#i love this game i should draw more for it

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[hisfavegirl]

The Price Of Loyalty - King!Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary : Your marriage to Aegon should have calmed the feud between your two families, but everything changed when Aegon was crowned king and the news of your brother's death brought you a difficult choice.

Aegon Masterlist.

The weight of your choices pressed heavily on your shoulders, leaving you caught in an impossible web of loyalty and love. As the daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, you had grown up knowing the value of family, honor, and duty. Your mother had been named heir to the Iron Throne by your grandfather, King Viserys, and you had always believed that one day she would ascend to the throne, her birthright fulfilled.

But everything changed after your grandfather’s death.

Your husband, Aegon, had been crowned king in a swift and decisive move orchestrated by his supporters. The very man you had chosen to marry for love had now become the usurper to your mother’s claim. Though you had stood by his side during the coronation, the guilt in your heart had been overwhelming, each cheer from the crowd feeling like a dagger to your soul.

Now, as you sat beside Aegon in the Red Keep, his crown glinting in the candlelight, the weight of your decision felt suffocating. Your love for him had once felt unshakable, a bond strong enough to withstand the chaos of your divided family. But now? Now you weren’t sure if love could bridge the chasm that had formed between your duty to your mother and your devotion to your husband.

The guilt clawed at you relentlessly. I’ve betrayed her, you thought bitterly, your fingers curling into fists on your lap. My own mother. The woman who raised me, who trusted me, who believed in me. How could I stand by Aegon’s side and allow this to happen? How could I let him take what is hers?

Yet, when you looked at Aegon, you saw more than just a usurper. You saw the man who had held you in his arms on countless nights, who had whispered promises of love and devotion. He hadn’t asked to be king; the crown had been thrust upon him by those who sought to secure their power. You knew he was as much a pawn in this game as you were. And despite everything, you still loved him.

But love alone wasn’t enough to silence the voice in your heart that cried out for justice for your mother.

You were trapped in the middle of a war you never wanted to fight, a war between your two families, both of whom you loved deeply. And as much as you tried to justify your actions, to tell yourself that you were trying to prevent more bloodshed, the truth was undeniable: by staying with Aegon, you had chosen a side. And it wasn’t your mother’s.

Tears stung your eyes as you turned to look at Aegon, who was engrossed in a discussion with his council. He caught your gaze and gave you a small, tired smile, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You returned the smile weakly, but your mind was far from at ease.

What will you do, Mother? Will you ever forgive me? And… can I forgive myself?

The heavy oak doors creaked open, drawing the attention of everyone in the council chamber. The sound cut through the quiet murmur of discussion, and all eyes turned toward the figure entering the room. Aemond stood there, drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from his armor and pooling at his feet. His long silver hair clung to his face, and his single eye burned with intensity.

Your heart sank the moment you saw him. There was something in his demeanor—an edge, a tension—that immediately unsettled you. He avoided your gaze entirely, his expression cold and unreadable, and instead fixed his eye on Aegon, your husband and the newly crowned king.

“I’ve secured Lord Borros Baratheon’s support,” Aemond declared, his voice low but steady. The words echoed in the chamber, and for a moment, the room was silent, processing the weight of what he had just said.

The council members exchanged glances, some murmuring approval, others nodding in acknowledgment. Aegon straightened in his seat, his expression betraying a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Good,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. “We need Storm’s End on our side.”

But you couldn’t shake the unease that settled in your chest. Something about Aemond’s posture, his refusal to meet your eyes, made you feel like there was more to his story than he was letting on. Your gaze lingered on him, searching for any sign of what might be wrong, but he remained stoic, unflinching under the scrutiny of the room.

Aegon leaned forward slightly, his tone curious but cautious. “How did it go? Was it a straightforward agreement?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, his mask slipped. “Lord Borros agreed to our cause,” he said curtly, his tone clipped, almost dismissive. “He will not side with Rhaenyra.”

Your stomach churned at the mention of your mother’s name. Every decision, every alliance, every movement in this war seemed to push you further and further from her. And now, with Storm’s End backing Aegon, the divide felt even greater.

But your unease only grew as you continued to watch Aemond. There was something he wasn’t saying, a heaviness in his demeanor that suggested more than just the weight of his mission. You wanted to speak, to ask him directly what had happened, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to remain calm, not with the tension between your family and your husband already pulling you apart.

Aegon, however, didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent in his brother’s tone. “Well done, Aemond,” he said, nodding in approval. “Your efforts will not go unnoticed.”

Aemond simply inclined his head, but his eye flickered briefly toward you, as if he could feel your stare. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and you knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came to light.

Your voice broke the tense silence in the room, trembling but firm. “Aemond,” you asked, your gaze fixed on him, “is there something you’re not telling us?”

The question hung in the air like a sword poised to strike, and for a moment, the chamber fell deathly quiet. You saw it immediately—his body stiffened, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Aemond’s refusal to meet your eyes only deepened the pit forming in your stomach.

Aegon turned to you, his brows furrowing. “Why would you ask that?” he questioned, his tone tinged with curiosity and caution. His words, however, barely registered with you. Your gaze never left Aemond, the unspoken weight in his posture filling you with dread.

The tension in the room grew unbearable as Aemond finally looked up, his eye filled with a mix of regret and defiance. His lips parted, and the words that came out made the world around you crumble.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he began, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way… but Luke is dead. Vhagar—she killed him. I… I couldn’t stop it.”

The words slammed into you like a physical blow. Your knees buckled, and if it weren’t for Aegon’s arm instinctively reaching out to steady you, you would have collapsed on the cold stone floor. Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as you struggled to process what he had just said.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice barely audible. “No, that can’t be true. Not Luke. Not my brother…”

Aemond’s face was pale, his expression a mix of guilt and torment. “I only meant to frighten him,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter with each word. “But Vhagar—she didn’t listen. She… she acted on her own.”

Your mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. Your little brother, Luke, had been sent to Storm’s End as a messenger, unarmed and trusting the ancient laws of guest right to protect him. And now he was gone—killed by your brother-in-law, your husband’s brother.

The council erupted into chaos, voices overlapping as accusations and questions flew across the room. But you could barely hear them. All you could focus on was the ache in your chest, the unbearable grief that came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Your eyes burned with tears as you looked at Aemond, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “You killed him,” you choked out. “You killed my little brother, Aemond. How could you? How could you do this to him? To me?”

Aemond flinched at your words, his guilt evident, but he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his eye downcast, as though bracing himself for the storm he had unleashed.

Beside you, Aegon’s face darkened, his grip on your arm tightening as he tried to steady both you and himself. “Aemond,” he said sharply, his voice laced with disbelief and anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

But Aemond didn’t respond. He simply stood there, his silence more damning than any words could have been.

You pulled away from Aegon’s grasp, tears streaming down your face as you looked between the two of them. Your heart was shattered, your world crumbling around you. And in that moment, the love and loyalty you had felt for your husband and his family felt like a cruel betrayal of your own blood.

Luke was gone. And nothing would ever be the same again.

You sank back into your chair, the strength draining from your body as if the weight of Aemond’s confession had crushed you. Around you, the room was a cacophony of raised voices. Alicent’s sharp tone cut through the air, her words laced with panic and anger.

“Aemond! Do you realize what you’ve done? This will spark war! There’s no undoing this!” she cried, her voice trembling with the gravity of the situation.

Otto’s voice joined hers, cold and calculated, though no less furious. “You’ve doomed us all! There’s no explaining this away. Rhaenyra will demand vengeance.”

But their words faded into the background, muffled by the roar of your own thoughts. Your body felt numb, as if the world had shifted around you and left you behind. Luke. Sweet, gentle Luke. Your little brother, who always tried so hard to prove himself, who had looked up to you with those innocent eyes.

No matter that your fathers were different—he was still your blood, your family. And now, he was gone. Taken in the most brutal way imaginable.

You shook your head slowly, your tears falling freely as your chest tightened with grief and rage. This isn’t real, you told yourself, clinging to denial even as the truth stared you in the face. This can’t be happening. Luke can’t be gone.

You forced your eyes to meet Aemond’s, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a boy,” you said, the words trembling with pain. “Aemond… he was just a boy. My brother.”

For a moment, Aemond’s hardened expression cracked, guilt flickering in his eye. But he didn’t speak. What could he say? What words could undo the horror of what he had done?

Your hands trembled in your lap as you tried to breathe, tried to find some semblance of control. But it was impossible. The council’s shouts, Alicent’s cries, Otto’s harsh reprimands—they all blurred together into a suffocating storm.

And in the eye of it all, you sat there, shattered and silent, the enormity of your loss weighing on you like a stone.

The room spun around you, the chaos and grief overwhelming your senses. Every sound—Alicent’s frantic cries, Otto’s cold reprimands, the murmur of the council—blurred together into a deafening roar in your mind. Your chest felt tight, your breaths shallow, as the weight of what you’d just heard bore down on you.

Luke was gone.

Your hands clutched the arms of your chair as you struggled to hold on, but your vision blurred, and the pounding in your head grew unbearable. Somewhere through the haze, you heard Aegon’s voice calling your name, laced with concern. “Love?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The world tilted further, the edges of your vision going dark, until everything around you slipped away entirely.

Before your body could hit the cold stone floor, Aegon’s arms were there, catching you just in time. His voice grew more panicked as he cradled you against his chest, shaking you gently in an attempt to wake you. “Love?Wake up, please!”

The council chamber fell silent, the weight of the moment settling over everyone. Alicent rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your face, her worry evident. “Call the maesters!” she commanded sharply, her voice cracking.

Aegon held you tightly, his heart pounding as he looked down at your pale face. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his tone soft and desperate, as if trying to will you back to consciousness. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

But deep down, he knew this was just the beginning of the storm.

Aegon’s arms tightened around you as he lifted you from the chair, cradling your limp body close to his chest. His jaw was clenched, his expression a mixture of fear and anger as he looked down at you. “Out of my way!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the council chamber.

The gathered lords quickly stepped aside, startled by the king’s sudden outburst. Alicent followed closely behind, her face pale and drawn with worry. “Move!” she barked at the lingering servants in the hallway as Aegon stormed past them, his pace quick and determined.

“Love,” Aegon muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. “Stay with me. Please.” His words were more for himself than for you, a desperate plea to keep himself calm as he carried you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep.

Reaching your shared chambers, Aegon kicked the doors open with force, not waiting for the guards to assist him. He laid you gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your face as he checked for any sign of movement. “Send for the maesters!” he roared, his voice carrying through the halls.

Alicent stood at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together, her worry etched into every line of her face. “She’s overwhelmed,” Alicent said softly, trying to reassure herself as much as her son. “She’s strong, Aegon. She’ll be all right.”

