightly classier bar at night..."

"So you see yourself in Brindleton Bay long term with Hazel?"

She blushed, nodding. "We're both still young and this is still new. I know we didn't start under great circumstances but we're taking this slow, and I think we're both happy."

Hazel grinned. "I know I am. Her older brother Camden lives in town, too, on the point at Cavalier Cove with the Delgatos. He married my friend Pierce's little sister, Evie. He even works at the station with Conrad!"

(Kinda sorta. He's an active sim so he doesn't spawn at the in-game police station lot when Conrad goes to work.)

Suri laughed. "They're not on the same shifts. Camden's still young, working night patrol down at the docks, mostly. But he says everyone at the station loves Lieutenant Gordon."

Lavender stopped dancing and climbed the sofa, greeting the new stranger with a curious smile. "Who you? I Lavader."

"Hi Lavender, I'm Suri. I'm your Auntie Hay-Hay's girlfriend."

Lavender gasped excitedly. "You like books, too? Auntie Hay-Hay read me lots!"

Suri smiled. "I love books. My favourite are cookbooks!"

Heather was relieved to meet Suri and find her so friendly. She wanted the best for her sister, and Suri at least was kind - if a little pretentious about baked goods and dive bars. They enjoyed chatting through the chilly afternoon until the girls left for their date.

But before she could settle in for a quiet evening with her daughter, Heather's phone rang. "Cass, hi! How's it going?"

Heather's sister-in-law was quiet, sniffling, and she took a deep breath. "It's Bernadette. Can you meet me at your clinic in an hour?" ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Heather did get a negative first impression of Suri but they also became friends, so Heather seems determined not to let her first impression dictate the relationship and potentially cause a rift with her sister. But she(/I) should probably take that old wedding pic down!

NOTE 2: Rest In Peace to Elsa and Bernadette! This episode took place technically before Elsa's death (but started after the camping trip began, hence its placement), so Suri also has no idea yet that she's lost her aunt. But they were close, and Suri won't be unaffected. We know Hazel wasn't great at handling Nic's grief before they split, so hopefully she's matured!

Despite how the episode ends, I won't be showing any more of good old Bernie, a Shar Pei/Field Spaniel mix the Nesbitts adopted when Heather was 17, since all I did was get the pop-up that she passed. Some scenes are better left as rabbit holes/off camera, but may their spirits live on through those who loved them. 🙏

I did later spot Bernadette as a ghost near the pet cemetery on Deadgrass Isle (no matter what world pets die in, they will spawn here as ghosts!). And I forced Elsa's ghost to show up because I downloaded @ravasheencc's It's All Grave-y mod to make sure she had a tombstone (since she died near the ruins and then glitched, there was no urn).

[ghostboneswrites2]

I Won’t Tell if You Don’t

Summary: Daryl comes across you smoking in the gazebo.

Era: Alexandria

Pair: Daryl x Reader (I don’t believe readers pronouns are used)

Genre: Casual, stoner vibes

Note: I actually have two versions of this but the other one is spicy 🥵 should I post it?

Warnings: TWD typical stuff, marijuana

      While the other Alexandrians were excited for Deanna’s party for the newcomers, you were just excited to have some time alone while everyone else was gathered in one place. You wandered around the street, searching for a comfortable place to unwind. You eventually settled on the gazebo.

         You held the tip of the thin paper cylinder over the flame of your lighter, spinning it delicately until it was well lit. Finally, you were able to bring it to your lips and taking a puff. The familiar taste brought you joy. You relaxed back into the bench and took another puff. Soon, your eyes felt heavy and the buzz of internal monologue hushed into nothing. At last, you felt some semblance of peace.

        Daryl was going to try to go to the party. Really, he was, but as he stood on Deanna’s front lawn and watched the crowd of bodies through the window, he couldn’t bring himself up the steps. 

         So, he found himself wandering through the streets until a familiar skunky stench wafted into his nostrils. He stopped and turned, scanning his surroundings until his eyes landed on a silhouette in the gazebo. 

        Curiosity took hold of his legs and carried him toward the stranger, masked in darkness, only lit up by the red cherry at the tip of their joint. When you, the young Alexandrian of whom he’d only caught a few quick glances, became clearer in the shroud of darkness and haze of smoke, he tilted his head. You weren’t the type he could easily read, unlike most. The few times he had caught your eyes since he’d arrived, he could never quite make out what it was you were thinking or feeling. 

        The other Alexandrians were curious and wary, or just outright friendly and naive. You always had a knowingness about you, as if everything you saw were things you’d seen before. Nothing seemed to surprise or intrigue you.

        It wasn’t until you finally acknowledged him that he realized he was staring.

        “I won’t tell if you don’t.” You offered, outstretching your arm slowly, lazily offering him a puff. He hesitated, glancing back in the direction of Deanna’s house before he decided he had nothing to lose. He stepped up onto the gazebo and accepted your gesture. The end of the little thing fit perfectly in his lips, the taste familiar as he took a long drag and held it in. He exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke billowing around you. 

