#i will tell you that there will be Foul Legacy next chapter :D

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hi!! I'm still too shy to actually interact with u off anon but IM THE PERSON GENERAL WAS TALKING ABOUT WHO REALLY REALLY LIKED UR ABYSS PRINCE CHILDE AU!!! my god i can never get it out of my head and AYRJRU!?@,@@? I CANNOT PUT IT INTO WORDS!! I'm just dying and vibrating at a frequency that cab break glass

-💜 anon! (Unless this is already taken)

*JUMPS UP AND DOWN* HI HI HI HELLO NEW FRIEND I AM SO HAPPY TO MEET YOU!!!!!!!!! thank you so much for your kind words and i hope my future works keep bringing a smile to your face!!!!! hehe i actually did a bit of planning for the next chapter of Blessed Heir tonight and i think it'll be very fun i really hope you enjoy it >:)

[captainswanapproved]

The Queen's Gambit- Chapter 6

A03, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multi Chapter AU: Rhaenyra is now 18 and eager to prove herself. Having never been forced to marry Rhea Royce, Daemon has matured and given up his gallivanting through the Street of Silk. Queen Aemma survives her final birth but the baby does not.

Queen Aemma knows of Daemon’s devotion to Rhaenyra. She also knows that this devotion is not unrequited. Aemma goes to Viserys with a proposition: one that will ensure the future and legacy of House Targaryen.

King Viserys had always considered himself to be a patient man. Aemma was displeased with him, as was Rhaenyra. But his Hand assured him that they would soon come to accept his ruling.

Still, Viserys wished for the company of his beloved wife. His chambers felt empty without her. Aemma had chosen to retire to her own chambers the previous night.

The sun was rising, lighting the sky with beautiful colors. Viserys looked out the window wondering if the disposition of his family would be brighter today. He had no way of knowing that something unusual had occurred the night before.

When the peace in his chambers was interrupted by a harsh banging on the door, Viserys called for the person to enter.

Otto Hightower entered, his face pale. He barely took the time to bow before addressing him. “Pardon the early hour, Your Grace, but grave news from Flea Bottom was delivered with the dawn.”

“What is it?” Viserys asked, concerned by his Hand’s loss of composure.

“The Princess Rhaenyra was seen fucking Prince Daemon in a pleasure house. He has ruined her. This is made worse by the fact that my source of information overheard the Prince declare his intention to take the Princess to Dragonstone.”

Viserys was out of bed in an instant. “Who is your source of information? Tell me!” His voice was rough. Fear and anger gripped his heart. Daemon’s heart was as black as dragon glass. There was no telling what his beloved daughter had been made to endure.

“The White Worm. They have always been a reliable source of information. I must tell you, Your Grace, that according to the reports,  the Princess was enjoying Daemon’s attentions, that she was happy to act as his whore.”

The foul appellation struck Viserys with force. “Surely, Otto I did not just hear you refer to my daughter as a whore.”

Otto averted his gaze. “I was only relaying the report I received, Your Grace. Of course Prince Daemon seduced her. She is blameless, but we cannot deny that her reputation has been tarnished. I have spoken to Gwayne and he has assured me that he will still wed her. But me must make haste and send the Kingsguard to Dragonstone. The princess must be recovered.”

Viserys glared at his Hand. “I will have the tongue of any man or woman who calls my daughter a whore.”

“You will find, your grace, that the story has been spread throughout King’s Landing. There may be many who speak about Rhaenyra in such a manner. All we can do is wed her to Gwayne and send her to Oldtown until the scandal settles.”

“I will not banish my own daughter. Consider your next suggestion very carefully, Hightower.”

Otto had the grace to look ashamed. “Forgive me, your grace. But it is the only way. We must preserve her reputation as best we can, though it may be hopeless if she becomes pregnant from this liaison. Prince Daemon, of course, should be put to the sword, or, if you do not have the stomach for it, sent to the Wall.”

It was too much affrontery. With the strength of a younger man, Viserys seized Otto’s neck and forced him against the wall. “First you suggest I banish my daughter. Now you have the gall to suggest I kill my own brother. No matter what he has done, I will not be a Kinslayer.”

“Of course not, Your Grace. Someone else will swing the sword. Had you acted sooner, we could have avoided this situation, but it is not too late to salvage the matter.”

Viserys released Otto. “Get out of my sight. You have disgraced yourself, Otto. I will send a raven to Dragonstone.”

“Your Grace—”

“Out, otherwise I may remove your pin and you will return to Oldtown in disgrace.”

Otto bowed low and slunk out of the room.

