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m2ok · 1 year ago

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Golden Salvation Pt.2

pt. 1 Pt.2

cowboy!Ghost x m! reader

A/N: There will be one more part to this just to wrap everything up :)

Your pulse thundered in your ears as the stranger loomed closer, hand gripping lethal iron at his hip. Fight or flight instincts kicked into overdrive - this was no ordinary burglary; you could see it etched in every predatory line of his body.

This man had come for blood, your blood.

Slowly, you raised your hands in a gesture of peace even as your mind raced. One wrong move and you’d be pushing up daisies come morn. These were the dark shadows Simon lived in, the enemies he’d made through his notorious work. And now they were coming for him...through you.

.“Don’t want no trouble, mister,” you said, keeping your tone calm and even like you didn't know why this man was here. As if there could be any other reason for someone to break into a home as dingy as your own. “Just a simple bartender is all – barely got a dollar to my name”

This snake didn't need to know how deep your bond with Simon went, especially since hiding your relationship was the only way you could see to get out of this situation.

The man cackled at your words, rolling his eyes as the smile dropped and he stalked closer to the bed, aiming the gun at you as he cocked it back with a sickening crack.

“ Mhm... as if you weren't all nice and cozied up to him not mere hours ago – ya really think im gonna believe you?” He gave you a mocking grin

“No no im not stupid sweetheart. Im not here to collect any of his debts from you – I care more about the eight men o’ mine your Ghostie killed. Those boys were my family, he didnt think twice about that though when he shot em’ dead where they stood. Figure I should make him feel the same hurt I do, hm?”

“You won’t hurt him none-” You tried to reason “His heart don't belong to me, he won’t spare a second glance past this cabin. Hell, He's probably halfway across the desert by now” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, lies seeping through your lips at the risk of your life. You knew what you meant to Simon, no one else was able to get into his space as you did- at least not if they wanted to walk away with their life.

The man's smirk dropped, new anger burning in his eyes as the grip on his gun tightened, “I saw the way that mongrel looked at you, you’re his boy and that's clearer than any mountain river” he scoffed, finger moving from the side of the gun to rest on the trigger.

You closed your eyes, praying in your head, but not to any god. No, your prayers were aiming for Simon's rescue, praying that he would somehow know you were in trouble and come rescue you from it.

Simon sat astride his horse on a dusty ridge, watching the moon rise silver over the desert wastes. A half-smoked cigarette dangled idly from his lips; he’d been nursing the same thoughts over and over since dusk fell heavy as a shroud across the badlands.

Thoughts of you.

Somewhere deep in his gut, an uneasy feeling roiled. Like an invisible string tugging at his soul, trying to tug him back the way he came. Simon growled low in his throat, frustrated with his own foolish longings. You’d made your stance clear – this life wasn’t for you, not truly. And he had no right to ask you to join him.

And yet...

A crack suddenly split the still night air. So faint and far that any lesser man may have missed it entirely, but not Simon.

In an instant he was vaulting onto his horse’s back, boots pounding twin paths in the dirt as they flew towards the distant lights of your little town. Another shot rang out, louder now, and Simon’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

He knew that sound – deep in his bones he knew something was horribly wrong.

Choking the reins in a near stranglehold, Simon rode as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his horse’s hooves. Towards you. Towards salvation or damnation, he did not know. But by God, no son of a bitch was gonna harm one hair on your head if he could still help it.

Help was coming- you just had to hold on.

The man fired the gun, a sharp sting hitting your side before it blossomed into agonizing pain. You let out a pained cry, one hand instinctively going to land on your wound while the other covered your mouth to muffle your sobs. Your hand was soon coated in dark crimson, entire body shaking with adrenaline as the man cocked the gun once more.

“Was gonna just end you, but I figured I should make this painful the same way he did. Should fill you with so many bullets he won’t be able to recognize you” he hissed, aiming the gun at your other side.

Simon was little more than a blur of dust and primal fury as he crashed through the remains of your splintered front door. For a split second, time seemed to freeze – taking in the scene with a single, piercing gaze.

You,curled onto the bed clutching a bloody wound. And him. That snake. Gun pressed sickeningly against your body as he spewed his venomous threats. With an almost guttural roar, Simon’s Colt leapt into his hand like it was part of his very being. Two blooming shots rang as one; his aim was true as bible scripture.

The intruder pitched backwards, scarlets blossoms exploding from where his eyes once were. He was dead before he hit the floor.

But Simon saw none of it. Already he was at your side, tatty serape ripped and pressed desperately against your weeping injury. Brown eyes wild and scared met your own, and for a moment the steely outlaw facade slipped entirely.

“Darlin’...” he choked, voice thick. “Talk to me, baby. Stay with me now, ya hear?” Working frantically to stem the flood, Simon tangled scarred fingers gently through your hair, anchoring you to this world with his touch alone.

“That’s it…keep breathin’, just keep breathin’” His voice dissolved into ragged prayers mere ghosts could hear. Help was still minutes away - but for now, you had Ghost. And he’d be damned before he let the reaper take you from him.

You were sobbing, your brain mangled with confusion and fear as the adrenaline ran out and the full pain of the bullet lodged in your abdomen had you reeling,

Red painted everything around you, hands, clothes, and sheets underneath you drenched in it.

“Simon-” you rasped, breathing labored as you looked around with wide eyes at the gruesome scene in front of you. It was too much, you could feel your head going light- brain fuzzy and ears ringing as you fought not to close your eyes.

“It hurts” you choked, trying to shove his hand away from where he was pressing down on the wound to stop the torrent of blood flowing out. “Simon I cant-” you said, throat raw from the sobs that came out.

You wanted so badly to stay with him, to be able to wake up tomorrow with him, but you didn’t know if you’d get that with the way you felt your strength leave your body.

“It hurts- it hurts” You were almost begging, for what you didn’t know. You just wanted the pain to go away.

You were terrified- not ready to die yet, and especially not like this, not when you had so much left to do. The thought alone sent a new set of tears streaming down your face, hand shaking- clutching the bleeding wound on top of Simon’s own to try and ebb the pain that burrowed deep in your skin.

Simon felt his world crumbling as your agonized crimes tore through him, sharper than any bullet ever could. Seeing you in such anguish ripped open a fissure in his battered heart, letting the demons of his deepest guilt and self-loathing spill forth in a torrent.

“I know, baby, I know it hurts…” he choked, pressing you close as if trying in vain to absorb your pain into himself. His own broad shoulders shook with ghosts of rage and grief, tears cutting rivulets through the dirt caked on his cheeks.

Goddamn it all, he should’ve been here. Should have followed his instincts and never left your side. Now it may be too late to hope for forgiveness, your blood staining his hands a brand of failure he could never outrun.

“Please, darlin’, please hold on…’ Simon begged, voice breaking as he spoke. His bandana was wrung out and useless now - in desperation he moved to cradle you fully, applying trembling pressure with his bare hands and what remained of his coat.

Distantly he heard the clatter of the approaching horses, but paid them no heed. You were fading, slipping away before his eyes, and all the strength and guns in the world couldn’t stop it.

“Don’t ye leave me now…I can’t do this world without ya…” A broken whisper, barely audible above the thunder in his ears. Simon pressed his forehead to yours, sharing the same ragged breaths, two souls more tangled than any root or vine. Hanging on a blade’s edge against the dark.

You stared up into Simon's eyes, eyebrows cinched in pain and eyes soaked with fear.

“I don’t wanna die, Simon” you whispered, voice shaky as you clung to him - like he alone could save you from this fate.

You could feel your heartbeat slowing, breathing ragged as you gasped for air that just wouldn’t enter your lungs….

Soon enough the doctor burst into the room, medical kit in hand as he came barreling over to you. He very carefully took you out of Simon’s arm with some convincing, to lay you back on the bed before he opened up his kit.

He handed you a flask filled with whiskey “You’re gonna want to drink this - it’ll help ease the pain” He said.

With shaky hands you drank the bottle, a scream ripping from your lungs as the man began to carefully dig into the wound, grabbing hold of the bullet with sterile tweezers before carefully pulling it free.

With practiced care he cleaned the wound, a harsh whimper leaving your lips at the sting of pain before the wound was stitched up and bandaged.

You were shaking, sobbing so hard your throat was raw and your lungs burned - the pain was unbearable and a large part of you wished you could just die to get away from it.

The doctor had you drink another flask, the alcohol numbing the pain receptors in your brain just enough to allow you to fall into a light sleep.

Simon sat vigil at your bedside through what felt like hours, not letting go of your limp hand once. Your cries of pain echoing loud and endlessly in his mind, driving spikes of pure anguish deep into his soul.

He watched in heavy silence as the doctor worked, breath caught tight in his chest, hardly daring to hope. But then - your ragged breaths evened out, color returning sluggishly to waxen cheeks. Alive. You were alive.

It was nearly two hours later when the man was done, wiping his hands on a rag as he stood up on shaky legs.

“He’s stable” The doctor said simply

Choking back sobs of relief, Simon buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of gratitude-laced kisses amongst salty tears. “That’s it, darlin’...you fight. Got too much left to do in this world.” he’d whisper to you, voice so soft only you could hear

“Most important thing now is cleaning that wound twice a day lest it get infected. If it does…” The doctor ordered, his words trialing off though his intentions were clear. He put down a set of bandages and cleaning solution on the nightstand for Simon’s use.

“It’ll take a long time to heal, I reckon” The doctor said “but my work is done here, y’all know where to reach me should he take a turn for the worst” He said, tilting his hat to Simon before he gathered his tools and headed out of the shabby cabin.

Simon took the doctor's words as gospel, nodding along to every word before the man left. He spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess that was now your little home. He dragged the body out back to deal with fully in the morning, cleaned your sheets and changed you into new clothes, boarded up the broken window, and finished by fixing the door that he had come barging through.

His own hands were gentle as churches doing their appointed duty, cleansing and dressing the angry wound each time without fail. Whatever it took to coax your stubborn spirit back to the land of the living.

Days bled into each other without notice. All that mattered to him now was you. And slowly, so slowly - full color seeped back, fever broke its hold. Eyes fluttered open to meet his own once more, full of pain but oh-so-blessedly alive.

“Hey there, sunshine…” Simon whispered hoarsely, like a parched man dying of thirst at an oasis. Finally, finally, he allowed himself the ghost of a weary smile.

You were going to be alright. And by God, he’d spend his last days making sure of it.

You slowly sat up, a soft whine leaving your lips with the movements as you aggravated the still raw wound. “Simon” you mumbled as you held his hand, reaching over to take a swig of the whiskey on the nightstand to ease the searing pain.

You rested your head back against the pillows with a soft sigh. It had been a few days now, and the pain was still a dull yet constant ache in your side.

You took the sight around you in, everything was clean and neat including your bedding and clothes. Even the floor had been mopped, the only reminders of your near death being the hole in your side.

“Simon you did all this?” You asked simply, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Simon huffed a soft, weary laugh at your question, gently squeezing your hand just to make sure you were really here and he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Course I did, darlin’. Weren’t about to let ya recover in filth,” He replied gruffly. Truth be told, tending to your every need had been the other thing keeping his demons at bay these long days and nights.

Keeping busy spared him time to think - and thinking led down paths too bleak to tread. Like how terrifyingly close he’d come to losing you forever.

Holding your gaze with quiet intent, Simon softly brushed calloused knuckles along your cheek “Reckon it’s about time i started pullin’ my weight ‘round here proper. Ain’t no safe place for ya out here alone” A question lingered in the subtle quirk of his brow, the hopeful yet wary gleam in tired eyes. After all that had passed between you both, was there still room for him at your side? A Ghost finally ready to lay his soul to rest, if you’d have him.

You could only hum softly at his words, sleep still filled in your bones. You didn’t answer him, instead you patted the empty side of the bed “Come sleep next to me, Si. You need the sleep” You said, your words a silent confirmation that you still wanted him.

Simon gave a soft grunt of approval, too weary in body and soul to do anything but obey your gentle prompting. Careful not to jostle your healing injury, he stretched his long limbs out beside you with a satisfied sigh.

It felt strange but right, sharing your space in such an intimate way after so long living apart. Like the final piece of a puzzle slipped neatly into place.

Turning his head, Simon watched you watch him through half-lidded eyes, drinking in every beloved feature as if to confirm this wasn’t some whiskey-fueled dream. Reaching out, he lightly touched the graceful curve of your cheek before letting his hand come to rest against the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“Sweetest sound there is,” he murmured, voice sleep-roughed and thick with meaning. A tousled head tucked itself beneath your chin with a contented sigh, tension seeping from tense muscles.

Come what may with the light of dawn, for now all was peaceful. You were alive, you were safe. And against all odds, Simon had finally come home to roost.

You held him close in your arms, gentle fingers carding through thick hair as you let his head rest against your now steady heartbeat. He needed the comfort, you could tell, and you were more than happy to give it to him.

“Rest now, Si. I'm not going anywhere. Can’t get rid of me that easy” You assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

It was a funny thing, holding such a toughened man in your arms, keeping him close and coddled despite the almost laughable size difference.

SImon made a low sound of gratitude at your soft reassurance, melting bonelessly into your gentle embrace. Your gentle fingers winding through his hair brought forth a wave of lethargy he’d fought to stave off this long week past. But no more - here in your arms, he was finally allowed to let his guard down.

It still struck him sometimes how two souls so disparate could fit together so seamlessly. But you’d always had a way of easing even his most ragged edges, soothing demons he thought long beyond taming. Lithe as you were in your current state, your strength ran deeper than any show of force ever could - and he found solace there like nowhere else.

“Missed this…” he mumbled, so soft it was barely audible even in the stillness enclosing your little world. One arm curled protectively around your middle, thumb brushing idle patterns against the slowly healing wound beneath the bandages.

A prayer of thanks on parched lips, Simon let weary eyes slide shut. Sleep rose like a gentle tide, carrying him off to oblivion sheltered in the piece of heaven he’d begun to call home. You’d brought him back from the brink of darkness once more, anchor in the storm. And for that, he was eternally grateful.

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prythiansprincess · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER TWO

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🤎 pairing: azriel x reader.

🤎 song inspiration: start a war by klergy.

🤎 author’s note: bear with me as we dive into the lore of our feisty assassin. she's not just a bitch, but she's a bitch with a backstory. as always, let me know what you think and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

The witching hour fell upon the Western Isles, enveloping the rocky shores with a thick malevolent fog that curled through the shadowsinger’s wings like phantom fingers.

As the moon beamed high upon the starless sky, Azriel careened across the horizon with the precision of an ash arrow. Normally, he would have taken the opportunity to appreciate the sights and sounds of the Night Court, but tonight he flew fast and hard — eager to return to Velaris and uncover the reason for the High Lord's abrupt summons.

Like the female in his arms, Azriel had been away on assignment when his brother sent word to return home immediately. The High Lord had been curt in his message, bidding Azriel to fetch the assassin from the Western Isles and fly straight to the River House at once.

