#i wish i could draw lance

[papersak]

A conclusion to the Pokemon Masters story "Pure Hearts and Rainbow Wings."

the result of listening to Trainer Lodge: Night too many times and finding too much wholesome Lance and Silver content

[mizukkay]

[purplemoonabove]

What should have happened by this inspiration:

Lance: *spots Keith and runs over*

Keith, noticing and sighing: I don’t have time—MPH!

Lance, tackling Keith to the ground with a kiss:

Moments after.

Krolia: You never told me you had a mate waiting for you.

Keith with hair flustered, eyes dazed and cheeks red: … Neither did I.

[nico-di-genova]

So what petition do I need to sign to get a photo of Lance on this?

[bungiri]

lance repost bc i like this one a lot and i have no new art

[elise-the-potato]

I feel like I'm getting worse at drawing I mean my art from like July is so much better than my art now fjjdjfjjdhfkdnnfksj

[triglycercule]

i love doodling swapinverse like hello drawing characters aside from the normal mtt is lowkey therapeutic 🧡🧡🧡 anyways i FINALLY FINALLY finished crash's lore!!!! and vice.SER is connected to him,,,, theyre interconnected!!! i forgot how much i liked crash's design (not the design but all the little gimmicks in the design. figuring out all the hanging ribbon bits is annoying but hey it looks good)

[targaryenimagines]

Twin Flames

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8,219

Summary: With your due date drawing nearer, you begin to wonder what sort of life you’re going to be bringing into the world; dealing with your constantly fluctuating emotions is easier than facing the thoughts that grace your mind during the midnight hours. You should have known it’d only be a matter of time before your dragon became aware.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, grief, self worth issues, allusions to sex, and descriptions of labor/childbirth (non-graphic).

Notes: This shifted around from what I had initially planned, but I can’t say that I’m upset with how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all! Thank you to @justyourwritter69 for the wonderful inspiration — it may not be exactly what you had been thinking of, but I hope you like it all the same!

Series Masterlist

Warm palms run up the sides of your heaving body — still coiled tightly from the last shockwaves of ecstasy passing through — pulling you ever closer, even as a light laugh is hidden in the crook of your neck, the large grin stretched across your wife’s lips being more than apparent when she nuzzles the sweaty expanse of skin.

“I have to admit,” Daenerys pants, pressing one last lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw, before pulling back to peer down at you: silvery-gold hair acting as a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world entirely. “You might be starting to wear me out, dearest one.”

You arch a brow, legs opening to allow for Daenerys to comfortably settle once more between them; the heat radiating from her back, when you stroke a gentle finger down the length of her spine, offering a sense of comfort that no quilt ever could. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” you tease, a lightness to your tone that caused Daenerys’ own smile to grow that much more. “In fact, I believe it was you who kept me up all night in Meereen. Because, and I quote, you wanted to watch the sun set and rise while being inside of me.” A huff of laughter falls from your lips. “Where has that woman gone to?”

Violet eyes roll skyward, but the open fondness within her gaze, and the bone-deep adoration etched across her face, never wavers in the slightest. “She’s still here, ñuha perzys. Very much so.” As if to prove her point, Daenerys ruts softly against you; letting you feel the extent of the influence you had upon her body. “But I can’t do all of the things I wish to do to you. Not when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

A brilliant grin stretches across your face at the reminder — even as one of Daenerys’ palms slides from its place on your hip to the growing swell of your abdomen.

Precious cargo, you muse, taking in the sight of your Khaleesi’s peaceful expression. Your twins.

It had come as quite a shock to you when you discovered that you could potentially be having twins from the Palace Healer; a wave of complex emotions crashing over you as Daenerys had puffed up at the thought. It’s a trait you couldn’t help but admire in your wife. You had only ever seen her truly shaken a few times in your long relationship, even when she was the young would-be conqueror trying to find her way in the world, she rarely ever allowed herself to fall.

So, while you were swept into the tide of varying emotions, Daenerys stood as a sturdy rock beside you, preening with pride and jubilation at the fact that she’d soon have two more children to love, to adore, to protect.

In a manner she wasn’t able to before. A thought that had caused a spike of pain to lance through your heart, squeezing at your lungs to stifle the air that your two children would never be able to breathe again; Viserion and Rhaegal were never far from your mind. The golden gleam of the sun hitting the Narrow Sea reminded you of the warmth within Viserion’s aureate gaze, the pristine white of your wedding dress reminiscent of his beautiful scales. Whereas the changing seasons, from the cold winter months to the tentative grasp of spring, brought with it the memory of Rhaegal’s emerald-hued wings stretched across you in a protective embrace, the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, as a summer storm rolled in, bringing back the resounding echoes of his fiery roar to the forefront of your memory.

You knew, deep within your heart, that as long as their memory lived on within you, within Daenerys, and the people that they had graced with their presence, they’d never be truly gone.

Even though you wanted nothing more than for them to be here: to see three shadows flying over King’s Landing, to hear their roars echo along with Drogon’s, to feel the warmth of their bond within your very soul.

Their absence, as your pregnancy delved into the final months, became more apparent with each passing moment. You wished, more than anything, that you could share the kindling of new life with your darling Prūmia and Bāne; knowing that Drogon, your Mīsio, would find comfort from them as well. Instead, he now carried the burden of being an elder brother completely alone.

What was once three, is now only one…

The dragon is supposed to have three heads, but what do you do when two have been ripped away?

If you couldn’t protect Viserion and Rhaegal, mystical beasts from the oldest tales of Westeros, descendants of the mighty creatures of Old Valyria, then how would you ever be able to do so for your twins?

How could you be a proper mother when you’ve already failed so greatly?

“Where have you gone in that beautiful head of yours?” The gentle question pulls you from your torrential thoughts, unfocused eyes snapping to look into a calming violet gaze. At the sight a small smile quirks Daenerys’ lips, but you can detect the worry glimmering just beneath the surface. “There you are.”

You muster up a small smile, knowing that it was lackluster by the way Daenerys' frown seems to grow. "Here I am," you joke. "I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"I will always worry about you," Daenerys replies. "As long as my enemies walk this world, and something can cause harm to you, then I will continue to be worried. That's what you do for the people you love."

"Really?" Silken skin meets your fingertips as you gently trace a line from high cheekbones, down to a sharp jawline, to full lips, and back again. "I wasn't aware I ranked so highly on your list of priorities, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes narrow at the blatant teasing. "I don't have a list of priorities." You almost laugh at the petulant pout that overtakes your wife's face. "It's true, beloved."

"I don't think that's true, Daenerys." You begin to count on your fingers. "You have the Seven Kingdoms. You have your armies. You have the whole mess with the Stark's. You have--"

Soft lips do a great job at shutting you up, an expert tongue acting in a great supporting role to make you boneless beneath the commanding form of your wife, as nimble fingers curl through the strands of your still sex-mussed hair. "Nothing," she whispers hotly against your mouth, warm breath still mingling with your own. "Will ever be more important than you. The Iron Throne means nothing to me if I don't have you by my side while I rule. My armies mean nothing if I do not have you to defend. This right here?" Daenerys rubs her nose against your own, smoothing a hand down the swell of your belly. "Our family that you've blessed me with, our son that's been ravenously waiting for his little siblings, is all that I could ever want. Nothing will ever be more of a priority to me than my family."

You allow your Khaleesi to hold you close for a moment, at peace within her strong embrace, but soon the need to rile her up once more overtakes you. "All of those things you just mentioned are priorities to you?" Daenerys hums in agreement, having shifted over onto her back to allow you a better position to rest upon her chest, slender fingers now gently carding through your hair to untangle some of the strands. "Wouldn't you call that a list, Khaleesi?"