       You studied him. He was brooding and reserved. There was a sadness about him; an unsureness. He always seemed as uncomfortable, always flicking his eyes around, guarding his peripherals. You watched as he pulled the joint back to his lips and took another long drag, his eyelids drooping some as he exhaled again. An aura of calmness settled in the space between you two as he passed your joint back to you. You hissed as you sucked in another puff, exhaling as you spoke: “So, how’s apocalyptic suburbia treating you so far?” 

        He tutted at that, finding that he found the illusion of safety quite uncomfortable. 

        “It’s weird.” He admitted. You nodded.

        “Yeah.” You agreed. “I gotta admit.. Listening to old ladies complain about pasta makers never gets any less weird. Not after living out there.” 

         “How long?” He asked as you took in another hit, blowing rings out of the smoke.

        “Got here like.. I don’t know… Two months ago, maybe? Was on my own before that.” You shrugged. If it weren’t for the slowness of your thoughts, you would have been fighting away memories and flashbacks of the horrors of the world beyond the walls. 

        “Mm.” He nodded, taking the joint back as you passed it again. “Y’all grow this shit here, or somethin’?” 

         You chuckled and shook your head. “Nah, found somebody’s stash before I got here. Running kinda low.” 

        “Any seeds in that stash? Could grow some.” He suggested. 

        “There were a few.” You nodded with a hum. “Wouldn’t know where to start, though. I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

        “I can help.” He offered, finally feeling lazed enough to take a set beside you as he took a hit. 

        “Hell yeah.” You nodded. Your mind was emptying out more and more, the longer you sat there and let the high settle in. He was a tad behind, but he was getting there too. A comfortable silence rose out of the dark, while the two of you enjoyed smoking together. Eventually the joint was running short, burning fingers as you both tried to get the last of what the sticky herb had to offer. When it was out, you tossed it, but neither of you moved. You were both glued by the ass to the bench.

        “Damn.” He finally spoke. His voice was raspy and low, more than usual. “Some good shit.” 

        You giggled.

        “Enjoy it, man.” You said with a stoner-like slowness. “It’s nice to relax sometimes .”

        “Ain’t had no time to relax.” He admitted.

        “Well ya do now.” You reasoned. 

        “Do I?” He asked, mostly to himself, not necessarily intending to say it out loud. You smiled and nudged his arm. 

          “Yeah, until Deanna stops by with work duties and all that jazz.” You retorted.

        “What’d she give you?” He wondered.

        “At first she sent me on a run with her douchebags — I mean sons— but I didn’t like how they operated. Now I give Olivia days off at the armory and the pantry or help with the cars.”

        “Cars? You some kind o’ mechanic?”

        “Nah. My dad was, and my brother after him, so.” You shrugged.

        “My dad was just an asshole. And my brother, after him.” He joked. You snickered.

        “Didn’t take you for a comedian — Uh.. What was your name?”

        “Daryl. You?”

        “(Y/N).” 

        “Huh.” He nodded before his stomach growled. He looked down at his stomach, as did you, then you both met eyes. You laughed at little, a goofy laugh that only escaped your lips when you were in the clutches of THC or alcohol. 

         “Hungry?” You asked.

         “Why, ya got some snacks?” 

        “No.” You giggled. “But Aaron’s making spaghetti tonight and he invited me over.” 

        “Lucky you.” He grumbled. 

        “Come on, Daryl. There’s always extra.” You announced, pushing yourself off the bench and extending him a hand. He eyed you for a moment, searching for an ulterior motive. Ultimately his munchies won, and he allowed you to help him to his feet. 

Masterlist // Taglist

Tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[pedge-page]

I'm on a baby Sarah binge with Joel and Preggo Wife.

@millercontracting this ones for you!

- - - -

2 year old Sarah sitting in her car seat watching outside go by in Joel's truck when she spots something in the neighbors flower bed.

"DADDY!"

"Hmm?"

"Keekee!" She shouts excitedly, pointing out the window.

Joel looks around the street but would have no idea what a keekee would look like if it were right in frojt of his face.

"What's that baby?"

"Kee kee! I WAN keekee!"

"I... honey no 'keekee' now okay?" Hes gonna have to ask you what new definition shes concoted today. You're way better at deciphering and translating Sarah's botched verbiage than he is.

But Sarah starts tossing her legs up and down crying "KEEKEE! I WAN KEE KEE!" All the way home.

And even as he wrestles her squirming body out of the car seat and carries her by her ankles into the house, she's still crying KeeKee over and over again.

"WHAT is a KeeKee!" You shout, running over to carefully take Sarah from Joels inhuman manhandling and set her up right on her tiny feet. You wipe away her eyes as fat tears slide down her chubby red cheeks, boogers spilling down her nose.

"I dont know! She saw something and won't shut up!"

"I WAN KEEKEE!" she wails pointing to the door with slunch shoulders. She huffs each breath and cry as if she's hyperventilating.

"Sarah--"

"KEEKEE. MOMMY KEE KEE. KEE KEE. KEEKEEKEEKEEKEE--"

You take her hand and walk with her outside.

"Where are you going??" Joel shouts from the entryway.