The assassin hadn’t been the least bit pleased to see him and even less so once he conveyed Rhysand’s command. The flight home was strained and silent with the female gripping him around the neck so tightly that her nails were currently pressing crescent shaped marks upon his skin. Azriel’s gaze flickered to her face with every intention to bark a biting reprimand, but the burning fire crackling through those familiar golden eyes made him think better of it.

The shadowsinger could only guess at the increasingly worrying thoughts filtering through the assassin’s mind. He had a vague idea of the anxiety bubbling up within because he himself felt its sharp claws raking through his subconscious. Despite the calm and collected mask he bore, Rhysand’s summons had rattled him.

Perhaps it was the abruptness of it all that unnerved Azriel. The last time his brother had sent a message of this nature was to inform everyone that Prythian had fallen into Amarantha’s hands and all the High Lords were being held captive Under the Mountain. Azriel hadn’t felt visceral fear like that in centuries. Not since the years spent in the darkness of his father’s dungeons.

Rhysand had been compromised. Velaris was to be protected. The Inner Circle were ordered to conceal and defend the City of Starlight, rendering Azriel entirely useless and unable to do anything as his brother remained trapped for nearly half a century.

Azriel would never forget what that panic felt like.

So the shadowsinger flew at breakneck speed, ignoring the assassin’s ironclad grip, ignoring the thick eerie fog, ignoring the tightening in his chest as he raced towards home.

Instant relief spread through him when he broke through the protective barrier shrouding Velaris. As far as he could tell, nothing was amiss in the sleepy city. His shadows confirmed that there were no threats at present and he landed on the lawn of the River House with a lighter heart than when he first embarked from Rask. Azriel could tell that the assassin held a similar sentiment when she released a shaky breath.

The two of them walked in complete silence as they made their way into the River House. Azriel’s shadows informed him that the rest of their friends were gathered in Rhysand’s office. All safe, if not a little tense.

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed ominously, signaling the late hour. It must be urgent then, if everyone had gathered in the middle of the night.

Azriel steeled himself as the assassin pushed through the doors, following closely behind and nodding at everyone in greeting. As soon as he beheld Rhysand’s face, he knew it was going to be bad.

The flicker of worry dancing in Cassian’s gaze all but confirmed Azriel’s suspicion. Feyre and Mor stood by the fireplace, the former wringing her tattooed hands while the latter gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even Nesta’s nod of acknowledgement was tense at best.

Amren was the only one who met his gaze before that silver predatory gaze settled on the deathly silent female beside him.

The assassin crossed her arms, wary eyes surveying the room. “Well?”

“You might want to take a seat for this,” Rhys said. Azriel noted that his brother didn’t meet either one of their gazes as he spoke.

As Azriel knew she would, the assassin crossed her arms and stubbornly planted herself in place. The shadowsinger did the same, nodding at his brother to go on. Rhysand sighed in response.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The High Lord cleared his throat. “As you know, our spies in the Autumn Court have been keeping tabs on Beron for months. After Briallyn’s demise, we suspected that it was only a matter of time before he attempted to contact Koschei to form an alliance. Eris confirmed just as much, but he’s unable to obtain solid proof of his father’s plans without compromising himself.”

Azriel sneered, ready to convey his mistrust of the Autumn Court heir but the assassin beat him to it. She raised a brow, picking at her nails with a sneer. “How convenient for him.”

A murmur of agreement swelled through the group. Given the history between Eris and Mor, none of the Inner Circle trusted the Autumn lordling. The cruelty he displayed all those years ago barely scratched the surface of the monstrosities that the Autumn Court was capable of, but no one in this room — not even Mor — truly knew the extent of the brutality of the Vanserras except the assassin.

The female would know, because she was a Vanserra herself. Technically a Thorne, if Azriel was being precise. The mysterious assassin was the Lady of the Autumn Court’s niece — the only daughter of her eldest sister. Up until the assassin’s exile, she also served as Beron’s ward for much of her adulthood.

Little was known of her former life in the Autumn Court. In the three centuries Azriel has known her, the assassin had never once spoken of her past. For all his connections and network of spies, he wasn’t able to find out much about her besides the fact that she’d fled the Forest House and never once looked back. She was shrouded in mystery and given the nature of his occupation, this greatly unnerved the shadowsinger.

Azriel crossed his arms, scrutinizing her conflicted expression as Rhys continued. “Eris thinks that Beron is searching for the scepter of summoning and intends on using it to free Koschei from his curse.”

“The scepter has been missing for centuries,” she pointed out. “Even if Beron were to find it, he needs the blessing of the High Priestess to wield the scepter and Alyanna would never grant him its power,” she pointed out.

His brother’s pause of hesitation drew Azriel’s attention. “The High Lord has her daughters.”

Beside him, Azriel felt the simmering rage radiating from the assassin. He angled himself in a defensive position, eyeing her clenched fists with caution. The shadowsinger could only deduce that she knew of the daughters his brother had mentioned and that they were probably close friends judging from the severity of her anger.

“If Eris truly wants to help us, he’ll slit his father’s throat and put an end to all of this.”

The sentiment seemed to echo through the otherwise quiet study. Though the shadowsinger wasn’t a stranger to the assassin’s infamous temper, he hadn’t seen this side of her before. The rage that emanated from the female was a living, palpable entity that threatened to swallow the room whole.

“In due time,” Rhysand replied. “But right now, Beron is too powerful for Eris to openly oppose and even if he were strong enough to dispose of his father, starting his reign with blood on his hands will destroy what little peace exists between our courts. He wants to stop Koschei as much as we do, but we can’t afford to destabilize this already waning alliance.”

“So why doesn’t he just search for the scepter himself?”

“Given his predicament, he can’t exactly go traipsing through the Autumn Court without raising suspicion. However, Eris was able to find a map that may lead us to the scepter. If we’re to stop Beron from unleashing Koschei, we need someone who can maneuver the Autumn Court and steal the scepter.”

Rhysand lowered his gaze. Violet eyes flashed with regret as he drew them back up again. Realization dawned on Azriel and the assassin at the same time.

“You mean to make me a thief for that wretched male?”

The assassin’s voice was soft and deathly still, but it carried over to Azriel all the same. The calmness of her tone perturbed him, feeling reminiscent of the silence before a storm. The shadowsinger clutched at the dagger strapped to his thigh, readying himself for that first crack of thunder.

Rhysand’s voice softened. “For better or worse, we’re stuck with Eris. He’s the only one who can give us access to the Forest House. Many of our spies have tried, but it is impenetrable. No one enters or leaves without Beron’s knowledge.”

That was only the half of it. Even Azriel found himself unable to infiltrate the formidable fortress. The Forest House was built in and around the rocks and trees itself and only the uppermost level was visible from the ground. It would take the better half of a day to walk from one side of the tunnels to the other and even then, one had to survive the dangerous creatures lurking beneath its lower levels. Only someone with extensive knowledge of the fox’s den could ever hope to execute a mission like this.

Someone like the assassin.

“Then surely you’re aware that Beron isn’t likely to invite you or Feyre into his home any time soon,” she supplied.

The High Lady placed a tattooed hand on the assassin’s shoulder. “But he might permit his niece to visit,” she said softly.

Azriel’s fingers curled around Truth-teller’s hilt as rage flashed across the female’s face. Shadows swarmed around him restlessly as though they were overwhelmed with the extent of her wrath.

A strange tightness clawed its way around his heart, but the shadowsinger didn’t dare take his eyes off of the assassin. There was such fury on her face and her hands shook from the effort it took to tamper it all down. Then, just beneath all of that ferocity, Azriel thought he saw a glimpse of fear break through the surface.

But it was gone before he could further ponder it.

The assassin’s gaze hardened as she rolled her shoulders back. “My uncle and I did not part on good terms. I’ve lived as an exile of his court for centuries. I don’t foresee him welcoming me back with open arms. So what exactly is your plan?”

Feyre tensed beside the assassin. “During the Blood Moon, the Lady of Autumn will be hosting a ball. You will use that as an excuse to visit. Eris will make sure that an invitation is extended to you. In order for that to happen, Beron has to believe that you’re interested in reclaiming the position of High Priestess.”

The whole room fell silent. The revelation hung in the air like a loose thread and Azriel felt an overwhelming desire to tug on it until the secrets of the assassin’s past came unraveled before him. This was the most he’d heard about her sordid history.

The assassin crossed her arms. “And then what? I march into the Autumn Court and steal the scepter from right under his nose? I’d be the first target he’d suspect.”

“That’s why you’ll use the distraction of the festivities to do it. Rumor has it that Beron has sent invitations to several emissaries from the Continent. He will be busy entertaining them, which will give you the opportunity to find the scepter. Once you secure it, Eris will winnow you back to Velaris.”

“And if things go awry?” she asked prudently. “What then, Rhysand?”

There was a fierce look in the assassin’s eyes that told Azriel the female would rather set the Autumn Court alight than be captured as its prisoner.

Rhys was gravely serious as he met the assassin’s gaze. “Then you burn it all to hell.”

Azriel suppressed a shiver. There were layers upon layers in that statement alone. The shadowsinger had a sneaking suspicion that there were even more surprises lurking in the horizon where the assassin was concerned. He didn’t like the feeling — not one bit.

“It’s a horrible plan,” she said wryly.

Cassian nodded in agreement. “Be that as it may, it’s the only plan we have.”

“And you’re the only one who can pull it off, girl.” Amren added.

Azriel watched carefully as Feyre squeezed the assassin’s shoulder. “It’s your choice.”

The shadowsinger could see the gears of her mind work, calculating the risk and reward, turning over every possibility. Despite the mutual dislike between the two of them, Azriel knew that the assassin’s intuition was as sharp as his spymaster abilities and carefully honed from her years of service to Velaris. Perhaps even before then.

Resolve washed over her expression. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Rhysand let out a ragged breath. His brother’s gaze briefly flickered to him. “You and Azriel will depart in three days' time.”

Now that was news to the shadowsinger. Over the years, Rhysand had taken great pains in ensuring that the pair of them were never assigned to the same mission. It was a strategic plan to keep his strongest lines of defense separate in case of attack, but it was also necessary because neither party seemed to be able to withstand each other’s presence without some type of incident occurring.

So why place them together now?

Rhysand must have a good reason. One that his brother would no doubt fill him in on later. The assassin wasn’t so easily convinced.

“I don’t need an escort,” she gritted through her teeth.

“I’m not sending you on this mission alone.” Rhys countered.

“I can handle this on my own. I don’t need anyone slowing me down.” Azriel flashed the female a glare, which she quickly dismissed much to his annoyance. “Besides, the last time he was in a room with Eris, he almost killed my dear cousin. As enjoyable as it was, I highly doubt fratricide will help our cause. Beron is more likely to hand over the scepter willingly before he allows the shadowsinger into his court.”

It was a fair point. Though Azriel didn’t regret the encounter during the last High Lord’s meeting, it surely didn’t gain him any trust when it came to Beron.

“The High Lord would be willing to put more than his son’s safety at risk if it means gaining power. You are that power. I hate that we even have to ask this of you, but you’re our only chance of stopping him.”

The allusion to power wasn’t lost on the shadowsinger. Whatever ability the assassin possessed, it was apparent that it would be highly valuable to a male like Beron. Maybe it was the missing thread to why she’d left the Autumn Court and never once returned.

“But you are asking,” the assassin replied. “And I’m accepting, but I’m not doing this with a chaperone.”

Azriel schooled his features into neutrality, leveling a cold gaze at her. “You need to approach this objectively. Beron’s court is a dangerous place. You’d be a fool to think otherwise.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it contained nothing but dark wrath. “I know all about the dangers of the Autumn Court, shadowsinger. I’ve lived it.”

He bristled at the assassin’s clipped tone. There was more to that statement, but it wouldn’t help the situation at hand. She pierced him with a molten gaze that silenced the room. “I hardly think you’re in any place to lecture me on objectivity given all that passed between you and Eris. I do not need your emotions jeopardizing this mission.”

The icy rage he kept locked away spread through his veins like frostbite. The chill of it broke through his composed exterior, but it only served to harden his resolve.

Azriel didn’t so much as waver. “You are not going alone, Thorne.”

“Like hell I am!”

“Enough.”

The dark power of the High Lord rumbled through the study and shook the room with the sound of thunder. Azriel’s gaze cut to his brother.

“These are the terms of the mission. Azriel goes with you.”

“And if I refuse?”

The bite of the assassin’s words awakened stars in Rhysand’s eyes. “Then you will return to the Western Isles to finish rooting out Hybern’s supporters and I will find another way to seize the scepter. As your High Lord commands.”

The shadowsinger balked. In all his years of serving the Night Court, Rhysand hardly ever pulled rank. His brother would not be moved from this decision. The realization seemed to rattle the assassin out of her stubbornness.

Rhysand’s tone was full of finality. “This isn’t up for negotiation, Y/N.” Feyre and I will not send you to the Autumn Court by yourself.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“I will not lose another sister!” snapped Rhysand.

The words settled uncomfortably over the group. Azriel could tell that the mention of Serena had quelled all the fight remaining in the assassin. Losing Rhysand’s sister was a burden that everyone carried, but it had been especially hard on her. If there was anyone in this world that knew the female beside him best, it had been Serena. When she died, the assassin distanced herself from everyone. Even Rhys.

The shadowsinger found himself unable to face the haunted look in the assassin’s eyes. The striking golden color dulled to a pallid yellow, bearing the expression of a wounded animal. There was so much guilt swimming in that gaze and he knew the feeling all too well.

Feyre grasped the assassin’s fingers. “We just want to make sure that you’ll be safe. I know that you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself, but it won’t be easy to go back there. Maybe you’ll even come to appreciate the presence of a familiar face.”

Azriel highly doubted that, but the High Lady’s words seemed to placate the female for the moment. Her scrutinizing gaze flickered from Rhys to Feyre, at the united front that they represented, and by the resigned sigh that escaped the assassin’s lips, the shadowsinger guessed that she’d come to the same conclusion as he had moments ago. The High Lord and the High Lady would not compromise on this matter.

There was no room for argument after that. The assassin simply conceded with a terse nod. “It’s settled then. The shadowsinger will accompany me to the Autumn Court.”

No one spoke as she directed a withering glare in Azriel’s direction before striding out of the study. He surveyed her retreating figure until she disappeared at the end of the hallway.

Exhausted from the loaded exchange, his friends started filtering out one by one. Feyre and Mor shot him weary glances and tight smiles. Cassian clapped his back before following Nesta and Amren out the door.

Stay, echoed Rhysand’s voice.

The shadowsinger stayed put, watching silently as his brother shut the door and strode over to the bar cart. He grabbed two crystal glasses and a decanter filled with expensive whiskey before setting it down on the ornate wooden desk. Rhys settled into his leather chair just as Azriel took the seat across from him.

“Drink?” Rhysand asked despite the fact that he was already halfway through filling the glasses.

Azriel only nodded, taking the whiskey and swirling the amber liquid around as silence filled the room. The High Lord took a generous pull and grimaced.