But Aegon didn’t look convinced. He brushed the damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes filled with guilt and fear. “She shouldn’t have to bear this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “None of this.”

As Alicent moved to his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Aegon stayed rooted by your side, refusing to leave you for even a moment. The room was tense, silent but for the hurried footsteps of the maester approaching, as everyone waited with bated breath for you to wake.

As the maester carefully checked your condition, his face softened, his hands gentle as he examined you. After a few moments of silence, he finally looked up, relief in his eyes. "Her grace is in shock, but both she and the child are unharmed. She just needs rest.”

The words hit Aegon like a bolt of lightning, his heart suddenly racing. “A child?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief, as if hearing it again might change the reality of it.

Alicent, standing beside him, locked eyes with him for a brief moment, her expression unreadable. She, too, seemed to absorb the weight of what the maester had said.

Aegon’s gaze shifted back to you, his heart hammering in his chest. A fourth child? The realization slowly sank in, the news stirring a mix of emotions he wasn’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t even known, and you hadn’t yet told him. His mind swirled with thoughts of what this meant—what it meant for you, for him, for the future of your family.

Alicent, ever the observer, seemed to notice Aegon’s sudden shift. “She needs rest, Aegon,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “All of you do.”

Aegon nodded, though his mind was far away, processing the weight of everything happening all at once. The shock of Luke’s death, your collapse, the revelation of another child—his child—swirled together in an overwhelming cloud.

He brushed a hand gently over your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. “You never told me,” he murmured, his voice strained with a mix of concern and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “But we’ll get through this together. I swear it.”

Alicent, still standing at the edge of the room, watched the two of you in silence, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. She, too, understood that this moment was more than just a physical shock for you—it was the beginning of a new, complicated chapter for all of you.

Aegon stayed by your side, not wanting to leave you even for a moment, but his mind was already working—thinking of the future, of what lay ahead for your family. The revelation that you were carrying another child was unexpected, but now it was another piece of the puzzle he would have to navigate, alongside everything else.

As the hours passed, Aegon remained at your side, unwavering. He refused to leave you, even as the sounds of the bustling castle—of the council, of the kingdom—echoed in the distance. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, but still, he stayed with you, his hand clasped around yours, never letting go.

He sat beside your bed, his eyes never straying far from your face, watching you with a mix of love and worry. His gaze was heavy with sadness, as though each second without you awake was a new weight upon his heart. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional shift of his chair as he adjusted himself to remain close to you.

“Please wake up,” Aegon whispered, his voice soft and broken, as though speaking to you too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between you. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, a comforting gesture, even though his own heart felt torn in two. “I need you to be all right. We need you.”

He didn’t care about the council waiting for him, or the duties of a king that pressed on him. The majesty of the throne, the whispers of war—none of that mattered. Not when you were here, lying motionless before him. His heart ached to think of you in pain, of the turmoil inside you from the loss of Luke, and now the unexpected discovery of your pregnancy.

The news of the child, the fourth you were carrying, had brought both a strange sense of hope and a looming shadow. The uncertainty of what this meant, especially with the chaos around you, was almost too much to bear.

But he had to hold on. He had to stay strong for you. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t lose this child. You were his world, and even if the entire kingdom collapsed around them, he would not let go of this fleeting moment of peace with you.

He kissed your hand gently, his lips brushing against your skin, and whispered once more, his voice barely audible. “Please come back to me.”

Aegon’s refusal to leave your side was absolute, even in the face of Alicent’s urgent suggestion. Her voice, usually steady and authoritative, trembled with concern as she turned to him. “Aegon, the council is waiting. You must be there. The kingdom—your kingdom—needs you.”

But Aegon, his brow furrowed and his expression soft with worry, shook his head, his eyes not leaving you. “I can’t, Mother,” he said firmly, his voice strained. “I can’t leave her, not like this.”

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering between her son and you. She understood his devotion to you, but the pressure of the throne loomed large, and the weight of his responsibilities was undeniable. “Aegon, you are king now. The kingdom does not stop for anyone. You must go.”

His eyes flashed with a quiet intensity. “No. I won’t leave her side. You go. You’re the one who should be there. Lead the council, Mother.” His words were a command, but there was a softness in his tone—an undeniable plea that his family could understand. His loyalty to you, his need to be there in case you woke, was more important than any political discussion or royal decree.

Alicent stood in silence for a moment, her eyes flickering between the two of you. Her face softened, understanding the depths of her son’s emotions, even if she didn’t agree with his decision. She sighed, the burden of the crown heavy on her shoulders as she gave a small nod. “I will return shortly,” she said, her voice resigned. “But you must be strong for your people, Aegon.”

He nodded, but his focus never wavered. He turned his attention back to you, his hand still holding yours, his gaze filled with nothing but concern. The room around him, the weight of his title, the kingdom that needed him—all of that faded into the background.

In this moment, it was just you and him. And he wouldn’t leave until you were awake.

Your eyes fluttered open, the light in the room momentarily blinding as you tried to focus. The blurred shape of Aegon sitting beside you became clearer, his face pale but filled with relief. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand, still holding yours, tightened its grip slightly as he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Thank the gods. I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if to banish the thought.

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured you, his tone soft but firm. “You and… and the babe.”

At the mention of a baby, your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face. “B-babe?” you murmured, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your free hand instinctively moved to your abdomen, your eyes searching his for answers.

“Yes,” Aegon said, his lips curling into a hesitant smile. “The maester confirmed it. You’re carrying our fourth child.” His tone was filled with awe, though it was tinged with a hint of worry as well.

The news left you stunned. You hadn’t known. In the chaos of recent days, you hadn’t even considered the possibility. Your heart raced as the realization sank in—another child, another life growing inside you, amidst all the turmoil surrounding your family.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Aegon leaned closer, his hand now cupping your face gently. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re both safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only brought a mix of emotions swirling inside you—joy, fear, and uncertainty, all colliding as you tried to process everything. You looked into his eyes, searching for the strength you needed, even as the storm outside these walls continued to rage.

You lay in bed beside Aegon, his arms wrapped around you tightly, almost as if he feared you might slip away. His embrace was firm yet tender, his hand possessively resting on your back while his fingers gently stroked your hair. You leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a small source of comfort amidst the chaos in your mind.

Luke’s death lingered in your thoughts, the pain sharp and unrelenting. The image of your little brother, gone too soon, was something you couldn’t shake. It didn’t feel real, and yet the weight of it pressed down on you, leaving you feeling hollow. The grief was overwhelming, and now, with the shocking revelation of your pregnancy, your emotions swirled in a chaotic storm.

Aegon’s hand moved slowly through your hair, his touch soothing yet possessive, as though he wanted to shield you from the pain of the world outside. “I’m here,” he whispered softly, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks as you buried your face against his chest. His words were meant to comfort, but they only reminded you of the fragile reality you were living in. The man holding you was your husband, your love, but also the one who had taken your mother’s birthright and whose brother had caused the death of your own.

“I… I don’t know what to feel, Aegon,” you admitted, your voice cracking as the tears continued to fall. “Luke is gone. He’s really gone. And now this—this child. I didn’t even know. How am I supposed to face all of this?”

Aegon’s arms tightened around you protectively, his lips pressing against the top of your head. “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his own heart. “I’ll be here, no matter what. For you, for the baby. I swear it.”

His words were sincere, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your heart or the doubts clouding your mind. You wanted to believe him, to find solace in his presence, but the weight of everything that had happened was too much to bear. You simply stayed there, letting his warmth envelop you, holding onto the only thing that felt solid in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you.

The morning light filtered softly through the windows as you stood in front of the mirror, preparing yourself to join Aegon at the council meeting. Despite the heaviness in your heart, you knew your place as his wife, by his side, was expected of you. You adjusted your gown with trembling hands, the memory of the previous day still fresh and raw in your mind.

As you were fastening the last clasp, the door to your chambers opened, and Alicent entered. Her expression was calm but firm, her eyes filled with both concern and authority. She approached you quickly, placing a gentle hand on your arm.

“You shouldn’t push yourself, my dear,” she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of motherly care. “You need rest. The events of yesterday have already taken a toll on you, and now, with the child…”

“I’m fine, Mother,” you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. You avoided her gaze, focusing instead on smoothing the fabric of your dress. “I need to be there with Aegon. He shouldn’t face this alone.”

Alicent sighed, her grip on your arm tightening slightly. “Aegon is already at the council. They called for him early this morning. He didn’t want to wake you—he said you needed the rest.” Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “He’s worried about you. We all are. You must take care of yourself, for your sake and the baby’s.”

Hearing that Aegon had left without saying goodbye made your chest tighten. You understood his reasons, but it didn’t lessen the sting of his absence. Still, you tried to compose yourself, turning back to Alicent with a faint, weary smile.

“I need to show my strength,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. “If I don’t stand beside him, what message does that send?”

Alicent shook her head gently, her expression firm but understanding. “Your strength is not in attending a meeting today. It’s in preserving yourself and your child. Let Aegon handle the council—he knows where your heart is. Rest, my dear. That’s an order from your mother, not the queen dowager.”

Her words left little room for argument, and though part of you wanted to resist, you found yourself nodding slowly. The weight of everything—the grief, the pregnancy, the tension between the two sides of your family—was too much to carry all at once. Perhaps Alicent was right. Perhaps rest was what you needed most.

“I’ll stay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alicent smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Good. I’ll have the maester check on you later, and I’ll make sure Aegon comes to see you as soon as the meeting is done.”

With that, she guided you gently back toward the bed, her presence steady and reassuring, even as the world outside seemed to spiral further into chaos.

As Alicent’s footsteps faded away, you found yourself alone in the quiet of your chambers. The weight of her words lingered, but so did the unresolved turmoil in your heart. You turned your gaze toward the papers scattered on your desk, your thoughts drifting to your mother.

Rhaenyra.

Her name brought a pang of longing and guilt. The mother who had raised you, who had fought so hard for her family’s place in the realm, now betrayed by her own daughter—or so it must seem to her. The thought twisted painfully inside you, and you couldn’t bear it any longer.

Slowly, you sat down at your desk, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment toward you. The quill felt heavy in your hand as you dipped it into the ink, but determination settled in your heart. You couldn’t remain silent any longer.

The words came slowly at first, but as your emotions poured out, the ink flowed more freely.

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, though I fear the news it carries will bring no comfort.

It pains me to write to you after so much has happened between our family. I know my decision to remain by Aegon’s side must feel like a betrayal, and I will not deny the conflict in my heart. I am torn between the love I hold for you, the loyalty I owe as your daughter, and the vows I made to my husband.

