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cherryheairt · 6 months ago

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Dragon Dreamer pt. V

sorry for the wait, I'm trying to do a mix of longer and shorter chaps depending on how much time I have. Love yall 🩷

tags- @beebeechaos @hueanhdang @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew

cw- blood, death

"I'll find her." Cregan promised the she-dragon, not stopping to wonder if it understood his common tongue.

He sat upon Red's saddle, looking out into the dim forest. He prayed of the old Gods that she was only lost.

🗡

Daenys had yet to find her mysterious calling. It wasn't a voice or a message, but a persistent tug in the forefront of her unconscious mind. The snow seemed to fall harder the deeper she continued into the forest. She was unsure which way she had come from, but knew it didn't matter now.

White fortresses of snow grew all around her, trapping her from going any other direction. Squinting, she could barely make out a few feet in front of her face. This must be some cruel game the gods were playing, toying with the Princess before leading her to her doom. Perhaps a frozen lake would be fitting. She wouldn't even know that she was standing in the middle of one until she was frozen in the icy depths.

Or mayhaps a cliff so monstrous that the jagged edges left nothing of her mortal body left behind. Whatever it was, Daenys just wished she would reach it already. Now that she was wide-awake, the cold was getting to her, mentally and physically. Even the well-suited fur dress was not enough to keep her alive forever. She needed fire, warmth.

And what of her most recent vision? Tame in nature, but harrowing to her poor heart nonetheless. Daenys had never seen Rhaenyra so undignified before, flying on Syrax in a dirty, worn dress and covered in soot and sand. Her hair was in a loose braid, clearly one meant for sleep and not council duties. She was searching for something that no one else could find. A dragon, perhaps? Maybe Seasmoke had become active again after his depressive state from Laenor's passing. The grey dragon had always liked Rhaenyra. The married couple often rode their dragons together to spend time away from King's Landing. Daenys was sure it would obey her still.

But that look on her face. The same one she wore after returning from her birthing room, without baby Visenya in her arms. Puffy face, red eyes, downtrodded posture unbefitting of the new Queen. It was all the same in her dream, maybe even worse. Daenys was glad that her mother was with Syrax, for the she dragon would keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled slightly at the remembrance of Syrax, the princess dragoness. Though Morningstar was not born from Syrax's clutch, the two had bonded as if they were truly kin. Daenys had even commissioned an iron star-shaped chain to be the dragonsaddle's chestpiece. Rhaenyra had given Syrax a similar heart-shaped chestpiece in her youth and was happy to see the white dragon doning a matching article.

Daenys suddenly felt a pang in her heart, clutching the star necklace hanging at her neck. Guilty ate at her for leaving her loyal dragon behind. She missed her warmth.

She missed Cregan's, too.

She longed for either's protective embrace in this desolate wood.

"Find me," she whispered to the nothingness. The air seemed to still, freezing Daenys in place. She listened for something, anything. She no longer felt the incessant tug. Her mind cleared.

A crunch of snow was her answer.

But Daenys hadn't moved an inch.

"Cregan?" She asked, louder. "Are you here?"

No answer but the one in the wind, like a solemn wolf's howl.

Another crunch. Another step. Cregan would've answered her by now, surely. He was not one for callous pranks or jests. Daenys wasn't alone anymore. Was this the destination? Her mind's call? Would it be a wise seer, or a vessel sent by the gods to deliver a message? Swallowing, she hoped that the entity was merciful.

A low growl answered her desperate wishes.

A wolf.

Not Dusk.

Shit.

Daenys stilled her breaths, bracing her legs into the snow. What does a weaponless person do in the face of a predator? She'd never been taught such survival methods. The Red Keep's wildlife consisted of garden rabbits and squirrels, and Dragonstone had naught but sea creatures and crabs at its disposal.

Her eyes caught the slow movement of the creatures paw, striking dread straight into her heart. The form was smaller than Dusk, by a lot. Direwolves had a size no natural animal compared to. But this one seemed smaller than an average wolf, too. Perhaps a wolf in its teen years, just recently leaving its pack to stake his place in the world.

It was a slim thing, thick coat not enough to hide its ribs. Poor thing. It was starving, clearly. Daenys would have the heart to help it if only she wasn't the current prey he had in mind.

It was survival of the fittest in this world, after all. A dragon and a wolf. Any person with common sense would declare the dragon the victor before the fight could even start. But what was the blood of the dragon without the dragon? Daenys began to wonder if there was anything special about the Targaryens besides their dragons. They gained no special traits. No endurance, strength, speed. Without Morningstar, was Daenys worthy of her namesake? Lightbringer, the realm lovingly called the beast. Fearsome and powerful, a shame that the dragon will never be given glory like other dragons of history.

The dragon wouldn't be winning wars, protecting Westeros, or even stationed at a House to guard. All because of the rider she was bestowed.

A wolf does not care for blood.

They stared at each other, neither blinking nor moving.

Run or fight.

Run or fight?

Her only two options, and both would lead to her death. It wasn't nearly as merciful and quick as a frozen lake or a jagged cliff would be. No, she would be torn apart kicking and screaming.

If she charged it, would it run or have the courage to meet her head on? No, it would not back down. A starving dog hunts best. A starving wolf cannot risk failure.

What would Rhaenyra do? What would Daemon do?

Rhaenyra might stand her ground, ever the Dragon Queen she was. Mighty and proud, though she wielded no sword or plated armor.

Daemon wouldn't hesitate, drawing Dark Sister from its sheathe, beheading the wolf with a triumphant laugh.

Daenys was neither her mother nor her step-father, though she wished futility to be an image of them.

Cregan? Perhaps he would tame yet another wolf, seeing as he clearly had an affinity.

What would a northerner like Cregan Stark do in the face of a wild wolf? Unarmed, unshielded. Pray? Take the death as the will of the Gods? Maybe.

Daenys Velayron was far from a northerner. Fire and blood hot through her veins, not ice or faith. The way of the dragon was to be unchained, forever standing tall above the realm.

Though, wild animals have no reason to care for heritage or blood. The meat on her bones was all it could see.

A wolf does not care for blood.

Daenys exhaled, long and slow. Run or fight. Fighting a starved wolf meant death, instantly. Running gave her a chance at finding a tree or rock to climb–anything to get her a vantage point.

The choice was clear.

She just needed to act.

To turn your back on a predator was to sign your own life away.

Daenys, ever so slow, unbuckled her fur coat from her shoulders. The grey wolf eyed it, snarling. Its yellow eyes grew brighter, like two harvest moons shining against the fallen snow.

Daenys mustered up all the courage she could manage, heart pounding, throwing the fur coat across the distance to the wolf. Immediately, it took it in its maw and ripped its head back and forth wildly. If it were a hot-blooded prey, the coat would be dead with blood spattered all over the snow.

Daenys ran, wasting no time watching the display.

She hoped to blind it temporarily, but it catching the furs was a better outcome than missing entirely.

She panted, adrenaline coursing through her to give warmth and strength to her limbs. They burned with the sudden exertion. Daenys could hear the wolf throwing the fur away, not being able to gather any sustenance from the useless garb.

It barked frustratedly at her disappearance from his sight, quickly giving chase to the girl.

Daenys could only hear her heart beat out of her chest and the sounds of the snarling chasing her, closer every second. Her eyes flew around wildly, hoping to spot a low-hanging but sturdy branch. Kind of difficult when running at full speed. Screeching at a bite nipping at her heels, she jumped to the nearest branch she could reach, not having any time left to search. Daenys managed to pull half of her body over it before the wolf's teeth were on her skirts, tugging violently.

She cried out as she hit the cold floor, winded from the wall. The wolf planted itself over her, leaving no room for escape, nipping at her face. Her arm instinctively flew to protect her throat and face, resulting in the wolf's jaw clamping right down on her forearm. She screamed in agony, flames of pain running through her arm. She kicked at its flank while it snarled deep and heavily, salivating through her arm. The blood and saliva from her arm dripped down hot streaks to her face, blinding her.

When the wolf let go of her arm, bracing to go for more vital parts of her to end her squirming, Daenys accepted her fate. The kicks had done nothing. It hadn't moved an inch nor showed signs of pain. At least her death wouldn't be completely useless. The wolf would be fed, for perhaps a few weeks until it could find another easy prey.

Above her, the yellow eyes were lit with hungry and drive.

Daenys closed her eyes tight, hoping for the end to be swift.

But, she did not feel the jaws of death.

She felt the hot sting of blood being poored onto her exposed skin. She shot up, feeling the head of the wolf fall onto her chest. In a horrific pool of blood and bone, the wolf's head went to her lap as she sat up. Daenys froze, chest heaving with panicked breaths. She wanted to toss the head off of her, throw up, and cry all at once. But she was frozen with shock.

"Is that you, Princess?"

That was not Cregan.

Daenys lifted her gaze from the head to the voice. A man, tall and sharply built, dressed in all black. Perhaps close to Daemon's age, with a salt-and-peppered black beard and hair.

She could only stare at him, eyes wide with terror and adrenaline leaving her body. The pain in her arm was flaring, only growing as it bled onto the snow. It could hardlt be called snow anymore, the radious around Daenys was pure blood red, including herself. Her hair was dyed red, too, sullying into her usually perfect white. She was sure she would never feel clean again, that the hot blood would remain on her forever.

"My lady, focus on me." His words were stern as he knelt to meet the Princess, a hand on her face.

She listened, looking into his crystaline blue eyes. A northerner, he must be, born and raised. "...Ser?" She whispered, hoarse.

He nodded, focusing her face to his and not letting her gaze drift. "Where are you, Princess?"

The question startled her from despondency, confused. "Where am I? The North?" She asked.

He chuckled at her bemusement. "Aye, lass. Very good. What's your name?"

She felt annoyed suddenly, this man was asking very stupid and obvious questions. He called her Princess, he must know the answer. "Daenys Velayron. Who are you?"

"The man who saved your life. You're very welcome, by the way." He smirked crookedly, chortling when she only narrowed her eyes.

"Seamus Knott, at your service, My Lady. I am sworn to the Wall, though, so I am no Ser." He bowed dramatically, though his bitter smile showed his discontent with his position. Perhaps he was sent to the wall in a way he deemed unjustified. Whatever the reason was, Daenys did not want to be alone with him for long. The Night's Watch was loyal to the crown in respect only. She was content to visit, but only because Cregan would be there to look after her. Theives and rapers were a majority of the Watch, Daenys did not want to take any chances with them.

"Why are you so far from the wall, Seamus?" Daenys asked him, still sitting lamely in her spot.

He raised a brow, "why are you so far from your protector?"

She bristled, curling in on herself protectively. Had he been following them? For how long?

Seeing her demeanor shift, Seamus raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Not like that, your highness. I was simply speculating. A princess so far in the North hasnt happened in a century. You are news to us all. At Castle Black, we were informed that you would be arriving with Lord Stark soon."

It did make sense. Though, only three days had passed since they left–

"Step away from the Princess." A voice growled behind the Knott man. Daenys perked up at the sound, the familiar tone putting her heart and mind finally at ease. Ice was held straight to the back of his neck, a perfect extension of the Lord's arm.

Cregan stood tall and firm with his expression almost unreadable. Would he be angry with her for her recklessness, send her back to Dragonstone? Or perhaps he was more angry with the Night's Watch for spilling private information to all the residents.