"She could have dropped something! She's not gonna calm until we find out what--"

"Kee kee!" She shouts happily, tugging your arm to pull you towards the neighbors house.

Deanna waves over to you and a very excited Sarah. Your neighbor has one hand protectively slung under the chest of Ramsey, her sphinx cat that you and Joel had baby sat 2 summers ago.

"Hey! Ramses slipped out the front door and was prowling around the garden bed."

Sarah giggly laughs and points to Ramses naked little self.

"Good thing you caught him! Do you mind if Sarah pets him?" You ask hesitantly. She seems to be distracted by the cat, now happy and tugging on your arm incessantly.

Deanna sets down on her knee and shows Sarah how to gently pat Ramses with two fingers on the head.

The toddler crouches down in a squat, giggles excitedly and says "Kee Kee!" As Ramses purrs under her belly.

You and Joel look over at one another in realization and say in unison: "Kitty Kitty!"

-

Sarah looks up to you expectedly 10 seconds later. "Momma, kee kee?" She asks sweetly.

You feel your heart swell at such a brilliantly beautiful display of your young daughter taking passion in love and nature and animals, so gentle and kind and soft, full of heart and warmth, deserving that kind of companionship for herself--

"Absolutely not. Don't you dare," Joel snaps at YOU, knowing the face you were about to make as you turned to him to open your mouth and ask if you could get a KeeKee.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

transcript + more info

berenice: aha! she'll never find me here watcher: you mean 'here'? "in moonwood mill, my most favouritist of worlds 'here'?" berenice: ahhhh! i mean, i didn't do it? i've been framed. it was the full autonomy, i swear... watcher: did you just sign up for deanna's bachelorette? berenice: maybe... yes? watcher: do you even *like* other women? berenice: i like other women! i have other women... friends?? watcher: *SIGH* watcher: berenice, this kind of stuff just doesn't happen in real life berenice: what kind of stuff? watcher: he will never like you back like that berenice: he? who's he??? watcher: don't be obtuse, i can see your moodlets berenice: well this isn't real life because i'm a pixel! silly you, watcher...

BERENICE "BERNIE" SMALLS

Young Adult • Ciswoman (she/her) • Physics Major (incoming senior)

TRAITS: genius, overachiever, cringe, paranoid, socially awkward, creative (bonuses: mentally gifted, always welcome, morning sim, night sim, storm chaser)

MISC: Valedictorian and championship chess captain at Copperdale. Actually wants to catch lightning in a bottle someday.

(This is a mischief interaction. She's not evil - just a disaster.)

By day she’s a straight A student, freelance programmer and budding Plopsy empire builder - and a shoe-in for valedictorian to the point where most would happily bet their own mother’s mortgage on it (yeah, please don’t actually do that).

By night, however? A cheater cheater pumpkin eater! Well, not quite (the pumpkin eating allegations however are indeed true).

Her secret? She’s a spellcaster. Her other secret? Plentiful needs potions - and lots of ‘em.

Yes, you too could manage the highest GPA in the school plus every extracurricular that didn't throw you out on your rear end (she and that dungeon master still aren’t on speaking terms), tutoring, plus a fulltime job and another part-time job, had you the equivalent of 24 usable hours in every day.

Obviously this isn’t illegal, as the greater pixel world doesn’t know about spellcasters (see: my legacy heir who still freaks out over her spellcaster husband, brother and her three children). And there’s nothing stopping anyone from washing down caffeine pills with red bull that doesn’t actually give you wings (though Berenice could attempt a potion for that). Aaaand it could be argued that werewolves who can recharge extremely quickly with a wolf nap and vampires who don’t need to sleep at all should not occult their way through Foxbury's hallowed halls. 

But there’s a difference between being thought of as just that amazing, and being thought of as significantly less amazing, because any fool believes that they can achieve what Berenice does with all that extra time she has.

Why is she entering this competition? A very good question. Well, it may be called ‘Dating Deanna,’ but this dumb smart girl has a completely different York in mind. Namely Deanna’s brother Joey, who she’s had a massive crush on ever since she met him one summer holiday in Tartosa.

"I've got this!" "I don't got this..."

She therefore signed up on a whim, and while hindsight is currently coming down on her like a tonne of bricks, she’s too obstinate to pull out now. Bernie Smalls, quit a thing? Never!

PERMISSIONS

All in - feel free to message me!

In terms of romance with other contestants, as she's a 'troll' concept have at it. Maybe not woohoo though since she's still trying to determine her sexuality.

She would be very open to flirting - and well, anything else with Joey. Will she get the opportunity? I highly doubt it but this experience can be a moment of growth for her 😆

(iou a sfs zip after dinner and other adulting!)

@changingplumbob's dating deanna bachelorette challenge (i am so sorry deanna)

[yoursweetheartsrevenge]

In Need of Comfort

Summary: You knew him when he was a prince, desperate enough for friendship that he would cozy up to someone like you. You knew him the moments before he became king, clinging to the idea of running away. You’ll love each other in your own way. 