Mother, I never wished for this division. I never wanted to see our family torn apart. I thought… I hoped that my union with Aegon might bring peace, might heal the rift between us. But I see now that I was naive.

The news I must share now is unbearable: Luke… he is gone. Aemond’s actions have taken him from us. He claims it was not intentional, but the result is the same. My little brother, your son, is dead. And I… I can hardly breathe under the weight of it.

I write to you not only in grief but also in hope. Hope that you will understand the impossible position I find myself in. Hope that, despite everything, you can forgive me for the choices I have made. And hope that one day, when this storm has passed, we may find our way back to one another.

I also must tell you this—I am with child again. I did not know until yesterday, and the news has shaken me deeply. This child, born into a world divided by blood and war, is both a source of joy and fear for me.

Mother, please know that I love you. I always have, and I always will.

With all my heart,

Your daughter

You set the quill down, your hands trembling as you folded the parchment. Sealing it with wax, you hesitated for a moment before summoning a servant.

“Take this to Dragonstone,” you instructed quietly. “Deliver it to my mother.”

The servant nodded and left swiftly, leaving you alone once more. You let out a shaky breath, unsure of how your mother would receive your words—but at least now she would know your heart.

The faint sound of footsteps approaching your chambers reached your ears again. This time, as the door opened, a line of servants entered carrying trays laden with food. The aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and warm honeyed wine filled the room.

“My queen, His Grace ordered this for you,” one of the servants said, bowing respectfully.

A small smile graced your lips at the thoughtfulness of Aegon. “Thank you,” you said softly, motioning for them to set the trays on the table near your bed.

As the servants arranged the food and quietly exited, you sat down and began eating. Though your appetite had been dulled by the events of the previous day, you knew you needed to keep your strength up, especially now. The warmth of the food comforted you slightly, a reminder of Aegon’s care even in his absence.

Just as you set your cup down, the sound of laughter echoed faintly through the corridor. You froze for a moment, recognizing the familiar voices of your children—Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor.

Their carefree giggles and playful banter filled the space outside your chambers, growing louder as they neared. Despite the weight in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. Their joy was a balm to your sorrow, a reminder of the innocence and love that still existed within your family.

The door creaked open, and the three of them peeked inside, their silver hair glinting in the morning light. Jaehaerys, the eldest, was the first to speak. “Mother! Are you feeling better?”

Jaehara quickly followed, her soft voice filled with concern. “Father told us to let you rest, but we wanted to see you.”

Before you could answer, little Maelor ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “We missed you,” he mumbled into your skirts.

Your heart swelled as you reached down to pull him into your lap, brushing his hair gently. “I missed you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “All of you.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehara joined Maelor by your side, each holding one of your hands. For a moment, the heaviness lifted, replaced by the warmth of their presence. You couldn’t protect Luke, but you would do everything in your power to protect them and the life growing within you.

“Are you staying with us today, Mother?” Jaehara asked hopefully.

“Yes,” you said firmly, kissing the top of her head. “I’m staying right here.”

Their smiles and laughter brought a glimmer of hope to your heart, reminding you that even in the darkest times, there was still light to hold on to.

As you held Maelor in your lap, you looked at your children, your heart full of mixed emotions. The silence lingered for a moment as they exchanged surprised glances, unsure if they had heard you correctly.

“You’re going to have another sibling?” Jaehaerys asked cautiously, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You nodded slowly, your voice soft but filled with a sense of reassurance. “Yes, I’m going to have another baby.”

There was a pause, the weight of your words hanging in the air, before Jaehaerys and Jaehara exchanged a quick glance. Then, without warning, they both burst into wide smiles, their faces lighting up with joy.

“Another sibling? Really?” Jaehara exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes! We’re going to be a bigger family!” Jaehaerys added, excitement in his voice.

The next moment, the three of them erupted into happy laughter and cheers, their enthusiasm filling the room. “We’re going to have a little brother or sister!” Maelor shouted, his arms thrown in the air as he wiggled happily in your lap.

Their joy was infectious, and despite the heaviness in your heart, you couldn’t help but smile. The sounds of their laughter—genuine, innocent joy—warmed you, reminding you of the love that still surrounded you, even in the midst of turmoil.

Jaehaerys leaned closer, his eyes shining with excitement. “Will it be a brother or a sister, Mother?”

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I don’t know yet. But either way, we’ll love them just the same.”

Jaehara nodded eagerly, her eyes full of excitement. “I hope it’s a little sister!”

Maelor, not wanting to be left out, bounced in your lap. “I want a little brother! We can play together!”

Their innocence and happiness brought a small tear to your eye, and you hugged Maelor closer to you. “I love you all so much,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“We love you too, Mother!” they all chorused in unison, their smiles as bright as ever.

For a brief moment, the world outside your room seemed far away, and you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of your children’s love. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew that with them by your side—and the new life growing inside you—you would find a way through.

The sound of your children’s laughter filled the room, each of them fully immersed in their play. Maelor was making his dragon toy soar through the air with dramatic flair, while Jaehaerys swung his wooden sword in a mock battle, his face set with fierce determination. Jaehara sat beside you, her beloved doll clutched tightly in her arms, smiling as she watched her brothers.

You watched them with a sense of warmth, the pure joy on their faces melting the heaviness in your chest. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago, everything had seemed so uncertain, and now—at least in this room—peace reigned.

Suddenly, your gaze shifted toward the door, where you saw Aegon standing. He looked weary, as though the weight of the day had settled heavily on his shoulders. His face was drawn, but when he heard the sound of his children’s voices calling his name, his tired expression softened into a smile.

“Father!” Jaehaerys shouted, running toward him with his wooden sword still raised. “I’m practicing to be a knight!”

Aegon knelt down as Jaehaerys reached him, his smile broadening. “A knight, huh?” he chuckled, taking the sword from his son’s hands and inspecting it. “You’ll make a fine one someday.”

Jaehara, her eyes twinkling, ran to him next, holding out her doll. “Look, Father, she’s ready for a party!” she giggled, her voice filled with excitement.

Aegon took the doll gently and placed it on his shoulder, playing along. “A very beautiful party,” he said with a smile, before looking over at Maelor, who had come running up to him.

“Maelor, what have you been up to?” Aegon asked, crouching down to his son’s level.

Maelor held up his dragon toy proudly. “It’s flying to battle, just like you!” he declared.

Aegon laughed, his hand resting on Maelor’s head. “A dragon to fight for me, huh? I think that’s exactly what I need.”

You watched the interaction, your heart swelling with a bittersweet sense of love and longing. Aegon, despite the burdens he carried as king, still found time to be present for his children, to be the father they needed.

Seeing him like this—his tiredness forgotten in the warmth of their joy—reminded you of the strength he held. No matter the troubles that weighed on your family, this moment, these small moments of peace and happiness, were worth fighting for.

Aegon glanced over at you, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. Without saying a word, he walked toward you, the children trailing behind.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, sitting down beside you on the bed. His gaze lingered on you, tender and concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “Just… trying to make sense of everything.”

Aegon nodded, his expression serious for a moment before his children distracted him once again.

“Father, will you play with us?” Jaehaerys asked, his wooden sword raised high, eager for another round of pretend battle.

Aegon chuckled, his earlier exhaustion melting away at the sight of his children’s faces. “Of course,” he said, getting up to join them. “Let’s see if we can defeat the dragons together.”

You smiled softly, your heart full, watching your family in that simple, precious moment. Even in the midst of uncertainty, love had a way of grounding you. And as long as you had them—your children, your husband—you would face whatever came next together.

As the evening settled in, you gently guided your children toward their rooms, their playful energy finally starting to fade after hours of fun. The laughter and joy that had filled your chambers still echoed in your heart, but it was time for rest.

Jaehaerys, Jaehara, and Maelor walked beside you, their steps slowing as the exhaustion from the day caught up with them. You could tell that they were ready to fall asleep, their small bodies heavy with the weight of the day’s excitement.

You reached Jaehaerys’ bed first, and he climbed into bed with a yawn. “Goodnight, Mother,” he said sleepily, his eyes already half-closed.

You kissed his forehead gently, smoothing his hair back. “Goodnight, my brave knight,” you whispered. “Sleep well.”

Jaehara followed next, snuggling under her covers. “I hope my doll has sweet dreams,” she murmured, clutching the little toy you had given her.

You leaned over and kissed her forehead as well, her peaceful face making your heart swell. “Goodnight, my sweet princess,” you whispered softly, tucking the blanket around her. “May your dreams be full of joy.”

Lastly, Maelor, always the most energetic, climbed into his bed with a bright smile. “I’ll dream about dragons and knights!” he announced enthusiastically.

You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Goodnight, my little dragon,” you said, your voice warm and full of love. “Dream of wonderful adventures.”

With the last kiss given and the children tucked safely in their beds, you stood for a moment, taking in the sight of them all sleeping soundly. The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of their breathing, and a deep sense of peace filled your heart.

As you made your way toward the door, you cast one final glance at each of them, a quiet promise in your heart to protect them and give them the love and security they deserved, no matter the turmoil surrounding your family.

You slowly closed the door behind you and made your way back to Aegon, your steps quieter now, your heart filled with a quiet strength.

The dimly lit corridor was eerily silent as you walked back toward your chambers. The soft sound of your footsteps echoed faintly against the stone walls, but there was something else—a feeling you couldn’t shake. It was as if unseen eyes were watching your every move.

You stopped abruptly, your heart racing as you turned to look behind you. The long hallway stretched empty, shrouded in shadows. There was no one there, just the cold stillness of the Red Keep. Yet, the sense of being watched didn’t fade.

A shiver ran down your spine, and unease settled heavily in your chest. You quickened your pace, your hand instinctively resting on the small bump of your stomach, as though to shield the life within you.

But just as your chambers came into view, a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping your arm tightly. You gasped, barely able to react before you were yanked back, the world around you plunging into blackness.

For a moment, there was only silence, darkness, and the cold press of fear.

Your vision blurred as you blinked repeatedly, trying to clear your thoughts. The memory of the hand pulling you into the darkness replayed in your mind, leaving a lingering chill. Slowly, your surroundings began to come into focus, and you recognized the room you were in—a room you hadn’t seen in years.

It was your old chamber in Dragonstone. The familiar scent of salt and ash filled the air, the stone walls weathered yet comforting in their simplicity. This was where you had grown up, where you had once felt safe.

Before you could process how you had come to be here, the door creaked open. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze fell upon the two figures standing there.

Your father, Daemon, was the first to step forward, his sharp eyes scanning you with concern and a flicker of anger. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gesture as natural to him as breathing. Beside him stood your mother, Rhaenyra, her face a mixture of relief and worry. Her gaze softened as she took a step closer, her voice breaking the tense silence.