Daenerys' answering chuckle rumbles through her beneath your ear, her fingers never halting in their soothing motion, as she pulls you impossibly closer to her lithe form. "No, I wouldn't call it a list. A list makes it sound militaristic, cold, unfeeling, and that's the exact opposite of how I feel." She peers down at you through dark lashes, full lips quirked in adoration. "I call it the very reason for my next breath, the reason that my heart will continue beating, and the sole purpose that I'll never lose my fire to continue fighting for a better future."

Silence falls then — both being soothed by the company of the other; you by the steady beat of Dany's heart beneath your ear and Daenerys by the heat of your body curled against her own. You could even feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, something you're hoping will last till morning, before a need fills you once more. This time, instead of being one to tease your dragon, it's one to reaffirm that her adoration, her love, was more than reciprocated.

"You're everything to me, Dany," you sigh, nuzzling into warm skin. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

"And you, my dearest flame, are the big house with the red door and the lemon tree." Her arms tighten around you, her last words whispered against the crown of your head as you drift off into sleep. "I'm no longer lost when I look back. You helped me accept my past, embrace my present, and look forward to my future."

It’s only hours later, when your wife is nestled closely to you, a lithe arm wrapped around your abdomen in a protective embrace, that you finally give up on your battle to find sleep. You had hoped, as you had the many nights prior, that Daenerys would tire you out to the point that you could fall into dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion; something that typically worked.

But no one, not even your dragon, could maintain that level of vigor at night coupled with being Queen of Westeros during the day; although she made a valiant effort, certainly better than anyone else could hope to accomplish.

Refraining from making too much noise, even if it was to just sigh, you slowly edge your way from underneath your dragon's arm — something that's a lot easier in theory, even if you had been doing it more and more recently as sleep continued to elude you — almost panicking when Daenerys tightened her hold, grumbling something against the nape of your neck, before she slackened once more.

Slipping from the bed, after ensuring that Daenerys had truly fallen back asleep, you carefully maneuver around the room, slipping on a discarded tunic that you vaguely recall Daenerys wearing upon entering your shared chambers after dinner — having quickly shed her clothing to take a much-needed bath after the arduous day.

Following your usual route, you find yourself standing on the overhanging balcony that let you see King's Landing in its entirety as well as the harbor twinkling softly in the night. It's on nights like this, when the moon is bright and the stars are twinkling, that you have the most trouble falling asleep. On stormy, or simply overcast, nights you didn't ache deep within your bones, but when the world unveiled itself in its natural state of beauty?

It's like having shards of glass travel down your throat every time you took a breath. Memories of nights underneath a different starry sky, in arid deserts and ancient cities, wherein Viserion and Rhaegal danced across the sky like they were trying to join the very stars themselves — always testing to see who could fly higher.

Looking up now, at the stars shining so brilliantly, you can't help but wonder if they were up there now? If they had finally made it in their pursuit to see who could make it to the top. You wonder if Viserion had saved a special spot for Rhaegal... You wonder if he was currently saving spots for you all...

Tears blur your vision, distorting the sky into a hazy blob of black and silver, and you hope, that wherever they may be now, that they were happy. That they were safe and loved in a way they always deserved to be treated.

Could they see you now?

Could they hear the way your heart cried out for them?

Did they know how much you missed them?

Did they know how much you love them still? How much you will always love them?

Did they know how much darker the world had become since their light was taken away?

"What are you doing out here, ñuha perzys?"

No, your mind cries out. Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to wake up?

"Beloved?"

You hesitated in turning to look at her, knowing that the moment you did you'd be caught, but the longer you waited, the longer you stalled, the more Daenerys would become agitated, her protective instincts flaring into life. There's no way for you to get out of this... Not without the conversation you've been desperately trying to avoid.

So, with a soft sigh, you turn to face the love of your life; being met with the adorably disgruntled form of Daenerys Targaryen: clad in only a rumpled robe that had been thrown across a vanity due to her haste to have you hours before.

"Dany."

Daenerys rarely had to ask you what was plaguing your mind when it became like this — her ability to read you like a book coming in handy — and, for a brief moment, you're glad that you won't have to explain it to her. Explain to her how much of a failure you felt like you were. How your fears of becoming a mother were amplified because you had failed so spectacularly before.

Violet eyes observe you for another moment, darkening with an untold emotion, before something seems to shift inside of her.

"Do you blame me?" The question is uttered softly, on a hesitant breath, that is the complete opposite of your veracious wife. "Do you?"

You shake your head. "Blame you for what, Dany?"

Please don't know, please don't know, please--

"Viserion and Rhaegal."

The mention of their names, coupled with the latent thoughts still swirling within the dark recesses of your mind, causes you to flinch, arms instinctively tightening around yourself in a protective hold. An action that Daenerys must have taken as a positive answer to her question; if the almost injured look that's now openly expressed across her beautiful face is anything to go by.

"We've had this discussion before, Daenerys," you murmur, not wishing to rehash harsh words and reopen still barely healed wounds. "I don't blame you for Viserion. Not anymore."

Daenerys winces at the reminder of what had occurred in Dragonstone all those moons ago. "But you did." It's not a question. There's no need for pleasant lies when in the face of your soulmate. "Who's to say that you don't again? I wouldn't blame you if you did. It was my fault to listen to my advisors instead of my instincts. It was my fault to agree to send Jon Snow beyond the Wall with Jorah. It was my decision to go after them completely alone. It was my own stupidity that led me to turn my back on everything that I learned, everything that I had become in order to get to where I am now." She steps closer to you, unshed tears causing violet eyes to shimmer like untouched amethysts in the argent light of the moon. "It was all because of me that Viserion was struck down in an icy hellscape. Where he was forced to become enslaved to that thing. It was because of me that our son, our youngest child, had his fire drowned by ice."

Your eyes shutter shut at the memories her words invoke. Flashes of icy blue eyes where there should have been gentle gold viciously cycle within your head as you try to forget the brokenly shattered form of your son that you had found after the Battle of Winterfell.

"Not to mention Rhaegal," Daenerys continues, angry spite, all of it directed at herself, hardening her tone. "If I had paid more attention, if I had kept him closer to me, if I had been more cognizant that Euron would have been lurking in the waters below, then he would still be with us. You wouldn't have had to watch as he fell from the sky, you wouldn't have been bathed red by specks of his blood, you wouldn't have had to use milk of the poppy or dreamwine in order to fall asleep because you had such bad nightmares. You wouldn't have suffered if it wasn't for me. Our children would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

Even if some of what she said held merit — others being beliefs you had held onto just to inflict pain onto her; not unlike the pain you had felt when dealing with the unending grief — you refused to let her drown within her pain, refuse to let Daenerys' light get snuffed out. Not when she had been your steady rock for so long, your guiding light to bring you home, the only reason you had been able to pull yourself from the dark abyss their deaths had caused.

"No," you rebuke, tone firm. "I don't blame you, Daenerys. The Night King killed Viserion. The Night King is the reason our beautiful boy was trapped in an unending purgatory instead of the peaceful death he deserved. Rhaegal—" Pausing, lips pressed into a thin line, you take a shuddering breath before pressing on. "We didn't see Euron's fleet either. We were all aware of the potential risks he posed, but none of us took the proper precautions. Rhaegal, what happened to him, and what occurred afterwards, wasn't solely on you, Dany. You were foolish, I won't pretend that you weren't, but you were trying to make too many people happy, trying so hard to be the ruler that they all wanted you to be, instead of being the queen you were always meant to be. You got lost, Dany, and while the price we paid was high, and I don't think the pain will ever fully disappear, I'm just happy you were able to find yourself in some manner in the end." You step closer to your darling dragon, pressing a reverent hand to a flushed cheek. "So, no, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I don't blame you for the deaths of our children."