“That went about as well as I thought it would.”

The shadowsinger raised a brow. “Did you expect any better?”

“No,” Rhys said, meeting his gaze. “I expected her resistance. Yours, too. Though I’m glad of its absence.”

“Don’t mistake my silence for agreement. I have my own apprehensions, but I figured you had your reasons.” Azriel took a sip of whiskey, savoring its smooth and smoky taste. “My spies have been working on infiltrating the Forest House for months. What changed your mind?”

“Nothing. I have always known it would come to this. I hoped that your spies may be able to break through Beron’s defenses, but it’s impossible. Only someone with extensive knowledge of the Autumn Court could ever hope to succeed in stealing the scepter.” His brother rubbed his face, concern and worry contorting his features. “All these months, I was trying to stall the inevitable. I was trying to prevent this exact thing from happening. Asking Y/N to go on this mission isn’t something I take lightly.”

“I’m sure she knows that,” Azriel offered. “At least she’ll come to realize it after her temper has cooled.”

“I promised…I promised that I’d never let her go back there. But here I am, asking her to return to that wretched place.”

“It’s not without reason. The fate of the realm rests on this decision.”

“I know,” the High Lord breathed. “It doesn’t make it any easier. If anything happens to her — I’ll never — I can’t…”

I will not lose another sister.

“It will be fine, Rhys.” Azriel found himself saying. “I’ve seen her cut down grown males without breaking a sweat. If anyone could pull this off, it’s Thorne.”

His brother released a shaky breath, seemingly reassured. Azriel continued. “In any case, I’ll be there to work alongside her. Speaking of which, how do you plan on convincing Beron to permit my entrance into the Autumn Court?”

The worried look returned all at once. Rhys toyed with the rim of his glass. “Leave that to me. For now, I need your word that you’ll do everything in your power to help with this mission. I know that there’s little love between you and Y/N, but you two are our only hope of stopping Beron.”

“If there’s enmity between us, it’s not a failure on my part. It’s not my fault that Thorne insists on being difficult at every turn.”

Rhysand sighed. “I know, but she has her reasons. All I’m asking is that you try.” He tapped his fingers on the wooden desk. “You’re the only one I can trust to have her back. I refuse to send her into that den of vipers alone.”

Azriel rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Of all the impossible tasks his brother had asked of him, getting along with the hotheaded assassin seemed the most challenging. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why she left the Autumn Court in the first place.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” The High Lord shifted in his seat. “I know that the crypticism must be frustrating, but I can’t betray her trust like that. Besides, the reason for her exile will neither help nor harm the mission. The important thing is getting her in and out of the Autumn Court safely.”

Worry lined his brother’s features. “I wouldn’t normally ask this of you, but I need you to trust my judgment on this.”

However misguided Rhysand may be sometimes, the shadowsinger knew that he was coming from a place of good intentions. Azriel conceded with a sigh of long suffering.

“Of course I trust you, Rhys.” He set his drink down and the glass rapped against the dark wood. “But I do have a few questions before I agree.”

“This power of hers,” Azriel began. “I know she can conjure nightmares and illusions based on people’s fears, but there’s something else, isn’t there? My shadows can sense it. I can sense it.”

Rhysand went preternaturally still. His brother swallowed, glancing out the window. “You know that she wields the flames of the Autumn Court, given her heritage. Beron, Eris, Lucien…they merely summon fire, but Y/N is different. She is fire.”

Azriel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“She’s a phoenix.”

If being a shadowsinger was rare, then a phoenix was nearly unheard of. There were only a few known to history and the last of their kind died centuries before Azriel was even born. They tended to be few and far between mostly due to the volatile nature of their power. Aside from their psychic and empathic abilities, a phoenix was fire personified. Legend says that looking upon their true form was enough to drive one into madness.

Azriel recalled Lord Covington’s pleas right before the shadowsinger transported him away to the Court of Nightmares. The young lord had groveled, had even asked for death, and had almost looked relieved once he was deposited into the dark, dreary dungeon. As if torture was a much better fate than facing the assassin again. Azriel had chalked it up to cowardice, but now he wondered what the male had seen that evoked such terror.

“Who else knows?”

“No one besides Serena,” Rhys said with a pained voice. “And my sister took the secret to her grave. The only reason I found out was because I had to…” His eyes snapped shut. “After my sister died, Y/N lost control. Scared me half to death and nearly scorched all of Oorid in her wake. I managed to pull her out of it before she burned the swamp to cinders.”

“Fuck,” Azriel said softly.

“That’s why I insisted on all of this. I need to know that she’ll be safe. From Beron and from herself.” Rhysand’s expression turned gravely serious. “Promise me, Az. Promise me that you’ll keep her safe.”

“Why me?”

His brother blinked, weighing his words. “Because you two are more alike than you know.”

“If she’s truly that powerful, I highly doubt that she needs me to look after her.”

There was a sort of sadness in the High Lord’s gaze as he looked over at the shadowsinger. “You’d be surprised,” Rhys murmured. “Despite how Y/N may act, she’s not as strong as she looks.”

It seemed absurd for Rhysand to say that about a phoenix, but Azriel supposed his brother was the only person alive who knew the assassin better than she knew herself. Setting aside his own complicated feelings, the shadowsinger agreed to the High Lord’s plea.

With the conversation weighing heavy on both of them, Azriel bid his brother goodbye. He walked out of Rhysand’s office with his head hung low, unable to see anything in the darkness of the hallway but that same haunted look in the assassin’s eyes from earlier that night.

The image would plague him for days to come.

She’s not as strong as she looks.

TAGLIST

@fuckingsimp4azriel @onebadassunicorn-blog @acourtofbatboydreams

#if you saw me repost this no you didn't the tags are shite #azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader #pro azriel #acotar #bat boys

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s-nebul0sa · 2 months ago

Note

Lena injures herself in the lab and requires stitches. Kara gets the call and goes into a worried frenzy and rushes to Lena’s side. As Kara dotes on her as Lena gets the stitches, Lena plays it off that it’s just a scratch and child’s play and starts brainstorming new tech for instances that requires stitches. Typical genius CEO and golden retriever gal story with fluff and romance 😄

Stitches

(Read below or on AO3)

The pain does not immediately register. The erlenmeyer flask that was in Lena’s hand just a moment ago has exploded into at least a hundred pieces. One of which liked Lena’s hand so much that it want to be inside it.

Flabbergasted, Lena stares at the offending piece of glass jutting out from her skin. Red welling up along its edges and slowly forming rivers down, dripping on the floor to mix with the solution that was previously contained inside the flask.

Shit.

At least there does not seem to be any glass in her face or anywhere else in her body. Her hand has a few small scrapes but those are just flesh wounds. Instinctively, Lena lifts her hand so it’s at head-height and both above her heart and her elbow, a trick used to slow down bleeding.

With practiced eyes, Lena scans the laboratory for any other glass pieces that might pose a future risk. There are some dangerous materials stored here, and though they should be locked away in safety boxes, it would not be the first time that someone made a mistake and left something out.

She does not notice anything that should not be out. Most of the glass is on the floor, either having hit nothing or having hit the hard wall and work bench and made their way down from there. Nothing to worry about.

Well, except that one piece stuck in her hand.

And now that she has determined there are no other threats, she starts to worry about herself. Lena never does well when she worries about herself.

With trembling hands, she wrestles with the end of her lab coat to get her phone out of her jean pocket. She almost loses, but determination wins. With her left thumb hovering over the screen, Lena thinks of what to do. This is not a 911 situation. There is just a little blood, not a lot. And it is not that bad.

Part of her just wants to fix it herself. Drive herself to a doctor or even just stitch up herself. But for the latter, she has neither the skill nor the steady hand at the moment. And the former seems like a very bad idea with only one hand functional and the other having glass sticking out of it. If she were to make one wrong move, the glass might be pushed further into her hand and do even more damage. Lena breathes out deeply.

Okay, first things first.

She tests her right hand. Carefully, she tries moving each finger and seeing if she can still feel them. They all seem to function as well as can be expected, so that is a relief. Hopefully no really deep damage. Or nerve damage, the worst kind.

With that settled, she focusses back on her phone. Debating for a minute whether she should worry her girlfriend, she ends up deciding Kara will be even more worried – or worse, hurt – if she does not call her immediately.

She pulls up Kara’s contact information and presses dial, then clamps the phone between her ear and shoulder. Lena walks over to the sink as she waits for Kara to pick up.

Kara answers quickly. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m okay but can you come pick me up and fly me to the DEO or the emergency room?” Lena asks casually, as she slowly takes off her lab coat. Thankfully, the piece in her hand is not so big that her hand no longer fits through her sleeve.

“What?!” Lena hears the worry in Kara’s voice through the phone followed by the telltale whoosh of Kara taking off in flight.

“I may have gotten slightly cut in the lab and probably need some stitches but it’s nothing life threatening,” Lena says in an attempt to take away Kara’s worry. Not that she feels like it is working. Lena turns back to the sink and cautiously washes her hands, carefully applying soap and hissing as it stings in the cut.

“Lab left or right?” Kara asks as Lena picks up that the wind has stopped ringing in Kara’s microphone. She must have landed.

“Left, but wait outside. I’m just going to finish washing my hands and I’ll meet you there.”

She hardly gets a chance to get some paper towels to dry her skin before the laboratory door flies open.

“Wait outside?!” Lena hears Kara yell both through the phone and the open door.

Lena looks up at her girlfriend, worry etched in her eyes. The crinkle between her brows even more pronounced than when Lena beat her at chess that one time.

“Yes, wait outside. This is a lab, Kara,” Lena scolds, but she cannot keep it up for long and walks to the safety of the superhero.

“Lena, that looks painful,” Kara points out when she notices the glass in Lena’s hand.

“That is why you need to fly me to someone who can fix it,” Lena responds, locking the door behind her when they leave. She will have to get her spill cleaned up later. She was not working with anything dangerous today so the biggest risk is posed by the broken glass and it is Friday evening and her personal lab so she has plenty of time to make sure it is cleaned up. Nobody is allowed in there without her explicit permission anyway.

(The whole story was too long, so the second half is in my next reblog.)

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x lena #supergirl #sorry it took so long to write (I just checked and this prompt was sent March 22nd 2023 so I hope anon is still on tumblr to read it)#better late than never I guess #and hey. at least I'm writing again #neb writes #my writing #I forgot my writing tag

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months ago

Note

In honor of pajama Jamil, Fellow should drop his nighttime routine too.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“My nighttime routine?” Fellow repeated your words slowly. They made sense apart, but not together.

He was squashed on a thin, dusty mattress, shoved away into a corner of an attic. Fellow had shed his suit and top had for a sleeveless shirt, boxers (red and white vertical striped, like a classic carnival tent), and ratty socks, a big toe poking out from a hole. Next to him, Gidel laid on his side in an oversized shirt and pants, yawning.

Night had descended, leaving only the golden circle provided by a waning candle as a light source. You leaned closer, out of the darkness and into the illuminated safety of their corner, nodding.

“Hah. I was shocked when first saw those fancy schmancy ‘routines’. Thousands of thaumarks on skincare products, entire yoga sessions before bed, preparing a set of clothes for sleeping in, feasting and then passing out from a food coma… Who has the time or energy to commit to those?!

“Giddie and I, we do the basics. If we can find a source of water—a river or something—we’ll wash in there. Ah, and we’ve gotta have dinner beforehand, in case any of it spills on our clothes. Then we’d have to wash those off too. We tend to eat fast. Can’t let food sit around uneaten for too long, or it’ll go bad.

“I keep some things for our travels, but it’s not much. We’ve whittled down our last bar of soap to a few scraps, and I think we’ve just about squeezed all we can out of our last tube of toothpaste. Our toothbrushes are getting pretty ratty too, we’ll need new ones soon…”

The candlelight seemed to make Fellow appear older, especially when he spoke of his hardships. The darkness of his pupils more intense, almost pulsating, his weariness put on show.

“We’re lucky to even have a place to sleep tonight. Worst comes to worst, we sleep under the stars in the clothes we wore during the day. That’s all we have to really call ours: the clothes on our back and the freedom that comes with it.”

A weak thread of joy sounded in the mention of freedom. Lighter, breathier, like a bird in flight, unbound by the land.

“Some nights,” Fellow admitted with a bitter laugh, “it’s hard to sleep at all. If it rains or snows, if we haven’t had a decent fill of food from the day’s work… The cold, the hunger, the dread of an uncertain tomorrow, keeps us up.”

“That sounds rough,” you frowned. “How do you manage to fall asleep like that?”

“I have my ways. When reality is too hard to deal with, you’ve got your imagination to fall back on for a distraction. We’ll look at the stars, try to find shapes and meanings in them, talk until we’re tired.” Fellow prodded Gidel with a finger. “Right, Giddie? Remember that story I told you about a girl with the matchsticks? And the big bear in the sky?”

Gidel nodded sleepily. Another yawn—his lids were heavy.

Fellow’s own eyes fluttered. He, too, yawned, catching the dregs of sleep that had fallen over his companion.

“Haha, looks like you’ve talked yourself tired already,” you said, careful to keep your volume down. “I’ll let you guys catch up on your Zs then.”

“I’m not tired,” he insisted, but there was little fight in his voice.

“Shhhhh, shhhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a better day,” you gently coaxed.

His lids lowered, flickering in a futile effort to stay awake.

The dying candlelight compelled him. The steady and soft cadence of your words, a lullaby.

Fellow fell asleep, Gidel hugging him as though the fox were a massive stuffed animal. He slumped, nestled the boy protectively.

“… Good night,” you murmured.

You blew out the candle, sentencing the room to the realm of darkness and dreams.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Fellow Honest #Gidel #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Reader #self insert #a fellow in need is a friend indeed #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #Ernesto Foulworth #Gino

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disco-archetypes · 6 months ago

Text

SHIVERS - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

SHIVERS - Winter's grip on the city is loosening. The spring thaw is here.

YOU - Finally. What now?

SHIVERS - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

YOU - What is in the west?

SHIVERS - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

SHIVERS - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

YOU - Who are you, ghosts?

SHIVERS - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

YOU - What is down the shore?

SHIVERS - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - Coal City, end of all lines.

YOU - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

SHIVERS - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

YOU - What's in the east?

SHIVERS - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

YOU - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

SHIVERS - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

YOU - What is across the distributary?

SHIVERS - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

YOU - What is beyond the Couron?

SHIVERS - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

YOU - What's in the north?

SHIVERS - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

SHIVERS - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

YOU - And closer to here?

SHIVERS - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

YOU - What's in the south?

SHIVERS - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

YOU - What's on the other side?

SHIVERS - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

YOU - Why am I not there?

SHIVERS - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

YOU - What am I doing here?

SHIVERS - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

YOU - Where do I live?

SHIVERS - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

SHIVERS - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

YOU - Shudder, look further...

SHIVERS - In the rain-swept distance above the rooftops of Jamrock, a re-purposed silk mill stands perched above the motorway exit. Precinct 41 hunches in the rain.