“My sweet girl,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re safe now.”

Your heart raced as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. “Mother? Father? How…?” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he spoke, his tone cold yet protective. “You were taken from under their noses. And now, you’re home.”

The realization of where you were and what they meant washed over you like a tidal wave. Home. But what did this mean for Aegon? For your children? And the precarious balance you had tried so desperately to maintain?

Your hands trembled as you looked between your parents, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “What have you done?” you whispered, fear and confusion gripping your heart.

In the early hours of the morning, Aegon awoke to find your side of the bed empty. At first, he assumed you were with the children or tending to something trivial, but as the minutes passed and you did not return, a strange unease settled over him.

He called out for you, your name echoing in the quiet chambers, but there was no response. Throwing on his robe, he strode into the corridors, his steps quick and purposeful. He headed first to the children’s chambers, thinking you might still be there.

When he entered, he found Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor sleeping soundly in their beds. His chest tightened as he quietly checked each room, hoping you might be there, but there was no sign of you.

“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, his unease growing with every passing moment.

He summoned the guards and servants, demanding answers. “Find her,” he barked, his voice sharp with desperation. “Search every corner of the Red Keep.”

They scattered quickly, their torches flickering as they began the search. Aegon himself roamed the halls, his mind racing with fear and anger. You had been by his side just last night, safe and sound. How could you simply vanish?

By the time the sun began to rise, there was still no sign of you. Aegon returned to your chambers, pacing back and forth as his thoughts consumed him. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed a fist against the table.

“She wouldn’t leave,” he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself. “Not without the children. Not without a word.”

His mind flashed to the political tensions, the threats looming over the realm. Had someone taken you? Had his enemies dared to harm you or use you against him?

Determined and frantic, he ordered a full investigation. He would not rest until you were found. His love for you and his growing fear fueled his resolve, and he silently vowed to bring you back, no matter what it took.

Your gaze darted between your mother and father, the weight of their presence suffocating. You took a deep breath, steadying your voice as you spoke. “You shouldn’t have brought me here. This will only make things worse.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his piercing eyes blazing with anger. He stepped forward, his tone sharp and accusing. “Worse? Worse is watching my daughter betray her own blood! Worse is seeing the daughter I raised, the dragon I cherished, stand with the Greens and that usurper instead of her own kin!”

His words hit you like a dagger, but you stood your ground. “I did not betray you!” you shot back, your voice trembling but firm. “Do you truly think so little of me? That I would abandon you, abandon Mother, abandon my brothers? I have been there trying to stop a war, trying to make peace!”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her expression softer but no less pained. “Peace?” she repeated, her voice laden with disbelief. “While the Greens plot against us, while they take what is rightfully mine? Tell me, daughter, how does peace look when it is built on the ashes of betrayal?”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you refused to back down. “I stayed because I believed that my presence could temper Aegon’s actions, could prevent him from making decisions that would lead to bloodshed! I stayed because I thought I could be a bridge between us, not a wedge driven deeper into the divide!”

Daemon scoffed, his expression hardening. “And what did that achieve? Lucerys is dead. Your little brother was slaughtered, and you expect me to believe you were making things better?”

The mention of Luke’s name broke something inside you, and tears welled in your eyes. “Do you think I don’t grieve him?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Do you think I don’t feel the weight of his death every moment? I didn’t know… I didn’t know what Aemond would do."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly, but Daemon’s anger only burned brighter. “You chose them,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You chose the Greens over your mother, over your brothers. And now, you’re here, and you will stay. There is no going back to him. To them.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you felt the ground beneath you shift. Torn between the family you were born into and the family you had built, you realized the chasm between the two had grown too wide, and you were caught in the middle, with no escape in sight.

You reached out and grasped your father’s hand, your grip trembling but firm. “Father, please,” you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. “I can’t stay here. I can’t leave my children behind. They need me. Aegon needs me. And… I’m carrying another child.”

For a moment, you saw a flicker of hesitation in Daemon’s eyes, a brief crack in the unyielding mask of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He pulled his hand away, his expression hardening further.

“It changes nothing,” he said coldly. “You think that carrying his child excuses the choices you’ve made? That it absolves you of standing with the usurper while he sits on your mother’s throne?”

“Father,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I didn’t choose to abandon this family. I didn’t choose for any of this to happen. But my children are innocent in all of this, and I cannot—will not—leave them.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You speak of innocence, yet you stand by the man who let Lucerys die, who let Aemond walk free after slaughtering your brother.”

Your heart twisted in anguish. “I didn’t know,” you said, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know what Aemond would do. If I had known…”

“But you stayed,” Daemon interrupted, his voice rising. “You stayed after they crowned him. After they declared war on this family. You stayed, and now you dare to plead for mercy?”

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, her gaze locked on you. There was a trace of sorrow in her eyes, but also a determination that mirrored her husband’s. “You are my daughter,” she said softly, “and I love you. But your place is here, with your family. Not with the man who sits on my throne.”

Your legs felt weak, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If you keep me here, it will only cause more pain—for everyone.”

But Daemon stepped forward, his voice final. “You are not leaving, not now, not ever. Whatever bond you think ties you to him is nothing compared to your duty to your true family. You will stay, and that is the end of it.”

The weight of his words crushed you, and you realized that no amount of pleading or reasoning would sway him. You were trapped, torn between two worlds, and there was no escape.

You sank to the cold stone floor as the sound of the lock clicking echoed through the room, sealing your fate. The tears came silently, hot and unrelenting, as you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in your own embrace. Your trembling hands moved to your stomach, gently cradling the life growing within you.

You stroked your belly softly, your whispers barely audible in the quiet room. “I’m so sorry,” you murmured, the weight of your anguish pressing down on you. “I promised to protect all of you… I promised.”

Your thoughts drifted to Aegon, imagining him back in the Red Keep, searching for you, his frustration and worry mounting with every passing moment. You could see his face so clearly—his exhaustion, his fear for you, and the quiet tenderness he always reserved for you in private.

Would he know where you had gone? Would he realize you’d been taken?

Your tears fell harder as you thought of your children. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor—how would they understand your sudden absence? You could almost hear Maelor’s small, confused voice asking for you, or Jaehaera clutching her doll and waiting for your goodnight kiss.

“I can’t stay here,” you whispered to yourself, your resolve hardening even as despair threatened to consume you. You couldn’t let this separation last. For your children, for your unborn baby, and for Aegon, you had to find a way back to them.

But as the cold reality of the locked door set in, you realized that escaping Dragonstone would not be easy. Trapped and isolated, all you could do for now was wait, hope, and pray that Aegon would come for you—or that you could find the strength to fight your way back to the family you had built.

In the Council Chambers, Aegon’s voice echoed through the halls as he unleashed his fury upon Ser Criston. His anger was wild and unrestrained, the sharp edge of his words cutting through the air. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” he roared, his face flushed with rage and grief. “How could you let this happen? How could she disappear under your watch?”

Ser Criston stood silent, his head bowed in shame, unable to meet the king’s tear-filled gaze. Alicent stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, trying to soothe her son. “Aegon, we will find her. I promise you—”

“No!” Aegon snapped, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. “You don’t understand! She’s pregnant, Mother! She’s carrying my child, and I don’t even know if she’s safe!” His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, the weight of his fear and guilt pressing down on him.

Alicent’s face softened at his confession, her own worry deepening. “We will search every corner of the realm if we must,” she said gently. “But you must compose yourself. She needs you strong now more than ever.”

But Aegon shook his head, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. “What if she’s hurt? What if they…” He couldn’t finish the thought, the words catching in his throat. He covered his face with his hands, his body trembling with quiet sobs.

His mind raced with dark possibilities—what could have happened to you, where you could be, and why you had vanished. The thought of you being in danger, especially while carrying their fourth child, tore him apart.

“I should have been there,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I should have protected her.”

Ser Criston stepped forward cautiously, his tone filled with regret. “Your Grace, I will assemble every knight, every scout. We will search until we find her.”

Aegon turned to him, his tear-streaked face filled with desperation. “Then do it. Find her. Bring her back to me. I don’t care what it takes.”

As the room fell silent, Alicent placed a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder, but he barely acknowledged her. His thoughts were consumed by you—his queen, his love, and the mother of his children. Wherever you were, Aegon vowed to find you and bring you home, no matter the cost.

Aemond stepped forward, his voice calm yet heavy with tension. “What if she was taken by the Blacks?” he said, his words cutting through the room like a blade. The suggestion hung in the air, freezing everyone in place.

Aegon’s head snapped toward Aemond, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as fury reignited within him. “What did you say?” he hissed, his voice dangerously low.

Aemond met his brother’s glare, unflinching but clearly cautious. “Think about it. Who else would dare to take her from the Red Keep? Who else has a reason to strike at you so personally? If the Blacks have her…”

Aegon surged forward, grabbing Aemond by the collar, his face mere inches from his brother’s. “If they’ve taken her,” he growled, his voice trembling with rage, “if my wife—my children’s mother—is in their hands because of this war you’ve started, I swear, Aemond, I will burn Dragonstone to the ground myself.”

Alicent quickly stepped between her sons, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Aegon, stop this! Fighting amongst ourselves will not bring her back!”

But Aegon’s grip didn’t loosen. His mind raced with the possibility that you were with Rhaenyra and Daemon, and the thought filled him with both fear and rage. “She’s pregnant, Aemond! Do you understand what they could do to her? What they could do to my child?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his gaze steady. “If they have her, it’s because they see her as one of them, Aegon. Not as your wife, but as their daughter. She’s still Rhaenyra’s blood, and you know Daemon will stop at nothing to bring her back to their side.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and Alicent’s voice broke through the standoff. “Enough! We need to think rationally. If she is with the Blacks, then we must act carefully. Any rash action could endanger her further.”

Aegon finally released Aemond, shoving him back with a frustrated snarl. His chest heaved with the weight of his emotions as he turned away, pacing the room. “We need to confirm it. Send spies, ravens—whatever it takes. I need to know where she is.”

Aemond nodded solemnly. “I’ll go myself if I must. I’ll bring her back.”

Aegon shot him a dark look, his voice cold. “You’ve done enough already, brother.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Aegon clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t rest until he had you back, no matter what it took or who stood in his way.

As the tension in the room thickened, Otto Hightower stepped forward, his expression calculated yet calm. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice steady, “allow me to go to Dragonstone. I will speak with Rhaenyra and Daemon myself. There may still be a way to resolve this without further bloodshed.”

Aegon turned to his grandfather, his jaw tight. “You think they’ll just let her go because you ask politely? They hate us, Otto. They hate me. They’ll use her against us.”