Daenerys simply stares at you for a moment, her gaze almost inscrutable, but you can see the light beginning to return, even as her lips downturn slightly. "Then why do you blame yourself?"

No answer is forthcoming even as a thousand more spring to mind.

How could I not be? I didn't speak up; I saw what was happening and didn't do anything. I wasn't the partner you deserved, Daenerys, not like the one you have been to me and, because of that, because I couldn't find it within myself to just fucking speak up, our sons were killed...

How could I not be responsible when I still remember the sounds of Viserion's distorted roar and Rhaegal's scream of agony?

How could I not be when I'm still haunted by their faces every damn day?

You know that you couldn't say any of those things — Daenerys would probably blow a fuse — but the look within your wife's gaze let you know that she wasn't going to let you off the hook quite yet.

"I don't know," you admit, shoulders slumping as you turn from her inquisitive stare. "I don't know. Are you happy?"

The warm presence of your wife settles before you, standing closer than she had since the entire discussion had begun. "Of course, I'm not happy. You're in pain." Slender fingers gently grasping your face to turn your head to look at her. "It's something I will never enjoy seeing, but I want you understand me when I say this." Daenerys' eyes sharpen, violet pools burning with an inner fire that bespoke of her bloodline. "You need to stop wondering what might have been. It's something I couldn't stop doing, something that I still struggle with on occasion, but it will only make it so that you miss what's happening now. Viserion and Rhaegal are gone, which is something that will never leave us, but to only carry the darkness around with us would be a disservice to the light they had brought into our lives. They're gone, but they'll never be forgotten, because we won't let that happen. So, please, don't blame yourself any longer for something you can't change. Not if you won't let me share that blame alongside you." She steps closer, always drawn like a moth to a flame when you're near. "I promised to protect you from everything when I took you as my wife, to love and hold you through any storm that may come, to weather any battle that'll mean you'll be okay. Even if that means contending with the beasts that lurk within your beautiful mind. I know it's hard, my beloved, but I can't stand not knowing when you're in pain. Not if there's something I can do about. So, please, don't shut me out even if you think you're protecting me by doing so."

You nod, heart twisting at her soulful plea. "I'll try."

Even if you don't know how you'll accomplish it...

"That's all I'll ever ask for."

There's a moment of silence — wherein only the world dares intertwine within the moment you were now sharing with your dragon — before Dany gently smiles at you, love and adoration etching themselves across her face in an open mural of her devotion towards you.

“Come back to bed.” Daenerys reaches out for you, her hands slightly chilled by the night air when your own slots perfectly in place. “You know how I hate the emptiness when you're not there.”

Fighting the urge to smile, you follow your wife back from the balcony into the spacious bedchamber you’ve made into your haven, and you're not surprised in the slightest when Daenerys flops down onto her back, arms wide open in a silent invitation for you to take your rightful place between them.

This time, when you fell into your dragon's embrace, the warmth of your bed surrounding you, though never standing a chance against the heat of your wife, you knew, in that moment, that you'd finally be able to sleep.

Even if it took a while for your mind to finally catch up with what your body needed.

You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep, but suddenly awakening, standing on a sunlit coast that was all too familiar, with the sound of sea birds and crashing waves surrounding you, gave you the impression that you had at some point.

Either that or you were finally going insane.

Turning in place, you take in the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a world that you hadn’t believed you’d ever return to; even if Essos was simply across the Narrow Sea, you don’t think you’d ever be able to see it the same way again. Not after everything that’s happened.

Still, even now, you couldn’t deny that the sight of the Great Pyramid, far off into the distance, didn’t elicit some bone-deep reaction within you. Memories of easier times flickering through your mind — even as the faces of the ones you lost threaten to overwhelm you — allowing for a small smile to stretch across your lips.

A smile that turns into a full blown grin the moment you crane your neck to look at the azure sky and see two familiar shapes circling overhead; Viserion and Rhaegal. Their wings beat rhythmically, creating a soft, soothing sound that echoes across the peaceful landscape as they begin to descend. The sight of them, at the ease in which they danced upon the wind, and around the other, brings a tug of longing to your heart; wishing, more than anything, that this wasn’t a dream. That you’d be able to see it when you awakened.

Landing with a soft thump, a small spray of golden sand showering over your feet, their massive forms tower over you, but you weren’t intimidated for a moment; not when they radiated an aura of warmth and familiarity.

Viserion approaches first, cream colored scales shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight, causing the golden accents to almost appear like flames, and nudges you gently with his snout, a gesture of recognition and affection. Pressing a hand to his cheek, almost crying at the feeling of his sun-soaked pebbled scales, you look into his gleaming golden eyes, a feeling of absolution settling over you as you realize that the icy blue wouldn’t be the last color you witnessed any longer.

Rhaegal, not to be outdone by his younger brother, soon approaches; emerald scales gleam like precious gems as the bronze hues brings with it the thought of your countless hours laying in a field watching him dip and dive in the wind. Tears, that had been gathering from the moment you saw your sons in the air, begin to fall down your cheeks, a sob being stifled in your throat, as you press your hands into both of their cheeks; wanting to be reassured that they were actually there. That they wouldn’t just vanish and leave you bereft once more.

“I miss you both so much,” you whisper, throat still tight from the efforts of keeping your sobs at bay. Their soft croons in response, large heads nuzzling closer to the warmth you provided, nearly being your undoing. “I’m sorry that I failed you. That I wasn’t able to protect you.”

They both let loose short rumbles in response; clearly not agreeing with your evaluation of your past deeds. Rhaegal nudges you with his head, forcing you to take a step back, as he and Viserion seem to have a silent conversation with the other. A sight that brings a small furrow to your brow, but you're not able to say, or do, anything before the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything blurs together. Your stomach lurching at the suddenness of solid ground, and a miasma of colors, as everything seems to settle once more.

Well... almost settled, you think, casting a quick glance to the world around you; noting, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that your sons were nowhere to be found, but that wasn't the only thing that had captured your attention.

Gone were the shrieking of the gulls, the warmth of the sand beneath your feet, the almost sweet scent upon the wind; now you stood at the precipice of a cliff you hadn’t been to since Daenerys had claimed King’s Landing — a place that’d forever haunt you.

Dragonstone…

The air is unusually still, carrying an otherworldly scent of sea salt and dragon fire. The sky above is a swirling canvas of deep purples and oranges, with stars twinkling faintly through the wisps of clouds; an almost dizzying shift from the golden sunlight, crystalline skies, and a warm ocean breeze.

Beneath your feet, waves crash against the rocks with an unparalleled intensity, sending sprays of foam into the air. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that the ancient castle was looming; towers reaching towards the sky as if to grasp what the owners had lost in the years since the dragons vanished.

Twin thumps, and rush of air that ruffles your hair, is all the warning you receive that your sons had arrived.

“Why are we here?”

You didn’t have the heart, or the strength of will, to ask all of the other questions plaguing your mind: Is this my punishment for failing you both? To be forever trapped in the place that I had last seen you? Happy. Whole. Together.

Viserion’s warm head bumps against your side, a small croon bubbling from deep within his throat; it was a sound he always used to make when he wished to go flying, or wanted you to scratch just a bit to the left, or simply because he wished for you attention, for your love.

You laugh wetly, fighting a losing battle in keeping your tears at bay. “I know you dragons are beasts that'll never be fully understood, but I’d like a straight answer at least once.”

None was forthcoming — not from Viserion, whose gentle gaze never wavered from where he had curled his neck around your body, nor from Rhaegal, who had decided to rest on the opposite side, bracketing you within their warmth, keeping you from the cold, harsh wind of the surf — but, in that moment, you realized all you needed to know.