"Cregan!" She gasped, trying to stand to her feet but was stopped by a wave of vertigo. Her feet were like water, unable to hold up any weight. She held her head with her uninjured hand, cradling the pain.

Cregan glanced at her briefly, brow furrowing at the state of her, before he stepped closer to Seamus. The tip was a mere inch away from the man's stubbled neck, though the older man paid it no mind. Grinning, "I saved the poor maiden, she'd be dead by now if I 'aden't. Where were you, Stark?"

Cregan's jaw ticked, "How did you find her? We're too far from any houses for this to be considered a mere coincidence." Clearly, he was ignoring the man's words. Probably because he was right. The blood had long cooled in on top of her, leaving the liquid to intensify her shivering.

Seamus looked down at him over his narrow nose, arrogantly sizing the lord up. His blood-covered steel sword was still at his side, clenched around a gloved fist. "I have been summoned weeks ago to head the beckoning of Lord Tully. I received a raven from Castle Black's Commander only a few days ago, informing me of the Warden escorting the Princess to the Wall. I merely wished to ensure our Princess' safety."

Cregan was unmoved. "I can handle that perfectly well. She is under my protection, my watch."

"Your watch hasn't even begun, Stark. You have no idea what it means to serve the wall. Sitting pretty in Winterfell while we work thanklessly for our keep." Seamus sneered, nasty expression twisting his uncomely features.

"Who's fault is that, Knott?" Cregan bit back. Daenys was left confused at their familiarity. Did they know each other?

Seamus' grip on his sword tightened, the leathery squeeze ringing in Daenys' ears unpleasantly. Her ears rang harshly, blood rushing to her head and drowning other sounds out. About to vomit her rabbit up or faint, she did not know. Dusk, who had been loyally by Cregan's legs, now moved to Daenys' side at the flick of his owner's wrist. She placed an unsteady hand on his brown shoulder, allowing him to take her weight as she leaned into his warmth. He wasn't quite as comforting as Cregan had been, but the relief was nice.

Dusk huffed into her ear, though he still stared up at Seamus the whole time. When Daenys fell asleep, the sound of steel sheathing filled her muffled ears.

🗡

She awoke to a weight over her body, bundled like a blanket. The strong scent of iron and wood filled her nose and surrounded her entirely. She opened her eyes to see Cregan at her side, under the cover of a tent. Looking around, she spotted none of her belongings. His tent. He crouched on his knee, tenderly wiping at her wound with a wet cloth. While he was deep in concentration, his brows knit together tightly, a frown dragging his handsome face down.

"Cregan?" He lifted his head to face her, turning his attention from her arm.

He smiled tightly at her, clearly still bothered by something. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you awake." Cregan told her earnestly.

Daenys sat up with his help, allowing his arm to linger at her back. "What happened to Seamus?"

Clenching his teeth, Cregan fought the urge to roll his eyes childishly. "Outside. Dusk is watching over him. I had to tend to you before I deal with him."

She kissed her teeth when she felt the sting of her arm come back. The wound was clean, though deep and raised. It would scar her for the rest of her life, a painful reminder of her dreadful night.

Cregan, noticing her downturned face, lifted her chin to look up at him instead. "It is a warrior's scar, Princess. We have that in common." He smiled more genuinely now as he lifted his sleeve to reveal his bicep, raised slightly with an old white scar, one that mirrored hers.

"Dusk bit you?" She gasped, brushing her fingertips over the scar. Gingerly, as if she thought it would still hurt him.

He chuckled fondly, watching her eyes rack over the scar. "When we first met. I was six and ten when I first became Lord of Winterfell. I was forced to imprison my uncle and his sons that day to take my place. I left for a solo hunt to be alone for a while.

He found me first. The size of a normal young wolf. We were hunting the same dear when I shot it down first. Dusk didn't take to kindly to that," He gestured to the teeth marks. "But I won that fight, gave him a scar to match. He's stayed by my side ever since." Cregan left out the part where he discovered his soul bonded to Dusk's, due to him being able to warg.

Daenys smiled, moving her hand away from his arm. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight Morningstar to get her to obey me." She laughed. Cregan laughed along, white teeth glinting in the light.

Cregan survived a direwolf attack all on his own when he was but a young man. Daenys would have died without assistance against her attacker when she was a woman grown. Clenching her jaw, she started, "I'm sorry for leaving last night. I...wish I could tell you my reasoning, but I don't know myself."

He took her face in his hand, inspecting it long and hard. Her violet eyes were half-lidded, a sign of her exhaustion. They still shined brightly in the day's light like they always did. Two perfect amethysts looking straight at him.

"You did nothing wrong, sweet girl." Cregan's thumb brushed the apple of her cheek, rubbing at the clear skin. She now noticed the feeling of the sticky blood was gone almost entirely, except from her dress. He had washed it all off of her in her unconsciousness. "You couldn't stop it, could you?"

Like he knew everything, Cregan seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world. Perhaps that was the result of being a Lord at six and ten. "I stopped walking when the wolf came." Daenys nodded.

He kept his hand in its place while he took a moment to think. "I should've been there, It's my duty to keep you safe, and I failed. Seamus is right, the creatin he is. If he hadn't come first, you wouldn't have come home to the Queen."

She smiled crookedly, telling him she was not upset. "From now on, I must insist." He focused entirely on her, making her face feel hot from the intensity. "You be with me at all times. In my tent, hunting with me, Hells, even on horseback with me if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I do not wish to be your burden, My Lord."

"I wish it," He shook his head, a secret pang in his heart that she hadn't called him by his name again.

"Even while you hunt? I am not quite as stealthy as you, I would just scare everything away."

"I will teach you." Cregan said firmly, leaving no further room for arguments. "We will stay in larger clearings from now on, even if it means walking greater distances. I want Morningstar to be with us as we sleep. I do not trust Knott."

"Speaking of," she started, tentatively. "How do you know him?"

He sighed deeply, reaching into his satchel bag to grab a roll of bandage. While he worked on wrapping her arm, he spoke. "My father and him grew up together. His brother, the Knott heir, warded with my father for some time to learn his Lordly duties. Seamus just tagged along because his father wished to be rid of him. He was a jealous, spiteful person even as a boy. When their father passed, he left everything to his rightful heir Kent.

Seamus killed him when he had not even been Lord for a year. He was sent to the Night's Watch by my father, a worse punishment than death for a man who only cares for titles and power. In the Watch, all brothers are equal."

"I do not want to kill him because he saved your life. I also do not want him anywhere near you." Cregan grit his teeth, frustrated at his torn opinions. He owed the man what he asked of, which was simply to accompany Cregan and Daenys to the Wall. Cregan cursed himself for his own honor, the Lord of Winterfell always kept his word.

"I promise, if he does anything, anything, to make you uncomfortable, I will take care of him." Cregan told her, earning a short nod from the Princess.

He stood, bandage firmly in place, helping her up with a sturdy hand. "Change your dress and wash up, then I will bring you hunting." It was too early to allow her to sleep, he wanted her to sleep tonight so that they may only travel during the day. They had completely lost this day thanks for the circumstances, and he wanted to spend the remaining time doing something useful. Also, he wanted to keep his mind of maiming Seamus where he stood.

While Daenys changed, she grimaced at the sight of blood that had made it way further down her dress. The garment was not fixable without a miracle, so she left it outside of the tent for Dusk to use as a temporary bed. Less weight for Mylo to carry, she supposed. Daenys scrubbed the dried blood from her neck and chest, not yet able to clean out her hair. That would take running water, not a damp cloth.

Stepping outside, she doned a new white dress, lined with grey fur. The sight of grey reminded her of the young wolf, filling her heart with guilt. She hoped he hadn't felt fear or pain in his quick end. She was met with Seamus, standing a few yards away from her tent. He wore a wild and proud grin, baring his teeth to her.

"Princess! You're awake, how delightful." She nodded her greeting stiffly. "I have a gift for you to take home, a proper warrior's trophy for the Queen." He presented the wolf's head from a bag attached to his belt, its yellow eyes still wide open, but holding none of its previous hunger. Daenys gasped in horror, bringing a hand to her neck. Cregan, who'd been waiting near the edge of camp for her, strided forward.

"Is this a cruel joke on your Princess, Knott?" He began, hand hovering over Ice. Before Seamus or Cregan could begin to argue again, Daenys rushed forward to take the pup's head in her hands. Both men stared at her in surprise.

Without saying a word, though she had many specific words for the brute, she gently held the wolf's severed head as she brought it to Morningstar, who had been laying in the edge of the clearing. She looked grumpy already, perhaps because of the direwolve's irritating presence, but purred when she saw Daenys finally coming to her. Daenys sat the head gently in front of the dragon's head, "Daor havor."

"Dracarys." Daenys commanded the mighty dragon, stepping back many paces. The three people, and the curious direwolf, watched on as the dragon scorched the head until it was naught but ash. The snow around the head had melted to reveal black burnt ground. Silence filled the campground. Daenys bowed her head, whispering to herself. "Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir"

She turned to look up at Seamus, who had a strange look on his face. "That was a cruel thing to do, ser. Not to me, but to the poor animal who lost it's life to starvation."

Seamus clenched his jaw at the scorning, never having been told off by a girl, much less a younger one. "Aye, Princess." Was all he said, trodding off to sulk in his own small tent.

Daenys looked to Cregan, who smiled softly at her. "That was kind of you, my Lady."

She thanked him, "could we find a river before our hunt? I wish to rid my hair of this blood before it becomes permanently red."

He laughed jovially, agreeing. "I do not think red hair would fit you. White is your color." He gestured towards her dress, then to her dragon, making her grin warmly.

🗡

Cregan led her to the nearest water source he could find, merely a small stream, but it would work just fine. Politely, Cregan turned away, although she wasn't taking any garments off. She snickered to herself at his chivalrous attitude, refusing to watch a lady wash her own hair. It took a lot of scrubbing and numb fingers before she was finally content, seeing no more red wash out.

"How does this look?" She asked the man behind her, who turned to inspect her. Wet hair still dripping onto her furs, she looked as lovely and youthful as ever. Her hair seemed longer, curls not yet bunching it up. "Beautiful, my Lady." He offered her a hand. Daenys hoped that her cheeks were not visibly red at the simple compliment as she was lifted by Cregan.

He smiled that secretive grin once again, walking ahead of her. "We will set a snare up first. Then, I'll teach you how to make a kill."

Daenys swallowed harshly. The last thing she wanted to do was kill another animal. She knew it was necessary, though. The Gods would not be spiteful for Daenys filling her stomach.

She followed Cregan into the denser part of the woods, carefully stepping in every place he did. After a while of her silence, he glanced behind himself with a concerned look, only to stifle a laugh at her delicate tiptoeing. He shook his head good-naturedly, grateful that she was trying.

Daenys watched him carefully set up a snare with the coil of metal wire in his pocket. They both crouched over it, leaving it in by a rabbithole before moving on to set another. This time, Cregan gently instructed her to do her own. It took a while, almost thrice the time he took, but he never got impaitient with her. Finally, she set the wire to the sticks coming out of the snow, triumphantly looking to Cregan for approval. "You're a natural born hunter, Princess." He declared, watching her smile with pride.