SHIVERS - Your vision blurs. You wipe your face with your hand. The rain stings your eyes, making you look up and blink.

YOU - What's above?

SHIVERS - More coalition aerostatics. Way up there -- where rain forms -- rotors flutter silently. Your sight clears.

YOU - What's below?

SHIVERS - Collapsed storm drains. Old sewage systems flooded with rainwater. Hidden weapon caches from the Revolution. Doors leading down to Le Royaume -- the catacombs to which, for three centuries, they delivered the blue-blooded dead.

YOU - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - These spring thaw will not last. The winter will return to Revachol.

#disco elysium #physique #shivers #harry du bois #yeah sorry for posting the entire shivers check #its an absolute monster of text and worldbuilding ut i love it a lot :]

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misguidedasgardian · 5 months ago

Text

I want to teal the bride (6)

6. Haunted castles, freaking trees.

MASTERLIST

Summary: The last shot

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x BestFriend!Reader

Warnings: cursing, use of “stereotypes”, scottish costumes and practices passed by “Northeners” customs, we are going to kiss many strangers in this chapter, also a tradition,

Aemond wants to steal the bride, so I will put in cheating, dub-con touching (on Aemond by someone else), people drinking heavily, might miss some warnings, but you know what this is about

Wordcount: 7.7 k

Notes: Sorry for the delay, I have all the structure on this one, so it's easy to write! the best part? this is helping me get back into the HOTD fandom, because I’m trying to take the characters but not the awful storyline of the story! so this is helping me get back on the hotd train!

Aegon fanned Aemond’s face as it was clear that the heat was getting to his brother, as he tried to keep everything on him and together, he had his passport and boarding pass in one hand, his man purse in the other as he was trying to grab onto his carry on. As all his friends around him were trying to help him in the entrance to the departure part of the airport.

“What about the dresses?”, Aemond asked Addam

“WPS is delivering them tomorrow morning, I gave you the tracking number”, he said sympathetically, fixing the strap on his man purse that had fallen off, the leather threatening to touch the ground.

“I got it, I got it, I got it!”, said Aemond as he was getting more overwhelmed despite his friends’ efforts to help him

“Alright, when you get up there, there is going to be special transport to take you to the Stark’s state, where (y/n) will be waiting for you”, said Criston. The entire of that sentence didn’t pleased Aemond at all, but he nodded

“Okay, great”, he said, finally getting it together, he didn’t know how the ladies did it. Aegon then passed him his coffee and all the balance he had manage to have, went out the window

Aegon went back to Criston’s jeep and took out his own bag

“What are you doing?”, asked Aemond

“You don’t think I was going to let you go alone to the most important mission of your life, right?”, he asked with a wicked smiled, and when Aemond looked around his group of friends he realized they were all in on it

“(y/n) is going to freak if you crash her wedding”, warned Aemond

“Hey, we go way back, she told me it was cool”, he said simply. Aemond nodded. “Let’s bring your girl back home”, he said with a cheeky smile.

“Go get them, maid of honor!”, chanted Addam

“Yeah!”, chanted Criston, who was living the saying, “if you can’t beat them, join them”

“Make this the perfect wedding… And steal the bride!”, said Adam

“Thanks, guys”, said Aemond with a little smile, and the four of them all hugged tightly, “Thanks for everything, man”, muttered Aemond to Addam’s ear

And with the help of several small liquor bottles and a sleeping pill for Aegon, and good headphones and his notebook filled with notes for Aemond, they managed to pull through the flight without bigger complications.

The rest of the bridesmaids were on the flight too, Aemond just say hello and was thankful that Aegon didn’t notice them until they landed and he looked like a mess with his sleeping mask around his forehead like an idiot, and his dragon shaped sleeping pillow around his neck.

They took the big van together, alongside a part of the bridal party, they didn’t even go into the city, taking an alternative highway, just giving them the main idea of what the capital of the north looked like.

The scenery was beautiful, kilometers of golden tundra, enchanted looking forests, big rivers, a mountain range decorating the horizon, it was breathtaking.

“Wow, this is like a fairy tale”, admired Walda looking through the window with her big eyes. “(Y/N) is so lucky”, she sighed dreamily

“I know”, said Baela, “I wish I was her”, she whispered

“I thought things with Jacaerys were going great”, asked Wlada

“They are, but he doesn’t own a castle in the north!”, she giggled, and they all giggled with her

“We'll come visit her”, said Cersei, keeping her composure, looking around with a pleased smile on her face

“I know”, said Baela, grabbing the blonde’s hand in hers and squeezing. “All the time”. But then all of a sudden, like mixing with the surroundings, stood a huge dark stone castle, it was the biggest castle Aemond had ever seen, even bigger than the Red Keep.

“That's his house!?”, asked Aegon, taking out his sunglasses and placing them on its head

“No. I think this is the summer house?”, asked Walda, Aegon shared looks with Aemond

“The Starks have homes for each season”, said the driver, “This summer home is the smallest. They also have an autumn home, winter home, spring…”

“I know the seasons, buddy”, interrupted Aemond

“Somebody's richer than you, Aemond, I guess you gotta go invent something even stupider”, mocked Cersei

“The entire castle was actually built in 3987 before the conquest”, kept saying Theon

“This is incredible, isn't it?”, asked Cersei when she got off the van and into the beautiful stone entrance. Aegon looked between the castle with admiration and his brother with fear, but anyways, he was happy to be here.

Also, from the other car, got out your mother and grandmother, Aemond tried to get to them, but Cregan was quick to help your grandmother Pearl, as she nodded, enchanted by his Northerner charm.

And there you were, waiting by a small army of staff, with a wide smile and open arms to receive your friends, Aemond was last, but he held you tight, kissing you in the corner of your mouth lovingly.

“I’m so glad you are here!”, you said excitedly, you looked so happy, and Aemond wanted to believe that it was because you were receiving your friends, and nothing else. “Aegon! so happy you crashed my wedding!”, you said happily, hugging him tightly, what was one more, right?

Cregan greeted him as well with a handshake and a hug, and then he led them all inside of the huge castle

“This castle has been in my family for generations…”, Aemond only rolled his good eye as he listened to him mumble

“Grandma Pearl, Joan, this is my mother, Gilliane and my father, Rickon”, he said, as Aemond noticed than in a big hall that might as well be a two story tall living room, where Cregan’s family, waiting to receive them

“How do you do?”

“How do you do?”, greeting flied there and there

“Nice to meet you, Joan”, greeted the severe looking guy, Rickon

“Nice to meet you. Welcome”, greeted Gilliane

“Everyone”, Cregan called the attention of everyone in the room, “I want you to meet someone who is special to my (Y/N) and has been a lifelong friend, and now her maid of honor: Aemond”, he said proudly, raising his cup. Aemond smiled awkwardly, as suddenly all the eyes of the room were on him.

“Yes”, he mumbled, nodding

“Did he just say he's the maid of honor? He's a bloke”, Rickon Stark whispered to his wife Gilliane, she just shrugged

“How do you do?”, he greeted both with a tense smile

“Very good, thank you”

“RIckon”, presented the man

“Rickon, pleasure”

“Thank you.”

“Definitely gay”, Rickon whispered in his wife’s ear. You could hear Aegon’s laugh at that.

There was also the family of Gilliane, the Boltons there, and some family on the side of RIckon, his brother Ned, and his family as well.

“Oh, and these are the bridesmaids: Walda, Baela and Cersei”, Cregan presented to his parents

“How do you do?”, greeted Baela

“Oh, hello”, greeted Gilliane

“Hi”, greeted Walda

“Nice that you could come”, greeted Rickon

“How do you do?”, greeted Gilliane

“So, what do you think?”, you asked Aemond as you finally had him by your side

“I think they think I'm gay”, he answered, who had clearly heard Rickon Stark

“What?”, you giggled

“Listen, can we get together? Talk, catch up?”, asked Aemond, you were going to answer, but you were interrupted

“Aemond, do you wanna see your chamber?”, asked Cregan, smiling at him.

“Oh, love to. Thank you”, he said, looking at you asking for help, but you didn’t ‘help’ him as Cregan dragged him away

“Follow me”

“So… (y/n)”, called Aegon wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you smiled at him, “are you really going to move to this icy tundra?”, he asked, you frowned

“I think so, yeah”, you said simply

“You know a castle this old must be hunted”, he said then, “are you ready to live in a haunted castle?”, he asked, you looked at him and giggled, he was clearly joking.

“I think I can handle it”, you said, and then you left him with an apologetic look and went to mingle with your future family by law.

Aegon took out of his pocket his small notepad, and a small pencil, scratching “haunted castle”, out of his ‘reasons’ for you not to marry this northerner prick.

“Right, onto the next… northerner food sucks”, he said proudly.

The introductions had gone well, you believed. You were terribly nervous, not only because of your friends, but because of your family as well. But they all seemed to get along just fine. At least that's what Cregan told you when he kissed you goodnight.

Cregan haven't ‘touched’ you since you arrived at Winterfell, in King’s Landing he seemed he wasn’t able to keep his hands to himself, but now that you weren on this millinery castle, he seemed to be more reserved, like he was trying you, he made you feel like some sort of horny slut, so each night he would kiss your temple at the door of your room and then he would go, and let you to fend for yourself in this cold room.

But now your friends are here, and the thought made you feel better, you had a big day ahead, and with that on your mind, you went to sleep.

As a future bride of a very important Northerner family, you had to put up with many traditions of the ancient house Stark, it was fine by you, it was, you knew what you were getting into… but you never expected this.

You started coughing as the hair dressed bathed you in setting spray,a after fixing your hair in a very northerner fashion

“Thank you”, said Gillaine, but she just wouldn’t stop, you couldn’t even see, “thank you!”, she said, grabbing the spray and throwing it across the room, the poor hairdresser just nodded at her.

“Now, then”, she said, fixing your hair, “I think just a few more sprigs of gypsophila at the front there”, she indicated, placing little flowers on top of your forehead. “Lovely” she said once she was content.

You didn’t like it, not one bit, and it got worse when you looked at your friend’s reactions through the mirror.

“What do you guys think?”, you asked, hopefully

“Oh, it is gorgeous”, Baela jumped first

“You look amazing”, said Cersei, nodding with her solemn face

“It is so pretty”, offered Walda, and she is the only one who seemed sincere. “With the veil… it’s going to look great”, she said, and that did make you feel better.

Like you were saying, you didn't want to fight your future family for this, you wanted to be pliant, but this wasn’t like you at all, you just hoped that Cregan would appreciate it.

“It's so shiny, it's gorgeous”, compliments kept flying but Aemond stood there, without saying a word.

“What do you think?”, you asked him, finally waking him up from his stupor

“Of?”, he asked

“The hair”, you clarified.

“Yeah, it, um…”, oh he hated it

The nice lady who was helping you with the hair pulled you away to help you get in your dress, so she wasn’t only a hairdresser, interesting.

They all helped you get in a puffy dress, and when it was done, a woman put a sash around you, with the colors gray, soft old green, black and white.

“This sash will go on the dress”, said Gillaine, taking the job of fixing it around you herself.

“Really?”, you asked her

“Tradition”, she said simply

In the meantime, Baela grabbed Aemond who looked completely horrified as he watched you try that awful looking dress, sash and hair-do

“What's up with the hair?”, he asked Baela, but Cersei came in, who pinched him in the arm aggressively, making him whine, “Well, I'm not entirely sure that…”

“You're the maid of honor. It's good to just be supportive…”, encouraged Baela with a look that wasn’t at all so encouraging, she looked like she wanted to kill him.

“I'm supportive”, he defended

“I don't think you are”, came in Cersei.

“I think I am”, he said back

“No, listen to me”, she said, “this is hard for her as well but this are traditions of the family she is marrying into, and we would be helping her a lot making those decisions more easily for her to make”, she said with greeted teeth, “got it?”, she asked, threatening to pinch him again

“Yes! got it!”, he said quickly. Then the four of them turned to you, who were looking back at them with hope in your beautiful eyes, only you could make all that tragedy look beautiful

“You're doing great, you're doing great”, he assured, and only that could pull a smile on your face. Aemond called your name and you turned to him expectantly. “Actually, you know?, your hair looks amazing”, he said gently, gods he was a good lair.

“Really?”, you asked him

“Yes”, he said, nodding solemnly, and you smiled, now more reassuring.

The door to the small chamber opened, and a woman appeared with her hands full of beautiful looking fabrics

“Oh, the games will be starting soon!”, said Gilliane, “here are your costumes”

“Games?”, asked Aemond, but his voice was drowned by your friends’ excitement

“Costumes!”, chanted Baela

“Costumes?”, asked Aemond again, “what do you mean "games"?”, asked Aemond to Gilliane

“Oh, the Northerner Games dear!”, she said simply, “It's a tradition in honor of the wedding, it goes right back to the time when the groom had to prove that he was man enough to deserve the bride, If he didn't win, he didn't get the bride”, she said proudly, “No problem for my Cregan though”, she said simply.

Alright, he could do it, he never had trouble with this sort of thing.

So the afternoon found you in a big valley, filled to the brim with people. You were wearing a long dress, it was more of a costume, as it was something the ladies would have worn five hundred years ago. You were even wearing a headdress.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Northerner Games!”, a voice with a thick accent could be heard through speakers, “men have traveled from all four corners of this great country to compete in feats of strength and agility! But only one warrior will be man enough to claim the bride! One competitor who needs no introduction is our very own Cregan Stark!”, all around the grounds the people cheered, as you did, who were sitting on wooden bleachers

“Doesn't my Cregan look handsome?”, Gilliaine asked you, you nodded. All the men were wearing traditional northerner clothes, kilts, being a part of said outfits.

“Yes”, you said dreamly, you never thought a man wearing a skirt could look so manly, but there he was. And then there was Aemond.

You opened your mouth in shock when you saw him

“Coming up the rear, all the way from King’s Landing, (Y/N)'s maid of honor... Aemond, who, I think you'll all agree, is wearing a rather fetching wee minikilt!”, a man said out loud, he was indeed wearing what you would consider a miniskirt.

“Who was in charge of that?”, you asked, horrified, as all the men women and children present in the games were laughing at him.

“I have no idea”, said Cersei with a smirk

Aegon on the other hand, was having the time of his life in a kilt with the colors of his own southerner house, with a black background and red and golden lines. and a white button up shirt and leather jacket, and he had his sunglasses on, and of course he was getting the looks of all the ladies there as they presented him.

“And the games begun!”

It was mainly a show of strength, throwing things, pulling things… and with the hilarious comments of a local man with a microphone.

First they had to throw a metal block over a tall hurdle.

Aegon comically lost all the games he participated in, but he did with such gusto, that everyone just cheered him on, he was stealing the show

“Yeah, you're sexy!”, someone shouted, you believed it was Baela, as he flexed his almost non existing muscles to the crowd

“Everybody giving their all!”, said the presenter, Cregan’s uncle Ned Stark, as the competition this time was using a bow and an arrow. And the one who managed to land three arrows near the center was the winner.