These are the moments you and Aegon are a comfort for each other.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sexual acts discussed, alcohol consumption, angst, mentions of child death, reader is described as a brunette and from Pentos, MINORS DNI, 18+ 

Word Count: 5.6K+

Author’s Note: Written for @hotd-bigbang.

Week 3: Friendship - wow another first! Not featuring Aemond as a main character, but a story focused solely on Aegon. 

Dividers done by: @targaryen-dynasty

In Need of Comfort

You can not fathom the idea of a prince walking into the brothal. The raunchiest rat infested part of Flea Bottom was your home. Yes, you adored the thrill of it, but knew life may be better else where. This was your life and you would be damned if you did not make the most of it. 

The first time you see him, it is only a flash of silver hair. He is bending another whore over a table showing off her firm arse to a group of patrons. They yowl in delight at the display. You can not help smiling. The young woman whose bottom is on display giggles. It is very clear she doesn’t mind the attention, especially from a prince. 

Especially from Prince Aegon. 

His depravity has been noted by many as he has grown into his manhood. You have heard whispers how he enjoys living his life more in the presence of the small folk of Flea Bottom than anywhere else.  The man you were with seeks your attention by rubbing his delicious bulge along your back side. You shoo him for a moment keeping your eyes on the prince. 

He fondles with your barely covered breasts as you watch the prince spank the arse of the red haired woman with large breasts. She giggles again. He opens his hand for a beer which is given to him. He downs half the dark amber liquid before nuzzling his lips to her ear, whispering something before laughing loud with her. She snorts and nods her head. He drinks the rest of the beer before holding her chin, cheeks still full of ale. He kisses her. You clearly see the liquid drain into her mouth into hers as they kiss. 

“Would you like me to do that to you?” It is the man you are supposed to be bedding who whispers in your ear. His breath is wet with a burp of smoked meat tickling your skin. “Pretend I am Prince Aegon?” 

“No.” You are quick to answer. “You could never be as lively as he is, but I prefer you, mi’lord.” You are quick to smile, spin on your heels, and push your loose top down to reveal your perky breasts. 

You do not think of the prince until the next morning. 

You are counting your coin picking at the debris left behind in your chambers when you hear the exchange. 

“He wants more.” It is the red haired woman's voice. She seems tired as she speaks hurriedly to their madame or perhaps another worker in the brothel. 

“You did not satisfy him?” 

“I did! Several times! I lost track!” She is nearly in tears. 

You have empty clanging glasses in your hand. Your breasts are half exposed as you approach the two women. Men with overactive appetites are your speciality. 

“Do you know where Deanna is?” You ask, one hand half on your hip as you press the cool mugs to your chest. The red haired woman simply nods. “Well, go get her. Have her bring the twins if they are not busy. Throw all three in with the prince. That should keep him busy for the rest of the morning.”

It does. 

You are good at reading men and women alike. It is what keeps you safe. Aegon is grateful to have the delight of having twins in his midst. Deanna, you know, is quite flexible which delights any man in her presence. 

“This is for you.” Deanna hands you a heavy sack of coin. It nearly weighs your hand down. “The prince asked it be delivered to ‘the brilliant person who suggested this appetizing mix of pleasure’ It was in the prince’s words, ‘just what he needed’”

You are drinking the next time he approaches. Men are banging on the table cheering on your opponent. Very few have bet coins on you though many are regretting that decision. You may be a small lass, but the way you have handled six pints of ale is impressive. 

“All my coin on the beautiful brunette!” Aegon clasps a hand on your shoulder. You look up into his winking eye wiping the foam from your upper lip. Most women would be flustered by the attention of a prince, but you simply wink back. 

Who are you to let a Targaryen prince down? 

You best the man across from you who falls out of his chair after his seventh ale. Aegon happily collects his winnings praising you as you steady yourself from the table. He talks about his amazement how you can take in so much ale for such a petite frame. He speaks about how he has noticed how astute you are every time something interesting catches your eye. 

“I have fallen on that side of your gaze, have I not?” You are surprised at his tone. 

You would suspect it to be suggestive and flirty, but it is not. 

It is pure curiosity. It allows you to be honest. 

“You enjoy life. Most men seek out pleasure to feel good. You seek out depravity to feel MORE.” He blinks at your words shifting uncomfortably as if you have struck a chord. 

“You seem to be very good at your work, my lady.”

“I am simply like you.” You pat his hand, soft and velvety from no true labor. “I will enjoy life however I damn well please.” With those words you feel him grab your hand dragging you off to a room. You change course pulling him to your chambers. 

“I will pay you of course, but I do not wish to bed you.” He states as you slowly push your silk black gown back to the tops of your shoulders. “I just wish to talk. You said you are like me. How do you suppose a whore like yourself compares to a Targaryen prince?” Again it is not said with malice or disgust, simply with curiosity as he bounces on top your mattress. 

“Well,” You pull one heel off and then the other settling off your calloused feet. “I suppose we are alike in how we enjoy our life. Carefree. You enjoy sexual pleasure. If I am correct in what I see.” 

He leans back against the painfully large amount of frilled and plush pillows on your bed. 

“Guilty as charged. My appetite is unwavering. My desire for seeking out new  . . .” Prince Aegon can not seem to find the word. 