The two sat far from their many snares for hours, sitting against a sturdy pine. No words were needed as they kept a comfortable silence between them, Daenys finding herself struggling to stay awake with the peaceful atmosphere. Cregan glanced to her from her side, placing a hand over hers. He traced symbols, cracked joints, and tapped their fingers together rhymically to a pattern she followed by doing the same back to him. The focus kept her awake, her mind on the new task.

As the sun was near setting, Cregan led her to his snares first, picking up two rabbits and his wires. He whispered Northern words of respect for the animal before swiftly stabbing it in the heart. They inspected Daenys' next, finding one rabbit struggling in it. She hesitated to step forward, only urged on by Cregan. "Here," he handed her his dagger, a fine piece of steel that had a direwolf's head placed on the pommel. She kneeled next to the rabbit, thanking it quietly for its sacrifice. She took a deep breath it, releasing it as she stabbed into the white chest. Daenys paused a moment, grimacing. Blood stained her leather gloves, another reminder of the wolf. He would haunt her forever, it seemed. She clutched the rabbit gently in her arms, holding it like she held baby Aegon and Viserys. Cregan fondly smiled at her. "You did well, Princess." They collected the wire, walking back to the campsite. After wiping the dagger off with a kerchief, she handed it back to him.

Cregan gently pushed it to her chest, shaking his head. "Keep that one on you. So I know you're safe, even if we're apart."

Daenys, awestruck, nodding slowly. This was her first gift from a person that wasn't her kin and not a new dress or piece of jewelry. "I will keep it safe." She grinned up at him, earning a hearty chuckle.

They burned one of the rabbits over the fire, sharing it amongst themselves. It seemed like Dusk had gone on his own hunt, gnawing on the leftover bones of his dinner. While Daenys and Cregan settled into his tent for bed, she felt too tired to be nervous. His comforting scent surrounded her like a blanket, his warmth radiating throughout the tent. He slept without the furs of his cloak, a wonder that Daenys was curious about. Did he run so hot that the chill of night didn't bother him, only needing one fur blanket?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Daenys snuggled into the furs he had given her for her own tent, almost grumbling at their lack of distinct scent. The two fell asleep side by side, the purrs of Morningstar soothing them to sleep.

Daor havor - not food

a wolf does not care for blood

Kostagon aōha iemny sagon forever lēda sir - may your stomach be forever full now

beheadings have become a trend in westeros, i see. i just remembered robb's direwolf and how he was grey.

did you catch that double meaning lol

also rip grey wolf, you would have loved being housed and fed in Winterfell by Cregan

I'm thinking that Morningstar is the child of Silverwing and Vermithor since they're a mated pair. We don't know if they produce asexually or not, so idk. Definitely Silverwing's baby though, since she's the only white dragon alive, but when I imagine Morningstar I see a white smaller version of Vermithor, I adore his horn and face design.

Who knows, the dragons seemed to be random colors. Arrax is white and Vermax is green, even though Syrax is yellow and theres no male whites or greens

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x oc #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark #hotd #dragondreamer

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solkara · 8 months ago

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❛ 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 , was a quiet girl in her youth. practically conjoined to her older twin. often hiding behind him to avoid the torment of her brother and nephews for her lack of a dragon. she was known for her reckless and unladylike behaviour. preferring to learn the art of the sword rather than that of the needle and thread. the twins were born to be together two sides of the same coin. no wonder alicent had them betrothed. but after the harrowing night at driftmark. ❜

❛ 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 , she was a woman reborn with a scar on her lower cheek. a reminder that she was forever marked by the actions of that night. but it was worth it as she had gained the one thing she always wanted. a dragon. but not just any ordinary dragon. perhaps the most dangerous of all. the cannibal. as the years passed her and aemond grew more and more formidable. dedicating themselves to their studies and their training. paciently waiting for the day they could take revenge on those that had wronged them ❜

house of the dragon masterlist

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bumblesimagines · 2 months ago