Otto clasped his hands behind his back, his tone unwavering. “That is precisely why I must go. They may despise you, but they still see me as a voice of reason. They know I represent the council, not just you. If she is indeed with them, I may be able to negotiate her return without further provocation.”

Alicent stepped closer, her face filled with worry. “Father, are you certain this is wise? Daemon’s temper is… volatile. And Rhaenyra—”

“They are both clever enough to know that harming her would only destroy any chance of reconciliation,” Otto interrupted firmly. “Their quarrel is with the crown, not with her. If they’ve taken her, it’s because they see her as their own, as their blood. I will remind them of that bond and the risks of escalating this conflict.”

Aegon’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated the idea of relying on Otto to solve this, but he also knew the old man was right—Daemon and Rhaenyra wouldn’t be swayed by threats or force, not without endangering you.

“And if they refuse?” Aegon asked coldly, his voice laced with barely restrained anger.

Otto’s eyes hardened. “Then I will remind them of the cost of such defiance. But I will not return without an answer.”

Aegon’s gaze flickered between his mother and grandfather, his mind torn. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Go. But make no mistake—if they harm her, there will be no negotiations, no compromises. I will unleash the full might of the crown on them.”

Otto bowed his head slightly. “Understood, Your Grace. I will leave at first light.”

As Otto turned to make preparations, Aegon’s jaw tightened, his heart heavy with dread. He hated feeling powerless, but for now, all he could do was wait and hope that Otto’s words would be enough to bring you back safely.

You remained motionless, your eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the sea outside your window. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the rocks did little to calm the turmoil inside you. Your thoughts were tangled, your heart torn between duty, family, and the painful reality of your situation. The open door behind you didn’t make you shift, as your mind wandered to everything that had brought you here.

Then, you heard a voice—Jace’s voice—calling your name, breaking the heavy silence. You turned, and there he stood, a figure of strength and resolve, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His presence felt like a reminder of the family you once stood with, the ones you now feared you were betraying.

“Jace…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked at him, unsure of how to feel. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes, a mixture of concern and determination.

He stepped forward slowly, his gaze never leaving you. “I had to see you. Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low, as if afraid that the answer might be something he didn’t want to hear.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of your own emotions pressing down on you. “I don’t know anymore, Jace. Everything is… broken. Aegon is king now, and I feel like I’m losing everything.”

Jace remained silent for a moment, his posture softening as he approached you. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice filled with an understanding that made your chest tighten. “I never wanted things to turn out this way. I never wanted to see you in pain.”

The words felt like a balm on a wound, though it didn’t heal the hurt inside you. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You never wanted it… but here we are.”

His gaze hardened, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. “I will do whatever it takes to make this right. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You turned away from him then, looking back out at the sea, unable to face him completely. The pain, the confusion, the betrayal—all of it washed over you again. “But I do carry it alone, Jace. Aegon is my husband, my family, but so is Rhaenyra, so is Daemon, and yet I stand between them. I can’t be in two places at once.”

Jace stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. “You don’t have to choose. You don’t have to carry this alone. We are your family, too.”

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and for a moment, you felt the burden of everything you were holding inside threaten to crush you. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jace placed a hand on your shoulder, steady and firm. “Then let us help you. Let me help you.”

You looked into Jace’s eyes, the weight of your emotions pressing on your chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel hope. Your hand reached out, taking his in a tight grip.

“Jace… please,” you pleaded, your voice soft but desperate. “Let me go. My children need me. Aegon may be king, but they are still my flesh and blood, and I cannot stay here, torn between two worlds. I don’t want to abandon them.”

Jace stood still, his face unreadable as he listened to your words. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, but there was no answer—just silence. The weight of what you were asking hung heavily between you.

You squeezed his hand, trying to convey the depth of your plea. “I can’t lose them, Jace. I can’t lose my family… all of them. But I need to be with them. I need to protect them. Please, understand.”

He looked down at your hands, still entwined, before meeting your eyes again. His lips parted as though to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his expression conflicted—torn between the loyalty to his family and the undeniable bond he shared with you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. His voice was low, weighed down by a sadness you could hear, but also a hint of acceptance.

“You’re asking a lot, but… I understand,” he said quietly. “I can’t stop you. You are their mother, after all.”

You felt a surge of gratitude wash over you, mixed with the overwhelming weight of the decision you were making. “Thank you, Jace,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to betray anyone, but I can’t abandon my children. I won’t.”

Jace nodded, a pained look on his face. “I can’t promise that it will be easy. But if this is what you need to do, I won’t stand in your way.”

You gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go, turning toward the door. “I’ll leave tonight,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Before anyone notices. I’ll make sure no one comes after me.”

Jace stepped back slightly, his eyes lingering on you. “I just… want you to be safe. And for you to know that you always have a place here with us, no matter what happens.”

A lump formed in your throat as you looked back at him, the love and loyalty in his words a bittersweet comfort. “I know, Jace. I know.”

The walls of Dragonstone felt more suffocating with each passing day. It had been nearly four days since you were brought back here after your failed escape attempt. The longing for your children and Aegon was overwhelming, the ache in your chest constant. You missed their laughter, the warmth of Aegon’s presence, the way your children’s smiles could brighten even the darkest of days. The silence in your room felt like a prison, and it was all too much to bear.

Daemon had made it clear that you were not to leave the room again. His anger after your escape attempt had been fierce, and now, you felt like a captive in your own family’s stronghold. The walls that once offered you comfort now felt like they were closing in on you. No one was allowed to see you, not even Jace, who had once been your ally, your hope in the midst of this turmoil. The only thing you could hear now were the distant sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs and the heavy footsteps of the guards stationed outside your door.

As the days dragged on, you found yourself torn between your love for your family and the crushing guilt that had taken root in your heart. You knew you had made a choice that had torn your life apart, but it was too late to turn back now. The weight of it all felt unbearable. You were stuck in a place where you were neither truly wanted nor allowed to leave.

The flickering candlelight in the corner of the room cast long shadows on the stone walls, reminding you of the isolation that had become your reality. You sat by the window, gazing out at the vast ocean below. You wondered what Aegon was doing, how he was managing without you, and if he missed you as much as you missed him.

You had to see your children again. You had to feel Aegon’s presence, to be with them. But with each failed attempt, your hope seemed to fade a little more. Would you ever escape this place, or was this to be your fate?

Your heart raced as you caught sight of the ship approaching, the green Targaryen flag fluttering in the wind. It was a symbol of your husband, Aegon, and the faintest flicker of hope ignited within you. For the first time in days, you felt the urge to break free from the suffocating walls of Dragonstone, to return to the family you missed so dearly.

You quickly made your way to the door, heart pounding in your chest. The sounds of the sea crashing against the cliffs seemed to echo in your mind as you glanced around, making sure no one was watching. Your eyes scanned the hallway, looking for a passing servant or anyone who might help you. You couldn’t stay here any longer, not when you knew Aegon was so close.

When you spotted a servant walking down the hall, you rushed to catch their attention, your voice low but urgent. “Please, help me,” you whispered, hoping they wouldn’t refuse. “I need to get to the ship. Please.”

The servant hesitated for a moment, looking around nervously as if unsure whether to help you or not. The consequences of disobeying Daemon’s orders were severe, and everyone in Dragonstone knew the danger of crossing him. But after a tense pause, the servant looked into your eyes and seemed to understand your desperation.

“Quickly, princess,” they whispered, motioning for you to follow them. “This way.”

With a final glance over your shoulder, you followed the servant through the winding halls, your steps quick but careful. Every corner you turned, every shadow you passed, made your heart race faster. The thought of being caught again was terrifying, but the sight of the ship gave you the strength to press on.

The servant led you to a secluded stairwell that would take you closer to the docks, away from Daemon’s watchful eyes. You tried to remain as quiet as possible, your breath shallow and rapid with anticipation. Once you reached the bottom, the salty sea air hit you, and you could see the ship anchored in the bay, its green flag a beacon of hope.

You were so close now, so close to freedom, but would you be able to make it before anyone noticed?

As you watched from the shadows, your heart sank a little when you didn’t see Aegon among those disembarking the ship. Otto Hightower stood tall, flanked by Ser Criston Cole and a handful of soldiers. Their movements were deliberate, their faces stern as they made their way up the stone steps leading to the castle.

Despite the pang of disappointment, your determination didn’t waver. You stayed hidden, waiting for them to ascend the stairs and disappear into Dragonstone’s looming halls. Once the coast was clear, you quietly slipped onto the ship, keeping your hood drawn tightly over your face. The familiar scent of saltwater and worn wood greeted you as you found a secluded corner to hide, heart pounding in anticipation.

Time passed agonizingly slow. The faint sound of voices and boots echoed in the distance as Otto and his men conducted their business in the castle. You stayed perfectly still, gripping the edge of your cloak as you rehearsed what you would say, how you would plead for your return. Every moment that passed felt like an eternity until finally, you heard footsteps descending the stairs.

The men returned, their conversation low but urgent. As they approached the ship, you stepped out from the shadows, pulling back your hood to reveal your face. Otto froze in his tracks, his eyes widening with shock. For a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. Then, relief softened his features, though it was quickly replaced by a mix of concern and calculation.

“Your Grace,” Otto said, his voice quieter than usual. He glanced at Ser Criston, who appeared equally stunned but ready to act if needed. “What are you doing here? How did you—”

“I need to leave,” you interrupted, your voice firm but laced with desperation. “I need to return to my children and my husband. Please, take me back to the Red Keep.”

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he gave a slight nod. “Very well,” he said, though there was a weight to his words. “But we must act quickly. If anyone discovers this, it could spark something far worse.”

He gestured for you to follow him, and you stepped onto the ship’s deck, your heart soaring with the realization that you were one step closer to reuniting with your family. As the crew prepared to set sail, you couldn’t help but glance back at the castle one last time, wondering if your escape would truly go unnoticed—or if the storm had only just begun.

As Dragonstone faded into the distance, the waves rocking the ship beneath you, you kept your gaze fixed on the disappearing silhouette of the castle. The dark stone towers, shrouded in mist, stood as a reminder of the chains you’d just broken free from. You placed a gentle hand on your growing belly, whispering softly to yourself, “It will be fine. We will be fine.”

But your heart was heavy with the knowledge that this escape would not go unnoticed, and the repercussions could be dire.

Back in Dragonstone, Daemon strode through the halls, his boots echoing like thunder. His face was a storm of anger and disbelief as he pushed open the door to your chamber, expecting to find you seated by the window or lying on the bed. Instead, the room was empty.

“Where is she?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His sharp eyes darted around the chamber, landing on the untouched food tray by the table. His fists clenched as the realization hit him. “She’s gone.”