Aemond was a little rusty, but he defended himself quite nicely, but again, Cregan proved to be unbeatable as he landed the three arrows in the smaller red circle in the center

“And as we are heading to the third competition, we're running neck and neck! A Northerner against a Southerner!”

It was a long, long day.

Aegon lost quite easily, but he was now being comforted by three Northerner ladies who were congratulating him on his performance.

And the rest of the games? let’s just say it was the longest day in Aemond’s life

He had done everything they asked of him, he pulled a rope accompanied by four other men against Cregan’s best five.

He climbed a huge log with only the use of his hands and legs, he was sure the eternity of the North had seen his underwear. He threw a huge cannon ball across the green field… and many, many others.

Most of the men had withdrawn from the race already, but not him, oh no, not him, he couldn’t, he needed to prove, to all these northerners, and to you, that he was “man enough”, to marry you, yes, he needed to prove that.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the result of today's Winterfell Games rests upon the caber toss!”, finally, the final test, he thought, as he wiped sweat from his brow

He might be the outsider, he might be wearing a ridiculously short kilt, but he was still in the competition, and he was going to prove how deserving he was.

“The competition is down to two competitors! Aemond! and Cregan!”

But oh fuck is this wasn’t the icing of the cake, when Aemond finally realised what he had to do to prove himself.

“A tree? We're tossing a tree?”, asked Aemond, who could barely get his breath on check

“Yeah”, said Cregan happily, and Aemond cursed him hard on his mind, because again, he wasn’t even trying! He was giving his best in trying to compete against Cregan, but he didn’t even see him as a competitor, and it wasn’t even mean about it, he just didn’t care, he was nice like that.

Cregan grabbed the three, with effort, he could see that, but then he took two strong steps and threw the damn thing across the field, that thing took two tumbles, making it like 20 meters.

“What a toss!”, congratulated the presenter, “What a toss! Way to go, Cregan!”

He saw with discouragement how all the ladies of the bleachers, including you, were chanting Cregan’s name with excitement.

But they were going to be chanting his in no time, he knew it.

“He's strong!”, teased Cersei to your ear, you just nodded excitedly, you had already seen what those arms could do, and it looked promising.

“Well, then, Aemond! Let's see what you're made of! The whole competition rests on this throw”, said Ned with excitement.

He was possibly petrified at the very thought.

But this was it

“Look alive, lassie!”, he said someone called for him.

“Come on, Aemond!”, oh finally, that was your sweet voice! calling his name, he had to make this throw! he had to!

“Okay, I can do this. I can do this”, he chanted as a mantra, if he could throw this tree, this huge log, then he could confess to you his love, he could. Two men passed him the log, and he grabbed it as he could.

He had to grab it by the base, that way he was going to throw it more easily, he knew it, but gods if that was hard to do!

“Okay, here we go!”

He stumbled, the shit was heavy, very heavy, he stumbled once more as all the voices around him got quiet all of a sudden

“COME ON AEMOND YOU CAN DO IT!”, he heard the voice of his brother Aegon, cheering him on

“Okay. Okay, okay. I got it.”, he said, more to himself, this might as well be the hardest thing he had ever done

“Here we go!”, the presenter said as he started to take more determined steps, to get momentum to throw the log, “HERE WE GO!”, he heard, excitedly.

he did as he could, he did, he threw it will all his might, with all his determination

The log flew through the air. But Aemond had stumbled a bit before he released it, so all the people there gathered to watch in horror as the log landed on top of a car.

A freaking car!

It completely destroyed it

“Oh, dear. That's gonna cost the Southerner the girl”, he said through the speakers.

“What an ass!”, mocked Cersei

And just like that… he lost the freaking games, he looked back at you with fear in his eyes and you looked completely surprised at the sudden turn of events.

“And the winner of the Wintertown Games is our very own Cregan Stark!”, called the presenter, and again, everyone cheered, his friends came in to hug him, and congratulated him. But Cregan ran to you, to get a sweet kiss from your lips which you happily gave him.

That certainly deter Aemond’s spirit significantly

That very night, you were having dinner at the great hall back in Winterfell castle.

Cregan stood up, and sang, he actually sang to you, and to all the guests of the wedding, he had a beautiful deep voice, and the song he chose was more of a poem, but it was stunning nonetheless. As he finished, he looked at you, and kissed you softly on the lips

“Well done, my boy”, said Gillaine with a soft voice as the rest of his family threw praises left and right

Is there anything he wasn’t good at? thought Aemond sulkily from his seat, hiding his disgust in his cup of wine.

“Robert Burns, who wrote that song, is Winterfell's most famous poet”, Cregan said to you, you just smiled at him in thanks for this beautiful song he had dedicated to you

“So Cregan”, asked his aunt from the other side of the table, “when are you going to graze us with children, uh?”, she asked, looking at you

“Well, (Y/N) wants to wait a few years first”, he said softly, surrounding your shoulders with his thick arm

“Why? she is not getting any younger!”, you almost spilled your drink, “and you know, how you should name him once he is born”, you didn't know what to say to all of that, but Cregan could sense your tension

“No, no, auntie, we haven't had any children yet, so we haven't got any names”, he said softly, and you appreciated that, but you didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking.

“Athol”, the woman said to you, taking you a-back, this she just called you an asshole?

“Excuse me?”, you asked her

“It's a name for the children”, said Cregan quickly

“Athol”, the woman repeated, and you looked at Cregan horrified, he couldn’t mean that, could he? It sounded like an asshole!

“Yeah, no, we won't be naming our child Athol”, you said quickly, “maybe when he's a teenager”, you offered, Cregan laughed by your side, but you could tell he was faking it.

“My mother's cousin was the Duke of Athol”, said Cregan’s aunt, “We're a long line of Athols”, yes they were.

You were feeling overwhelmed, you got no say in your hair, or your dress, or the sash, or the traditions, and apparently, not the name of your own child.

But as you looked at Cregan, he was worth it, he was the sweetest man you had met…

But gods, why the name for the children?

“Well, maybe... maybe we'll keep it in the mix, eh?”, Cregan asked you, “Maybe as a middle name?”, you didn't know if he was being serious or not, but you just nodded, not very much enthusiastic

“So, (Y/N), do you like the venison?”, Gilliane asked you over Cregan. And you were just thankful the topic had changed

“It's delicious”, you offered

“Cregan shot it. He's a wonderful shot”, she said with a smile, and you were petrified

“Oh, stop, mom, you'll make me blush”, muttered Cregan

“And this is the moment, I've just remembered”, she said, taking out his phone

“What moment's that?”, you asked her, as she pulled her phone to you

“When Cregan killed the deer, I filmed it”, you jumped when a shot rang through the speakers, “Right between the eyes”, oh right you saw it happening on the screen, “In fact, everything we are eating this evening, Cregan has killed!”, she announced to everyone at the table, and they all seemed fascinated

“Cregan!”, called Rickon, raising his glass

“To Cregan!”, they all echoed, raising their own glasses

“In your honor, (Y/N)”, Cregan said lovingly, and you wished you could be honored, but you were horrified.

“That is so thoughtful”, you said with a wide smile, placing a hand on your chest, “I'm so sorry I didn't kill anything for you”, you offered, Cregan only chuckled.

The desserts were being served, interrupting you once again

“Oh, gosh. What did you get?”, you asked him lovingly, and you looked with a smile as Cregan got a slice of chocolate cake.“Oh, I love chocolate!”, you took your fork as you intended on taking a piece of his place. But to your horror, he stopped you

“Don't... Don't do that”, he said, and you froze on your spot, “If you want some…”, he said, grabbing a tiny bit with his own fork, and placed it on a plate between the two of you. “Here, give you some. Okay?”, you pouted

Aemond couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He wasn’t even relieved anymore, because his job was getting easier, he couldn’t believe this dude!

After that messy dinner, you all got your drinks at the next room, a cart filled with bottles of the distillery, a hunting room by the looks of it. The thing was filled with stuffed animals and heads of deers on the walls, hunting trophies.

Aemond and Aegon looked at the room with interesting look on his faces

“Look nothing happened when I told her about the haunted castle, that didn’t work, so… I’ll keep trying”, Aemond just looked at his brother wondering how more dumb he could get, but then he just nodded. His eyes then found you, who was being boarded by your future father in law and his brother.

“Go save her”, said Aegon, Aemond nodded and went straight for you

“Excuse me”, he said as he passed by members of Cregan’s family, getting to you, “Hi”, he greeted, the men just nodded, acknowledging him, “A wonderful dinner, by the way”, said Aemond

“Delighted, Aemond”, muttered Rickon

“And your wife is looking for you”, he said quickly.

“Oh, thank you very much”, he said, and the patriarch of house Stark finally left you alone to look for his wife, his brother following in tow.

“Nice one”, you said, he smirked

“Cheers”, you clink your glass with his, and then downing your scotch

“A little birdie tells me Cregan personally slayed each one of these reindeer heads”, he said, looking around the room

“Aemond”, you warned

“You're right… When I say a little birdie told me, he would've told me, but Cregan shot it”, he mocked. You were not commenting on it, so he changed the subject, “Listen, seriously. Can we go somewhere private and talk? It's important”

“Yeah”, he looked serious

“Shall we go?”, he asked, you nodded, but before you could slip away, the sound of… some horrible musical instrument interrupted you

“What is that?”, growled Aemond. And there he was, Cregan accompanied with a couple of his cousins, playing a musical instrument based on wind that was just awful.

“Oh, for all the gods”, you muttered. The sound was truly haunting, but you could tell he was putting on a show for you, and your guests

“You know, he's been playing the windpipes ever since he was 3 years old”, Gillaine told you, you just smiled and nodded, “practices every night”, you quickly stopped smiling

“Every night?”, you asked her, horrified. You couldn’t bear the thought of hearing mating seagulls every single night

“Oh, never misses”, she said proudly.

Aegon was dead-ass covering his ears with a disturbed look on his face, and your grandmother didn’t look so impressed either. When it was finally over, he took his hands out of his ears, and looked at the glow in the dark necklace your grandmother was wearing

“What kind of necklace is that?”, Aegon asked, looking at grandma's Pearls necklace.

“They're glow-in-the-dark thunder beads”, she said proudly, and Aegon just laughed loudly, wrapping his arm around Pearl’s, “let’s get you a drink my friend”

“Finally!”, she said, “don’t tell my daughter!”, Aegon laughed again

“I won’t! just don’t get frisky with me!”, he warned in a tone of a joke, Pearl just smiled, but he laughed when he felt the hand of the grandma going more ‘south’ than his back, “watch those hands grandma!”, he laughed.

The gathering ended shortly after, and you found yourself getting ready for bed in your room, when a soft knock on the door interrupted you. You open the door and it was your mother

“Oh, hi, mom”, you greeted

“I have something for you”, she said softly, you both sat on the big bed, and she showed you a photo album she had, “This is so you can have a little piece of home with you”, you eyes filled with tears as you looked at her

“Thank you”, you said softly. You started looking through the pictures,

“Oh, look at you”, she said, “you were so small”, you were lacking some teeth and were smiling right at the camera… “There's you and Cersei”, both of you were on your uniforms for your first day of school, “You were about 5 there”, you kept looking at the precious memories. “Oh, do you remember this? It was taken at the lake when your father broke his arm because of that silly motorcycle of his”, she said, looking at the picture taken at the God’s eye

“I miss dad so much”, you whined wiping a tear off of your face as you saw a picture of him.

“Me too, sweetheart”, she said, caressing your arm

“I just wish he could've been here”, you whispered, “he was always so worried I was never gonna meet anyone”, you said with a soft chuckled

“Oh, no, he wasn't”, she said dismissively, she then pointed at a picture, “Oh, that's Braavos”, it was a picture of the three of you under the Braavos’ Colossus, and then when you turned the page there was a picture of you and Aemond, shortly after you finished college, “He could be so off-base sometimes”, she said mindlessly

“What? why?”, you asked her

“Well, it's just… he was always convinced that you were gonna marry Aemond”, she said gently, you just looked back at her, wide-eyed

“Really?”, you asked her, she just smiled sadly at you

“I'll see you in the morning”, she said lovingly, “Good night, my angel”, she kissed your temple and left you.

A wave of sadness engulfed you, were you really mad? moving halfway across the whole continent? leaving your family behind? your mom and your grandmother? you were the only thing they had left. And there was no possible way they’d move up here… you just hugged yourself and tried to sleep.

“It's pulling off a Band-Aid. You just have to close your eyes and do it”, Aemond closed his eyes as he took a long sigh

“But I just haven't found the right time”, he explained to the phone

“What are you talking about, "right time"? Any time is the right time to say "I love you. Marry me."

“Right”, but Aemond wasn’t convinced

“Come on, what are you there for, man? Take the shot, win the game, and bring her home. And stop running up my long-distance phone bill with these crazy calls!”, said Addam, “besides, you got Aegon right there with you!”

“Right. Right, right, okay”, he said simply, “Thanks, Addam”,

“You can do this, Aemond! You can do this, you can do this”, he repeated until his friend believed him

“What's wrong with me?”, whined Aemond, he was not believing it

“You can do this. You can do this!”, he kept repeating. He hung up the phone and put it in his pocket, and then turned around and you were walking towards him.

“Hey”, you greeted softly

“Hey”, he said back, oh when he looked at you he felt like the world stopped, and there was nothing more important than you. “Hey, I thought we could go for a walk and, uh, work on the vows”, he offered, it was a beautiful afternoon, the sunset was about to happen and the day was very calm

“Good idea. I could use some help”, you said with a soft smile.

“Yeah? Good, okay”, you walked with your arm coiled with his, towards the beautiful lake that surrounded the property. You sat on a beautiful bench with the views of the sunset and you presented your ideas to him, that you had scribbled on your notepad

“So… what do you think?”, you asked him

“I think a lot of things”, he said simply, relaxed because you didn’t know what to say in your own vows, and he took that as a good sign. He looked at you, you looked beautiful under this light, and he knew… this was his moment, it had to be

“I've been working on them all week, and I think they're actually getting worse”, you said, discouraged. No matter how hard you thought about it, the words just wouldn’t come to you, you felt so strongly about Cregan and yet… nothing you could put into words.

“Yeah”, he mumbled, looking straight at you, but you were looking ahead.

“At first, I went for the emotion, then I thought, oh, God, what if Cregan doesn't?”, you kept rambling

“Yeah”, he didn’t care, the only thing he cared about was you

“And then I tried to be funny, well, I don't know if the Northmen have the same sense of humor as King’s Landers”, you tried, “So now I'm back to something basic, and I totally think I veered off into something boring”, you didn’t know what to say, but he did, this was it.