“Challenges.” You offer.

“Challenges, yes!” He is delighted by your choice in framing his desire. “I wish to challenge myself to push my desire over the edge. Over and over and over again. What is life if we can not explore our pleasures? At no risk to others of course. And only if the partner is wanting. I do not wish harm. I wish to pleasure and be pleasured.” 

You join him on the bed, laying beside him. He chastises you about the absurd amount of pillows. You offer him the explanation that every man who wishes to gift you more gold or a prized piece of jewelry for how well you bedded them you ask that they bring you a pillow instead. 

“Comfort.” He understands with a smile. “You like what you like without care what others think.” 

It is the first time someone beside yourself has said it aloud to you as such. 

“I do.”

You continue your conversation late into the night. He discusses his proclivities in regards to sexual desires. You give your honest opinions sharing your own desires. He learns from you that you desire to bed men and women equally. That sparks his fascination with more questions that are simply sparked by curiosity and not depravity. You learn from him that he enjoys pleasuring a woman from behind and giving and receiving anal pleasure. 

“A finger up the arse can be quite nice.” 

It could have been said as a joke, but the way the prince hugs your favorite frilled green pillow embroidered with his house's symbol on the face makes his vulgarity seem honest and sweet. 

He learns from you that you were not born in King’s Landing, but instead were the middle of many daughters born to merchants in Pentos. Your sexual appetite frightened your parents and siblings alike. 

“I was seen as depraved for wanting to bed others outside of marriage.” There were other reasons your family had disowned you, but being a “sexual deviant” had been a high contender for their disgust. “I knew I never wanted to stay in one place. I had a strong desire to see the world. To explore all this life has to offer.” You occasionally watch his face as you discuss how your life led to this brothel in Flea Bottom lying beside a prince of the seven kingdoms. 

There are some days that are harder than others in regards to work. He inquires for you to share. You do not know if you are ready to explain how some men are too violent and some women choose to spit on you after with nasty tones before returning to their Gods fearing husbands. You are seen as less than human some days. You are sure some day you will share these thoughts with the prince. 

Tonight is not that night. 

Tonight you share surface level dark dwellings. 

Your secrets of the heart will surface in time. 

“I am glad my father did not name me king.” He shares pulling at a tassel as a comforting silence settled on the pair of you. “I would be a terrible ruler. My sister would be better suited. She is far stronger than I.” 

“I have no doubt that the king’s choice will be the most well suited for the job, but, my prince . . .” You dare to touch him, to slowly turn his cherub-like face toward you. His violet eyes nearly twinkle in the deep night. You can feel how soft and healthy his cheeks are on your fingers. “You would be a wonderful king. You know the people. You care for the people. Despite why you seek out the darkest pits of Flea Bottom, you are unafraid to see their plights. You wish to be loved.” You see him glance at you for a moment settling in that truth. “Love is the most powerful tool in a king’s arsenal.” 

Slowly you feel yourself and the prince move closer. In need, you wrap your arms around one another. 

You wish to be loved as well. 

As you hold the crowned prince you feel him nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His soft wet lips graze you there. You hold him tighter. He does the same. 

The pair of you realize one dark truth you share. 

You both wish to be loved.

Aegon is there to celebrate the birth of his children. 

Twins. 

“To Jaehaerys and Jaehaera!” There are cheers to the new prince and princess. 

Aegon delights in sharing news of his legacy though he chooses to spend time in Flea Bottom mouthing at the breasts of needy whores rather than taking care of his queen. You do not mind it as you see him enjoying himself. 

“I hear there is news for you to celebrate as well.” He is grinning softly as he exchanges the whore in his lap for you. “You are being apprenticed to take over after the madame.” 

“Word travels fast I suppose.” You tip your finger lightly to his nose before bouncing from his lap. You motion a barmaid over to fill the rest of the prince and his companions’ cups of ale. “It is only a small thing.” 

“Oi, none of that! What do we always say?” He makes you repeat it occasionally when you are feeling less than confident about yourself. 

“All small things lead to big change.” You can not help but smile at the saying. He flicks your nose in response. You swat at him with a dirty dish rag. He barks out a laugh. 

It has been like this for months, a developing friendship you truly cherish. 

Many of the other workers are suspicious of you. You do not know why. You suspect that they are jealous that the prince favors you. You have been asked certain questions about the prince’s habits in bed. There are only so many times you can dance around the subject. 

You and the prince do not have that kind of relationship. 

There are some nights where he desires your company to simply talk rather than bed another whore or four. 

Tonight is one of those nights. 

He settles into your plush bed already having a habit of which pillows to surround himself with. He digs for the orange knitted blanket he had made for your chambers as a gift. He folds it over himself before moving to make a nest of pillows in a spot beside him. 

“Alright, what is the matter?” He nearly demands it as he sits up. 

“Nothing is -” 

“Come now, I know you. You can not hide your thoughts from me.” You can’t. This is the unfortunate truth of the nature of your relationship. 

“The others. The other whores. They are beginning to suspect that we are not having sex.” Aegon huffs at that. 