He stormed into the hallway, his voice booming as he barked orders at the nearest guards. “Find her! Search every corner of this castle! Now!”

When no sign of you was found, rage consumed him. He slammed his hand against the nearest wall, the sound reverberating through the stone halls. “She escaped,” he spat, the words laced with venom. Turning to one of the trembling guards, he hissed, “Check the shores. If she’s on a ship… gods help the fools who took her.”

Daemon’s mind raced, his anger tempered only by the icy fear that you had fled straight into the arms of the greens. For all his fury, there was an undeniable pang of pain in his chest. You were his daughter, his blood. And now you were gone.

He stalked off toward the council chambers to inform Rhaenyra, his jaw set in determination. If the greens had taken you, war was no longer on the horizon—it had already begun.

Daemon’s boots struck the stone floor with force as he stormed into the council chamber, the heavy doors slamming against the walls. Rhaenyra looked up from the head of the table, her face a mixture of surprise and irritation at the interruption.

“She’s gone,” Daemon declared, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the room’s murmured discussions.

Rhaenyra’s brows knitted together, her tone laced with both confusion and anger. “What do you mean, gone?”

Daemon took a step closer, his violet eyes blazing with fury. “She escaped. Our daughter is no longer here.”

Gasps rippled through the room as lords and knights exchanged anxious glances. Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her hands bracing the table as she leaned forward. “How could this happen? She’s been under guard!”

Daemon sneered, his frustration evident. “Otto Hightower’s visit was no coincidence. While we were distracted by his hollow words and false negotiations, she slipped away—no doubt with their help. They’ve taken her back to the greens, to her husband, and her children.”

The weight of his accusation hung heavily in the room. Rhaenyra’s expression darkened, her voice steady but cold. “If she is in the hands of Aegon, they will use her against us. This cannot stand.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists. “I will not let her stay in their clutches. She is my daughter, our daughter. She belongs here, with her family—not with him.” His voice grew colder, and his tone more resolute. “I swear on the blood of the dragon, I will bring her back. No matter who I have to cut down to do it.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Daemon, we cannot afford rash decisions. If you go charging into the lion’s den, you risk not only her safety but the lives of countless others.”

Daemon shook his head, his voice unwavering. “There is no time for caution. She is my blood, and I will not let her stay in their hands for a moment longer than necessary.”

The council fell silent as the gravity of his determination filled the room. For Daemon, this was no longer a matter of politics or alliances—it was a father’s wrath, unyielding and unstoppable.

The journey to King’s Landing had been long and arduous, each passing day weighed down by the turmoil in your heart. Your thoughts were consumed by your children, their laughter, and their innocence. And then there was Aegon—your husband, who you knew must have been consumed by worry for you.

When the Red Keep finally came into view, standing tall and formidable against the horizon, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Relief flooded your chest. You were home.

As the ship docked and you stepped onto the stone pier, Otto turned to the guards and gave a firm order. “Take her directly to the king. He’s been waiting long enough.”

The guards nodded and flanked you on either side, guiding you toward the castle. Each step felt heavier as you approached the towering gates of the Red Keep, but the thought of seeing Aegon and your children kept you moving forward.

As you entered the familiar halls, memories of happier times flooded your mind—moments spent with Aegon, your children’s laughter echoing in the corridors. It felt like years had passed since you’d last walked these halls, though it had only been weeks.

The guards stopped in front of the doors to the royal chambers. One of them announced your arrival before pushing the doors open.

Inside, Aegon stood by the window, his posture tense as he stared out over the city. When he turned and saw you, his eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped.

“Love,” he breathed, his voice heavy with emotion.

You took a tentative step forward, your heart aching at the sight of him. “Aegon…”

In an instant, he was across the room, pulling you into his arms. His embrace was firm and desperate, as if he feared you might vanish again. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re safe.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his hold. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I tried to come back sooner.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his gaze searching yours. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

As his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, the weight of the past weeks began to lift. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to hope.

Aegon knelt before you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he pressed a kiss to your growing belly. His touch was tender, filled with reverence and relief. You ran your fingers through his hair, the softness of the gesture mirroring the smile on your lips. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I missed you more,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of the door opening drew your attention. You turned to see Alicent standing there, her expression one of joy and relief. Behind her, your children peeked around her skirts, their faces lighting up the moment they saw you.

“Mother!” Jaehaerys called out, his voice filled with excitement as he rushed forward, followed closely by Jaehaera and little Maelor.

You opened your arms wide, kneeling slightly to welcome them into a warm embrace. “My loves,” you murmured, tears streaming down your face as their small arms wrapped tightly around you.

Alicent stepped into the room, her expression softening as she watched the reunion. “I brought them the moment I heard you’d returned,” she said gently, her voice filled with warmth.

Aegon rose to his feet, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder as he looked at his mother. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude.

Jaehaerys looked up at you with wide eyes, his hands clutching your gown. “Are you staying this time, Mother? You won’t leave again?”

You placed a hand on his cheek, your heart breaking at the worry in his voice. “I’m staying, my sweet boy. I promise.”

Jaehaera held onto your arm, her soft voice barely above a whisper. “We missed you so much, Mother.”

“I missed you too,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her silver hair before looking down at Maelor, who clung to your leg. “And you, my little dragon. Did you miss me?”

Maelor nodded vigorously, his bright eyes shining with tears. “I did! I did!”

Aegon knelt beside you, gathering all three children in his arms. “Our family is whole again,” he said softly, his voice filled with determination. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

You leaned into him, your heart full as you looked at your children and the man you loved. For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace.

The peaceful atmosphere in the room shattered as a deafening roar echoed through the air. The sound was unmistakable—the mighty cry of Caraxes, your father’s dragon. Your heart dropped, and a chill ran down your spine as you instinctively froze, your body tensing with fear.

Aegon’s protective embrace tightened around you as he immediately recognized your unease. “What is it?” he asked, his voice urgent.

Your eyes darted to the window, the color draining from your face. “It’s Caraxes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It's Daemon… he’s here.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he rose to his feet. “He’s come to take you back,” he said with a mix of anger and determination. He turned to Alicent, who was already ushering the children toward the door.

“Take them to safety,” Aegon commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now!”

Alicent nodded quickly, guiding the children out of the room despite their protests. “Mother! Father! What’s happening?” Jaehaerys cried, his voice filled with panic.

You knelt and hugged them tightly one last time. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to comfort them. “Stay with your grandmother. I’ll come to you soon.”

As Alicent and the children disappeared down the hall, Aegon turned back to you, his expression fierce. “I won’t let him take you,” he vowed. “Not again.”

You shook your head, your hand resting on his arm. “Aegon, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “This is my father. If he’s here, it’s not just to take me back. He’s ready for war.”

Before Aegon could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the distinct clang of weapons. The door burst open, and Daemon stood there, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. His presence was commanding, his face a mask of cold fury.

“You’re coming with me,” Daemon said, his voice low but deadly. His eyes briefly flickered to Aegon, filled with disdain, before returning to you.

Aegon stepped between you and your father, his hand on Blackfyre at his side. “She’s not going anywhere,” he growled. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a menacing smirk. “If that’s what it takes,” he said, drawing his sword.

You stepped forward, placing yourself between the two men, your arms outstretched. “Stop this!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “Please, stop! You’re going to destroy everything!”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, but his resolve remained firm. “You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You’re my daughter, and you’re coming home where you’re safe.”

“This is my home!” you shouted back, your voice breaking. “My children, my husband—they’re my family too. I won’t leave them!”

Daemon’s grip on Dark Sister faltered for a moment, conflicted by your words, but his anger quickly resurfaced. “You’ve been blinded by love for the wrong side,” he spat.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you felt torn apart, caught between the two men you loved most. “Father, please,” you begged. “I’m begging you, don’t make me choose.”

Aegon’s hand slipped into yours, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to choose,” he said softly, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re staying with me.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, and the room seemed to freeze as everyone braced for what would happen next.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[mi---amor]

Papabaker ooooouh the goodest soup for the soul

[mylovesstuffs]

Jeonghan is THAT type of boyfriend

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

As we all know, he's an absolute menace, and being in a relationship hasn’t tamed him one bit. But somehow, you love him all the more (as you should)

Jeonghan’s the type to casually suggest a board game for date night, only to absolutely destroy you at it and then give you his signature gremlin smile all while pulling you onto his lap as a consolation prize. He’ll tease, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t comfort my sore loser?”

He’ll lean in after catching you looking at him, tuck your hair behind your ear, and whisper, “Caught you looking at me again. Can’t blame you, though, I’m pretty irresistible.”

Jeonghan loves playing the role of the clueless angel. He’ll act like he doesn’t understand why you’re flustered when he presses you up against the kitchen counter to reach something “too high,” murmuring, “Oops, sorry. Tight space, huh?”

He’ll pull you into bed on a cold morning, trapping you with his legs tangled in yours not letting you get up.

Jeonghan’s not above leaning in during a casual conversation, his lips brushing against your ear as he says something completely innocent but with a tone that leaves your mind spinning. “We should head home soon,” he’ll murmur as his hand trailing down your arm.

His fingers will trace random patterns on your bare skin.

Jeonghan thrives on seeing you squirm in situations where you can’t react. Like when his hand casually finds its way to your inner thigh under the table at dinner, his thumb drawing circles while he pretends to listen to the conversation.

Jeonghan? Oh, he’s the boyfriend who’ll untie your apron strings just to see you flustered in the kitchen, claiming it’s an accident when you glare at him. “Oops, my bad,” he’ll say with a grin, but he’s already planning his next move.

He’ll conveniently forget things you told him just to rile you up. “Wait, you said you wanted iced coffee? I thought it was hot chocolate,” he’d say, sipping on your perfectly-made order. Then, when you pout, he’ll offer his cup. “Fine, take mine. You’re so dramatic.”

He’ll swipe your pillow in the middle of the night just to make you fight for it, pulling you closer in the process.

Fake Innocence™”: He’ll pull pranks like swapping the sugar for salt in your coffee or hiding your favorite hoodie, but he’ll always act like he’s completely innocent. “What? Me? Nooo, baby. Why would I do that?” TT no, you tell me Jeonghan, why would you do that?

After an entire day of his endless teasing, pulling you close just to leave you wanting more, he finally pins you against the wall with that smirk of his. “You’ve been so patient, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing yours, “Let me make it worth your while.”

DEGRADATION!!

Jeonghan’s the type to sneak kisses when you least expect it like when you’re mid-sentence, complaining about his antics. “You talk too much, baby,” he’ll chuckle, kissing you again. And just like that, you forget why you were mad.

He’ll always help you pick out a dress for your date, because he loves playing dress up with you.