It's a realization that barely registered before Viserion confirms it for you, pressing a warm snout against the clothed area of your abdomen — a place that had once been flat, now round with the promise of new life — and you feel your twins instantly react to his presence. A fact that causes Viserion to snort happily and for Rhaegal to finally raise his head to nuzzle closer; a position that you had been in numerous times before, wedged between your youngest boys while Drogon was off with Daenerys. The bittersweet twang that this moment causes makes you want to never leave, to never get up from the warmth that they had always provided.

Knowing, that when you woke up, you'd be without them once more.

Memories of the last time you had been on this cliff, watching the sun cast a miasma of colors across the Westerosi sky, as Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers worked on the sands far below, assault you in a vicious attack; echoes of Viserion's playful chortling as Rhaegal snarled in response to his brother's continued insistence to steal some of his food. A squabble the two had grown accustomed to having — one you had grown used to overseeing — that never escalated past the first few nips; wherein you'd finally step in and give Viserion the rest of whatever you had on hand.

You remember, with sharp clarity, the way the sun had cast an almost angelic aura within Viserion's kind eyes and the way in which it brought out the darker green hues within Rhaegal's hide.

You remember the serenity you had felt watching Drogon dip and weave across the bay, leaning up against Viserion's warm side with Rhaegal's large head nestled close to your lap.

You remember the sounds of raised voices, that you had previously ignored when they graced your ears through the whistling wind, growing closer; Tyrion's exasperation and Daenerys' calm nonchalance finally keying you into the severity of what was occurring.

You remember your own objections being raised when Daenerys had told you her plan — worry and fear nearly choking you. For her. For your children. For what it could mean for her men if something were to happen. For the future that you weren't ready to live without her in.

You remember the gentle kiss and promise that she had bestowed on you before mounting Drogon: "I will be back soon. You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

You remember the warmth of Viserion's cheek as you caressed his pebbled scales, the way your hair blew back when Rhaegal huffed as you leant to kiss his nose, and the amused look within Drogon's crimson gaze when you scratched under his chin.

You remember the heavy feeling in your chest nearly crushing you as you watched all three, along with your Khaleesi, disappear into the horizon.

And, above it all, you remember the look within violet eyes upon Daenerys' return, her pleading words when you looked out into the bay expecting to see three forms but instead saw only two, the distance that had grown between you as you dealt with your grief, the pain that kept you up at night, the regret that hung over you for not speaking up, and that same weight bearing down onto you.

You can't even bear to look out towards the open water now where Rhaegal had fallen, where his emerald scales had been stained forever crimson, and the sounds of his cries still haunted your dreams; your darling boy, your Bāne, always so hotheaded, disappearing beneath frothing water... Simply gone before you could even blink.

Both gone before you could...

The sudden realization of why you're here, why Viserion and Rhaegal were nestled so close to you, finally clicked into place and, with that realization, your tears finally cascaded down your cheeks.

"To say goodbye." You look down into their eyes, one set gold and the other bronze, as tears continue to fall from your own. "That's why I'm here. You're letting me say goodbye."

Twin rumbles meet your declaration, large heads pushing closer as they gently nuzzle your growing stomach. A sight that you would do anything to see in real life — knowing, with everything you had, that they would have made the best big brothers. Smoothing a hand down Rhaegal's jaw, and then shifting to Viserion, you lean closer and allow yourself to be fully wrapped in their embrace.

"I wish that I could go back and hold you both a bit longer. Give you a bit more of the fish I had stolen from the kitchen. Stayed a little bit longer snuggled into your side as I read. I wish that I could get all those little moments back and hold them tightly, so I'd never lose them, never lose you." Rhaegal nudges your shoulder, causing a watery chuckle to escape from your lips. "But, above anything, I wish that I had been able to show you both how much I loved you as fiercely, and as loyally, as you loved me, because I would have died to protect you. I would have gladly sacrificed myself so you both could live."

Shifting back, you look at your darling boys, never letting your hands stray too far from the warmth of their scales. "I want you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you, and that you'll never be far from my heart. No matter how much time passes, I will never forget either of you. I will never forget the moments we made together and the love you freely gave me. I will never forget what you both have done for me." You lightly place a kiss on both of their snouts. "Goodbye, my darling boys, for the next time I see you, I won't be leaving your sides ever again."

Viserion and Rhaegal press closer, their wings stretching out further to eclipse the very sky above you; casting the diluted light into a fractured array of bronze and gold coloring. The sight bringing you peace as the beginnings of the world starts to blur at the edge of your vision.

And, even as everything fades into grey around you — the twin gazes, one gold and the other bronze, act as a beacon of light to where you were meant to go.

Rain hammers against tall windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the grand tapestries on the walls within the royal bedchamber; the air heavy with the scent of salt and sea, mingling with the sweet incense burned by the attending septas.

You don’t know what had caused you to feel the sudden urge to travel to Dragonstone, remnants of a hazy memory being your only clue; as you rarely left King’s Landing since the news of the impending heirs became public knowledge. Daenerys hadn’t been happy about the potential trip — the way in which she had grit her teeth almost made you believe she was about to spit fire — but something in your eyes must have given her the impression that you weren’t going to back down.

Her acceptance didn’t mean it was an easy trip — with Daenerys’ constant hovering, Drogon snapping at anyone that got too close, and Grey Worm almost stabbing three maids that had suddenly appeared to help you out of the days outfit, being the lightest of the events that had occurred — but the sight of the ancient castle, with its dark spires reaching out to seemingly conquer the sky itself, brought with it a wave of relief that nearly keeled you over; the pressure within your heart clicking into place, making everything right once more.

Everything had gone smoothly for the first five days of your spontaneous vacation, but things had almost imploded when Daenerys had been told, via a raven, her presence was needed in King’s Landing due to a few of the minor noble families stirring up trouble with the visiting dignitaries from Essos. You knew that your wife didn’t wish to leave you, not so late into your pregnancy, nor did your son, but escalating drama within King’s Landing — one Daenerys wanted you far away from — compelled her to shift from doting wife to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She had left the next morning, with a searing kiss pressed to your lips, arms wrapped tight around your form, and a whispered vow seemingly imprinted into your skin: “I will be back within the next two days, I swear it. Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.”

Which means it was only right that you’d go into labor on the end of the second day; a raging storm, the likes that hadn’t been seen since your darling wife had been born, crashing over Dragonstone.

“Daenerys still isn’t here?” You gasp, a strangled groan escaping you at the same time. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Grey Worm stands by your side, his sharp features etched with concern. “No, Your Grace, but I know she’ll arrive soon. Even with this weather I’m certain the raven will have reached her by now. For the moment, until Her Majesty can be here, I implore you to focus on yourself.” His rough hand clutch yours, offering what little warmth and reassurance he can. “I’ll be by your side until then.”

The maester, with his wispy beard and trembling hands, no doubt aware of what would happen to him if something were to go wrong, moves between your legs, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Push now, gently,” he instructs, his soft tone a sharp contrast to the tempestuous night.

You follow his guidance, clutching at Grey Worm’s proffered hand, summoning every ounce of strength left within your body.

The ancient stones of Dragonstone seem to tremble in response to each clap of thunder, as if the very castle shared in your agony. Yet, amidst the roaring winds and pain — a single strike of clarity, not unlike the lightning streaking through the sky, hits you; a profound sense of determination racing through your haggard form, burrowing deep within your heart, to bring life into this world, despite the raging storm and the absence of your wife.

Gritting your teeth, an agonized cry tears itself from deep within your chest, as you push once more, only faintly hearing the guiding words of the maester.

And, just as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky, Daenerys stormed into the room, her presence commanding and urgent; violet eyes burning with residual fury at being held up, and silvery-gold hair slightly disheveled, betraying the haste in which she had arrived to Dragonstone.