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The Lions Claws

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When a Lannister visits King's Landing, he ends up finding entertainment in the King's eldest son.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, toxic/manipulative behavior, Lannisters being Lannisters, mentions of bruises, cersei would be proud, aegon might feel a lil ooc

~~~

For a capital meant to represent the Crown, King's Landing was incredibly underwhelming. Even the towering Red Keep sitting atop Aegon's Hill proved lacking with its dull red stone and drum towers casting shadows. He'd expected something akin to Highgarden's serene beauty or the formidable and untouchable Storm's End but the Red Keep was dreary at best. The air felt thick and suffocating as if it were eager to be rid of guests with clouds loomed overhead in varying shades of grey, leaving one wondering if there'd be a drizzle or downpour awaiting them the moment they stepped outside.

"A smile wouldn't kill you," Erwin muttered across from him, yet the grimace on his face spoke for his own thoughts. Homesick was one word to describe the heaviness in their chests. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if she heard you left a sour impression on Her Majesty and the Hand."

"Oh, please." (Y/N) spared his cousin a glance before his eyes returned to peering up at the Red Keep from the window of the carriage. Chilling air flowed inside, opposite of the warm breezes that so often clung to the westerlands he knew well. "All she cares to know is if Tyland's made a fool of himself yet, the poor idiot. She may not say it but I know she fears the dragons will eat him alive."

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened. He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains.

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies. But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak. Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers.

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children. She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more. Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower.

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were. He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason. "I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty." It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle." Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful. An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet. Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's. His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon. Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days. It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway. (Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance. A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay. His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch. "I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock."

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls. Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do. His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them.

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe. Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight. If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything.

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks. Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child.

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh. He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord.

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness. Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute. Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss.

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind. The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time.

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh. His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children. He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him.

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut. (Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout.

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger.

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek. The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist. "I wished to see if you were alright."

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe. His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

"Bring us some sweets." (Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek. She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand. "Thank you, darling." She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipped bashfully.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace." (Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists.

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes. He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to. "It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls. He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy.

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door. "You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?" The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups. "That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left.

"I hope you ate before you indulged." (Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head. He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

He learned with age that his words rang true.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence. You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger. The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him. The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining.

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed. Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it.

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up.

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest. Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly. "You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation.

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw. They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly.

"I-"

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch. Such easy prey. "We have plenty of time to catch up."

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 1 year ago

Note

HCs of Alfie with a younger wife? Like in her mid 20s 💕

Hello my darling!!! I’m sorry this took forever! But I am back!!! Please enjoy this little nugget. Also y’all HCs are so fun!!!! Maybe I should do more.

He wasn’t planning on marrying a younger woman. Let’s be honest he wasn’t planning on getting married PERIOD.

But then you blustered in…

You came in. Full of wisdom so far beyond your age. Full of confidence that came from the knowledge that you were the best you you could be. Full of light that he thought would flee from a man like him.

He immediately was drawn to you. Your soothing voice that brought down his rage, which so quickly could come full force against him when he got too brash and foolish, reminding him that there’s no need to destroy what was not yet broken.

Despite the incurable draw to you, he said he would stay away. Be respectful. Be a respectful old man.

You would have none of it. Because truthfully he wasn’t that old. He was just snippy and preferred his habits. He hadn’t been a young man ever since the war. Regardless what his birth certificate said.

In truth it didn’t take too much to get him to relent. He’s just a man in front of a beautifully infuriating woman. And after a screaming match ending with you laughing at his reddening ears and hoarse voice, he let himself finally say it, “Right then. Now only my woman gets to screech at me like you do. So I’ll see you tomorrow night? Take you to the pictures and maybe dinner?”

And soon enough he asked for your hand, rumors and shaking heads be damned. He needed you more than air, and for some reason you loved him just as much.

Alfie expected his life would change once you were moved into his home. Was only natural. But he didn’t expect to change THIS much.

Or that he would like it. That he would feel like a chasm he didn’t realize he had was finally sealed up and healed with the first morning he woke up to you next to him.

Younger yes. Unorganized you were not. And very quickly upon your arrival did you see the bachelor pad state and work your magic to rectify. To turn this dragon’s cave into an actual home. Curtains and windows finally opened to let in fresh air. Ledgers and letters were filed away. The garden in the back finally being tended to to indicate actual humans lived and loved on the premises.

Remember that Alfie has been a bachelor the majority of his life. Any pretty women which came into his life were quickly shoo’d away. So to say he was puzzled by your… womanly… tools?? Weapons??… was putting it lightly.

“My dove now what the fuck are these? They look like tiny dinner rolls.”

“They’re rollers Alfie! For my hair! Gives it the wave.”

“Right right hair wave rollers yes of course. Now what about these… powders and things?”

“My rouge and lipstick darling.”

He didn’t get it at all.

Though Alfie is partial to opera and the absolute classics, he adores the new music you bring home. His family in Boston adore you immensely and have taken to mailing you the newest records in America.

If you’re extra sweet, you can usually coax him to dance with you, spinning yourself around him in a tizzy. By the end of your evenings he’s drunk without even a single sip of rum.

He’s never been so happy. So care free. But there is this nagging feeling in his stomach. One that won’t go away. That maybe you’re not truly happy. That you’re secretly wishing to be back out with the young people. To go out dancing in pretty dresses instead of in the living room in your dressing gown. To be fawned over in illustrious restaurants instead of cooking dinner together most nights. Had he robbed you of your youth simply because he’s selfish?

He never tells you this. No being a man means keeping your feelings inside and not letting your woman see you less than perfectly confident. (His words not mine)

But you read him so easily. It’s easy when you love someone so completely. Especially if your lover gets the deepest scowl on his face when he’s troubled, staring deep into space.

When you finally coax him out of him, he merely grumbled like a shifting mountain, trying to brush it off.

But oh how he wished he told you sooner. You assure him that you never really enjoyed the clubs and high society outings. You much preferred to stay home with your friends and other loved ones. What could possibly be out there that could even come close to what you have in the house.

When you do manage to get out of the house, either to the cinema, walking Cyril, venturing out for dinner, or because you insisted that walking is good for him, he is fully aware of the stares.

Some are… disapproving. As much as they can be towards the King of Camden. But the ones he is most irritated by are the love sick stares of the young men who trail after you. Clearly covetous and stupid enough to be blind to the beast that walks close beside you.

He is shocked you don’t notice. When he brings it up to you, you merely laugh, “Why would I be noticing men staring? The only man I’m concerned with is you.”

That comment makes him smirk wickedly, grasping firmly to your waist as you laughed brightly, swatting his chest playfully when he growls in your ear.

For all your ferocity and fiery eyes, Alfie still dotes on you and frets over you. Little presents are common. He insists on you bundling at the slightest drop of temperature or precipitation. And begrudgingly “permits” you to attend to errands on your own (you and everyone else knows he would never forbid you unless it was truly dangerous. But he loves to rile you up and tease).

You’ll never want for anything being his bride. Nothing is off limits for you. Even if he does make a show of pulling out bank notes, groaning about how his bank account suffers. Even when he’s the one that insists on buying you new things.

He may be the older one, but you are some how so much more wiser and practical. Anchoring him to the present when the nightmares come. Secretly convening with his doctors to heal the deep aches and malaise. He insists you’re magic.

To some it’s unconventional. Your love doesn’t make sense. But to those who truly know, you’re a match made in heaven.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #alfie solomons thoughts #Alfie Solomon’s hcs

598 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 16 days ago

Text

This Week in BL - I'm Late But Who Cares?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2025 Week 5

Ongoing Series - Thai

Your Sky (Sun iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - Oh no my babies are in trouble! I actually don’t mind the coming out being part of the conflict, it’s rare to see these days, but it was more common in early BL. This show feels like such a throwback Thai BL anyway, that it’s sort of goes with the story. Of course it was conflict that was resolved almost immediately. But honestly I’m so charmed by the show I don’t mind any of this.

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - still enjoying but annoyed by Jun. I’m glad everybody’s feelings have been made clear, Iun is too much a little shit for the way he went about it. The hand holding was very cute tho.

Truer words! When a character reveals the entire plot of a show.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - Phu’s friends are the best. I love them so much. Still cautiously enjoying this.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - Why are Kant’s pants always too short in this show? Meanwhile, the plot progresses as expected. But it’s OK. I’m enjoying it enough. I like that Kant, who is slightly evil, is willing to go even more evil for the man he loves. It was a twist I was not expecting. I believe it less with Style. Oh my, have we turned into a caper all of a sudden? Huh. This was a good episode. But then I do like a caper.

I’m also gonna mention briefly that I see you Heart Killers for using old tropes in a new way. The bleacher shot (Lovesick callback), the empty pool. Very very clever.

Fourever You (Thurs YT) ep 17 end - Nice solid ending I remain more interested in the couples we never got but i hope we get a season 2.

Conclusion

A standard university Thai BL centering around two couples (med student meets engineering youth) in two parts (chasing the forever dragon that is 2 Moons). This was watchable but not much more than that with nice optics. Best if you can get hold of the extended (sexy) version especially for the second couple. 8/10

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 14 of 24 - Wine is totally getting the "good one." Faifa (hands-down my favorite character in the series) is the master of the sarcastic ja particle. He’s very clever with it. Pay attention if particles in Thai interest you. I don’t understand why Yotha it’s so special that everybody’s willing to cater to his erratic whims.

(Am I the only one who thinks that Book and Santa should lead a BL together?)

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 5 of 10 - This is such an odd show. But it was a very nice kiss. And more. And I love the boy admiring his marks after. Nice touch.

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 2 or 10 - everyone behaves like a complete idiot and it’s driving me nuts.

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 4 of 12 - I dislike most of the characters in this show, but I truly loathe the daughter character.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - I continue to enjoy this more every week, and I’m really looking forward to next week. (Shocker.)

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 8 of 12 - no ep this week, Happy New Year!

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 4 of 9 - It’s modestly enjoyable but of all the relationships I think I like the brothers the best. I mostly have a smile on my face when I watch it, but so far it’s eminently forgettable. To the point where I occasionally forget to watch it when it airs. That said it looks like next week we’re getting very Taiwanese.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 17 of ?? - sigh

It's airing but......

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - It’s Chinese, no idea if it will end well or not. But it’s the stepbrothers trope. Still, I’m not gonna watch it until it’s done.