Jeonghan is also the king of lazy afternoons so he always drapes himself over you like a human blanket.

He’s memorized every spot that makes you melt whether it’s a kiss on the back of your neck or a light touch on your lower back. And he’s not shy about using that knowledge to his advantage.

When you’re feeling insecure, Jeonghan turns off his usual playful side. He’ll cup your face, look you straight in the eyes, and say, “I don’t know what’s going on in that tiny head of yours, but I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

[spacey-xannabelle]

[Template]

2024 Art Summary!

Artist notes/ramblings under the cut

January - March: A lot of the art I did during this time was mostly doodles and sketches that I didn't post anywhere, but during this time I did start planning the test comic project for my story, Startrails!

April: Only art that I posted during this was the art of one of my Startrails characters, Mira.

May: I finished the test comic during this! It was a great practice to do and it gave me a lot of insight on what part of the comic process I should work on so it flows more smoothly for myself. And it was really cool to see my two main characters in a comic format qvq

June: On June, I wanted to do a bigger illustration to practice backgrounds more. And since I was in a Splatoon mood at the time, I went and drew a nice little scene of some inklings and octolings hanging out in the locker room before a match.

July: Artfight month!! I was team Stardust this year, and the art featured in this art summary was a character by @/artisticdragons. I'm honestly proud I drew as much as I did for artfight!

August: Earlier in January, I had started and finished playing Outer WIlds (along with the DLC) and around here was when the brainrot returned tenfold and had be in its clutches. This was one of the many silly doodles I did for the game

September: Major outer wilds spoilers for this art! But this here was the comic I spent a little over a month working on. A comic inspired by an Undertale quote that I felt really encapsulates Hatchling's journey. I also posted this on Twitter and it got noticed by both Mobius Digital and got a comment by Andrew Prahlow and I'm still losing my mind over that qwq

October: Outer Wilds DLC spoilers here! I drew a lot for October bc during this, I was participating in an Outer Wilds Inktober event ^^ This art was something I did as a little bit of a break from the inktober stuff. But also bc the DLC gave me a lot of feelings and I had to draw them out

November - December: During this time, the Outer Wilds server I joined created our own Nomai clan so I spent.. So Much time drawing mostly Nomai ocs djdfg. It was a lot of fun and I enjoyed being able to be silly with my art and participate in this group endeavor!

Overall, I'm proud of how much I was able to draw this year despite juggling a full time job that would usually leave me too drained and tired to draw. Some days it's still difficult to keep drawing but joining a group of creatives really inspired me to create for fun.

I'm hoping to continue creating art next year, maybe make more fanart of stuff I love. And absolutely hoping to draw more oc stuff, especially of my story, Startrails! :)

[applestorms]

do you have lawlight fic recs

*cracks knuckles*

(Not) According to Plan by FlamesRise: this fic was Fundamental to me figuring out what my ideal light (smut) characterization is. fun lawlight lawyers au that is also mostly kinda just about light manipulating himself into an uncomfortable sexual scenario yay👍(this really sets the stage for what the rest of these recs are gonna look like so prepare yourself lmfao. aka these are gonna be like, 90% questionable smut and/or dead dove, i just don't read much else... 🫠 oops)

blood in the walls of the yagami house (series) by qu_ilinn: gotta put the lawlight brocon on there since this is basically what got me into the DN fandom. grins. one of the best Terrible Horrible L depictions ever, i love this series sm lolol <33

rewards for fools by autumnstar88: cough. and so we notice a trend. this is once again light putting himself in a horny situation he's uncomfortable with and then freaking out as he likes it too much LOL, this time set immediately after he gets his memories back during yotsuba. light in a skirt, what else is there to say.

caligula would have blushed by findingsaturn: medical kink going wilddddd this blew my fucking mind the first time i read it. an absolutely delectable ratio of body horror to weird sex stuff, chefs kiss. i also rec corrosive wash and self-surgery, by the same author.

literally anything from the alignmentverse by praise_lilith and tsukinousagi: this is easily one of my favorite lawlight series, every single fic in this collection is absolutely fucking golden. 10/10 some of the funniest light and L characterization ever.

A complex fool and a simplex fool. by gomikyun: also some hilarious lawlight characterization, this time in the canonverse. i don't usually go for bottom L but this is The Exception. shout out to that one time i took like three hours searching for this just to find this stellar quote:

Why, why didn't I do this before? L has to hold himself back from letting out a whiny groan. He should have just pushed Light down and fucked himself ontop of him instead of playing tennis on that stupid fucking court. Would have been a great icebreaker. And made headlines, probably. ‘Hideki Ryuga and Light Yagami, top scorers on the To-Oh entrance exams have a friendly game of… gay sex on the tennis court. This year is looking to be quite interesting!’

Diamond by exAm: another top 3 for me in terms of lawlight being funny and horrible. one of if not The best het lawlight dynamic i've ever read (man light/woman L, in this case). light is such an egotistical, stupid asshole here, hubris through the fucking roof, and it works fantastic. also fun to see L dealing w/ canon-typical DN sexism LMFAO

Back to then by LiveLongEatWell: this one just has great smut idk what else to say. shrugs. also L obsessively fucking himself into the worst possible scenario lolol here's how KIRA could've actually won

Trading Blows and Idle Hands by gayraito (Mercurial_Magic): more yotsuba smut shenanigans, very fun. honestly most things by this author are great, hard to pick just one... The Gift is also great and somewhat inspired some of my own android light in superegos (read my lawlight fics too 🫵 boy)

draw it out by emmerii: VERY noncon no-memories light. smiles. this one makes me actually insane hides in my evil little corner

actually if we're doing the more heavily dead dove ones, there's also Take Me With You or Let Me Follow by WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch and I will take what's mine, create what god would never design by FlamesRise for the specific concept of L being a freak over L's corpse. necrophilia warning? :]

Kouyaku by Not_default: basically a KIRA wins au where L doesn't actually die. sometimes L deserves to be the one locked in the basement ig. very very nice

The Dreadful Need by the_gabih: somewhat non-traditional omegaverse au that is also just about very dubcon prison sex. this makes my brain fucking melt please don't ask why

Perfect Life by foreskinsmoothie: probably the longest thing on this list, this one Fucked Me Up when i finished it a couple weeks ago. OCD light to the extreme, which is additionally Made Worse by L kidnapping him for shits and giggles 👍 that being said, i absolutely adore the ending of this one, so. if you can get past the graphic self-amputation, this is a (very fucked up) lil treat :>

Kira's Guide to the Munchies by plant1r: ok this is more like matsulight but i have to include it for light's characterization alone, AND ALSO NEAR. one of the best near depictions ever. this is hysterical, my favorite weed light fic everrr

praise the sweetness by cxtangerina: read my fic boy 🫵 cult leader L au. unreality apocalypse world wammy's cult weirdness. what more can i say. this is probably gonna have a meronia sequel in the near future so watch out for that (after i post this other lawlight fic anyway, which is ALMOSTTT done uwu everybody clap)

that enuf for you anon?

[crimsondoesstuff]

OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT

HEAR ME OUT, CHAT.

Crossover idea between Mouthwashing and Five Nights at Freddy’s where the FNAF characters take over the places of the preexisting crew. The events go down the same, with some small changes in the scenes and dialogue to fit with the different character’s personalities and shit.

Not convinced? WELL I MADE ART TOO (this was the big project I mentioned in my last post)

BEHOLD! The crew of the Ursine!

I put a lot of love and thought into every little bit of this crossover. Things like the symbolism seen in the original game are referenced (the flowers symbolism, the board game, the attraction to cartoon animals /j), but there are also all new kinds of symbolism I threw in to really bring it all together. I’ll let you figure that out on your own, if you really want to.

(If you want a hint, the directions the characters are looking aren’t just stylistic.)

If you really wanna read more about my idea, I’ll be including more below the line. I just had to pitch this somewhere, I spent a week drawing this and I’ve already written parts of this that I could possibly post here or on AO3. Who knows.

HENRY EMILY, CAPTAIN.

Takes the place of Grant Curly.

The similarities between Jimmy and Curly / Henry and William’s dynamics was one of the main reasons I even got this idea in the first place. Specifically, listening to the song Brutus was when I really started to see the song as both Jimmy and William, and the rest devolved from there. I’ll go into more detail about that in William’s section.

Henry’s kindness, compassion, and dedication to his craft makes him the perfect candidate for captain of the Ursine. Problem is, he never knows when to stop. He’ll work himself until he passes out, only to wake up at his station and go right back to work. He’s on top of all of his responsibilities as captain, but with all the work on his plate, he doesn’t have as much time to handle the personal issues that seem to be arising among the crew.

Henry isn’t completely sure how he got to the level he’s at now, in all honesty. He was once a simple engineer on an older ship called the Tulpar, before being transferred and promoted to Second in Command. Fazbear Express said something about how he’s “good for morale” and “gets things done”, but they didn’t really account for Henry’s introverted personality. He’d rather hide out in the cockpit handling the controls, but that puts him back into a workaholic cycle that Charlie is working to break him out of. He’s lucky he has a daughter like her, and he’ll never stop saying it to anyone who will listen.

After the crash, Henry’s completely incapacitated. Not much else to say. He can do nothing but tremble and cry in pain, trying and trying to form coherent words and sentences, but it isn’t clear enough to the people around him. He feels more alone there on that medical bed than he has in his entire life. And he can do nothing but watch as everything falls apart.

WILLIAM AFTON, SECOND IN COMMAND.

Takes the place of Jimmy Zare.

Like I said before, I got really inspired to make this crossover by the song Brutus, but that was specifically the connection between Jimmy and William. I knew when I started making the ideas for this that the borderline obsession William has with Henry was a perfect fit here. Just utterly disgusting. I hate him. He should die.

William doesn’t have time to put up any sort of front like we see in the books. He has work to do on the ship, and he plans on getting it done as soon as possible with the highest efficiency possible. He wants to look good. He doesn’t care if he looks like an asshole while doing it. After all, he sees the rest of the crew as more of a burden on him than anything, obstacles dragging him back from reaching his full potential. From climbing to the top of his ladder. And yes, that includes his own children. He sees their presence on board the Ursine as a distraction.

Just like it’s suggested in the game, William and Henry were friends before the events of the story. Childhood friends who relied on each other through thick and thin. They both went into engineering, and William followed in Henry’s footsteps. But he was eager to get ahead, to pave the footsteps his old friend would walk in instead. It didn’t help that Henry always seemed better than him. Henry didn’t even want to become a captain, but there they were, running a god damn ship. William hated it. Hated them. It was so annoying how perfect he was all the damn time.