“And what business is that of them? If I want to spend time with a beautiful woman and not bed her I should be able to. Why does it bother you what they think? You’ve never been one to care what others think.”

It is true. 

You had not really cared what others said about you. 

You enjoyed living your life how you desired to. 

You say it before you can stop yourself. 

“I do not like that they assumed we could not be having sex. I am apparently usually loud and it is quite quiet in my chambers when you are here.” You state. 

“I see. I suspect they are furious you are being paid to simply talk. I could not pay you, but that would probably only spread more salacious rumors.” He laughed. Aegon offered his hand out to you. Your arms were folded across your chest. You are in a low cut golden gown you had made with the extra coin he supplied you from your late night talks. “We can have sex or pretend to if that would calm these rumors down.” 

You looked at him wide eyed. 

“What?! Is the idea of having relations with me so horrid?” He chuckled at that and you joined in. 

“I am not unattracted to you.” You explain as you roll and settle on the bed. “But you are my friend. Besides,” You stare into his face. Your index finger traces his lips slowly, sensually causing him to swallow deeply. You each know what you could do with your lips to each other that would make lewd enough sounds. “Pretending sounds so much more fun.” 

You spend the night making noises as if the prince is pleasuring you. You are so practiced in your long loud moans that it is no surprise that you can very easily choreograph the false love making session. Aegon bounces and squeaks the mattresses grunting with light dirty talk. You are sure to say ‘yes my prince’ a few more times in heightened dramatic tones. You and Aegon halt your giggles as the absurdity of the loud display is nearly too much for the pair of you to handle. 

You finish off the act by crying out your prince’s name as if orgasming through the high pitched elated cry. 

Aegon reacts in such a fashion you lean over the pillow to see if he has actually cum all over himself. 

He is laying fully clothed and panting on his back. 

“What? Did you think I was having a wank while you were moaning? In your dreams, love.” He tosses a pillow in your direction. You laugh, catching it against your chest. 

“I did, get a bit off.” You smile. His eyes sparkle as if intrigued, sitting up.

“Really?” 

“Not by you.” You huff rolling your eyes. Aegon pretends to be offended. “By me. I got a bit wet hearing myself.” You flush a bit not sure if you should be embarrassed by the idea of it. 

Nothing has ever truly embarrassed you, but sharing that intimate detail with another brings your face to redden. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of. Your act was quite lovely. I bet a few lads heard you and creamed themselves.” You laugh together with him at the thought before he turns to look at you. “Come here, darling.” He folds you in his arms and kisses the top of your temple. “I’ll find you a nice lad with a big cock and a talented tongue or a big titted pretty blonde with thick thighs. You’ve been a bit pent up of late with learning the back end dealings of this work. You need a nice fit man or lass to break that back of yours. Fuck you properly.” 

You are very appreciative of the gesture as he snuggles into you. 

“You are a good friend, Aegon.” You decide to say snorting a laugh. 

“I know. But you are my best friend, my darling.” 

You have heard the rumor. 

When you see silver hair hiding beneath your overwhelming hoard of pillows you know it is true. 

The king is dead. 

“I am so sorry, my dear.” You settle yourself on the bed knocking some pillows free to expose his drunken face. He moans moving one to cover the grief waving in and out of his drunken state on his face. 

Your fingers brush and scratch at his scalp. He nearly coos at the loving gesture. 

“That feels nice.” You smile knowing it is a familiar gesture. 

“How drunk are you?” 

“Very.” There’s a soft smile pressed to his lips. His cheek settles into your palm. “Everyone is looking for me. I am to be king.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up a bit. For years, King Viserys has proclaimed his daughter Rhaenyra as his one true heir. Yes, Aegon was his first son, but from a second marriage. Those who knew the king tried to change his mind, but he had not budged. 

Until now you supposed. 

“I know it is not what you desire, but . . .” 

You can not find the words. He sees that. He grasps your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Come away with me.” 

“What?”

It is an offer you never dreamed of. 

“We could have a life together. Just as friends of course. I would never ask anything of you, but I would rather a life with you than a life with anyone else.” It is the shine in his violet eyes that lets you know he is serious about the matter.

He longs for it.

“I can not, Aegon. I have a life here.” 

“Flea Bottom?” He scoffs waving his hand. “You can make a life wherever we take shore. You are resourceful, smart as a whip, and you are alert to your surroundings. You can read people. You KNOW people, my darling. I would feel safer with you than any gold cloak.” 

It is a thick sense of flattering to encourage your willingness to do as he wishes. 

You know he means every word as he grabs and kisses your hands again. 

“We could go to Pentos.” Your face drops at that. “Or not! Or not . . .” Aegon chuckles looking at the shock on your face. “Anywhere. We could go anywhere. We could dye my hair. Cut yours.” 

“I like my hair.” You twirl with the long strands smiling at the notion.

“Fine, a hood would be enough. What do you say?” 

You know if you say yes, if you are caught . . . you will be accused of a number of things. 

You might even be executed for it. 

“You know people that can make us disappear. I am sure of it. What is the one called who -”

“Aegon,” You whisper, letting yourself lie flat on the bed beside him. “I can’t.” 