In Case You Missed it

Winter Is Not The Death of Summer (Thai) - It's done. Spies reported in the following: Not recommend. "Lots of awkward silence and muddled story. Abrupt ending. Doesn't lean into either the romance or the prison aspect." So yeah, I'm leaving it a DNF.

End of year wraps are here!

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2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

*** Yeah we already in it and my calendar is a complete mess, so no visual for you. ***

On now: FC Soldout (Korea iQIYI) 8eps - sports BL, football player meets actor.

2/14 Exclusive Love (Taiwan Gaga) - Shy aspiring singer inherits funeral business.

2/27 Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) - Stars Wei's Kim Jun Seo. Adapted by Cradle Studio (Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Best line in BL history? Possibly

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

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thebunnednun · 6 months ago

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If you really love me, let me go [Preview]

Parings: Red Haired Shanks x Vice Admiral! Reader

Prompt:

Hey Mami! Soo I've been thinking about our beloved Shanks x Vice admiral!Reader. Cuz why not? He's so carefree, so it would be nice to see him with someone who is the opposite of him. As usual, @orange-milky has me blushing and kicking my feet. So be sure to thank her when I finish this fic.

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~~

The stars above stretched endlessly across the night sky, their brightness cutting through the dark canopy like diamonds spilled across velvet. It was your favorite part of living here—how open and vast the heavens always seemed. You found comfort in how steady they remained, unmoved by the chaos of life below.

Sometimes, as you looked up at the twinkling lights, you wondered what it would be like to sail in the sky itself, drifting from planet to planet like the sea of stars was just another ocean. Luffy, ever the dreamer, always promised to make your wildest fantasies come true, and knowing him, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

But what about you? What about your responsibilities?

Shanks' voice pulled you from your thoughts, though you hadn’t caught his words.

"Hey, are you alright lass?" he asked softly, his tone laced with a gentle concern.

You blinked, turning your attention back to him, meeting those familiar, warm eyes that seemed to hold a world of their own.

"Sorry, no. What did you say?"

He smiled, that easy, carefree grin that never quite matched the weight of his words. "I was asking if you’d join me at sea again."

The idea hung between you like the scent of saltwater that always seemed to cling to him. You opened your mouth, glancing toward the town below, gesturing to the village that stretched out in the distance, its peaceful quietness versus the unpredictability of a pirate’s life. The flicker of lanterns from the homes and streets was like the heartbeat of the place you’d sworn to protect.

But Shanks shook his head, his expression unbothered by your hesitation. "Not for long," he clarified. "Just two weeks. I know you couldn’t stay forever."

His words were calm, non-pressuring, but the temptation lingered like a beckoning wave. You mulled it over, your mind swimming with the responsibilities that weighed you down. You weren’t young anymore, at least not in the way that counted. The youthful impulsiveness of picking up and leaving whenever you felt like it had long passed.

Now, you had cadets who looked up to you, a village that relied on your protection, and a life you couldn’t simply walk away from. The thought of leaving—even just for a few weeks—and returning to disaster haunted you.

Yet, here stood Shanks, the man who could never be caught, the one who had always captured your heart. He wasn’t crowding you, wasn’t demanding an answer. He was just… there, waiting, like always. He reached into his pocket and passed you a handkerchief. You hadn’t realized you still had remnants of your green face mask smeared across your cheek.

You took the handkerchief with a small, grateful nod, wiping away the last smudge of your mask. Shanks’ grin widened as he watched you, a mischievous glint lighting up his features.

"Lovely as ever," he said with that familiar charm.

You raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear on your face. "Really now?"

"Yes," he said, his tone softening into something more genuine. "Like the first day I saw you. You just keep getting better and better."

His words, while honest and genuine, cut deep. They were too real, too heartfelt for the situation you were both in. It hurt—knowing he meant every word. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest tightening as you voiced what was already understood.

"That’s what makes this so painful, Shanks. We’ve been dancing around each other for years. How long can we keep playing this game?"

You both fell silent, a weight settling between you like the fog rolling off the sea. The unspoken truth was something everyone knew—from the Celestial Dragons to the mermaids deep in the ocean. Even the sea beasts you used to ride in your younger days knew: You and Shanks were in love. But there were laws to nature that even love couldn’t break.

A bird and a fish could admire each other, even come to each other’s aid when needed, but they could never be together. One couldn’t fly, and the other couldn’t swim—not where it mattered.

"What a cruel twist of fate this is," you whispered, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Shanks nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Indeed."

Pppppssssssssssttttttt,

Here is the link to the official fic!

I own none of the images or art!!!

My usual tag list: @orange-milky, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @m0rona, @xxsliverwolfxx, and there's room for more!~

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

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grapegalaxy · 3 months ago

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To Love, To Die, To Be One in Eternity

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x MALE! Targaryen reader

summary: In the midst of war and shifting alliances, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Prince M/N Targaryen share a bond stronger than blood, a love strengthened by promises of a shared future. But when duty calls them to separate missions to secure their mother's claim to the throne, tragedy looms. A deadly encounter leaves one prince lost to the skies, and the other shattered beyond repair. As a grieving mother vows vengeance and a kingdom inches closer to civil war, the two princes find each other again in the afterlife, beyond the reach of bloodshed, their souls finally at peace among the stars.

FEMALE READERS AND UNTITLED BLOGS WITH NO NAMES AND 'HE/HIM/HIS' WILL BE BLOCKED!

It is dusk on Dragonstone and the air hums with tension. The sky tinged a deep red, seems to reflect the foreboding emotions of those who walk its weathered paths. Clouds swirl like a storm above the island, the whispers of the sea murmuring against the rocks as waves break against the shore. Shadows stretch long over the castle walls as if trying to capture the fleeting peace. In the coming days, these shores and halls may know only war, but for now, the sons of Rhaenyra prepare for their missions in silence and anticipation.

Jacaerys Velaryon stands on the bridge, his dark hair whipping about in the evening breeze, his expression one of determined resolve. At seventeen, he carries himself with the confidence of a leader, the heir to the Iron Throne, though the path to that throne now appears littered with blood and betrayal. His eyes reflect the depth of responsibility too weighty for one so young, but he bears it willingly. Beside him stands his half-brother, M/N, a young man of equal age, with sharp features softened only by the affection he holds for Jace. M/N is the firstborn son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, a proud scion of both Targaryen blood. Though they share different fathers, the two brothers share a bond forged in the fires of youth and tempered by shared secrets, lingering glances, and unspoken promises.

Rhaenyra, queen of the Blacks, waits near the edge of the bridge Luke at her side, her face shadowed with worry. Her sons are her life, her blood, and the key to her strength in the coming war. But to send them off into the unknown, to trust them with missions that may steal them away from her forever… it feels as if her heart is being wrenched from her chest. And yet, a queen must remain strong. M/N steps away from Jace’s side to walk over to his father.

“Father,” M/N greets him.

Daemon’s face softens as he takes in his son’s form. In M/N, he sees his own reflection, the same fierce Targaryen spirit, the same unyielding will. Daemon’s hand rises to clasp his son’s shoulder. “Remember, my boy,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with unspoken emotion. “Baratheons are stubborn as stone. Meet Borros with strength. Show him no fear. You’re a dragon, after all.”

M/N smirks, the hint of a rebellious smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make him see, Father. I’ll make him understand what it means to cross us.” But there is a flicker of vulnerability in M/N’s eyes, as if he senses the weight of Daemon’s concern, though he would never voice it aloud.

Daemon’s grip tightens slightly as he studies his son, his voice growing softer. “Be careful, M/N,” he says, almost a whisper. The sea is wild, and dragons may fly, but even dragons can fall.”

M/N wraps his arms around his father, the rare embrace surprising both of them. For a heartbeat, Daemon’s mask slips, and he holds his son tightly, unaware that this will be their last touch, their last shared heartbeat. M/N releases his father, feeling the warmth of that bond lingering long after. He doesn’t realize this simple moment will soon be all that he has left of his father.

Meanwhile, on another stretch of the bridge, Rhaenyra stands in front of Jace and Luke, her long hair flowing in the wind, fierce and proud. She looks at her sons, her face a mixture of sorrow and pride. She had dreamed of a different path for them, one free from the shackles of duty and the threat of bloodshed, but fate has pulled them here, and she will not allow weakness or fear to taint their legacy.

“Winterfell,” she murmurs to Jace, her voice a soft command and blessing. “The Starks will respect loyalty. Show them our strength, Jace, but remember that they value truth and honor above all. Speak to Lord Cregan as an ally, as an equal.” She reaches out, touching his cheek with a rare tenderness that pierces Jace’s heart.

He has seen her fierce, and resolute as a queen, but in this moment, she is simply his mother, and the weight of her love is as heavy as the crown.

She looks at Luke, her secondborn son, her gaze softening as if she sees the boy he once was, the boy she desperately wants to protect. “The Eyrie has long been our ally. Lady Jeyne Arryn is our kin. Show her the honor of our house, and she will not forsake us in this time of need.”

Luke nods, trying to hide the fear that flickers in his eyes. He has heard tales of the Eyrie’s daunting heights, of its dangerous mountain passes but he steels himself for his duty.

After Rhaenyra speaks to them, Jace walks over to M/N, who’s standing nearby. Jace moves closer, his expression softening as he searches M/N’s face.

“M/N,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something raw, a need that only the two of them understand. He reaches for M/N’s hand, gripping it tightly as the bridge falls silent around them. For a moment, they are alone in this vast world, two young men holding onto each other as if by this touch alone, they can defy the fate that looms.

“Wait for me,” Jace whispers, his lips so close to M/N’s that they can feel each other’s breath. “When I return from Winterfell… wait for me.”

M/N’s eyes glisten with something unsaid, something that binds him to Jace in a way that no one else could ever understand. He nods, his voice trembling as he breathes out his promise. “I’ll wait, Jace. I swear it.”

Their lips meet in a kiss, slow and deep, the world falling away as they pour all their unspoken fears and hopes into the touch. They hold each other, a heartbeat of eternity stretching between them, before they part, their foreheads resting against each other, unwilling to break the connection. But duty calls, and they know that they must answer.

With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra watches them prepare for flight, her sons mounted on their dragons—Vermax, Xerxes, and Arrax, with Rhaenys upon Meleys. The dragons roar, their voices filling the sunset, wings spreading wide as they prepare to take flight. Daemon stands by Rhaenyra’s side as they watch their sons lift into the sky, their silhouettes framed by the last light of the setting sun.

~ ~ ~ ~

Late into the evening, a messenger arrives with the news that turns blood cold. Prince M/N has been killed. His dragon, Xerxes, has been bitten into pieces and M/N was devoured by Vhagar. The news spreads through Dragonstone like wildfire, tearing through every heart that hears it, each soul breaking under the weight of the message. M/N, the beloved firstborn son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, eldest brother of Aegon III and Viserys II, the fierce prince who held loyalty and love in equal measure, is gone. The whispers grow louder as the truth settles into aching bones: Aemond Targaryen chased him, relentless and unyielding, and Xerxes, M/N’s noble dragon, was no match for the monstrous Vhagar. What remained was nothing but smoke and silence.

Daemon, who has faced countless battles, and has known loss and grief, feels the ground fall away beneath him as he hears of his son’s death. He stands motionless, his hand gripping the hilt of Dark Sister with a strength that could break the stone. His heart pounds with an agonizing mix of sorrow and fury, his mind racing back to that last embrace, the warmth of M/N’s arms around him, the quiet strength in his son’s gaze. The ache in his chest grows, spreading like poison, until he forces himself to move, to find Rhaenyra and deliver this wound that neither of them will ever truly heal from.

Rhaenyra is standing in front of the fireplace where he finds her, her face bathed in the flickering orange light. She is lost in thought, the shadows playing across her features, painting her in the likeness of a queen carved from grief and fury. Daemon hesitates, his heart breaking anew as he watches her, knowing that what he brings will destroy her.

“Rhaenyra,” he says softly, his voice breaking as he stands before her.

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting his, and he sees the question there, the hope that will soon shatter.

“Our son,” Daemon whispers, his voice hollow, his gaze darkening with a fury that rivals the flames in the hearth. “Our beautiful boy is… gone.”

They stand together, frozen in their grief, a grief that will fuel the fires of vengeance and drive them to the edge of reason. Rhaenyra’s face hardens, her gaze fixing on the flames, and Daemon stands beside her, his hand clenched into a fist, his mind already spinning with thoughts of revenge.

For the first time, they both understand the true cost of this war, and it is a cost they will bear together, bound by the shared agony of losing their son. The fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound in the heavy silence, but it pales in comparison to the flames igniting in their hearts. Rhaenyra’s face is a mask of grief, fury, and sorrow all twisted into one. Her lips press into a thin line as she swallows down the scream building within her chest, a scream for the child she will never see again.

Daemon moves closer to her, his hand trembling as it finds her shoulder. They do not need words to convey the devastation shared between them; the depth of their loss hangs heavy in the room. Slowly, Rhaenyra’s gaze lifts to meet Daemon’s, her expression both hollow and fierce, as if she stands poised on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to succumb to her despair or let it drive her forward.

“That bastard Aemond will pay for this,” Daemon growls, his voice low and menacing. His face is cast in shadows, his gaze unyielding as he stares into the fire as if he can see his revenge reflected in the flickering flames. “For what he’s done… he will pay dearly.”