Where she is, Drogon is sure to quickly follow, you think, warmth spreading through you at the sight of your wife and the knowledge your son was home. And, just as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shadow casts itself over the room, thundering wing-beats being easily discernible from the crackling lightning. No matter how tired he may have been from his long journey, Drogon would stay outside until you brought the twins into this world; a thought that brings a wave of affection for your eldest crashing through you.

“I’m here,” Daenerys announced, voice strained in apology but her relief was palpable as she made her way to your side; taking the spot that Grey Worm had quickly vacated. Pressing a kiss to the hand clasped in hers, Daenerys brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your overheated forehead. “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted nothing more than to be back by your side the moment I left it.”

You’re only able to offer her a strained smile in response, another wave of pain shooting through you as the maester continues guiding the process along.

Daenerys, easily taking note of your state, turns wild eyes to the gathered servants. “How is she? How far along are we?” The strained quality of her voice, coupled with the vice grip she has upon your hand, gives you an easy understanding of where your wife’s mind had went; to the night of her own birth in this very castle — a night where Daenerys Targaryen was borne but Rhaella Targaryen ceased to exist. “Has there been any issues?”

“No, Your Majesty.” A midwife helpfully supplies, her presence near the bed signifying that you’d hopefully bringing one of your twins into the world soon. “Everything has gone well. Her Majesty has been doing well. There’s no cause for alarm.”

Daenerys, while still stiff, seemed to accept the response, her attention swiftly falling to you solely. “I’m right here, my beloved. I’m not going anywhere.”

Time seems to stretch into an eternity — you’re barely able to discern Daenerys gentle hold, and soothing words, from the maester that was still acting as a guiding light — and the pain is almost stifling until, with one final push, the first of your twins enters the world.

Exhausted, yet elated at the same time, you watch, through bleary eyes, as a midwife quickly takes the babe into her arms to clean, only giving you the barest glimpse of a tiny form before disappearing into the swarm of moving bodies.

But, however much your body may rebel at the thought, the labor wasn’t over yet; another wave of pain crashing over you, ensured that you understood that fact. With every bit of strength you had left in your body, while sweat beaded your brow, and your wife stayed steadily by your side, you give one final push and feel as your second child comes into the world; the same process quickly taking place as the babe was swept away to be seen to.

Twin cries soon fill the chamber in a harmonious display of new life — cutting through the fog that had fallen over your mind — a sound that brings tears to your eyes and a lightness to your chest, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Boys! You’ve had two beautiful boys, Your Majesty!” A portly midwife bustles towards you, a delicately small form cradled against her clothed chest. “Perfectly healthy.”

Your son is soon placed on your chest, skin to skin, and he’s soon joined by his brother; both babes swaddled but giving you a perfect view to see their beautiful faces. Looking up at your dragon, you can’t help the tears that stream down your face when you notice her own glistening upon porcelain skin.

“Two handsome princes,” you murmur, gently tracing a line down a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe we’re mothers, Dany.” Your eyes meet the violet gaze of your wife, happiness shared between you like the love that has bonded you for years. “After all this time, I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

“I never wish to be anywhere else,” Daenerys replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand down your back. “I would do it all over again, go through all the pain and heart ache, if it meant that I could end up right back here with you, with our children.”

Angling your head, you huff out a light chuckle, taking note that Drogon had taken his leave to, no doubt, rest on the cliff side until he was allowed to meet his siblings in person; something you were excited to do, but your new position also allows you to get a better look at your Khaleesi for the first time; your brow furrowing in concern instantly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one covered in blood.” You tug at the crimson stained fabric of her ornate tunic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than fine, dearest one,” Daenerys soothes, calmly smoothing a wild strand of hair back behind your ear. “I simply honored the promise I made to you upon my departure.”

Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.

Your eyes flutter shut, arms tightening ever-so-slightly around the twins. “Who did you kill, Dany?” Violet eyes, filled with open amusement, are the first thing you see when you collect yourself. “It wasn’t anyone that’d cause a war, is it?”

“As if any of the nobleman would dare test me,” she scoffs, clearly affronted at the mere insinuation. “I made it abundantly clear how foolish it’d be to keep me from arriving back at your side promptly, something that most of those imbeciles seemed to take as a challenge. A feat that became even more imbecilic when I had received the raven stating that you had gone into labor.”

“How many?”

“I don’t see why that would matter—”

“How many, Daenerys?” You interrupt, the sharpness within your gaze causing your wife to halt mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare lie to me either, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Daenerys huffs. “A little over two dozen, I’d wager.” Her eyes roll skyward, as if she still couldn’t believe the audacity of the people who had stood between her and her family. “However, as I was saying, I don’t see why that would matter. I did tell them to not get in my way, especially since I was already in a horrid mood having to deal with their foolishness to begin with, not to mention leaving your side, I simply ran out of the patience that had already been in short supply.”

“I don’t even wish to imagine what you would have done if you had missed the birth of our sons.”

Your wife tilts her head. “I would have killed them all, of course. Keeping me from you is a sin upon itself, but keeping me away so you go through something like this alone? Wherein anything could have happened to you?” Daenerys shakes her head at the mere notion. “There wouldn’t be any mercy left in my heart; for there can never be any remnants if someone dares affect you due to their actions.”

Despite yourself, and still wanting to know the finer details about who exactly she had killed, and what sort of mess you could expect upon your return to King’s Landing, you couldn’t help the affection that courses through your veins; Daenerys, for everything that she was, and everything she used to be, had always loved you. More than you think you deserve, in all honesty, but the clear dedication she had for you was never more apparent than in this moment.

So, for her, for everything that she has done, and will continue to do, in the name for her love towards you, you decide to drop the conversation for the moment. This wasn’t a time to get into a petty squabble with your wife; not when your sons slumbered peacefully against your chest.

Daenerys, clearly on the same wave of thought, runs a slender finger across the wisps of silvery-gold hair peeking out from underneath the cloth of the twin closest to her. “What shall we call them, ñuha perzys?”

You pause, ruminating over the variety of choices; Old Valyrian was an obvious choice, something strong to showcase the roots that your sons now held to the ancient world, but what names stuck out the most?

Suddenly, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, you realize the only choice of what they could be.

“I have the perfect names in mind, Dany.” Whispers of a phantom dream wisp through your mind, echoing deep within your heart and soul, your smile turning soft as you gently stroke the soft cheeks of your twins. “If you’ll allow me the honor of bestowing them?”

Daenerys’ beautiful smile in return, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears, is all you needed to see to understand that she was more than willing to grant you whatever you wished.

“I think I’ve always known. It’s just something I haven’t been able to see until now.” You lean against your wife, nestled safely underneath her arm, forever seeking the warmth she so effortlessly provided, as you spoke to the room at large: the surrounding midwives, a wizened maester, various servants, and your most loyal guards, all standing at attention. “I’d like you all to meet Prince Rhaegon and Prince Viseryn of House Targaryen.”

And, if you allowed yourself to believe, to listen close enough, through the crashing of the waves and the rage of the wind, as well as the cheering of the people within the room, you could just make out the twin sounds of answering roars from across the Narrow Sea.

[hotshotsxyz]

heart is beating heavily

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1k) several people asked for more of this town is only gonna eat you so this is that. unfortunately i am still feeling evil, so please enjoy buck's pov of the same events :) btw the title of both of these fics comes from the song bloody shirt by to kill a king, which i played on repeat while writing these cw: mass shooting / gun violence

Buck’s breath leaves him in a sharp exhale when he hits the ground. It hurts, but not—not where it should. His chest, his back, they’re on fire. His head, though, as violently as he was thrown to the ground, never makes contact with the cement.