“Yes you can.” He nods trying to let you know he would protect you by touching your face. 

“No, I . . . it is a lovely thought, but I can’t. I can’t risk my -”

Life, you want to say, but can not before men enter your room. They are the rough sort paid to do all sorts of traitorous things. Their greedy hands grab for Aegon. On impulse you find the pillow that holds a secret dagger. You stab at one of the men’s hands. It goes right through the palm. The other man slaps you. 

“Leave her be!” Your friend remains concerned even as he is dragged away. 

The White Worm herself steps into your room. 

“Don’t.” She says holding her hand up as the man with the dagger stuck in his hand goes to hit you. “She is an innocent in this.” Her eyes rake you over as if she is impressed. “It is nice to befriend a prince, but even nicer when he is king.” Aegon is gone from the room. 

“Don’t hurt him.” You hiss through clenched teeth. There is a spark of admiration in Mysaria’s eyes. 

“Oh, perhaps you love him?” Her tone nearly strikes the sentence as not a question. 

“He is my friend.” Yes, you do love him. You are the same. You are the only ones that understand one another.

“As I said, it is nice to have friends in high places.” She picks at fluff on one of your pillows. “I have been watching you for some time ever since your madame pointed out the prince’s unwavering interest in you.” The woman begins to rearrange the pillows on your bed. You make a note to move them how you like when she leaves. “The pair of us can not decide what he likes in you so much. You are not average looking of course, but Pentoshi whores are not a rarity either. So why you, my dear? What makes you special?” 

What made you special? 

“Nothing you can see.” You say suggestively. 

Mysaria looks at you for a moment before huffing. 

“They say you do not even bed the prince.” The way she moves in your room reminds you of a viper waiting to strike. “You have pretended a number of times and some may have been convinced, but your madam seems to think the pair of you simply . . . talk. Like children afraid to wake their mother, hiding under the covers.” 

The woman picks up a wine glass on your desk before moving to the pitcher. She pours the red contents inside. One by one her fingers grasp the stem of the glass. She brings it to her lips. Mysaria drinks deeply letting out a slow hum at the flavor. 

“He gifts you perfect reds from distant lands. This is his preferred taste.” She ticks the last word at the edge of her tongue. “But you are not.” 

“Does it matter if we fuck or simply talk?” You are bored of this interrogation. You find a silver wine goblet in a secret compartment beneath the desk. That is Aegon’s goblet. The interest in Mysaria’s face peaks even as you pour. 

“It does not. Just a curiosity of mine.”

“Curiosity gets good people killed.” You down the entire glass quickly. You are not sure if your demonstration is clear to her. This is why Aegon likes you so. 

You are fun. 

You drink. 

You laugh. 

You enjoy a good fuck. 

You do not judge him as those at court do. 

There is no reason for you to behave in the manner you do toward him. 

You have no reason to gain favor. 

It is simply because he likes who YOU are and you like who HE is. 

“I see.” You are not certain if she truly sees. “Perhaps we should settle this with a toast to our new king. To King Aegon.” Her voice is not genuine. There is a lack it fervor to it. 

“You need him for something.” You say tipping your goblet to hers. 

“I always need people. Perhaps someday you will be mine as well.” She sips deeply, reflecting a crimson stained smile. 

“I doubt it, Worm.” You simply say and drink. 

You imagined that when Aegon was crowned you would see him less. 

Instead he is with you nearly every night. It grows hard sometimes to do your work. You tell him as such and he begins to bring you clients. Your prince seems to know what you like. You find yourself coupling with knights with big cocks. His wife’s curious ladies in waiting beg to bed you. 

Constantly you are letting him know he does not have to offer people as rewards. 

“I like to see you happy, my darling.” He kisses your hands giving you a twirl. “If you are to whore yourself about the kingdom I would much rather you are pleased. Old cocks and cunts are unpleasant wouldn’t you agree?” 

You can not argue with him. 

There is a small celebration when the madam retires and you replace her. You suspect the early retirement was orchestrated by the White Worm herself, but you can not be sure of that. Aegon is still joyous for you. You are happy when he takes you up to dance. He whispers in your ear asking about the patrons. 

He always wants to know your insights on the most troublesome creatures in Flea Bottom. The night is so wonderful as Aegon raising a glass to the new madam. You are grateful for how proud he is of you. 

Aegon gladly offers you his latest squire. 

“He’s a virgin so be gentle.” 

“No promises, my king.” You wink as he laughs. 

The others do as well. 

You enjoy riding the squire that night. You are knee deep in finances of running the brothel the next morning when the rumor hits you. 

“The little prince is dead.” 

The horrible things that are said about Aegon’s son, Jaehaerys’ death are too much to imagine. You can hardly focus on the day’s work. You know how much Aegon loves his son. He called him his legacy. You remember when he was born. 

You are sitting at your desk trying to halt the tears that are starting to stream from your eyes. 

“Don’t cry. I came here to escape the tears.” 

Aegon holds you from behind. 

You hold him. 

You do not know how long you hold each other sniffling and trying not to cry. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” You tell him in the softest whisper. He rests his chin on you. 