Rhaenyra’s lips part, and her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks, each word laced with an intensity that could rival dragonfire. “They have taken my son,” she breathes, her hand tightening into a fist as her nails bite into her palm. “They will know what it means to lose everything.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a vow sworn in blood and loss. For a brief moment, they stand together, two grieving parents united in their shared pain, their sorrow forging an iron bond that no enemy can shatter.

But as the embers of their anger continue to burn, they know that this grief will not be still. It will demand action, demand retribution. And as Rhaenyra stares into the fire, she knows that this is not the end of her family’s suffering, but only the beginning of a dark, twisted path that will demand sacrifices they are only beginning to comprehend.

~ ~ ~ ~

A cold mist hangs over Dragonstone as Jacaerys returns from his journey to Winterfell. The familiar cliffs loom ahead, shrouded in dark clouds, and the sea churns below as Vermax soars through the gray dawn, his powerful wings slicing through the air. Jace feels the thrill of victory and purpose in his chest. He has done what was asked of him, securing House Stark as a steadfast ally in the fight for his mother’s throne. Cregan Stark, with his unyielding loyalty and fierce sense of honor, has promised his support, and Jace finds hope for what lies ahead.

Yet a strange, chilling apprehension lingers in his heart. Winterfell was colder than he’d expected, not just in climate but in spirit. The Starks had looked at him with quiet solemnity, as though sensing the shadows that clung to him. Jace brushed off the feeling, chalking it up to the North’s grim atmosphere, yet he can’t shake it now, not as Dragonstone looms closer. He tells himself it’s nothing, just the weight of the task, but his heartbeat quickens with an urgency he can’t name.

As Vermax lands, his powerful claws scraping against the stone, Jace dismounts and strides toward the keep, the rush of battle plans and future strategies still alive in his mind. He has news for his mother, news that will strengthen their cause. But when he enters the great hall, he pauses. Something feels wrong. Servants look away as he passes, their eyes downcast, their faces drawn, casting him glances that make his skin crawl.

The doors to the living room stand ajar, and he catches sight of his mother waiting inside. Rhaenyra sits, her figure slouched, wrapped in a dark cloak that seems to swallow her whole. Her face is pale, almost ghostly, her eyes rimmed red and shadowed as if she hasn’t slept in days. She looks up when he enters, her gaze sharp yet vulnerable, a broken queen trying to hold herself together.

“Mother,” he greets her, keeping his voice strong. “Winterfell stands with us. Lord Cregan Stark has pledged his banners. House Stark is ours.”

Rhaenyra nods, managing a faint smile. “Well done, Jace,” she says, her voice trembling. “You have done our House proud.”

“Luke succeeded too, didn’t he?” Jace asks, a little hope creeping into his tone as he searches her face. “He secured the support of House Arryn?”

“Yes,” she replies, nodding again, her gaze drifting away as if her mind is miles from this room. “The Arryns stand with us, thanks to Luke.”

A silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. Jace frowns, noticing her hesitation. He’d expected his mother to be overjoyed, to feel victorious, but she seems to sink deeper into sorrow with every word. Her gaze is distant, her face etches with anguish, and the emptiness in her eyes unsettles him.

“And M/N?” he asks, his heart hammering. “Has he returned?”

Rhaenyra flinches, her gaze dropping to the floor. The quiet that follows is deafening, each second a knife twisting in his chest. She doesn’t answer, and a creeping dread coils around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. He takes a step closer, his voice pleading now, his mind refusing to accept the terrible silence.

“Mother…” he whispers, his tone desperate. “What about M/N?”

She presses a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shuddering as if under a great weight. For a moment, she looks like she might crumble completely, her face twisting in pain. She takes a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she wipes away a tear. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks, each word drenched in sorrow.

“Jace… M/N will not come home,” she says, her voice breaking. “He… he’s gone.”

Jace blinks, the words not registering, their meaning foreign and unfathomable. His mind rebels against them, refusing to process the implications. “What…?” he chokes on the word, the disbelief clawing at his throat. “No. No, he’s not. He promised… he promised he’d be here. He’s waiting for me now.”

She shakes her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “Aemond chased him down. M/N tried to escape, but Vhagar… Vhagar devoured him whole while Xerxes had been bitten into pieces. There was nothing left. Nothing.”

Her words shatter the fragile hope that clings to his heart. His chest tightens, his breath coming in short gasps as the truth crashes over him, unrelenting and brutal. He stumbles back, shaking his head, denial tearing through him like a storm. “No,” he mutters, his voice rising with each word. “No, he’s not dead. He can’t be dead! He promised he’d be here!”

Rhaenyra reaches for him, but he flinches away, his whole body trembling as anger and despair twist inside him, tearing him apart.

“He promised,” he cries, his voice cracking. “He said he’d wait for me! He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t break that promise. He wouldn’t leave me.”

Rhaenyra moves closer, her arms wrapping around him as he thrashes against her hold. “I’m so sorry, Jace,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she holds him tightly. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy.”

Jace’s anger breaks, giving away raw, wrenching grief. He sags against her, his fist pounding against her shoulders as sobs wrack his body. His voice is hoarse, torn from the depths of his soul, as he weeps in his mother’s arms. All his dreams, all his hopes, crumble to dust in that instant, the weight of loss crushing him as he clings to her, his tears soaking into her long dress.

That night, after his tears have dried and his mother has left him alone to grieve, Jace wanders the cold, empty halls of Dragonstone. The silence presses down on him, suffocating, each echo of his footsteps a reminder of what he has lost. He finds himself at the door to M/N’s bedchamber, his heart heavy, his mind numb.

He pushes the door open, the familiar scent of his beloved lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace. The room is dim, with only a candle on the desk of M/N and shadows pooling in every corner. He crosses to the bed, the covers still rumpled from the last time M/N had lain there. Jace sinks onto the mattress, his fingers trembling as he brushes over the empty sheets, feeling the cold that has settled in M/N’s absence.

A shuddering sob escapes him, and he presses his face into the pillow, breathing in the faint scent of M/N’s hair, his skin, and his warmth. The weight of his grief is a physical ache, a hollow void that devours him from the inside. He lies there, clutching the sheets as his body shakes with silent tears, his heart breaking all over again with each breath.

Time loses meaning as he lies there, drowning in memories of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispered promises under starlit skies. He remembers the warmth of M/N’s touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes softened whenever they looked at Jace. All of it feels like a cruel dream, slipping further and further away with each heartbeat.

After what feels like an eternity, he forces himself to sit up, his gaze drifting to the window. The world outside is dark, the stars hidden behind clouds as if even the heavens mourn his loss. He rises, crossing the room on unsteady feet, drawn to the window’s edge. He stares out into the void below, the cliffs sharp and jagged against the faint glimmer of the sea. A strange calm settles over him as he contemplates the drop, the final release it promises.

But he has something he needs to do first.

He moves M/N’s table, where papers and quills lie scattered across the surface. He sits, his fingers shaking as he dips the quill into the ink, each stroke heavy with purpose. He writes slowly, carefully, each word an offering, a farewell.

To My Dearest Family,

It is with a heart so heavy that words scarcely serve me now, for I know what sorrow and anger my choice will bring upon you. Yet as the dark night calls me to follow my beloved Prince M/N into eternal slumber, I must heard it, for what use is a life if it must walk alone, a hollow echo of what was once a symphony. To my dearest mother, Rhaenyra, I am grieved beyond measure for the agony my actions will inflict upon your heart; you, who fought so fiercely to secure my path to the throne, I now abandon it. Know, though, that no ambition could ever soothe the wound left by M/N’s death. Without him, the throne is but a lifeless relic, a kingdom barren of meaning. Daemon forgive me, too, for not possessing your strength to press on, for it was M/N who tethered my soul to this world, and with his passing, my own spirit has fled like ashes scattered to the winds. To my brothers, Luke and Joffrey, and my half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys—may you remember me as I was, not as I have become, one bound by love so deep that even death’s dark chasm could not keep us apart. You will lead where I cannot; you must carry forward the blood of the dragon, for I go now to M/N’s side, where perhaps even the bitterness of death may feel as sweet as the touch of his hand once was to me. To my grandmother Princess Rhaenys, a Queen Who Never Was, and my grandfather Lord Corlys, whose wisdom and courage I have always aspired to mirror, I ask forgiveness if my actions seem a disgrace to the name of Velaryon, yet I am only a boy who found in love something so profound that it cannot endure separation. And to dear Baela and Rhaena, who shared the shadows and sorrows of my heart—thank you, my cousins, of the soul; remember me with the gentlest of thoughts, for I leave you not out of malice, but out of love that transcends mortal binds. Pray, do not weep for me but hold fast to one another, for it is you, my family, who must rise like dragons anew. Though I depart from this world, know that I love you all still, more than words could ever tell, and that my spirit shall be forever intertwined with yours, as close as breath, as close as blood.

Forever with love and sorrow,

Jacaerys Velaryon

When he finishes, he places the letter on the bed, laying his sword beside it as a final tribute. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, feeling the strange peace that comes with the decision. He walks back to the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his heart silent, ready.

With a last, lingering breath, he closes his eyes, and he… falls.

The night is still as Jace plummets through the cold air, his descent silent, and peaceful, an end he has chosen willingly to be reunited with the one he loved more than life itself. His body strikes the ground with a sickening thud, and a crimson pool begins to form beneath him, the blood seeping into the Earth, bearing witness to his final act of devotion.

The guards stationed nearby are the first to find him, their faces paling as they approach. They stare in disbelief, horror flooding in their expressions as they realize who it is lying broken on the ground before them.

“Prince Jacaerys…” one of them whispers, his voice quivering with shock.

They exchange stricken looks, understanding the weight of what they have just witnessed. One of the guards stumbles back, calling for help, his shout piercing the quiet night and echoing through the stone halls of the Dragonstone.

The news of Jace’s death spreads quickly, rippling through the keep like a wave of sorrow and disbelief. Servants whisper in hushed tones, their faces pale and their hearts heavy. The death of two beloved princes within days is too much for the realm to bear, it feels like the very heart of Dragonstone has been ripped out.

Two days later, Dragonstone is shrouded in a heavy silence, the grief so palbable that it feels as though the castle itself mourns. The skies are gray, the air thick with the weight of unspoken sorrow. Outside the castle, a small gathering stands somberly around a large pyre where Jace and M/N’s clothes lie folded neatly, ready to be set alight in a final tribute to their lives.

Rhaenyra, who’s holding the clothes of M/N, stands at the head of the pyre, her face a mask of unyielding grief, her eyes hollow, distant. Beside her, Luke, who’s holding the clothes of Jace, and Joffrey, the boy’s small fingers clutching his older brother’s clothes as though he understands the magnitude of this loss. Lord Corlys stands nearby, his face etched with sorrow, his shoulders weighed down by the grief of losing yet another grandson. Beside him is Rhaenys, her face set in a grim line, her eyes fierce with the anger and pain of a grandmother who has lost far too much.

Baela and Rhaena stand together, their faces pale, eyes red from weeping. They hold each other tightly, sisters united in sorrow, mourning the cousins they loved as brothers. The fire crackles and snaps as Rhaenyra steps forward, M/N’s clothes in her hands, her gaze fixed on the fire. She gently throws the clothes of M/N, her expression a mask of resolve even as her heart shatters anew. Luke follows, throwing gently Jace’s clothes before he takes Joffrey’s hand.

As the flames begin to consume the clothes, Rhaenyra stares into the fire, her face illuminated by the flickering light. She remembers the letter Jace left behind after receiving the news of Jace’s death, the words that cut through her like a blade. He had loved her, she knows, but his heart had belonged to M/N, and in his death, he had found a way to be with him. The thought brings her no comfort, only a bitter, seething rage that coils within her feet.

She clenches her fists, her gaze hardening as she watches the flames rise higher, consuming the last remnants of her beloved sons. At that moment, she makes a silent vow—a promise to bring her pain upon the Greens, to ensure that Aemond and all who supported him would know the depths of her loss. Her heart is forged, burning with a wrath that only blood can quench.

The ceremony is brief, marked only by the sound of crackling flames and the soft murmurs of grief. When it is done, the gathering disperses slowly, each person lost in their own sorrow. Rhaenyra remains by the pyre long after everyone else has gone, her gaze fixed on the dying embers, her heart a wasteland.

In another world, far removed from the realm of the living, Jace finds himself at peace. He stands on the tranquil beach, the sky a gentle shade of twilight, the waves lapping softly at the shore. He feels a presence beside him, warm and familiar, and he turns to see M/N standing there, watching him with a quiet smile.

M/N steps closer, reaching out to take Jace’s hand, his touch grounding and real in a way Jace hadn’t dared to hope for. They stand in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their reunion settle between them. Finally, M/N speaks, his voice soft and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his gaze earnest. “I promised I’d wait for you, and I broke that promise.”

Jace shakes his head, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replies, his voice steady, his heart finally at peace. “When you died, half of my soul died with you. I couldn’t stay without you.”

M/N’s eyes shine with a mixture of love and sadness as he pulls Jace close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying all the weight of his devotion, all the moments they had lost, and all the eternity they now had to spend together.

They share a deep, lingering kiss, one filled with the promises they can finally fulfill. When they part, Jace feels the warmth of M/N’s hand in his, steady and unyielding, a bond that death could not sever.

Above them, a familiar roar echoes, and they look up to see Xerxes, M/N’s loyal dragon, circling above. His scales glisten in the light, and his eyes shine with recognition as he watches his rider reunited with his love.

M/N smiles, tugging Jace with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Come,” he says, gesturing to Xerxes. “Let us fly together, as we were always meant to.”