Without taking the time to dress, Viserys went to Aemma’s chambers. Rhaenyra’s infatuation and Daemon’s lust for power had gone too far. The advice of his Hand had been self-serving. Aemma would give him more clarity about what must be done.

***

Aemma looked out at the sunrise, wondering if Rhaenyra was safely at Dragonstone. She had received word of their departure sometime in the middle of the night. She hoped that her daughter had enjoyed her taste of freedom.

She did not dwell on what might have happened in King’s Landing. What Daemon might have done to cause rumors to fly. But she was certain that Rhaenyra was safe and happy in the company of her uncle.

Aemma knew that they would soon receive a raven from Maester Gerardys declaring that they had married. Whatever guilt Aemma felt for deceiving her beloved husband was diminished by the prospect of her daughter’s future happiness. Not only would Daemon treat Rhaenyra as she deserved, but he would also strengthen her claim to the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra would need the support of a man such as Daemon, who was equally loved, reviled, and feared in court and King’s Landing.

Aemma nearly jumped out of her chair when the door of her chamber was unceremoniously flung open. Poor Viserys was as white as the Northern snows.

“Aemma, we must speak. It concerns Rhaenyra.”

Aemma’s gut clenched. Had the rumors already reached the Red Keep? “She is safe, my love.” Aemma was quick to assure him, knowing it to be true.

“She is far from safe. Her reputation is in ruins. My brother has seduced Rhaenyra, has taken her to Dragonstone. He must be gravely punished for this.”

Aemma took her husband’s hand and urged him to sit. He was trembling with anger, but she saw hurt in his eyes, and betrayal.

“What do you intend to do? And let me first remind you that Daemon is your blood and Rhaenyra is your heir. No matter what they have done, I know you love them.”

Viserys opened his mouth to argue. “Even Daemon. You have been led to believe that he has the blackest of souls by your Hand and various other councilors, but my love, he conquered the Stepstones for you. He defends you from those who would speak against you. He may be an agent of chaos, but he is a man of deep loyalty when it comes to family, and he has been devoted to our daughter for years. You only have to open your eyes to see it.”

“I cannot let this go unanswered, Aemma,” Viserys said. “I must act in the defense of our daughter’s honor.”

“Would you truly banish your own brother to the Wall? Or worse, put him to the sword?”

“What would you have me do?”

“You are the king. Your word is law. Circumvent the scandal and declare that you had a change of heart. Insist that you gave them your blessing to wed.”

Viserys scowled. “Daemon only wishes to wed Rhaenyra in hopes of one day claiming my throne.”

“In your heart, do you truly believe that. Or are you simply repeating the words of your advisors?”

Aemma could see the conflict warring on her husband’s face. She leaned in and kissed him. “Send a raven to Dragonstone. Or let us go ourselves and you will see with your own eyes the happiness you have denied them.”

“What makes you so certain Daemon is capable of making Rhaenyra happy? She is only a young girl. She has no way of knowing what will give her joy of a lasting nature. Daemon will lose interest, and her heart will be shattered.”

“Let us go to Dragonstone,” Aemma insisted. “You will see their devotion to one another with your very eyes. Perhaps it was wrong of them to disobey you, Your Grace, but let me ask you this. If I had suddenly been promised to another, would you have surrendered to duty, or would you have whisked me away?”

“It was different, Aemma. We were so young. I loved you from the day I met you in the Vale. I begged my lord father to make the match.”

“Has Rhaenyra not done the same? Yet you always have denied her. The Summer Prince would have gone to any lengths to ensure the happiness of his children. He believed you were in love, and you were but a child of three and ten when we met. Rhaenyra is a woman grown, and she knows her own heart.”

Viserys sighed. “If Rhaenyra is unhappy when we arrive at Dragonstone, as I suspect she will be, I will send Daemon to the Wall.”

Aemma kissed him. “You have a generous heart, my love. When we arrive at Dragonstone you will see what I have always seen.”

***

Rhaenyra and Daemon were married from Dragonstone at dusk, dressed in the ancestral garb of Old Valyria,

The maester recited the words of the ancient rite. Daemon cut Rhaenyra’s bottom lip with a piece of dragon glass. Then he cut his palm. Rhaenyra repeated the action. Daemon savored the sensation of the glass slicing through his lip.

With the blood, they painted the ancient symbols on their foreheads.

They joined hands, mixing their blood, and the maester bound their clasped hands. When the maester finished the words, he removed binding. Rhaenyra caressed Daemon’s cheek, her lovely amethyst eyes filled with adoration.