The only thing he can see now is Eddie. Eddie, hovering above him, eyes wild. He looks—cornered. Trapped. Only he’s the one pressing Buck into the sticky floor of the arena, not the other way around, and he doesn’t understand why.

“Eds,” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a croak.

Eddie shakes his head sharply, almost—

Panicked.

Buck takes a breath and it hurts. His thoughts feel sluggish in a way they never really are. He tries to take stock of what he knows anyway.

His body is screaming in pain.

Eddie is afraid. (Why is Eddie afraid? What could possibly—)

They’re on the floor. (Eddie pushed him to the floor. Why would he—)

The space around them is filled with a cacophonous noise that Buck can’t quite identify.

Pain. Fear. Sharp popping noises that make Buck’s ears hurt, and—

Screaming.

Oh.

Buck presses his lips together and tips his chin toward his chest in an approximation of a nod. Eddie exhales, warm against his cheek. His face does something complicated, and then—

I’m sorry, Eddie mouths, and before Buck can figure out what for, white hot pain lances through his chest.

In his mind he screams.

In reality, he bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. They’re in danger, and he won’t—As long as he’s still breathing, Eddie won’t leave him here. Even if he should. He won’t protect himself, won’t run, won’t hide. The least Buck can do is keep from drawing attention toward them, but in the moment, it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“—so good,” Eddie breathes into his ear. “I got you; I promise.”

Buck wants to believe that almost as much as he wishes Eddie would just save himself. Every breath he takes is harder than the one before, though, and it occurs to him that soon, he might draw his last. If he has to die, Eddie’s face is a pretty incredible last thing to see. He just wishes it wasn’t twisted in pain and fear.

It takes a minute for Buck to catch up with his own thoughts. Pain. That’s—he’s seen it in Eddie’s expression enough times to know it intimately. Why is he in pain? Eddie presses his cheek to Buck’s before he can interrogate the expression further.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay? You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The scrape of Eddie’s jaw against his sends something like a shiver down Buck’s spine. There’s something—something important, but—it feels just out of reach.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—I just need you to hold on,” Eddie whispers, quietly wrecked.

He’s trying. God is he trying. But it’s—every breath feels like pulling fire into his lungs. With every exhale, he feels a tiny bit weaker, a tiny bit worse. Eddie pulls away slightly, and Buck feels the absence like a missing rib.

“Hear that?” Eddie asks, brushing a thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t hear anything other than Eddie, but he’s not sure he wants to.

“We’re so close, Buck.”

Something settles in his chest at the sound of his name on Eddie’s lips, louder than before, drenched in something that sounds like relief. He blinks once, twice, slow and heavy.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says sharply. And—oh, when did he get so far away?

Eddie pulls the hem of his shirt to his teeth and—oh god. That’s not Buck’s blood. He’s—Eddie’s hurt too, but Buck can’t make his mouth work, can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to—

“No!” Eddie commands. A new pain accompanies his voice. “You’re staying right here with me, got it?”

He has to—has to tell Eddie—he doesn’t—

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie says, eyes shining.

A lump forms in his throat.

“Just keep—c’mon Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

He does. He does have to be okay because Eddie’s not and he’s acting like he doesn’t even know.

“Hurt,” Buck forces out.

“I know,” Eddie says, but he doesn’t! “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

Buck lets out a frustrated groan. He tries to shake his head, and when that fails, to lift his hand to Eddie’s abdomen.

Eddie turns away from him, and if Buck could scream now, he would.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

No! No he can’t! Buck tries to tell him again, tries to force anything through his lips that Eddie will understand. You’re—“hurt,” he manages again. He can’t even lift his hand now. He’s dying and he’s going to take Eddie with him.

Eddie says something he can’t parse, and suddenly he’s moving, being lifted dizzyingly high off the ground. He sees—

A body. A swarm of cops. Uniformed paramedics and EMTs running in every direction imaginable.

One of them, he just needs one of them to look at Eddie. He just needs one of them to see. He’s still walking, still talking. He still has time.

Eddie drops him onto what must be a gurney, and immediately it begins to roll. Buck allows his head to loll away from Eddie and towards—

An EMT! She can—she can do something. She can—

She’s not looking at him.

She’s not looking at Eddie either. She’s looking straight ahead and under any other circumstances Buck would compliment her for her pragmatic understanding of the urgency of the situation. But she’s walking too fast and Eddie’s beginning to stumble.

“Diaz, is that—” Yes, yes! Someone sees him. Someone else knows—

“—were you shot?”

Buck gets his head around just in time to watch Eddie collapse into the arms of a firefighter he doesn’t recognize.

He wants to scream, to sob, to thrash against the restraints keeping him on the gurney. He wants to—

Wants to—

Needs—

Eddie.

[bxrningdragxn]

I can just imagine Lance keeping a leash on Steven at times lol

Do you take ship headcanons? because Lance & Steven have taken over my brain these past few months

Steven is shorter than Lance, I refuse to accept anything else lol

They try to act "cool" and "professional" in public but are really affectionate in private

In the beginning of the relationship they tried to hide it from their friends but they knew

when they did eventually tell the others reactions varied from "congratulations!" to "well... duh"

Lance gets flustered around compliments, Steven thinks its funny/cute

For the record, these two are a package deal, from league meetings to just hanging out with friends, they're always right next to each other

Steven likes snuggling up to Lance at any chance he gets

He has also used Lance's cape as a blanket on more than one occasion

Steven has stolen one of the capes to keep at home for when they're apart, Lance pretends not to have noticed

Lance has a drawer full of rocks that Steven gave him in his office

Lance cooks, Steven isn't allowed within 5 meters of the kitchen

Hoenn's poster boy has managed to light water on fire before

Lance has never let that go

early on in their friendship (yeah, friends to lovers, sue me) Lance called Steven a rock type specialist instead of steel by accident, Steven never let him forget this (came across this one in a chatfic and decided to steal it lol)

Steven gets worried about Lance often because he does dangerous stuff

Lance gets worried about Steven a lot because he does stupid shit

like home boy once got stuck in a cave for a few hours without cell service because he broke his ankle trying to get to a pretty rock

Lance's worry turned to annoyance when he found out how Steven got into this predicament

To this day Steven insists Lance overreacted because "I turned out fine."

I spend too much time thinking about these guys lmao

I once was a HUGE Lance/Steven fan back when and I greatly approve of these.

Steven being The Lovable Idiot and Lance being the one who has to keep him in check at all times is so funny. Good for them honestly.

(Also Steel/Dragon is such a good ship combo it reminds me of a knight who fell in love with the dragon shhshahk)

[yusume-the-writer]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ @fellow-anime-weeb927 . ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ғᴏʀ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀsʜ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ ᴏғ sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 2 ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ.

ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ, sᴏ ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ɪғ ɪᴛ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴋɪɴɢ.

(ᴇɴɢʟɪsʜ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴏ ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴀɴᴅ ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ɢʀᴀᴛᴇғᴜʟ ᴛᴏ ɪᴍᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ᴇɴɢʟɪsʜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴏʀ)

*╔═══❖•ೋ° °ೋ•❖═══╗*

Mash's love language and mostly quality time

↑ If you are in the same room, it will be a comfortable atmosphere while you do completely different things or do something together.

You and Mash will often make profiteroles or other types of desserts together in the kitchen.

↑ Well you will do the other desserts while Mash helps you by delivering the items, since everything he cooks becomes a profiterole

↑ After that you sometimes eat together in the kitchen or have a picnic in an isolated area of the forest while talking about your day or random things

You try to make sure the owls don't hate the mash, but it typically doesn't work out… but at least they don't attack you when you're together when you enter their area.

Your relationship is a secret for most people in the school. Well, that's because you don't act much like a couple in front of people, since you show mutually out of sight of people.