He doesn’t really care what happened to Henry in the crash. He didn’t make them run into the cockpit as the ship ran straight into an asteroid. That was their own stupid decision, and he had to clean up after their mess. Now that he was captain, just like he wanted, he planned on doing things right. Keeping the crew together. Despite the utterly hopeless situation at hand. It doesn’t help that emotions were never his strong suit.

CHARLOTTE “CHARLIE” EMILY, MEDICAL OFFICER.

Takes the place of Anya Musume.

I don’t know if I want to keep the more serious parts of the character’s story, but I think it’s too important to the plot as a whole to remove it. As someone who’s gone through a similar situation, it was a hard decision to make, but I have to respect the importance of a character’s trauma that makes them who they are.

Like Anya in the game, Charlie did make it to medical school, but never completed it. Her poor mental state combined with the overwhelming workload and the sheer number of years she’d have to be focused on nothing but schooling was too much, and she wasn’t getting the help she needed to keep up. So instead, she dropped out and sent an application to Fazbear Express where her father worked, getting accepted as a field nurse in training. Eventually, she was promoted to medical officer, but without a degree in nursing she was prevented from becoming chief.

Most of the shit she has to do on the Ursine is just scraped knees and the occasional dislocation, all of which she can handle with ease. She’s very confident in her work, and when she first started working on her father’s ship, she wasn’t afraid to show it. But something changed. Slowly, her demeanor shifted, and she lost that lively confidence that made her her. Nobody knew for sure what happened. At least, not at first.

After the crash, Charlie was absolutely distraught. She can barely look at her father when he’s in so much pain, and her job as a nurse is compromised by the rule of not treating family members. Since they have no other nurse or doctor on board, she’s left with the responsibility, but it’s debilitating. She often has panic attacks and break downs in the back corner of the medbay, hiding behind her desk where Henry and the other crew couldn’t see her.

MICHAEL “MIKE” AFTON, ENGINEER.

Takes the place of Swansea Hotard.

When I was deciding who to put in the other character’s places, I instantly thought of Michael and David (the crying child) and the tough love Swansea gives Daisuke in the game. I wanted to take that and make it so Michael is especially cruel to David to try and get the kid to quit. He doesn’t want David to work at this dead end job, stuck the rest of his life in this monotonous lifestyle with little to no time at home on Earth.

Mike is an incredibly hard worker, but he isn’t really sure why. He doesn’t like his job. He never wanted to be a mechanical engineer, and he never wanted to work for Fazbear Express. But when times got especially rough, his father showed up out of nowhere like some kind of stupid white knight and offered to teach Michael everything he knows. With William’s experience, Michael easily got a job with the company afterwards. But he feels indebted to his father for it, which- in the Afton household- is never a good feeling.

After the crash, Henry- who often acted as a sort of father figure for the younger members of the crew- was down for the count, and people were more afraid than ever. Nobody wanted to go to William, so they came to Michael, who tries his best to offer comfort (despite not being very good at it). This is especially true for Charlie, as she relies on him and goes to him to cry, since her father is in no state to worry about her as well as himself. Mike can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the sense of obligation put on his shoulders, but nonetheless, he keeps his head high and stands tall as an anchor for the group. Completely unwavering and stoic. Despite the pain he’s feeling as well.

Tensions between Michael and William are constantly high, and the two definitely don’t get along, just like Jimmy and Swansea in the game. And I can clearly imagine the pure hatred and rage in Michael’s eyes as he screams William’s name and chases him down with the axe. If I were to make this into a fanfic, I’d beat around the bush for most of the story, avoiding Michael calling William “dad” or “father”, at least until the part with Swansea’s/Michael’s monologue. Where he’d end it with the simple line, “Fuck you, dad.”

DAVID AFTON, INTERN ENGINEER.

Takes the place of Daisuke Juarez.

Funny enough, despite sharing the same role in the story- the new kid on the block, the intern who’s still getting his ropes- Daisuke and David couldn’t be any more different. David’s weaker, more timid, usually letting others speak for him and scrambling to hide when feeling in danger in any way. And we all know how Daisuke is. A free spirit with a gentle heart and a smile that can light up a room. Despite their apparent differences though, their stories end the same.

Unlike Daisuke, David’s mother didn’t believe he was a slacker. She thought he was too timid. She thought it would do him good if he put himself out there and got himself a job outside his comfort zone. She actually didn’t want him to get a job anywhere near his father (the two are divorced, and things didn’t end on good terms), but William practically stepped in and insisted that David work under his guidance at Fazbear Express. Ironically enough, William didn’t end up even being the person to train David, it was Michael instead.

After the crash, David didn’t know what to do. He wanted things to go back to normal, but he could barely keep himself from crying every time he passed by the infirmary and heard the captain’s cries of pain. He grows more clingy to Michael and his father as time passes on, rations grow slimmer, and painkillers run low. He’s scared, and he wants to keep the rest of the crew safe like his dad and his brother, but he feels too weak and pathetic to contribute anything.

Of course, David gets stronger throughout the story, and begins to believe in himself more thanks to Mike’s tough love teaching style. But it all leads to him getting manipulated into pushing his limits and going in over his head. We all know what happens in the vents.

FREDDY THE TEDDY, FAZBEAR EXPRESS�� MASCOT.

Takes the place of Polle the Pony.

You’d think there wasn’t much to the silly little mascot of the multibillion dollar industry behind the Ursine and its crew, but little Freddy the Teddy is a reminder of everything the crew stands for. Hard work, dedication, passion for the craft. Every poster around the Ursine reminds the crew that they are only a cog in the machine. And no matter what they do, they can’t escape unless Fazbear Express lets them go.

Luckily for them, Fazbear Express indeed let them go. Let everyone go. Just like that, everyone didn’t have a job. After their last shipment was over, that was it. Donezo. I sure hope that doesn’t cause any tension on board!

I’ll finish this off with a doodle I made to celebrate Henry’s birthday!! At least, my headcanon

I thought it was especially fitting, considering the impact of the captain’s birthday party on the crew. (More specifically the events that transpired and the news that was dumped on the crew with little to no warning. Imagine!!)

Thanks for reading this long ass post, I hope you all have a very happy holidays, merry whatever and all that

[thenexusofsouls]

"Well, so what? My opinion's extremely important, you know," Wade said with an attempt at a pompous smirk. Unless it was because of a dire situation having to do with their job, there was always something a little bit off about Wade's alpha male attempts. It never quite got there fully, or at least it never ventured into the realm of obnoxious or threatening. There was always still a note of softness underneath.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. He's kindof a loose canon. There's no tellin' how he'll react. Sometimes I think I've got him pegged and know where his head's at, and then he surprises me in all the wrong ways by doin' somethin' completely different. It makes managin' a team with him on it an absolute fuckin' joy," he said sarcastically, his eyes rolling a little. "Like I said, he's my friend, but... he's got a lot to work to on."

Wade did feel like he was getting mixed signals from Rose, but... he honestly didn't care. He knew he wasn't gonna win this. He wasn't gonna be the one to be with Rose in the end. So if she wanted to have her cake and eat it too for a while, he didn't mind. Better to have loved and lost, yadda yadda yadda... "Hey, I get it," he said gently. "It's like that game young people play." The way he said it gave the impression like he thought he was sixty years old or something. "Fuck, marry, or kill. I guess Crenshaw is the 'marry' guy, I'm the 'fuck' guy, and I dunno who you wanna kill, but I feel sorry for that poor bastard. Least it's not me." He smiled, attempting to diffuse some of the tension and make Rose feel a little better.

He sighed, though, as she confessed to falling for him and not wanting to lose him. "You're not gonna lose me, Rose. For whatever you want from me, however long you want it for, I'll be here for you. Maybe that's stupid of me, maybe I should draw more of a line somewhere, but... I can't. I'm too far gone for you," he admitted. "It wouldn't break you, though, Rose. You're strong as hell. You'd be okay."

As they kissed more and thing started heating up between them, Wade knew he was really doing something wrong right now. He couldn't stop it though, and what's more, he didn't want to. "I guess we're fucked, then," he said. Maybe not the best way of phrasing that. She pulled him close and against the wall and he couldn't help but press against her. It didn't take long for his jeans to become uncomfortably tight. "Oh, is that what we're realizin'?" he said with a grin. "'Cause I'm... I'm realizin' a lotta things... right now... and they're all tellin' me... we might not even make it to the bedroom." He chuckled against her lips.

Yeah, this is happening. I'm goin' to the special hell. "God, Rose..." he said breathlessly, reaching around to give her ass a squeeze. "I need you so badly..." If she didn't stop this soon, clothes were going to come on. Important ones. "Last chance..." he whispered, though he only meant that as an indication of his desire for her. Of course he'd always stop anytime she wanted, no matter how crappy that was for him. He was nothing if not a gentleman to women... unless they were trying to kill him.

“I’ve missed you. So much.” (Rose for Wade; @mxrvelouscreations

@mxrvelouscreations

"You've been on my mind too," Wade said. He knew he shouldn't be saying things like that to Rose, but it was hard not to. He'd fallen hard for her, despite her wanting to officially stay with Crenshaw. Honestly, he didn't fault her for that. They were together first, after all. It hurt, but it was ultimately her decision. But any time she did pay him the kind of attention he ached for, he accepted it graciously, even against his better judgement.

He really didn't expect Rose to want to keep seeing him this way, not after that one time they were together. As much as he couldn't get her off his mind, he forced himself to accept that it was just a one-time thing. Except that ended up not being true. "How are you? Everything okay?" he asked, knowing there were a lot of fights and drama between her and Crenshaw, and that it weighed on her. Wade just loved Rose. He genuinely loved her. All he wanted was to be there for her, even if she never ended up wanting him in any official sense.

[bitcrunched]

oh yk . these are sorta old now but i do still love them so here you go tumblr i made the grumpuses silly <3 bugsnax dlc stole my heart

timelapse of the second image under the cut for fun

[chloesimaginationthings]

What comic is the bottom left image of springtrap from? (On the post where you say why you draw him blocky)

It’s from this comic!! A very normal father son reunion

Og post here

[ruushes]

throuple of all time to me

[aestheticallynotdeerlightful]

I was gonna wait and post these till I had more doodles but I’ll just post them now it’s fine. I’ll just explain stuff in the tags as per usual

Some Raz poses and some Dion and Adam stuff

.

(Please do not use or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me thank you)

[tomatoart]

anyone like alan wake or just me and 3mil other ppl

[yamsgarden]

quick Still Wakes the Deep doodles

Left to right on top pic: Innes, Caz, Roy, Finlay, Brodie and Trots

[anpilled]

drew liz,, she is so whimsical i think :3

[crystallizsch]

this was kalim's idea