“I'm crazy about you”, he said quickly, looking into your eyes, you were just looking ahead into the horizon, “I think about you all the time. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you”, he tried then. He saw you frown

“Really?”, you asked him, finally looking back at him

“Really”, he said firmly, alright, this was it… his moment

“That's so generic”, you said then, and Aemond’s face was now horrified

“Generic?”, he asked

“Yeah”, you said, oblivious to his confession, you thought he was just helping you with your vows

“Generic?”, he asked again

“It totally is”, you said back

“How can that be generic?”, he asked

“It sounds like something somebody is supposed to say as opposed to what you're really feeling”, you said, looking at the sunset, trying to get inspired

“All right, how about, uh…”, alright this was it, his moment, “nobody in the world makes me laugh the way you do, you're my best friend, I just want to be with you”, he blurred it out, and you didn’t think how that could apply to Cregan, but then you noticed the way Aemond was looking at you.

“What?”, you asked him, did he mean it? he could not possibly mean it.

“Look out, look out, look out!”, you heard the screeching of Baela, making you turn on your seat.

“There she is! (Y/N), let's go!”, called Cersei, and Aemond looked like he wanted to take a swim at the lake. They all surrounded you, they had a cape in their hands and a strange pot

“What is this?”, he asked, completely horrified

“This is her "taking out.", said Walda

“Her what?”, asked Aemond

“We dress her up and then we parade her around one of the pubs”, explained Walda

“That's weird”, he mumbled

“It's tradition!”, she corrected

“And then we fill a toilet with salt and we sell your kisses for change!”, said Baela

“Really? They sell your kisses?”, asked Aemond, “that is unhygienic”

“Yup”, said Baela, “can’t wait!”

“Come on, it's like a Northerner bachelorette party”, you offered to Aemond, who was again, completely horrified. Your friends started to pull you back towards the castle, and he followed in tow. Cars where waiting for you to take you to the town

“Okay!, come on!”, cheered Baela, to Aemond’s surprise, Aegon joined in, and the six of you went partying

The pub was classic looking, and extremely old, but it had his charm, it was the most popular bar in town. Your friends had dressed you with a colorful and traditional “maiden cape”, with the colors of your soon to be husband’s House.

As you entered the bar everyone there looked at you

“All right, let's sell some kisses!”, said Baela excitedly.

“Uh! can I sell my kisses too?”, asked Aegon, looking around finding beautiful women.

This huge guy put some coins in your bucket and then he kissed you quickly on the lips, taking your breath away, you really weren’t expecting it, he then spread his arms to the entire bar

“It's her taking out! She's got the breath of an angel!”, to your horror, everybody cheered. And then, a bunch of guys just started putting coins in your bucket and then stealing short close mouthed kisses.

At first it was weird, but as your friends started giving you scotch, it became funny, as more men, of all sizes, ages and heights stole kisses from you

You friends got in the bar, exchanging the coins for glasses of scotch, which they dawned quickly.

“Another!”, chanted Aegon to the bartender as they asked for another round, enjoying the funds you were procuring with your kisses

“Another!”, said Cersei, “Thank you!”, she said, taking another drink to you that you just pushed back pretty quickly.

“Come on man”, said Aegon, putting some coins in Aemond’s hand, “go for it, I’ll distract the flock”, he said quickly, Aemond nodded as he watched his brother stump back to the group of ladies and now he was truly thankful of having him here.

And now he went straight for you, who had been walking towards a more deserted part of the old pub. He got in your way, trapping you in a tight hallway from one room to the next.

“This is all I have”, Aemond said, placing a couple of golden dragons on your pot, you looked at him wide-eyed, he leaned in, and trapped your lips on his.

He was doing it for fun, he always kisses you like this, it was… but then why was he encasing your face with his hands?

You didn’t even realize when you dropped your pot and all its contents as you hugged Aemond tightly against you, the kiss turned more heated, as you opened your mouth to receive his eager tongue.

He placed his hands on your hips and stuck you to him, as you never wanted this to end…

Did he mean it? everything he had said?

“Oh, my gosh, you guys!”, you separated as the other was on fire when you heard Baela’s screech, you dropped to your knees to gather the contents of your pot, the coins and the salt. Aemond was right there to help you.

You feel your friend’s hands on you as you get back on your feet.

“We have to get more kisses!”, said Baela, and you were relieved that she didn't see anything.

“Kisses!”, screamed Walda

“More kisses!”

“Kisses!”, and you didn’t dare to look at Aemond for the rest of the night.

Aemond knew it was coming, he knew you, he knew you were going to come for him tonight, so when he heard a knock on the door, he smiled softly, he prepared himself, took a long breath, and then opened the door, but it wasn’t you on the other side…

“I can't take it anymore!”, mumbled Cersei drunkenly

“What are you doing?”, he asked, genuinely scared

“Let's do it again. For old times' sake”, she said, she was only wearing a long coat, and when she took it off, it was only lingerie underneath.

“Don't take that off!”, he said, trying to cover his eyes

“No, Aemond, I need to make this up to you!”, she said,t aking his hand to take them out of his face

“Don't take this… off”, he muttered, but she was all over him, she pushed him to the bed and he fell on his back

“I'm really unhappy!”, she cried, this was just a mess

“That's fine”, offered Aemond, “let’s just not do this”

“No, it's okay!”, she said, trying to kiss him, she was over him in a second, pushing him harder against the bed

“Aemond, I'm not happy at all”, she said, between kisses she was trying to land on his face. Aemond did try to push her off of him, but he didn’t want to be rough, after all, she was a lady, and he didn’t want to hurt her. “And I am in a really, really confusing place in my life right now”, she kept with her monologue that frankly, he didn’t understand.

“Confusing?”, he asked then

“Listen, I have had some whisky…”, she explained messily,

“I can tell…”, answered Aemond

“And I need you to service me”, she completed

“Service you!?”

“Service me, bitch!”, she demanded as she slapped him across the face. “Service me!”, that is when he noticed the door was opened, and Cersei was screaming

“Be quiet! Be quiet!”, he begged

“You be quiet”, answered Cersei

“Get off of me!”, he begged, “Just be quiet”, and when he was turning his face, he saw you, standing on the door frame, looking at the scene, completely heartbroken.

“(Y/N)!”, he called, but you ran off. He then pushed Cersei to the floor as she landed in a fit of laughter

“Bring me more whiskys!”, she demanded front he floor, but he didn’t care, he ran after you

But he didn’t manage to catch you before you locked yourself in your room

“(Y/N)!”, he called but she just closed the heavy wooden door on his face, but that didn’t deter him, he knocked on the door hastily, “It's Aemond, let me in! Let me in!”, he begged.

“Go away, Aemond”, you said, placing both your hands on the door to keep him out, despite the door being closed.

“No, no, no, no, no, let me explain”, he said quickly, sticking his face to the ancient wood, “It's not what you think”, he couldn’t believe this was happening to him, after all of it, after all the work, after all the training, one single moment could ruin everything

“It doesn't matter now”, you said brokenly

“Yes, it does”, he said. “Why did you...?”, he needed to know, he needed to know why you looked for him tonight.

“Just go!”, you begged, and this was just what you needed, you couldn’t believe you were willing to throw everything away with Cregan just for a fling with Aemond, you knew him, you knew how he was and still, you couldn’t help but think you were going to be different. Then you remembered painfully why you never could give him an inch of space.

“I'll go. Just tell me, why did you come to my room?”, he asked him, but there was no answer, “(Y/N)? Why did you come to the room?”, he asked softly, he knew you, he did, he was getting answers.

“To talk about that kiss”m you answered softly

“Oh, (Y/N)”, he whispered lovingly, he knew if he could just see you now, he would convince you. “Please don't… Don't marry him”, there, he said it, he begged you to

“All these years, Aemond”, you cried out. After all these years, you loved him, you loved Aemond, and you had lost count of how many times you wished you could just let him in… but you never did.

“Don't marry him”, he repeated

“All this time…. You're doing this now?”, you asked him

“I know”, he said. You could tell this was hard for him too, but that didn’t make the anger that was bubbling up inside you change.

“How can you do this?”, you asked him. slapping your hand on the door

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just let me in”, he begged.

“No, I can't”, you whined, voice broken

“Let me in”, he begged softly

“You're only doing this now because you're afraid of losing me”, you accused, “I need someone

who's gonna be there for me no matter what happens”, you said, choking up in your own words, “Someone who truly... loves me… Someone I can trust”

“But (Y/N)... I…”, you stuck your ear to the door, waiting to hear him say it… but it never came

“You can’t even say it”, you whispered, a tear falling down your eye, “I'm marrying Cregan tomorrow… Aemond”, you said more decisively, wiping your own tear from your eye

“I can't be your maid of honor”, you heard through the door, “I can't give you away to him, I can’t… I'm sorry, (Y/N)”, he whispered back.

You heard his steps walking away and that when you slid down the door to the floor, tears kept falling down your eyes.

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fanficapologist · 11 months ago

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Five

The ride back to Harrenhall was filled with a sense of hope and anticipation, buoyed by the discovery of the dragon egg. Maera rode atop Ēbrion with a renewed energy, the wind whipping through her hair as they soared through the skies.As Ēbrion propelled them forward with powerful beats of his wings, Maera felt a surge of exhilaration course through her veins. She clung to the dragon's saddle with determination, her eyes scanning the horizon with newfound optimism.

The landscape below rushed by in a blur of greenery and winding rivers, the sunlight casting a golden glow upon the land. Glancing across the vast expanse of sky, Maera spotted Aemond flying on Vhagar alongside them. His figure was a distant silhouette against the backdrop of clouds, his dragon's wings slicing gracefully through the air.

As they landed back at Harrenhall and made their way to the castle gates, Maera and Aemond were filled with a temporary sense of excitement and camaraderie. The tension that had lingered between them seemed to melt away in the exhilaration of their adventure. Maera spoke animatedly about their discovery of the dragon egg, her green eyes alight with enthusiasm as she recounted the details of their flight and the breathtaking sight of the molten rock. Aemond listened attentively, his own excitement mirroring hers as they shared in the joy of their discovery.

Entering the courtyard, they were greeted by a flurry of activity and a sense of panic among the guards. However, as Maera and Aemond approached, relaxed and seemingly unaware of the commotion, the tension in the air dissipated. Maera couldn't help but giggle at the reaction they had caused. It was clear that their absence had been longer than expected, and the sight of them returning unharmed eased the worries of those within the castle walls.

Ser Adrian, Maera’s brother-in-law, approached them first, his blue eyes reflecting genuine concern. “We thought something had happened,” he confessed, his freckled face flushed with relief.

Maera couldn’t suppress her amusement. “Something did happen, good-brother,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye. Aemond grabbed the dragon egg from under his arm and proudly presented it to the onlookers. With a blackened shell and flecks of green, the sight of the rare and precious egg elicited murmurs of awe and excitement from those gathered around, their eyes widening in wonder at the remarkable discovery.

“Gods, even if it doesn’t hatch, it’s worth a fortune,” Ser Adrian remarked, his tone tinged with bewilderment.

“It will hatch,” Aemond asserted firmly, his confidence unwavering, earning a playful nudge in the ribs from Maera’s elbow.

Maera interjected with a gentler tone, her words carrying the weight of tradition and expertise. “What my husband means is that Targaryens are skilled in the art of hand-rearing dragon eggs and hatchlings,” she explained, her voice a soothing counterpoint to Aemond’s sternness.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aemond’s hand rested protectively on Maera’s back, the warmth of his touch a comforting presence amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. For a fleeting moment, they found solace in each other’s company, their shared mission bonding them once more.

However, their temporary respite was shattered when they turned a corner in the corridors and came face to face with Alys, her swollen belly unmistakable beneath her green dress. “You have both returned unharmed. I’m glad,” the witch greeted them with a saccharine smile, but Maera couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered within her.

The Princess’s heart pounded with trepidation as the witch's cat-like eyes lingered on the dragon egg cradled beneath Aemond's arm. "Is that...?" Alys began, her voice tinged with bewildered curiosity. The weight of Alys's fixation filled Maera with a sense of dread, her fingers instinctively reached out to Aemond's forearm for support, though she hardly noticed her own actions.

A knowing grin spread across Alys's lips as she clasped her hands together, her words dripping with eerie reverence. "It seems the Gods favor you, Prince Aemond. This is undoubtedly an omen from them." Maera's jaw clenched as Alys's gaze flickered momentarily to her before settling back on Aemond, her fingers absently tracing the curve of her swollen stomach. "What a powerful Prince your son will be as a dragon rider," the witch mused, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The Princess’s silent anger simmered beneath the surface as Alys brazenly requested the dragon egg for her own child, despite it not being a true Targaryen. The audacity of the request fueled Maera's disdain for the woman who had meddled in her marriage and sought to undermine her at every turn. Unable to tolerate Alys’s insolence any longer, Maera braced herself to speak out, but to her surprise, it was Aemond who broke the tense silence.

“Indeed,” he replied calmly, his tone devoid of emotion, causing Maera’s eyes to widen in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t entertaining Alys’s absurd notion. The One-Eyed Prince’s gaze shifted from Alys to Maera, his single violet eye piercing through her with a depth that left her breathless.

For a moment, their silent exchange spoke volumes, a silent understanding passing between them before Aemond returned his attention to Alys once more. “The egg will be placed in the cradle of my trueborn child,” he declared firmly, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

Alys's reaction was immediate, her expression momentarily stunned before morphing into a mask of disbelief. Maera couldn't help but revel in the sight of shock on the witch's face, a small victory amidst the swirling currents of uncertainty that surrounded them.

Aemond's hand remained a reassuring presence on Maera's back as he attempted to gently guide them both around Alys, his gesture signaling his desire to end the conversation with the witch and continue their journey back to their chambers.

Yet Alys sidestepped, effectively blocking the couple's path with a determined stance. "Do you think that wise?" she challenged, her tone firm and unwavering.

Maera glanced up at her husband, noticing the subtle tightening of his jaw, a sign of his growing agitation. The Prince's response was swift and sharp, his voice laced with a dangerous edge that made Maera jump in surprise. "Alys, I suggest you hold your tongue," he growled, his words carrying a weight of authority that both frightened and thrilled Maera to hear him finally stand up to the witch.

Undeterred, Aemond pressed on, his voice dripping with suppressed fury. "I have endured your presence for the sake of your sight and your contributions to the war effort," he began, his gaze unwavering as he met Alys's defiant stare. "But quite frankly, I have tolerated your disrespect, particularly towards my wife, for long enough."

Alys's cat-like eyes blazed with fury, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface as she met Aemond's gaze head-on. Though Maera harbored doubts about the witch's supposed magical abilities, she couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that gripped her at the prospect of things escalating further. The tension in the air crackled with the unspoken threat of confrontation, leaving Maera longing for a swift resolution to their encounter.

"Aemond..." Maera's voice carried a note of pleading as she tugged gently on his arm, her eyes silently urging him to let the confrontation with Alys come to an end. But her husband, consumed by anger, seemed beyond reason.

"Should the Gods desire their vision to come to fruition so desperately, they can do so on my terms," Aemond declared, his single violet eye flashing with determination as he cast a steely gaze between the two women, ensuring they both understood the gravity of his words.

Maera nodded silently, her gaze downcast but a small, relieved smile playing at the corners of her lips. It seemed her husband had finally found his clarity. Yet, Alys remained undeterred.