↑ So it was a surprise for the group that you and Mash were dating

↑ And when they found out, oh… boy, prepares to receive a trillion questions from Dot and Lemon, Finn will congratulate them, Lance won't care at all and Tom will wish them your relationship lasting just like a bamboo.

As I mentioned before, he doesn't do much PDA just hold his hands, when it's just the two of you there and a different story.

↑ As I said before, you and Mash may be doing different things, but in the same room, but you also have your moments of affection sessions

↑ A habit you have and Mash lies on top of you with your head buried in the curve of your neck while you read a book, or you lie on top of the mash while the two of you take a nap

↑ If you play with his hair while he's on top of you, he'll fall asleep quickly and when that happens he holds you really tight making you get stuck underneath him, but on the positive side you can see how cute he is when he's sleeping

↑ Another habit too and that every time you want to reward him for something you always give him a kiss on the cheek (often he wants it to be on his lips)

↑ But if you want to see him a blushing mess, just make a kiss attack all over his face except his lips, and at the end of a big breathy kiss on his lip as soon as you get out of the kiss, so you can get air, Mash will have his eyes wide and his face will be a red that can rival Daut's hair tone

There was a time when you were making profiteroles and you were waiting for them to bake, you suggested dancing as a way to pass the time and of course Mash ended up saying he didn't know, but you said you could teach him, so you started dancing and it was a surprise that he actually was good

↑ Without you realizing it, it has become a habit for you to do this when you are bored and alone.

Study meeting. The reason? He needs.

↑ As we know, Mash is not great at things that don't have to do with using his muscles, and he also breaks down when he receives too much information at once without rest, sooooo you guys have a study meeting on the weekends so that he can better understand the Subjects

↑ Is easy? No, it's not. It is worth it? Yes. Because surprisingly he managed to get an 80/100!!!! (Isn't there the time when Marvina got mad at Mash and her eyes went bulging? She made the same expression while correcting Mash's test and seeing that he got 80/100) When he showed you that, he was looking like a child showing his parents a drawing he made.

↑ Please tell him that you are proud of him and that you give him a lot of attention and affection, he doesn't show it, but he is very happy and grateful that you helped him and had a lot of patience to endure and teach him

Please teach him how to open a door correctly (the doors will be grateful for this gesture)

When Mash writes letters to Pops, he mentions you in almost every letter (Pops was surprised when Mash wrote to him that he got a good grade with your help).

*╚═══❖•ೋ° °ೋ•❖═══╝*

[mydadleft471]

messmer seems the type to, despite his self loathing in some aspects, does hold his knightly compass in high regard. loves traditional long courting periods and kissing his betrothed’s hands (no matter how long he’s been married he’s still as smitten and proving his worth daily) never lets his lover open a door themselves and ensures they have the comfiest seat in the room. gets a little sad in a cute way when you step on a chair to reach something instead of asking him for aid….. very protective of their honour

part of me wants him to ask for my favour at a tourney i think he’d just make a sexy cavalry knight….. fights with a stronger fire in his eyes when their floral wreath is on his lance

I WISH I COULD DRAW THIS OMG. Anon you’re so big brained! I also see him as a huge romantic, very chivalrous and proper! He is a prince after all. I love him sm goodness

[minamorsart]

What , And how did you start pairing lotura, And Plance .?

Ooooh boy am I excited to answer this!!! This is going to be a long answer, hope you don't mind! Because I have some specific memories about these two ships, particularly lotura, that I would absolutely love to share with you!

Prepare for a long read! Hehe

Starting with lotura, when season 3 came out and Lotor made his debut, of course I was all 👀👀👀 Because that day something awoke in 19 year old me that I didn't realize could ever be awoken lol. And I wish I could remember exactly what my reaction was to his cat-and-mouse chase with Allura in the episode "The Hunted", but at the time I must not have considered the idea of them ever going in the direction of a romance. Looking back now though, how could I have been so blind??! That chase scene is HOT. I mean just look at them!!! Look at Lotor especially woah mama 😳

Season 4 was mediocre to me at the time, I will confess, for a lot of different reasons. But then season 5, man... SEASON 5!!!! I remember it was March 3rd, 2018. I wasn't keeping up with the show anymore, but I just so happened to see an article online that said season 5 had been released the day before on Netflix. I told my sister and we decided, "eh, let's watch at least the first episode."

And we watched the first episode, alright. And then another, and then another and another until we watched all six episodes in one sitting. We were both blown away! Lotor... Allura... together???? 😲

Their adventures, their chemistry, their clear attraction to one another... I was OBSESSED!!! I shipped them hardcore after that. They were and are still my #1 OTP, and it's because of them that I really tried to work hard and improve my art! I wanted to draw them all the time, making mini comics and AUs, and while their tragic ending actually left me in tears and I was upset for a really long time, I can now say that I have been able to heal and move on from it--eh, mostly anyway, haha.

It still hurts, but 5 years later I feel that I've matured and come to a greater understanding and acceptance. I have come to really appreciate how perfect they are for each other, both aesthetically of course (cuz lookit that sexual dimorphism babeyyy) as well as the many, many things they have in common. I have also come to appreciate their flaws, their imperfections, and the mistakes they made regarding each other and their relationship. They may have gotten a sad ending, but they were still truly equals in every way. It's just beautiful, and my love for them now is stronger than ever :')

For Lance and Pidge on the other hand, it's not quite as clear as when I started shipping them! I remember rolling my eyes at Lance and Allura's first meeting, like "okay Lance is one of THESE guys, here we go 🙄"

Other than that I didn't really ship Lance or Pidge with anyone! If I'm recalling correctly, I don't think it wasn't until after season 6 that I started shipping them together. I remember reading metas and analyses of their relationship that people were making in anticipation for season 7's release, and the more I thought about it, the more I started to really like the idea of Lance and Pidge getting together! And there are definitely subtle hints throughout the earlier seasons of Pidge's feelings for Lance, as well as their fun chemistry with one another, like the episode "Space Mall"!

The hints are not so subtle to me now, but back then it wasn't until I watched season 7 that I actually became hopeful that they could be a couple! I especially loved the moments when Pidge indirectly called Lance "cute, in a creepy, hideous sort of way" lol, and when Lance become very protective over Pidge in such a way that I don't think we ever saw him react before! I was honestly taken aback by that moment!

And again, their ending was definitely less than satisfactory, particularly Lance's ending (still hate it with a passion), but just like with Lotura's relationship, I have also come to appreciate many things about Plance's relationship today. While Lotor and Allura have so much in common and are able to reach an understanding with each other that they can't with anyone else, it would seem at first that Pidge and Lance are far too different to be compatible. And it is true that they are very different, but for one, that can be a good thing! The foundations of some relationships are built off of their differences. It can make someone more compassionate and more open-minded when they have a willingness to accept and appreciate the differences they have with their partner, and a willingness to take a genuine interest in the things that their partner is passionate about, even if they don't completely understand.

And two, at the same time, Pidge and Lance DO have things in common! They both love their families, both have a stronger connection to Earth compared to the other paladins, and they are able to bond with one another over fun pastimes such as video games! How cute is that??!

And just like with Lotor and Allura, I also love Pidge and Lance for their flaws. It did take me a while to come around to Lance, because while he has his funny moments and one-liners, I also found him very annoying at times lol. But I think the fact that he can be really annoying honestly makes him the most realistic character in Voltron. Not necessarily the most relatable, at least not for me, but definitely the most human! Because there are people in our real lives that we love and cherish deeply, but they absolutely have their moments where you go, "ugh, you're so annoying and it really frustrates me when you act this way" but we still wouldn't trade them for the world 🥰

And just to draw one last comparison between Lotura and Plance, I especially LOVE how incredibly different the two pairings are even from each other! To me, Lotor and Allura are sexy and passionate, while Pidge and Lance are pure and fun! They're all so unique and special in their own ways, and they bring so much to the table, both for their characters and for their relationships.