Without hesitation, Jace nods, following M/N to the great beast waiting patiently for them. They climb onto Xerxes’ back, Jace settling in behind M/N, his arms wrapped securely around his beloved’s waist. The dragon roars again, a sound of joy and freedom, as he takes to the sky, his powerful wings lifting them above the endless horizon.

Together, they soar through the afterlife, free from the pain and sorrow that had once bound them. They are whole, and at peace, their souls forever entwined as they ride through the eternal skies.

#house of the dragon x male reader #x male reader #x male y/n #male reader #jacaerys velaryon x male reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd x male reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #jace velaryon x male reader

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n0tamused · 9 months ago

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Hello there! I hope your day has been going smoothly!

As your requests are currently open (I hope I read it right), may I request Platonic!Jiyan x Sibling!Reader Angst, where reader dies not because they are a midnight ranger, but because of a chronic disease they were diagnosed with?

Reader and Jiyan can be twins, or Jiyan can be the older brother. Up to you!

I hope you have a great day!

A/N: Not sure what to say other than that I love writing angst and that I hope you enjoy this anon, sorry for the wait :)

Contents: Familial Jiyan x Twin!Reader, GN pronouns, angst, short lol, character death

Death crawls through the midnight blue washed streets of the Jinzhou, its flaky claws seeking and scratching. And seek out their victim it did. Found in a cozy bed that reeked of illness and herbal medicine. Ashes of incense laid on top of a long wooden tray fashioned in the looks of a dragon.

There were more dragon motifs sprawled around, in the embroidery of the blankets, on the painting, on tea cups and jewelry, but not one of those could protect the one confined within the bed and the one forever gone. Pale skin glistened with the remnants of sweat and water they were bathed in, and their hair smelled of old flowers in summer heat, and it was only going to get worse should they remain here, hand held by the person closest to them.

Jiyan. The General. The Qingloong. The medic in his youth. Their brother.

He had returned from the front lines at long last for a short reprieve, only to find his beloved sibling in a worse state than last time. It horrified him even more than the sights he encountered in war, and it shook him to the core. What’s worse, he could smell death waiting at the front door, and entering behind his heel after he went into the bedroom..

His hands gingerly held onto their cold hand, knuckles pressed against his forehead as he remains quiet, foolishly hoping warmth would spring to their skin and they’d greet him with a ruffle to his hair and call him silly for worrying so much. He swallows thickly, cheeks wet from the trail his tears left behind and he breathes out a breath so heavy, one would question how the world didn’t cave in where he sat.

“I love you…so much..” he whispers before lifting his head up, eyes fluttering shut to spare himself the sight of their forever slumbering face, his lips lingering on their knuckles in expression of love they’d never feel again.

They didn’t share just blood, they shared their childhood years, interests, and they shared their mother’s womb together. Their bond was one closer than any other, yet it was severed all the same as any other.

“I miss you…”

Even with all the knowledge Jiyan could’ve plucked from Jinzhou and from the outside nations, all various medical practices and all kinds of healers, Jiyan couldn’t save them.

Maybe in another life he saves them, but in this one he gets to carry their memories until his own demise, forever haunted by their absence.

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mswyrr · 6 months ago

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In s2 Rhaenyra confesses to Mysaria that the driving force of her feelings for Dae/mon was a desire to get to *be* him, to get to do what he does and live as he does. "He was everything I wanted to be. Carefree. And dangerous. A man" (2x06). This can be read several ways, both in terms of sexuality and gender, but I want to focus on how it can deliciously reframe her behavior with Alicent in s1.

Specifically, she wanted to run off with Alicent and make Alicent her bride, but didn't feel she had the right, as a girl, to do this. She outright told Alicent "I want to fly with you on dragon back, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake" (1x01). Phrasing it with just enough room for plausible deniability - which Alicent picks up, dismissing it as a joke. Rhaenyra seems put out (but continues to allow room for plausible deniability) when she says "I never jest about cake."

When you take this scene combined with the script direction that said Rhaenyra is "(flirting)" with Alicent in a deleted scene [link to script], it's obvious (and has been since s1, despite the bullying and gaslighting!) that Alicent is a girl she *wants* romantically:

It was a sincere proposal from Rhaenyra to her first love, but cloaked due to the homophobia of this society. Rhaenyra comes as close as she possibly can to outright asking Alicent to go away with her. But she cannot cross that divide, both because of her internal feeling that who she wants to be is something only a man is allowed, and her concerns over Alicent's internalized homophobia.

This idea of running off with a girl comes up again, however - when Rhaenyra tells Dae/mon to run off with her and "Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife" (1x05). In light of Rhaenyra's confession in 2x06, this has been reframed for me as Rhaenyra--now that Alicent has been stolen as a bride by her own father--transforming her fantasy of running away with the girl she loves into something she projects on to Dae/mon - a man who can socially do what she has always wanted to do and be who she wants to be. She thinks that getting to be with him, near who she wants to be herself, able to live it out through him, will be enough for her. That it will satisfy the hole the loss of her first love--and the seeming impossibility of being who she wants to be in this society!--has left in her.

But it cannot. Again, using her own words from S2, "He wished to possess me, but not to be possessed" (2x06). She tried to force herself to express who she is through him--playing the role of the "girl" she herself wanted and suggesting/pushing him to do the things she is not allowed to do, in order to achieve some subliminal expression of her true self, thwarted though it might be--but he never gave back in the way she needed. He never returned the favor and let her get to express who she truly is in her wholeness.

As with Cersei and Jaime, incest pairings in asoiaf can be about the deep wound of patriarchy on a woman who feels a drive to achieve and live in ways ladies are not allowed in Westeros. So the passion has different layers in both pairings, but a major part of it is the mirroring of the incest (the male lover is both Other and a male Self who is allowed to move and act freely in the world) and how it allows a woman to feel she can express the parts of her soul she is disallowed through a man who is her "mirror"/part of her already through their shared blood. But it cannot be forever satisfying to hide yourself away like that and suppress your own soul.

Hence Rhaenyra, in her own midlife crisis, finding Mysaria, a woman who can be the lady wife to her (Rhaenyra's "type" in women, as I argue in this meta) that Alicent was too afraid to be in their youth. It's part of the poignancy of their tragic love that Alicent was going through her own midlife crisis -- and also came to a place of bravely grasping for the queer life she has denied herself in the finale -- but by the time she finds that courage Rhaenyra had already committed herself to a different path.

#rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenicent #hotd meta #house of the dragon #i censored dae/mon's name for a reason - i do not wish to discuss him positively or negatively beyond what i've said here #i am not here to ship police but to enjoy what i enjoy the way i enjoy it as a reading of the text #in PEACE

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sweetbunpura · 6 months ago

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I'm sorry, Little One...

Based on this post

Since dragon eggs need magic to hatch, Malleus is glad to help his child grow, so he pours as much magic as he can into it. He and his beloved had a wonderful and beautiful child... only they were magicless. The magic Malleus poured into the egg had backfired on the young fae entirely. Instead of helping them grow, it had made them sick. Malleus and Yuu couldn't hide the magicless fae from the council forever, they had found out and the parents were forced to hide the child.

Maleanora, named after Malleus' mother but Yuu added the "a" at the end of her name, was put under Lilia's protection as the older fae had finally settled down somewhere for his retirement. Lilia wasn't expecting to raise another kid, but she was his grandchild and the nocturne fae would do anything for her. Meleanora was constantly sick, always in need of some medication as she basically struggled to even stay alive.

She longed to join her parents in Briar Valley, but Yuu and Malleus had explained to her that going back to the castle would spell her death. So, she remained with her grandpa, staring out at the woods around her as she waited for her two older brothers to join her.

Although, Leona never wanted kids, when Yuu had told him that they were pregnant, he faintly thought he would be given a chance to show their child the love he never had. Their child, Shabaha, was born magicless... Her fur was gray, not the beautiful brown of Leona's, and her "mane" was equally gray. While the council had seen Shabaha's birth has a bad omen, she was raised with as much love Yuu and Leona could give her.

She was more fragile than the other beastmen her age, meaning she couldn't play with Kamali and Kimi (Cheka's kids) for long. Her hearing wasn't as good either, having to have her name said several times before she answered. Her nose couldn't pick up on scents like her father's. She was frequently sent away whenever the council visited the castle to her Uncle Ruggie's. She never knew what went on the room, but she could tell it was never good.

For now, she spends her limited youth with her family.

The moment Azul and Yuu's son was born, they both knew something was wrong. Cobalt couldn't transform and any manner of a potion, breathing or transforming, always hurt his body. Without the ability to transform like his father, they were forced to live on land. Cobalt would never be able to see the beautiful and dangerous world his father was from.

He couldn't handle the winter months like his father could, lacking the cold resistance that came from the Coral Sea. He was a terrible swimmer as well, being unable to even float on the water. Cobalt got migraines frequently and at points, it made it impossible to even leave the house on some days.

Azul and Yuu worry for his health as it starts its slow decline.

Jade figured something was off before Yuu did. Yule had breathing problems and she couldn't transform like her father. She slept often as simple tasks wore her out. Yule lacked the sharp teeth Jade had and his sharp eyesight. They also lived on land, but close to the ocean.

Yule could swim, but not for very long, and often than not had to be ferried on her father's back. Yule wasn't as cold resistance as Jade, the cold air and weather frequently took what limited amount of breath she had away. During those same winter months, Yule slept more and longer.

Jade and Yuu knew Yule wouldn't live long.

Floyd and Yuu didn't know something was wrong with Jasper, until later on in the child's life. Jasper was blind, and while that would be fine (eels have limited eyesight but could still navigate while blind), he couldn't transform. Floyd couldn't teach him how to use echolocation. The transformation and breathing potions never worked on Jasper, causing the family to be locked to land. Jasper didn't have the sharp teeth gifted to the Leech family and had a very hard time speaking.

Jasper hated the water, there was no way to tell where he was in the ocean, even if he clung onto Floyd. He hated the cold as well and sits in front of the fireplace as he plays with his toys with a blanket around his shoulders. Sadly, during the winter, Jasper has a hard time eating...

Floyd's been surrounded by death his whole life and he can tell when someone's nearing it.

#I'M SORRY #HAVE SOME ANGST #DON'T HURT ME #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #twst yuu #twst fic #cw: hints of child death #angst

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felixcloud6288 · 6 months ago

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All descriptions taken from TvTropes.

Cantarella:

Cantarella is a fantasy manga about the youth of Cesare Borgia, warrior, politician, and second son of Pope Alexander VI. Only here, he's possessed by demons, with a Red Right Hand to prove it.

Death Note:

In the land of the dead, a bored Shinigami named Ryuk decides to create some entertainment for himself by dropping a Death Note into the human world.

Light Yagami, a brilliant-yet-disillusioned Japanese student, sees the notebook fall into his world and picks it up. On a whim, he tries out the instructions held within its pages, and discovers that he can kill whomever he wants, however he wants, by writing their name and (optionally) cause of death into the Death Note.

While initially horrified at his actions, Light rationalises that he can use the Death Note as a force for good by purging the rotten and corrupt elements of society, thus creating a world free of crime and violence. A cult following soon arises around the mysterious assassin killing off criminals across the country, christening him "Kira". Kira's actions soon attract the attention of the international police community, now with grave concerns about the vigilante killings, and the world's greatest detective, an enigma of a man known only as "L".

L becomes determined to solve the mystery of Kira and his impossible killing method, employing increasingly aggressive and risky strategies to get the information he wants. Meanwhile, Light spirals into madness as he becomes consumed by both his egomaniacal "Kira" persona and his desperate need to stay one step ahead of L's investigation. It's a cat-and-mouse game neither man can afford to lose — and both of them want to win at all costs.

Dungeon Meshi:

In a fantasy world of dungeon exploration, guilds go out on expeditions to raid dungeons, hoping to find the mysterious Golden Kingdom claimed to be the ultimate treasure of a particular island dungeon, said to be created by a Lunatic Magician after sinking the Kingdom below the ground. Human knight Laios Touden and his adventuring team are saved from a Total Party Kill by a fearsome beast, the Red Dragon, when his sister, Falin, sacrifices herself to teleport them all out of danger. Now she's in the dragon's belly, and it's only a matter of time before she's digested and it's too late to revive her. Laios and his friends must delve back into the depths to recover her remains — but there's not enough time or resources to buy enough rations for the trip. His solution: take advantage of the sprawling ecosystem of the dungeon itself by cooking the various monsters within into delicious, wholesome, dungeon-sourced meals.

Fruits Basket:

After the death of her mother, young Tohru Honda has been secretly living on her own in a tent. Her life changes forever when she stumbles upon the secret of the estate she is living on illegally: the land is owned by the Sohma family, who are afflicted by a Hereditary Curse that changes thirteen members of the family into animals of the Eastern Zodiac (plus the Cat, an animal who would have been part of the Zodiac but was left out) when they are hugged by someone of the opposite sex that is not also a Zodiac member. Oh, and the family is a hotbed of horribly abusive parents and children with enough emotional issues to make a shrink very wealthy.

Upon being discovered and taken in by the Sohmas, sweet-natured Tohru becomes embroiled in the dysfunctional family's various crises, bringing the outside world to the closed-off family while also having to confront some issues of her own.