"But, my Prince..." Alys began, her voice tinged with desperation.

At that moment, Aemond's composure shattered, his anger boiling over as he abruptly pulled away from Maera and advanced towards the witch with determined strides. He loomed over Alys, his voice dripping with venom as he spat out his words. "Do you really think it would be placed in the cradle of a half-breed? Of a bastard to a whore?”

As Alys averted her gaze, Aemond closed the distance even further and leaned down so his face was at the same level as the witch’s, his pointed nose and chiseled features accentuating his disdain. "Do you think I would entrust a dragon's egg to a child I did not desire? To a child I was assured would never come to be?" His voice, though hushed, carried a weight of stern authority that caused even Maera to flinch.

Sensing the tension reaching its breaking point, and seeing the tremble in Alys's frame, Maera stepped forward, her hand gently settling on Aemond's shoulder. At her touch, the Prince's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, his stormy demeanor softening as he took a step back from the witch, regaining his usual stoic composure.

"We are done here," Maera declared firmly, her gaze flickering between her husband and the shaken witch. With a firm grip on Aemond's arm, she guided him away, the tension dissipating as they retreated to the sanctuary of their shared chambers, feeling a renewed sense of solidarity between them.

In their rooms, the silence hung heavy between Maera and Aemond, thick with unspoken tension. Maera could sense the seething fury radiating from her husband after is interaction with Alys, a palpable force that filled the room with its intensity. A few months ago, Maera would have approached him, seeking to ease his anger and discuss the situation calmly. But now, after enduring so much hurt and betrayal, she chose to let him stew in his rage. It was a deliberate choice, a silent retaliation for the pain he had inflicted upon her with his indifference and betrayal.

As they sat in the oppressive silence, each concentrating on their own tasks of reading and writing, Maera allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction, knowing that Aemond was experiencing just a fraction of the turmoil she had endured since the arrival of Alys. It was a bitter victory, but one that offered a semblance of vindication in the face of their fractured marriage.With the hours passing by, the oppressive tension in the room began to ease, replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. Maera remained engrossed in her book, delving into the intricacies of Aegon's Conquest, while Aemond meticulously transcribed his notes into a new ledger, his movements deliberate and focused.

The Princess couldn't help but notice the new leather bound ledger, a replacement for the one she had thrown into the hearth in a fit of anger. Part of her felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if vital information had been lost in her impulsive act. However, another part of her, fueled by pettiness, secretly relished the idea of inconveniencing Aemond, who had to rewrite his old notes from scratch. Despite the lack of verbal communication, Maera and Aemond occasionally stole glances at each other, their eyes meeting fleetingly. In those moments, there was a silent yearning for connection, a longing for the bond they once shared to be restored.

When night fell, the couple shared their evening meal together before making their preparations for bed. Maera was assisted by the maid out of her dress and into a soft nightgown, her pregnant belly more prominent beneath the fabric with each passing day. The child within her seemed particularly active tonight, its kicks a comforting reminder of the life growing inside her.

As Maera settled into bed, she observed Aemond's nightly routine unfold. He made his way to the chair by the hearth, a ritual he had faithfully followed for the past month since she had banished him from their bed. He glanced at the black dragon egg in its metal pot, sitting atop burning coals before placing the lid back on top of it. With graceful movements, he untied his straight silver hair, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders, and removed his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire glint of his remaining eye in the flickering firelight.

Sensing Maera's gaze upon him, Aemond looked up, meeting her eyes with a silent acknowledgment. In response, Maera threw back the sheet covering her side of the bed and patted the space beside her, a wordless invitation laden with unspoken longing and a plea for connection.The Prince hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his violet eye as he silently questioned Maera's invitation. Her small, sad smile in response seemed to give him the reassurance he needed. With a newfound resolve, he stood and made his way to the bedside.

Slowly, Aemond removed his sleep shirt, revealing his slim yet toned chest and stomach, a sight that stirred a sense of longing in Maera. As he sat on the bed and discarded his trousers, he revealed himself completely, his vulnerability laid bare along with his form. With a gentle hand, he removed the sapphire from his eye socket and placed the gem in a dish on his bedside table.

Maera, too, shed her nightgown, lying before him naked, just as they had always been with each other in Kings Landing when they retired to bed. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the changes her body had undergone in the past month. Her curves had become more pronounced, her breasts somehow even larger, her stomach swollen with the life growing inside her, adorned with a few blue and purple stretch marks—a testament to the journey of motherhood she was embarking on.

As Aemond extinguished the candle, enveloping them in darkness, the only sensation permeating the silence was the rhythmic cadence of their breathing, intertwining in the stillness of the chamber. A shiver coursed through Maera's body as the cool air prickled her exposed skin. Accustomed to sleeping alone and clothed since banishing Aemond from their shared bed, she now felt a chill settle over her skin.

Seeking warmth and solace, Maera inched closer to him, her body instinctively drawn to his. With a tentative gesture, she rested her head on his bare chest, seeking the comfort of his proximity. In response, Aemond's muscular arm encircled her, drawing her closer to him. His hand found the curls on her head, his fingers gently stroking them with a soothing rhythm, a silent gesture of reassurance and affection in the darkness. As Maera stirred awake the next morning, she found herself still comfortably entwined with her husband, nestled against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. Aemond's arm remained draped protectively around her, his other hand tenderly resting on her swollen stomach, eliciting a contented smile from Maera as she savored the warmth of their shared embrace.

When they entered the council room that morning, the Prince and Princess presented a striking image of unity, both adorned in attire that echoed their shared allegiance. Clad in matching black leather accented with gleaming gold symbols of dragons, they exuded a palpable sense of connection that didn't go unnoticed by the courtiers who greeted them with respectful nods and murmurs.

Seated together, Maera observed in silence as Aemond took command of the room with confidence, providing updates and soliciting counsel from the assembled advisors. Throughout the proceedings, his hand remained firmly planted on her thigh, a subtle yet reassuring gesture of their renewed bond that Maera welcomed wholeheartedly.

As each lord provided their updates on strategy and army numbers, Maera couldn’t help but notice a distinct air of optimism that seemed to permeate the room, a stark contrast to previous meetings. From what she could surmise, the reports sounded more positive, hinting at progress and potential victories on the horizon.

When Aemond finally turned to Alys for her input, Maera noticed her sitting at the opposite side of the room, her expression dark and brooding. Despite her discomfort from the late stages of her pregnancy, Alys rose from her chair with determination, her hand resting protectively on her bump as she addressed the council.

“I would like to bring before the council once more the matter of the Westerlands, my Lords,” Alys proclaimed, her voice carrying an air of self-importance that elicited an eye roll from Maera before she continued. “The Gods have revealed to me that the Lannister forces will remain unharmed as they journey here. Therefore, I believe assigning the Princess to patrol the western border is a misuse of valuable resources.”

Maera couldn’t suppress a scoff at the absurdity of Alys’s suggestion, quickly masking it with a discreet clearing of her throat. Glancing around the room, she noted the skepticism mirrored in the expressions of the other council members.

“I’m not certain House Lannister would share your theory,” Ser Adrian interjected diplomatically, attempting to maintain a sense of decorum in the face of Alys’s bold proclamation.

“Indeed. The Princess’s patrol of the area ensures safety in the west,” the Peake Lord concurred, his agreement echoing the sentiments shared by many in the room. Maera offered him a silent nod of appreciation for his support as their eyes briefly met.

Meanwhile, the elder Lord Vance stroked his grey beard thoughtfully, considering Alys’s words with a hint of skepticism. “And what, may I ask, is your proposed course of action?” he inquired, directing his gaze towards the witch.

Alys’s smile widened at the attention, her confidence unwavering as she laid out her suggestion. “I propose that the Princess return to King’s Landing,” she declared, her voice dripping with certainty. “I have foreseen the sky above the Keep ablaze with red and gold flames, and venom seeping into Blackwater Bay. With her in the Capital, the catastrophe would be prevented.”

Maera’s eyes widened in disbelief at Alys’s proposal. The sheer audacity of suggesting such a thing, especially after Aemond had begun to stand up for her, left Maera incredulous. It was a ridiculous notion, and Maera couldn’t help but feel insulted by the suggestion. However, she was glad to see that the room had erupted into murmurs, frowns, and shaking heads among the attending lords and knights. The notion of sending the Princess away was met with disbelief and disapproval from those present, meaning Maera had the support of the councilmen.

But there was only one person’s support she truly needed. The Princess turned to her husband, but found his gaze fixed on Alys with a steely intensity that sent a clear message of disapproval. His hand remained reassuringly on Maera’s thigh as he addressed the witch, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “And is this belief rooted in fact? Or is it just a gut feeling?” The Prince sneered, all eyes around the room locked onto his commanding figure. Alys simply blinked bewilderedly at his words. Despite her attempts to maintain composure, the shock of Aemond’s rebuke was evident on her face, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Prince shook his head, leaning forward to rest it on his propped-up elbow. “Aegon holds the city on Sunfyre. The city watch guards the gates, preventing any invasions,” he asserted, his tone laced with confidence. The attending lords and knights nodded in agreement, their murmurs of assent echoing throughout the chamber. Maera observed Alys closely, noting the flicker of realization in the witch’s eyes as she came to the stark realization that nobody in the room supported her misguided proposal.

Undeterred, Aemond continued, his hand rubbing reassuringly up and down Maera’s leg as he spoke. “There is no conceivable reason for Rhaenyra to invade King’s Landing at this time,” he reasoned, his voice firm with conviction.

Alys’s confidence wavered visibly, her demeanor shifting from assertive to bewildered as Aemond’s words sank in. Her cat-like eyes widened in surprise, and she ran a frustrated hand through her long dark hair, a subtle sign of her discomfort and annoyance at being challenged so publicly. The witch then scoffed dismissively, her defiance evident in her tone. “You’re not listening,” she retorted, her frustration palpable.

“And why should I listen to you?” Aemond shot back, his anger simmering beneath the surface as he scanned the room, locking eyes with each council member in turn. “I couldn’t give a shit what you think, Alys. My wife remains here,” he declared firmly, his loyalty to Maera unwavering.

Before Alys could voice another protest, Maera rose gracefully from her seat, her black and gold attire emphasizing her regal presence. Her gravid form, a testament to her impending motherhood, only added to her commanding aura, a symbol of her union with the Prince and her significance in the realm.

As the Princess surveyed the room, a sense of empowerment washed over her. She felt the weight of the Lords’ reliance on her and her dragon, recognizing the shift in power that had occurred in her favor. With Aemond’s support and the respect of the assembled courtiers, Maera was no longer a pawn in Alys’s scheming prophecies, but a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

Turning her green gaze upon the witch, Maera conveyed authority and determination. It was a silent warning, a declaration that Alys’s manipulations would no longer be tolerated. With her husband’s backing, the Lords’ esteem, and her own formidable intellect, Maera addressed those surrounding the table. “Clear the room,” she commanded, her voice carrying an air of authority that brooked no opposition.

Without hesitation, the council members promptly rose and filed out of the chamber, leaving Maera and Aemond alone with Alys. The witch lingered for a moment longer, shooting a venomous glare at the royal couple before finally exiting, her departure marking the end of the tumultuous council meeting.

The room was now empty, aside from Maera and her husband. She moved from her seat and circled the table, her gaze tracing the intricacies of the map of Westeros spread out before her. The figurines representing the Blacks' forces dotted the map, a testament to their growing strength. Yet, amidst them, she noticed new green figurines, symbolizing the dragons aligned with the Greens. Her heart swelled with pride as she spotted Ēbrion's figurine placed strategically on the border of the Westerlands, a clear indication of her contribution to the cause.

As she lifted her eyes from the map, she found her husband engrossed in reading from a scroll. A sense of admiration washed over her as she took in his features, the chiseled lines of his face, the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't help but marvel at the sudden change in his demeanor, the way he had staunchly defended her during the council meeting. It sparked a flicker of curiosity within her, wondering what had prompted this shift in his stance.

"You're being particularly cruel this morning," she remarked with a small smile, acknowledging his firm handling of Alys

Aemond remained focused on his scroll, but his response carried a flirtatious undertone. "I thought you enjoyed a bit of cruelty."

Maera chuckled softly, knowing the effect her next words would have on him. "It depends on the context, issa darys," my king, she teased noticing the way Aemond swallowed at the sound of the High Valyrian words, stirring something deep within him. But her amusement faded as she furrowed her brow in genuine confusion. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? What's changed for you to challenge her so suddenly?" she pressed, her tone tinged with concern.

Aemond's gaze flicked up to meet hers, and after a moment, he closed the scroll with a heavy sigh. “You are right. I have been a fool,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. Rising from his seat, the scrape of the chair against the stone floor echoing in the chamber, he approached her with purpose. “So blinded by notions of the Gods’s Will and their plan for me, that I have allowed you endure great pain.”

Maera felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of his burning gaze, and she averted her eyes, focusing instead on the map spread out before them. She felt his presence behind her, the warmth of his body radiating against her back as he reached out to lightly graze her shoulder, his fingers brushing away stray tendrils of hair to expose the nape of her neck to him. "And in doing so, I've risked losing you," he concluded softly, his warm breath teasing her skin as he leaned closer, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine.

As Aemond's lips brushed delicately against her neck, Maera's breath hitched in her throat, her heart quickening its pace. She felt his arm wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until the Prince's body was firmly pressed against her back.

"Your sense of duty and your drive to better yourself are qualities I admire most about you," Maera breathed, her words tinged with affection, even as Aemond continued to pepper wet kisses along her neck. Despite the sensations coursing through her, she fought to maintain her composure. "But your ambition can sometimes make you arrogant and blind to logic and reason."

Aemond's mouth trailed up to her earlobe, he bit down harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp from Maera. She turned to face him, her hands finding purchase on his chest, while one of his hands settled on her waist and the other threaded through her scalp, lightly tugging on her dark brown curls.

Meeting his gaze, Maera's expression turned serious. “I do not know what she told you of the Gods’s plan for you. In truth I do not wish to know as I do not trust her with every fibre of my being,” she admitted, her frown deepening as she referred to Alys. Aemond responded with a soft hum, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip. With a gentle touch, Maera's hand traced the sharp contours of Aemond's jawline, her touch imbued with a mixture of affection and concern. "But regardless of fate, your place is by my side," she affirmed, her voice filled with unwavering certainty.

Aemond sighed in response, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I am unworthy of you," he confessed, his voice heavy with self-doubt.

A mischievous smile danced across Maera's lips as she met his gaze. "I know," she teased, her tone playful yet affectionate.

Without hesitation, Aemond leaned forward, capturing her lips in a fervent, passionate kiss. Maera melted into his embrace, returning the kiss with equal fervor, their passion igniting like a wildfire as they surrendered to the irresistible pull of desire. His hand found its way to the back of her head, tugging on the roots of her hair so Maera’s head would tilt backwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

The kiss was warm and wet, all teeth and tongue and filled with desperation and lust. It was as if he never wanted to let her go, that he had now finally realised what was a stake. To hell with the Gods, to Hell with fate. There was only her. His Princess. His Wife. Maera attempted to keep up, sliding her tongue against his with equal enthusiasm but found herself breathless and lightheaded. She then felt his strong hands on her backside, lifting her up onto the table, knocking some of the black and green figurines over.