Daemon claimed her lips, savoring the taste of her blood. It ignited him. He buried one hand in her glorious tresses and pulled her close, pouring all the devotion he felt for her into the kiss. She responded in kind.

The maester cleared his throat, and the septon took his place.

They would need to be married in the light of the Seven to make it legal in Westeros, but the Valyrian ceremony was all that truly mattered to the new husband and wife.

They dutifully repeated the Westerosi vows. The septon and the maester bowed. Their dragons, soaring joyfully above them, roared their approval.

“Come with me, wife. There is much to be done,” Daemon said, enjoying the privilege of claiming her as his after the years of wanting her.

Rhaenyra grasped his hand in hers and allowed him to lead him not to their chambers, but to the painted table.

Daemon dismissed the guards, causing Rhaenyra to giggle. “What do you have planned for me, my lord husband?”

In answer, he kissed her. After a delicious moment, Rhaenyra attempted to remove her ceremonial garb. His beloved was bold, but he was intent on taking her in the ancient garments. He laid her against the stone table and rucked up the hem of the robe. She was gloriously bare beneath the heavy fabric. He was married to the future queen, and he intended to worship her.

He trailed kisses along one slender thigh. She spread her legs to grant him better access. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he took her bundle of nerves between his teeth, nipping it, and soothing with his tongue.

Rhaenyra moaned with pleasure and begged him to continue.

Daemon was happy to oblige.

He felt a wave of immense satisfaction when Rhaenyra found her release. Then he joined her on the table, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her hard. “Daemon, please,” she said breathlessly when he broke the kiss.

Never able to refuse her anything he buried himself to the hilt within her lovely body. He set a rigorous pace and he soon felt her clenching around him. Her cries of delight echoed in the cavernous chamber. There would be no doubt from anyone in Dragonstone that the marriage had been consummated.

He followed her over the edge, burying his face in her neck. They truly belonged to each other now, in the eyes of gods and men.

***

Otto Hightower paced his chambers in the Tower of the Hand.

The king was preparing to leave for Dragonstone. In an uncharacteristic show of strength and decisiveness , Viserys had announced his intentions to the small council. He had not entertained Otto’s protests. Worse, Lord Beesbury, Lyonel Strong, and Corlys Velaryon declared their support for a match the Prince and Princess. Betrothing the princess to a son of a second son had been a waste. In their eyes, Daemon Targaryen was a true and strong warrior. They admitted that he may have ulterior motives but it did not change their belief that the match would strengthen Princess Rhaenyra’s claim. Only Grand Maester Mellos had taken Otto’s side.

Otto would punish his fellow council members if he ever got the opportunity.

Otto knew his position was precarious, his favor with the king gradually slipping away. He would send a raven to Dragonstone in the King’s name. A raven would travel more swiftly than a royal procession.

Otto knew that Daemon had no love for Princess Rhaenyra. Even as her husband, he would never sit the throne himself.

Otto simply had to make the Prince an offer he could not refuse.

[fundeadasylum]

This Photo of Us Part 1: Lips Like Strawberry Wine

To literally no one’s surprise it’s more Micoverse. Let’s just say I listened to Blake Robin’s Unhealthy Obsession one too many times. 

Warnings: none for this chapter

Part 2 / Part 3

**********************************

On a wet, rainy autumn afternoon, Jacob Pierly disappeared.

----

Months before, just as spring was nudging aside the last, clingy vestiges of winter and stubbornly sprouting flowers against the still chilly mornings, Jacob Pierly met a girl. He’d ducked a coffee shop, eager to warm fingers cold from poor circulation and a breeze that had been biting since the early afternoon. Instead he got a shirt soaked with piping hot coco and a frantic, scrambling apology from the young woman who’d spilled her drink on him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention--it was a total accident--I’ll pay for the cleaning! I’ll--I’ll buy you a new shirt! I’m so, so sorry!”

“I, uh, n-no, it’s f-fine, it’s just--it’ll come right out. It’s not a big deal,” Jake stepped back, awkwardly raising his hands to fend off the woman’s frantic cascade of paper napkins, “It was my fault, I was distracted. Let--let me buy you another one.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t--”

“Please?”

The young woman bit her lip, dirty blonde hair in disarray, twenty or so napkins clutched in her grasp, “I...okay.” She smiled, shy and relenting, straightening up and trying to compose herself.

Jake’s heart skipped a beat for reasons entirely unrelated to preexisting medical conditions.

----

Her name was Rosanna Pearl and she was studying for a medical degree at a nearby college.

“With a minor in chemistry,” She added as they sat at a table in the cafe, each anxiously clutching at their drinks and avoiding direct eye contact, “And you can call me Rosie. Everyone else does.”