“I know, but it is where I need to be right now.” You weren’t sure what that meant as he held you tighter. “I was here instead -” He broke down spreading hot wet tears against your cotton night dress. You settle your hands against his that squeeze you tight. 

“Shhh, it is not your fault, Aegon.” 

You cry with him. 

You comfort him. 

He does the same for you. 

When his tear ducts have nothing left to give he finally chokes out his desire. 

“It is not safe for you here.” He tells you, holding you tight. “Please, I need you with me.”

You want to deny him this. Your work is important to you, but you in a sense need him too. 

“Yes,” You understand him. You know exactly why he needs you. “I need you too.” 

You take up work as Queen Heleana’s lady in waiting. You can tell Aegon is pleased to have you in his everyday life. His smile is soft and sad as he passes you. 

The joy has left his eyes. 

The squire you bedded is happy to see you. To feel better you take him as a lover. It hardly makes things better. You take on another lover, one of the queen mother’s hand maid’s is a sweet woman who takes more of a fancy to you then you do to her. She does not make things better either. 

The melancholy you feel festers from the war that looms in the keep. Aegon tries to attend to your comfort. You know he sees your sadness and worry. You are worried for him, for his family. Helaena seems to know what your presence does for her husband. She tells you often how glad she is that you are here. 

“He is happier with you here.” Her soft smile breaks your heart. 

How horrible is it to lose a child? 

How hard is it to know the husband you have seeks company in others? 

Occasionally Aegon curls up in your bed. He rests his head on your stomach and cries. The king lets out his frustration on the strategies of war and the devastating loss of his son, which still weighs too heavily on his heart. You scratch his scalp and pull at his silver hair. You wipe away his tears feeling how soft his cheeks are. 

You are glad to have him even if some nights he is drunker than you think he should be. 

“She wants me to do nothing.” He says speaking of his mother. “How can I do nothing? I am king.” He hiccups, wiping his own tears. 

“You are too precious to lose.” You curl your fingers in his hair as he mumbles his appreciation. 

“I am glad you are here. The White Worm can not get you and neither can anyone else. I will not lose any more of those precious to me.” 

You could explain to him it is selfish to take you from your life. To hide you here in these walls away from the life you knew, the life you loved. You are sure he knows it. Every moment he holds you or clings to you, you realize how much he really needs you. 

You know you need him too. 

Despite how much you miss the life you knew, you feel a small spark of comfort knowing he is this close. 

You would have stopped him if you had known he was determined to fly to Rook’s Rest. 

It is the one moment he does not seek your comfort. 

When he returns, there is not much of the prince left. 

He is burnt. 

He is broken. 

He is in pain. 

You are suddenly nothing. You can not see him. You can not be near him. The man, the person you love most in this world is so close to you, so hurt, and you can do nothing. 

You can not comfort him. 

You wait. 

You watch. 

You listen. 

His brother is declared regent. You know his physical status must be in dire shape if Aegon is no longer able to make decisions. You try your best to enter the chambers when he awakens. You feel your heart ache every night you do not know if he is okay. 

It is soon after you watch the prince regent leave Aegon’s chamber that you are able to sneak in. You did not think of how you might see him. 

You need him. 

You need to see him. 

When you do you keep your composure upon seeing his skin cracked black on one side with red fleshy scars running across his body. His face is shriveled on that same side, split and scarred. His leg is shattered. It is lifted up in a cast as his head in bandaged. You swallow moving closer to smell how bad the flesh burns. 

“Please.” He whimpers. 

Your hand rubs the soured scars at his knuckles. 

“I am here, my prince.” You assure him and kneel at his side. You wish to kiss his hand, to crawl on his bed, to curl up with him, but decide to feel his weak fingers curl around yours. 

“My darling,” The nickname is lazy on his split lips. “Please don’t look at me.” 

“Aegon,” The sharpness of your tone is true. You see his eyes flow elsewhere. “Look at me.” You attempt to will him to do so. 

He can not say no to you much longer. 

You see the utter desperate sadness in his features. 

“If you were well I would do as we always did.” You feel him squeeze your hand. “I would crawl to your chest. I would curl and you would play with my hair, tell me to forget the world. Tell me we are the only ones who matter in this moment.” 

“It would be a nice thing.” He coos and sighs. “But I will never be the same. My cock -”

“Do not say.” You know it is the pain of not being the same as he was that must hurt the most. 

“Please, my darling.” He squeezes your hand the best he can. “I do not care of the pain. Not having you with me is more painful. Please.” He slowly moves his other hand to tickle your skin. 

Your body doesn’t hesitate. The way it lays next to Aegon feels so natural. You do not care if he smells or if he is cracked and broken. 

He is still your Aegon. 

He is still your prince. 

You feel his lips on your forehead. 

“My only regret is not having fucked you.” There is a joke in his tone that you sense is only part true. 

“Perhaps when you are better you can still taste me.” You return the tease. 

“Promises. Promises.” His humor fades into a smile at your temple. 

You remain in each other’s presence hoping for a better future with your best friend. For your life would not be the same without him.