Goodnight Punpun:

Goodnight Punpun (Oyasumi Punpun) is a supremely bizarre Seinen manga by Inio Asano about the title character, Punpun. Punpun is a young, innocent, and naive child, who, in some kind of strange stylistic choice, is depicted as a simplistic sketch of a bird despite everyone outside of his family looking like a normal human. He has no real dreams, his father is an abusive deadbeat (at least, he appears to be), and his mother is a drunk who regrets having him, but Punpun has one thing: a pretty girl named Aiko whom he fawns over. Well, her, and an afro-clad and slightly useless god he can summon by chanting 'Dear God, dear God, tinkle hoy!'

The story begins as a Slice of Life comedy, following Punpun through his childhood as he deals with his family life, his school life, his social life, and his budding romantic life. While noticeably dark, it also contains a hint of child-like innocence. However, as the series progresses, it develops into an extremely dark Coming of Age story, with all innocence being wiped away. While the humor remains, it takes a backseat to experiences of Punpun, his family, and his acquaintances as they deal with the hardships of adolescence, adulthood, and life in general. The story is split roughly into four arcs: Punpun's life in elementary school, middle school, high school, and as a young adult.

Running concurrently with Punpun's story is a very odd side plot about a cult-like movement trying to (apparently) save the world through "good vibrations", which some of Punpun's classmates end up involved in. It's possibly even more weird and unsettling than anything going on with Punpun, as it's never quite clear if it's real or the mad ramblings of its leader.

Haikyuu:

In junior high, Shōyō Hinata gained a sudden interest in volleyball due to seeing a match on television, which featured a star player nicknamed "The Little Giant", and yearned to follow in his footsteps to become a volleyball ace despite his short stature. Hinata starts his own volleyball club, which no one joins, and practices rigorously by himself. Eventually he convinces enough people to make up a rag-tag team consisting of a couple of members who haven't even played volleyball before just so he could compete in a tournament. His team is quickly annihilated by Tobio Kageyama - "King of the Court" - and his champion team. After suffering a miserable defeat, Hinata vows to defeat Kageyama and surpass him as a volleyball player.

Upon entering Karasuno High School - the school "The Little Giant" attended - Hinata learns that he's now on the same team as Kageyama. The two must learn to work together so they can restore Karasuno to its former greatness.

Ouran High School Host Club

Welcome to Ouran Academy, a distinguished school that provides education to the children of the rich and powerful. Only the wealthiest families can afford to send their sons and daughters to the academy. Thankfully for those whose bank accounts aren't nearly as inflated, Ouran does offer a scholarship program to any hopefuls who wish to attend.

Enter Haruhi Fujioka, one such scholarship student who dreams about becoming a lawyer like her late mother. Unfortunately, her plans to study hard and keep to herself are destroyed when she happens upon the Host Club. This unusual high school club entertains female students through a combination of flirtatious banter and roleplaying, with each of its six members catering to different tastes in boys; there's Takashi "Mori" Morinozuka, the tall and stoic type; Mitsukuni "Honey" Haninozuka, the bubbly and sweet type; the Hitachiin twins, Hikaru and Kaoru, a pair of tricksters who pretend to be madly in love with each other; Kyoya Ohtori, the cool and aloof type; and Tamaki Suoh, the princely type and the Host Club's leader and founder.

Flustered by her discovery, Haruhi's attempt to leave Music Room 3 ends with her accidentally breaking an incredibly expensive vase. Mistaking her for a boy at first, Tamaki declares Haruhi their errand boy, only knocking "him" up to host status when he sees Haruhi's potential. It isn't until after he gives Haruhi a customer quota that Tamaki discovers she's actually a girl.

Before she knows it, Haruhi is swept up into the Host Club's eccentric world as well as the private realms of its individual members. As their school life unfolds, both Haruhi and the rest of the Host Club will affect each other's lives in ways none of them could have imagined.

Please Save My Earth

Alice is an Ordinary High-School Student and Friend to All Living Things. One day, as she's serving as the Badly Battered Babysitter to the neighbor's trip-and-a-half of a boy, she has a chance encounter with two guys from her school class, and in the course of the discussion, it comes out that they've all been having dreams about being alien scientists on the moon studying earth, all in precisely the same continuity.

Eventually, all seven of the scientists at the base are found to have been reincarnated as Japanese teenagers. Their base — and all its weapons — is still operational, and the seven of them must find a way to balance their obligations from past lives with their new lives on Earth…

Tsukihime:

After being involved in a major accident, the young heir of an affluent family, named Shiki Tohno, awakens in a hospital to find parts of his memory are missing and he can see glowing, pulsing red lines covering everything in his sight, from inanimate objects such as his bed to the living doctors and nurses treating him. Furthermore, he discovers that by tracing something along these lines, whatever they're on will fall apart with frightening ease. Growing increasingly unstable staring at a world that could literally fall to pieces with a mere touch, Shiki attempts to escape the hospital, only to come face to face with a self-styled "Magician", who teaches Shiki about his condition, tries to instill in him the beauty and value of life, and as a parting gift gives him a special pair of glasses that hide the lines from what the Magician calls his "Mystic Eyes of Death Perception". Finally able to somewhat recover, Shiki is soon sent away to live with a branch family of the Tohnos, while his sister is made the new heir in his place.

Years later, Shiki is now a high-school student and living a normal life — that is, until he receives some devastating news: his father has died, and he must return to the main Tohno household at once. As Shiki settles into his new home and altered school life, and attempts to reconnect with his estranged family, he happens to cross paths with a strange blonde-haired girl with piercing red eyes on the street. Seized by an overwhelming, unknown desire, Shiki follows her into an alley, and by the time he has regained his senses finds he has cut her into 17 distinct pieces for no apparent reason before passing out in shock… only to then wake up in his bed at home. Was he dreaming? What force could possibly compel him to commit such a horrifying act? Is this somehow linked to his Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, or his family's rumored occult past? And… hang on, did that red-eyed girl just show up again claiming he murdered her? Despite looking no worse for wear? And… does she have a crush on Shiki?!

Umineko no Naku Koro Ni:

Umineko: When They Cry is a kinetic sound novel by 07th Expansion that takes place primarily on October 4th and 5th, 1986, on the island of Rokkenjima. The rich Ushiromiya family is gathering in order to discuss what will happen to patriarch Kinzo's inheritance, since he has been ill in recent days. The protagonist, Battler, has returned to his family after 6 years of rebellion and is eager to reunite with his cousins.

While the arguments about the inheritance ensue, a typhoon traps all 18 people on the island. The family then finds a mysterious letter from a person claiming to be Kinzo's alchemy counselor, the Golden Witch, Beatrice. Beatrice claims that she has been summoned by Kinzo to claim the inheritance, as the family has been deemed unworthy of it. Unless someone solves the riddle of the epitaph on her portrait before 24:00 hours on October 5th and becomes the family successor, Beatrice will claim everything that the family owns, including the ten tons of gold that Kinzo claims will be given to the successor. This is only the beginning of the strange and shocking events that will occur on the island during these two days. Panic, reasoning, romance, heated confrontations and TONS of Mind Screw ensues.

Wolfs Rain:

The Earth sits on the edge of death; years of war between greedy Nobles have reduced the world to a handful of high-tech, Giger-esque cities amidst a barren wilderness. Only a single, small hope still remains: an old legend which says that in civilization's last days, wolves will follow the scent of lunar flowers to Paradise. It sounds promising, but no one has seen either a wolf or a lunar flower for centuries… or so they think.

The world's remaining wolves learned how to project illusions that make them look and sound human in order to protect themselves. Four such wolves — Kiba, Tsume, Hige, and Toboe — meet up in one of the decaying domed cities after noticing the scent of lunar flowers in the air. They soon discover the source of that scent: Cheza, a mysterious young girl genetically bred from a lunar flower by a group of Nobles who want to open a gateway to Paradise.

When a Noble by the name of Darcia kidnaps Cheza to use her healing powers to help his ill fianceé, both the wolves and the feuding Nobles behind Cheza's creation chase after him. An obsessive wolf hunter named Quent complicates the feud, as he knows exactly how wolves protect themselves and works tirelessly to kill them at all costs (with the help of his loyal dog, Blue).

#original post #poll

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weird-addiction · 1 year ago

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Ohhh okay, could u do daemon x male valyrian dragonrider just without the soulmates part than? ^_^

An Immortal Bond

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Immortal!Valyrian!Male!Reader

Genre: Light Angst Warnings: suggestive themes, no actual smut, denial of feelings, talking about past bad experiences

The rogue prince of Westeros was known for and wide for his tendencies, having no boundaries and limits to his appetite. The smallfolk always talked about Daemon and having seen him in the street of silk almost every night, sleeping and fucking with whores without a care.

Some say he would marry a whore in his later years, but to everyone's surprise even when he became crown prince Daemon did not marry anyone (of his own choosing). Sure, he ran off with one his whores but he only did to get Viserys off his back.

Yeah, like that’ll work. Viserys has always bugged his brother to go back to the vale to his actual wife Rhea Royce of Arryn. Of course, Daemon refused. Viserys had asked a million times why, however Daemon refused to share any information on his reasons.

What Viserys did not know was that Daemon had fallen in love with someone else, someone unlikely to be even interested in someone like Daemon. But you know what they say, opposites attract. Well, they weren’t exactly ‘opposites’ but they were rather different if you truly compared them.

In his youth, the young Targaryen prince met someone when flying on Caraxes. A different dragon flew past him in the opposite direction, he made Caraxes fly the other way as well, to try and follow who he just saw. Eventually Daemon caught up to the mystery dragon, this dragon had a way bigger wingspan and longer body, it also had four legs instead of just two like his. Daemon saw the person riding it, upon the bigger dragon’s neck there sat someone, but he could not see their face as they had on a mask.

Daemon followed them as they landed next to each other, going up to the other rider he wanted to introduce himself. But the other rider beat him to it. “Nykeā targārien issi ao?" (A Targaryen are you?) They asked fluently in the language of Old Valyria.

“Nyke. Se nyke guessing ao issi hen uēpa valyrio hae sȳrī?” (I am. And I am guessing you are from Old Valyria as well?) Daemon replied back, seeing that the other also had the signature appearance of the silver-blonde hair and violet eyes that the nobles of the ancient civilization had.

“I am. I recently came across the Narrow Sea. I have been trying to find a place to settle.” Daemon nodded at him. “I am Daemon Targaryen. Crown prince to the Iron Throne. You?” He asked.

“I am Y/n.” This made Daemon confused. “No last name?”

“No, not really. My house is dead like the rest of Old Valyria. Plus, if I said it I doubt you would know it.”

From that moment onwards, their friendship blossomed over the years. And without Y/n realizing it, Daemon had fallen in love with him. Y/n did as well, but he was in denial of the affection he felt towards the prince.

And he had a good reason for it. There was something Y/n never told Daemon about himself, and it was the fact that he was immortal. He was born before the years of the doom of course, but, somehow he was still alive 200 years after the doom had happened. It was said that his house was cursed with immortality, to walk the lands forever as everything and everyone around them gets to die and move on.

Daemon moved through the city under the cover of night freely, walking into a lesser known brothel as he searched for someone through the many people that crowded it.

“Looking for me?” A voice called out from behind him. Daemon smiled as heard it, he knew full well who it was.

“Knew you would be here.” Daemon replied, turning around to see the Valyrian man that was standing with a shadow that covered half of his face perfectly.

“Where else am I going to go? Not like I can live anywhere else.” Y/n spoke with the tint of playfulness of full display.

“I thought staying in a brothel was below you, as you would say when we first met. So, why are you here? Given into your desires?” Daemon pulled the other close into him by the waist, Y/n did not refuse his advances.

“How else will I earn my money around here? Made friends with the owner, giving me half of the profits. I am in charge of some of the private rooms of this place, along with some clients. Pretty good deal, no?”

Daemon stroked the long hair that the other possessed, the beautiful Valyrian traits just like his own. Y/n led him slowly but surely into a private room, where they shut the curtains and gave themselves privacy. Y/n fidgeted before he spoke up.

“Daemon, there is something I need to tell you.” He said pouring the wine into two goblets.

“And that is?” Y/n handed him a goblet.

“.....That I am an immortal Daemon.” The prince paused as to process the information, he gulped down his wine as turned to look at the now known immortal in his eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel something? If it is the fact you expect me to hate you, then you are wrong. I don’t care if you are immortal, I still feel the same way about you. Do you not also?” Daemon argued, practically asking and wanting the Y/n to confess his feelings for him.

“Daemon, you don’t understand. I do not know how to feel about this, about all of this, about you..I am just afraid that if I come to admit my feelings that would be my downfall..because that is what I have seen in the past.” Y/n explained, down his wine in one go as he went back to pour more.

“You are scared that you will live and I will die, is that correct?” Daemon irked an eyebrow.

“Yes. That is what I am saying.”

Hearing that, Daemon stood up and had his arms around the other, putting his chin in the area where Y/n’s neck and shoulder met. Arms around his waist once more. “I will say it again. I do not care if that is what you are. If fate has decided that you will live while I am on my deathbed, then so be it, I do not wish to part from you. Not now, not ever.”

Y/n turned his head around, their lips almost touched if it was not for Y/n noticing it. The immortal slowly leaned in, soon, their lips were together as they molded into one another. They only pulled away once they needed air, Y/n’s eyes seemed dazed.

Leading each other over to the bed, he pushed Daemon down onto the bed while he straddled him. As he began to pull away at the layers he wore, slowly showing his body to the prince. Soon, his bare chest was exposed along with his arms.

“Let me show you true pleasure prince.”

“Oh, please do.”

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