“Jake Pierly,” He said, the corner of his mouth twitching in an awkward smile, “Stay at home editor.”

Rosie giggled, “Pierly. Sounds like Pearl. Our last names kind of match. That’s a little funny. Maybe it’s fate we ran into each other.”

“Ah, maybe,” Jake could feel his ears burning as he chuckled, “But next time fate intervenes, I hope it involves less spilled hot chocolate.”

Rosie laughed, a real, resonating laugh that made her cheeks turn pink. It was such a sweet laugh that Jake found himself laughing too.

“What do you edit, if you don’t mind me asking?” Rosie asked when they had settled down.

Jake swallowed a mouthful of decaf, shrugged one shoulder and looked out the window so he didn’t have to face his problems, “Nothing special. Usually whatever anyone throws my way. Creative writing, mostly. Sometimes academic papers but there’s a lot of jargon I don’t get in those so I have to decline a lot of them. I can’t tell you how many awful books get handed off to me by these wanna-be novelists that think they’re going to be the next Stephen King or something.” He rolled his eyes, caught Rosie’s glance, and flushed, “D-don’t tell them I said that, I mean, I do the work. P-pays the bills, you know. Heh.”

“Oh no, don’t apologize, I’m pretty sure I know the type,” Rosie raised her eyebrows, “I used to work at a salon and you would not believe the bitches--the kinds of people who came through there! Awful people. Just. Terrible.”

Jake hid a smile behind the lid of his coffee cup, “Sounds like you’ve got some horror stories.”

Rosie smirked, “I’ll regale you with them sometime.” She glanced at her phone sitting on the table next to her, “But right now I really have to head out. Tell you what, coffee’s on me next time and I’ll spill all the dirty client secrets. Deal?”

Jake hummed, “Deal. What’s your number?”

----

“DAD! DAD! JAKE HAS A DATE! JAKE HAS A DATE!”

Dan looked up from the stove so fast he banged his head on the cabinet. Head smarting and eyes watering, he turned to face the teenager spilling head over heels into the kitchen, “Ow! What!? Milo, stop shouting! What did you say?”

“He didn’t say anything!” Jake shouted, spilling into the kitchen and nearly wiping out on the tile as his socks slid underneath him.

“JAKE’S GOING ON A DATE!”

Dan stared at Milo and then looked at Jake who appeared as though he’d like nothing better than to vanish through the floor, never to show himself again. His face was bright red and he was twisting his shirt into knots between his fingers, gaze darting across the room, shoulders hunched to his ears as he curled in on himself. In contrast, Milo was bouncing up and down, a wide grin on his face, snickering madly at having shared a piece of juicy gossip.

“Jake?” And even though Dan said it carefully he could still hear the eggshells popping under his feet.

“Ih-it’s not a date!” Jake said to the floor, “It’s just a coffee…meetup. Thing. To talk about work. Strictly--strictly platonic. M-maybe even business related. We only just met today and barely know each other but sh-she seems nice and stuff and we were joking around and so we’re just--just going to meet for coffee next week. It’s not a date! It’s nothing!”

Dan winked at him, “Of course, Jake. Not a date. Strictly professional. Got it.”

“You both are the worst.” Jake groaned and Milo cackled with glee.

-----

Dan and Milo left him alone about it for the time preceding the coffee meetup (though Jake suspected Milo only did so with much bribing and pleading from Dan). Jake was grateful for that much because he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten out of the house with friends apart from Dan and...well, these days it was just Dan. So this would be a nice change of pace from the usual fanfare.

Still, that didn’t stop him from fretting the morning of and changing his shirt three times. He couldn’t help it, he wanted to be presentable. That’s just who he was. He only settled down when Milo caught him trying to match ties and asked him what “his date’s favorite color was”. Dan had to stop Jake from chasing the teenager around the house with a dress shoe and threatening to smack the smile right off his face.

“When do you think you’ll be home?” Dan asked as he ushered Milo away to find something more productive to do with his time.

“Um, no later than 5?” Jake hazard, pulling on a jacket, “I’ve got a video call with a client I don’t want to look like roadkill for tomorrow, so I’ll be home in time for dinner and a decent night’s sleep.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Yes, dear,” Jake chided gently, “I’ll keep my phone on and I promise not to sleep with any strangers.”

“Jake…”

“Whoa! Dad’s cheating on dad!”

“Milo, go to your room!”

“This house is a nightmare!”

Jake could only laugh as he stepped outside and pulled the door shut.

The drive to the cafe was short but enough for Jake to work himself back up into a nervous frenzy all over again. He nearly shut his leg in the car door and tripped over his own feet as he stepped into the cafe.