He jammed his knee between her legs, forcing them open and slotted himself between them, never breaking the desperate kiss for even a second. Maera’s hands found the clasps on his doublet and began to undo the buckles frantically, consumed by the need to feel his skin on hers. The Prince in turn began to greedily bunch her skirts in his fists, hiking up the fabric until it sat just above her hips. His calloused palms gripped onto her plush thighs, watching her concentrating on unclasping the very last buckle on his chest before pushing the leather from his shoulders, his white cotton shirt underneath.

Growing impatient, he discarded the remaining barrier to his torso quickly, allowing Maera to run her fingers over the chiseled muscles, licking and biting at the scars that littered his chest, causing him to close his eye and groan. Maera’s fingers descended lower and lower, down his toned stomach before reached the front of his trousers and palming his very obvious bulge through the fabric.

Aemond growled and pulled away for a moment, only to reach behind her and push all the black and green figurines off of the table, the marble objects bouncing off the stone floor below. Maera gasped in surprise and excitement before being roughly pushed back onto the table, her chest heaving beneath her dress as her breathing increased rapidly.

His cock grew impossibly hard at the sight of her like this, so the Prince reached forward and grabbed both of her breasts, eagerly cupping the soft flesh, his hands not being able to grasp them entirely due to their size.

“I have never seen you so beautiful,” he murmured darkly before squeezing the flesh in his palm. “You will look like the Maiden herself when these are full of milk for our child.” Maera’s core clenched at his words and she let out a desperate whine, causing the Prince to smirk at her needy response.

He withdrew for a moment, and Maera propped herself up on her elbows to see him pulling up a chair so he could sit comfortably between her legs. Grabbing her by the ankles, he yanked her towards him and sat down, his violet eye darkening as he fixated on the noticeable wet patch on her smallclothes, before ripping them off her legs and throwing them across the room. Aemond began to press wet kisses against one of her rounded thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where she needed him most before he abruptly switched to her other thigh, indicating that he was going to take his time.

“For fuck’s sake Aemond,” Maera groaned through gritted teeth, her hips practically chasing his face and the back of her head hitting the table in frustration. “Just take me, I need you!”

He leaned forward in his chair, his breath fanning across her bare cunt. “Patience, issa daria,” my queen, he chuckled cruelly, before pressing a feather-light kiss to her dripping centre, causing her to gasp. Aemond then began to deliberately bestow kitten licks on her clit, the pressure hard enough to elicit a gasp, but too light for a release to build. Maera felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his tongue on her pearl but desperate for so much more.

She attempted to compose herself, to not seem so wanting, but that idea left her head the his tongue slipping inside her and tasting her greedily, his sharp nose prodding against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Mmm, the sweetest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms,” he growled against her folds, lapping at her centre frantically as his hands resting on her hips to keep her in place.

The Princess panted as the pleasure began to build in her lower stomach, eyes rolling to the back of her head and hips bucking into Aemond’s face as he continued to feast upon her with practiced eased, groaning obscenities into her slick folds as he savoured the sweet taste. When he moved his tongue to her clit once more , Maera felt his skilled fingers gathering the wetness around her core before plunging two of them deep inside of her.

Her back arched as he immediately found her spongey spot, moving his fingers in a come hither motion, all the while sucking on her sensitive bundle of nerves relentlessly, the knot deep in her stomach winding tighter and tighter. Maera’s plush thighs began to shake and clench around his head, making him continue to press harshly on her hips with his free hand to keep her in place.

Rapidly, her body tensed as an unbelievable high hit her, blinding hot pleasure coursing through her veins, a sweaty sheen forming on her body as she rode out her orgasm against her husband’s mouth. Aemond’s fingers slowed inside her, a contented hum escaping his lips as he took in the sight before him; his wife, red-faced, panting and sweating, all because he had caused her to become undone.

Maera did not have time to think before the air was knocked out of her lungs as her husband sheathed his long, thick cock into her, filling her to the hilt before setting a tempestuous rhythm, thrusting in and out of her as if his life depended on it. The fact that they were doing this here, when just minutes ago they were sat having a meeting made the experience all the more captivating, the thought of it causing Maera to clench around her husband as she moaned his name.

“Fuck,” he groaned in response. “Such a perfect cunt. And it belongs to me.” He adjusted his hips upwards so that his length brushed against the soft spongey spot within, that familiar coil winding itself tighter and tighter once again.

“Gods, Aemond. Please!” She babbled, tears streaming down her face as she was jolted upwards on the table, the slapping sound of skin on skin making her even wetter.

“Tell me who you belong to, sweet wife,” he grunted, slamming his hips faster and faster into her. When Maera’s reply did not come quick enough, he reached between them and used his thumb to rub against her pearl, the sensation sending a jolt up her spine.

She relented between moans. “You, my Prince! I’m yours!”

“And I am yours,” he rambled, his cock bullying the sweet spot inside of her causing her second release to come upon her suddenly, her body convulsing as he fucked her through her high. Maera’s vice-like grip around his cock practically milked him for his seed, squeezing him so tightly that his pace faltered and he came with a deep and guttural grunt, his jaw going slack as he filled her up with his cum.

There was no sound left in the chambers, except the couple’s desperate panting as each of them came down from their high. After a moment, Maera propped herself up on her elbows, smirking as she drank in her husband’s cunt-struck face. Aemond raised a brow at her before abruptly withdrawing his softening cock, the loss of contact causing her to hiss. He then offered his hand and pulled her up, causing her to sit up straight and rest her face upon his bare chest, the rapid beating of his heart pulsing beneath his skin.

Hopping off the table, Maera smoothed down her skirts and combed her hand through her brown and silver curls. She turned to look at the table and felt Aemond’s hand caress her rounded stomach before he pressed a firm kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering a moment before he pulled away. Maera met his gaze and smiled contently before pointing at the table.

“I hope you remember where all the Black and Green figures go, because I don’t.”

Notes: Ok so I went over my word count this chapter, sue me! But definitely after this one it’s two more chapters of Alys, I’m sick of her as well. But hey we got smut so 🤷🏻��♀️

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #prince aemond

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sleeplesssmol · 10 months ago

Text

Schneider returns as a Carbuncle.

This is the first chapter of the Schneider Caruncle fic I've been screwing around with. The whole thing may never make it online, but I can share this bit (until I get embarrassed and delete it).

The story is called Tarocco.

Orange orchards.

Doves in flight.

Bullets and bloodstains.

Her thoughts shifted into abstraction before she could collect them. The river of time flowed steadily and she drifted on its current along with trickles of Dust. How long has she been here? Perhaps she's always been here. It didn't matter since she will never know the answer.

Or so she thought.

A two-dimensional line appeared before her, beckoning her to grab hold. Someone's calling her. She grasped the line and it reeled her out of the currents of time. Dust convened around her, giving her spirit a physical body but it wasn't enough. She needs more before she reaches her destination wherever that might be–

Crimson eyes opened to the sight of a golden spinning wheel. The currents of time were neither cold nor wet as they receded away from her.

“The wheel summoned a Carbuncle?” A voice asked from behind her.

She sprung onto all fours–

Fours. That didn't sound right. She looked down at her chocolate colored paws and then behind her at a ridiculously fluffy tail.

She can't fight like this! She's no bigger than a kitten! How did this happen? She glared at two young women observing her. One's wearing a ridiculous top hat concealing her face. The other had a head of fiery long hair.

“Shall I take care of it, Timekeeper?” The redhead raised her wand. Green eyes honed in on the furball in front of her like a hound on a rabbit.

The Carbuncle extended her claws in response and bared her fangs. She won't go down with a fight against this! This! Old woman!

“That won't be necessary, Sonetto. The wheel must have brought her here for a reason.”

Her words failed to allay the Carbuncle’s hostility. She's been in this situation before. She can't remember when or how, but the feeling of being cornered felt at home in her anxious body.

She's going to slash that stupid hat into ribbons and scratch out her target's eyes the moment she gets closer. If she's lucky, the bodyguard will be too busy helping her friend to chase her while she makes her escape.

Top Hat crouched down on one knee like a prince about to propose. “Hello, my name is Vertin and this is my assistant Sonetto. We're not going to hurt you.” Sonetto nodded but her gaze didn't soften in the slightest. She tensed as Vertin lowered herself within the bristling Critter's reach. Sonetto's free hand gripped the back of Vertin's jacket, ready to yank her away at a moment's notice. What a protective little dog this “Vertin” has.

A memory laced in gold and coated in slime pricked at the back of the Carbuncle's mind but it refused to surface. She's too focused on the opening before her to dwell on them. She approached Vertin cautiously.

The gullible fool extended her hand. “Can you understand us? Nod your head if you can.”

The Carbuncle resisted rolling her eyes. What next, roll over? Play dead? She nodded and nudged the offered hand with her head. Feather light fingertips scratched under her chin in a way that was loathsomely comforting. Stick to the plan. Be strong. She's not a pet! Ugh, this form is messing with her mind and Vertin finding the sweet spot behind her ears wasn't helping her focus. A genuine purr escaped her throat against her will.

“See, Sonetto? She's friendly. We should bring her back with us.”

That snapped her out of her trance.

The Carbuncle locked eyes with her prey, finally able to see past the brim of her hat–

Hair like threaded silver. Tempestuous gray eyes rivaled storm clouds. A sweet splattering of freckles across her nose.

Oh no, she's gorgeous.

Vertin gave a small smile when the Carbuncle nuzzled her hand. “Would you like to come home with me?”

An echo of a memory played in her mind.

“What if I say, I can provide you with shelter?”

The Carbuncle pushed herself into Vertin's arms. Shelter. This person will protect her. She can feel it.

The scent of rain. A red umbrella. A stolen kiss.

Vertin scooped her up and held her against her chest. “I'll take that as a yes. You'll be safe with us while we figure out why you're here.”

The rhythm of Vertin's heart stirred something in the Carbuncle.

“Don't forget my heartbeat on the right.”

The memories slipped away as quietly as it came when Vertin pressed her face into her fluff. An interesting decision for someone she just met. Not that she was complaining.

“She's so soft! Sonetto, you need to feel this.”

Now she's complaining. She hissed as the other girl neared.

Sonetto yanked her hand back. “It appears she only likes you.”

“She'll warm up to you, right?” Vertin said, removing the fluff from her face. “Let's head back with the others and introduce our newest member.”

The introductions to the other members were anticlimactic. It seems as though a Red-Eyed Carbuncle isn't the strangest thing Vertin's brought home.

Vertin gave her a grand tour of her land. Apparently the entire space around them existed in her Suitcase and she provided shelter for her crew of arcanists. She gave them sanctuary like a benevolent lord over their people.

And now Vertin is her lord too.

“And this tower collects Dust,” Vertin explained. The Carbuncle perked up. Maybe if she gathers more Dust she can take on a more useful form! Seeing her excitement, Vertin shifted her in her arms to give her a better view. She knew she was supposed to be admiring the tower but now she's so close to her lord's face.

What a view indeed. Her eyelashes are so long. They reminded her of feathers when she blinked.

“A growing Carbuncle needs their fair share of Dust. I'll make sure you get get your fill.” Ah, what a generous lord. When was the last time someone took care of her? Memories of dollar bills and black coats spilled into her head.

Eleven older sisters. A stressed mother. An unanswered prayer.

She provided for all of them. Does that same family float amongst the currents of time like she did? Her ears flattened against her head as she struggled to put names to blurry faces.

Vertin stroked her head. “Are you alright?”

She isn't.

But she's better off with Vertin for the time being. She'll gather as much Dust as she can until she can find herself again. She purred to assure her keeper that she's fine.

Her lord didn't look convinced. “Maybe Mr. Apple can make a translator for you. He told me stories about a puppy he made one for in the past.”

“Vertin, are you still playing with that Dust bunny?” Regulus shouted from the direction of the main building. The self proclaimed rock pirate raised her shades. Amber eyes settled on the duo. “C'mere and crack open a Dr. Papper with me! It's a new flavor.”

“Ok, but let me show her the orchard first. Last thing, I promise,” Vertin answered. “She's one of us now so she needs the whole tour.”

“She?” Regulus balked. “How can you tell that's a little lady in your arms?”

Vertin looked down at the Carbuncle who met her eyes, just as curious. “I don’t know. It felt right.” She lowered her voice like a guilty child. “Did I get it right or…” The Carbuncle licked her cheek and extinguished her doubts. It's the closest thing to a kiss she can give. “Regulus, did you see that?” Vertin scratched behind her ears again. “I was right. You're such a good girl.”

Tingles ran down her spine. Perhaps life as a Carbuncle isn't so bad.

The burnette shook her head. “Yep, after seeing that I'm convinced that's another girly alright.”

“What do you mean?”

Regulus smirked without elaborating. “Don't keep me waiting too long!” She vanished inside before Vertin could respond.

Vertin tightened her grip on the Carbuncle. “One last stop.”

The orchard had a few different trees. A peach tree, an apple tree, a plum tree. However, near the back was an orange tree.

It smelled like home.

“Do you like this one? It's my favorite too. Tarocco blood oranges. They're supposed to be the sweetest oranges in Sicily.” She walked over to the tree and placed her palm against it with a somber shadow in her eyes. “Sotheby and Druvis made this orchard possible. The trees will bear fruit if we give them a special potion.” She glanced back at her fuzzy friend nestled in her arm. “Although, I'm not sure if you can eat these.”

The Carbuncle would have gasped if she could. She mewled and caressed Vertin's cheek with her own. Simply being near the tree brought her images of a grand orchard. Her…uncle's?

The branches were so high and her hands were so small. An older sister helped her pick the ones out of reach. Another helped her carry the overflowing basket.

The more she struggled the more formless the memories became.

This must be a sign that she is exactly where she is meant to be. Dust, shelter, and bridges to old memories. Vertin was right, she must be here for a reason.

“Are you trying to persuade me by acting sweet?” She received another mewl in response as well as another Carbuncle kiss on her jaw. It worked. “Alright, alright. I'll let you try a tiny bit. If all goes well, you can have more.” She made her way back to the main building. “I never asked your name. Do you have one?”

Probably. But she doesn't remember. She shook her head.

“Is it alright if I give you one for the time being?”

She nodded. Her lord could call her Fuzzball or Pochi for all she cares. As long as Vertin holds her like this, she can be anything. “Tarocco, because you're so sweet.”

It's sappy. Lame. Almost embarrassing.

And it made Tarocco melt in her arms.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 fanfic #good god it has escaped onto Tumblr #vertin #sonetto #schneider #i usually try to follow elements of the main story #this is the first time i've introduced new concepts into a pre-existing world #but Schneider doesn’t exist in that one so i tried

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