A glance around and he met Rosie’s pretty brown eyes at a seat near the back, private and away from the crowd, sheltered mostly by a bakery display. She smiled and waved and he made his way over, slinging his jacket over the back of the chair as he sat down.

“Hi, um, hello Rosie, sorry. I hope you haven’t been waiting long. You haven’t, have you? It’s just I had to wrangle Milo and--”

“No, no, you’re fine, I’ve only been here a couple of minutes,” She assured him with a smile, “Who’s Milo? Your cat?”

Jake choked on his own breath of air and struggled not to laugh, “Oh my g--no, if he heard you call him that--good lord. No, no, Milo’s my son. Adopted son. My roommate Dan and I are looking after him since his dad, our friend, um…” He swallowed, the lies tasting foul in his mouth.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I asked.” Rosie said quietly. She shifted in her seat, glancing away from him, “Wow, what a way to start the day. Good job, Rosie.”

“Ah, it’s not...a big deal. It’s been ten years.” Jake pushed his finger across the linoleum tabletop in an absent manner, “Anyway, weren’t you going to--what was it?--regale me with epic tales of your worst clients?”

Rosie smirked, “I don’t think I said it quite like that. But why don’t I get us our drinks and tell you about this lady who wanted every shade of pink in her hair.”

----

It carried on, as these things tended to.

Every few weeks, Jake and Rosie would meet up at a cafe or a restaurant, and share drinks, a meal, and stories of their lives. Jake told her about college, about the red head father of his adopted son, something he hadn’t talked about to anyone for ages. In response, Rosie admitted her crippling fear of academic failure and disappointing the legacy of her dead parents. They got along incredibly well for a pair of mostly introverts, enthusiastically discussing music almost every time they met up. It made Jake light up in a way that even Dan couldn’t remember seeing before.

So of course, it had to end and end badly. Because life just couldn’t be fair to Jacob Pierly.

Dan came home from his shift one evening to find Jake slumped bonelessly on the couch in the sitting room, his expression tired and forlorn, his shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, and an empty package of Oreos open beside him. The television was stuck on the retro channel, playing old reruns of shows from the 70’s and 80’s, audio muffled by age and then cleaned up by modern tech.

“Jake…?” Dan asked tentatively, setting his coat down on the back of the couch, “Hey, buddy, you okay? Is Milo sick again?”

“Huh?” Jake blinked, coming back to himself with a small jolt and looking around as if unsure of where he was, “Oh, no, he’s over at Cody’s right now. He’s fine.”

“But...you’re not.” Dan said, easing onto the couch as if afraid he would startle his friend away, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Mm...I dunno…” Jake sighed, letting his head roll back onto the couch cushions, “Not really, but…” He sighed again, “I screwed up, Dan.”

“How’s that?”

“I...I asked Rosie out.”

Dan brightened but then immediately sobered, “Ah, that was, um, real brave of you.”

“Tch,” Jake snorted and his lip curled and for a second, Dan saw a flash of forgotten bitterness and old anger bubble to the surface, “Yeah, sure. Would have been great except she...she said no.” He deflated all over again, staring at his fingers curled loosely in his lap, looking more drawn and tired than ever, “Said I must’ve gotten the wrong impression, that she never wanted to be more than just friends. Said...we should probably...not see each other for a while.”

“Aw, Jake,” Dan murmured, “Jake, buddy, I’m sorry.”

Jake shrugged and sniffed as if he could dismiss the dreary atmosphere hanging in a cloud over his head, “‘S whatever.”

“Nooooo, no it’s noooottt,” Dan cooed, scooting closer to his friend on the couch, “Come here, Jake, let Dan hug all your sorrow away. Hug Machine Dan is here for you.”

“No, no, no Hug Machine Dan!” Jake backed up, but Dan pinned him against the arm rest and crushed him into a hug, “DAN! DAN LEGGO!”

“Are you done being sad?”

“YES!”

“Lies. I’m gonna keep hugging you!”

“I’m going to tell Milo to eat your cookie stash.”

----

Jake’s funk lasted for weeks.

But, eventually, as summer tumbled awkwardly into autumn, apologized, and politely stepped out of the way, he got over it. Jake tended to hang onto things and hang onto them hard and it took work for him to let them go. But he was trying and Dan could see he was trying and told him he was proud and Jake shoved him and they laughed and tried to pretend they didn’t miss the echo of a third laugh that should have been there but wasn’t.

Things were getting better. Things were looking up.

And then, on a wet, rainy autumn afternoon, Jacob Pierly disappeared.