I can't help but write essays every time I get asks, I'm so sorry lol 😭 There's so much more I could say about these guys, but I think I'd better stop here haha! I had a lot of fun writing about Lotura and Plance, and I hope you had just as much fun reading this! I really love these characters a lot. I'm so incredibly grateful that they exist, even if in the form of fiction, and I'm even MORE grateful that my love for them has continued to grow over the years. Thank you so much for the ask!!!! 💖💜💙💚

Oh and one last thing: we were robbed of a lot of different potential interactions with a lot of different characters, but I have to say it would have been fun to see more of Lotor and Lance interacting with each other! Lance was always acting out due to his jealousy, while Lotor on the other hand mostly just ignored him lol.

[eurydycee]

Winter’s Thorn: chapter II amidst chivalry and rivalry

⚘ cregan stark x tyrell!OC

────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────

Synopsis: Caught in the political machinations of Westeros, Lady Euphemia Tyrell and her brother Adlyn, Lord Tyrell, Warden of the Reach navigate treacherous alliances to secure their house's future. Summoned to King's Landing, Adlyn strikes a desperate deal with Lord Cregan Stark, unknowingly sealing Euphemia's fate. As winter approaches, House Tyrell must balance duty, loyalty, and survival in a realm fraught with danger.

────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────

format: series (ongoing) word count: ~ 3k warnings: hint of violence, not reread a/n: hello! this is my very first fanfiction...requests and criticism are always welcome if you want to be tagged comment!! I really hope you will enjoy it as much as I have (english is not even in my top 3 languages haha). omg I did not expect any interaction I'm truly grateful ( don't be shy to comment!)

────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────

─────୨ৎ────────𓃦────────

The sun had already reached its culmination, casting a quiet hot, golden glow over the tourney grounds. Vibrant banners fluttered in the breeze each bearing a colour and sigil to represent a house. The triumphant notes of the trumpets blared through the arena, signalling the beginning of the festivities. The crowd erupted in cheers, the excitement palpable as they anticipated the day's events. The clattering of armour and the clinking of weapons only added to the din, creating a symphony of sounds that spoke of celebration and impending competition.

Knights paraded before the stands, their armour shining brilliantly, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling displays. Horses, draped in rich, embroidered caparisons, pranced and snorted, their riders guiding them with expert hands. The knights saluted their lances to the gathered nobility, drawing more cheers and applause from the enthusiastic crowd.

Children darted between the stalls, their laughter and shouts of joy echoing as they played games and admired the brightly coloured ribbons and trinkets for sale. Merchants hawking their wares, voices competing to draw attention to their exotic goods and delicious treats. Jugglers and minstrels entertained onlookers with their skills, adding to the festive atmosphere.

Amidst the celebration, Adlyn sat in his designated seat, fiddling with his cufflinks. His nerves were a storm at sea.

The sounds of the fanfare continued to swell, the music and cheers blending into a harmonious celebration of the kingdom’s unity and the start of the festivities. Yet, Euphemia was nowhere to be found.

 "Where is my sister? The games will start any moment. It isn't like her to disappear just like that.” Adlyn whisper-shouted his emotions at bursting point

"Why don't I go look for her to ease your nerves, my lord?" his guard whispered reassuringly.

“Yes but make haste” Adlyn waved him off and went back to drowning himself in his worries

---------------------------------------

"I present thee the gallant knight of the Northern lands, Ser Cregan!" snickered Lord Mormont pushing and pulling the armour of his Lord.

"Tell me, friend, why did you choose to participate in the one battle a Northman wouldn't partake in, even when promised gold?"

"Because if this lad wishes to be the underwing of my dear Coral, he’ll need to prove his wings to be steady--to me and her. Isn’t that right, future brother of mine?" interrupted Crayn, raising his lance and poking Cregan’s side affectionately.

Out of a sudden, a voice called out Crayn, and the knight found himself enveloped in a sudden, tight embrace.

“Sister, how you’ve grown! Last I saw you, you were what, five?”

“Eight,” Coral corrected with a playful grin. “And look at you now, a dashing knight!

Coral turned to the Lord's Hand, her confusion evident. “Oh my, will you be participating too? I didn’t know you could, you know not being knighted. “Indeed, I am no true knight,” he said, emphasising the word true while simultaneously gesturing his arms at her brother”, but the King insisted on my presence today.”

“Lady Euphemia,” interjected a guard gently, “you shouldn’t be here. Let’s return to your tribune. You’ll speak after the games.”

----------

Euphemia pouted but relented. She pulled out a delicate hairpin adorned with a small gemstone and handed it to her brother. After Adjusting a stray strand of hair that had escaped her intricate braids, she said, “Here, my blessing to you, good Ser.” With a final glance, she turned and made her way back to her seat.

Euphemia entered the tribune just as her brother began his speech, his voice resonating across the crowd, welcoming the attendees and toasting in the name of Their Majesties, the King and Queen.

-------

“Lords and Ladies, honored guests, and noble knights, today is a day of immense celebration and historical significance. I stand before you, filled with the pride and honor of our great kingdom, to mark this momentous occasion.

I recall vividly the day when we all emerged from our homes, hearts alight with hope, upon hearing the news that the usurper Aegon had been defeated, and our rightful King Aegon had ascended to the throne. That day signified not just the end of a tyrant’s reign, but the dawn of a new era--an era of justice, peace, and prosperity.

Today, we gather to welcome a new sovereign, a beacon of hope for our future. We stand on the precipice of a golden age, one free from the shackles of war, where our children and their children may know only the blessings of peace.

Let us raise our goblets high and toast to the health and glory of our magnificent King and gracious Queen. May their reign be long and prosperous, may their wisdom guide us, and may their hearts remain ever compassionate towards their people.

Seven blessings upon our King and Queen, seven blessings upon you all, dear friends. Let us celebrate this glorious day with joy, honor, and unwavering loyalty to our sovereigns and our realm. Together, we shall usher in a time of unparalleled peace and unity. Seven blessings to the realm!

Trumpets blared triumphantly after his last words, and knights began to enter the arena one by one. Euphemia's eyes scanned the field until she found her brother, sitting tall on a beautiful mare. His armour gleamed in the sunlight, and his lance stood tall and mighty. Beside him was Cregan for a man who always wore his ancestral fur cloak, suited the polished armour  him well, giving him an imposing and regal appearance,  thought Euphemia.

“First, we have Ser Gorrath from house Codd against Ser Rivan from house Clegane!” the announcer's voice echoed through the grounds.

The games began with fervour. Knights clashed, displaying their skills and courage. Men won, some got injured, and tragedy struck when a young boy from the Vale was killed, his life brutally cut short in his first tourney. Euphemia placed a hand on her stomach, hoping to calm the nausea rising within her. She watched in horror as the knight bound the boy's heels to his horse and paraded the lifeless body around the grounds for the crowd to see.

After the gruesome scene was cleared, the entrance of Cregan and her brother was announced. Cregan rode in with an air of calm authority on his horse, followed closely by her brother. Cregan marched forward towards the tribune, his gaze locking with Euphemia’s. Her thoughts swirled in a storm of emotions. Was he coming to ask for her favor, to thank them for the tourney, or was he looking at someone else? As he lifted his helmet, their eyes remained fixed on each other. A slow, confident smirk spread across his face as he spoke.

“May I have the honour of your favour, my lady? For only you can guide me to victory?”

His words cut through her swirling thoughts, creating a path where there had been none. Had he always been so eloquent, so cunning with his words? It wasn’t the request that flustered her, but the lips from which it came. In Highgarden, she had heard many sweet words, but none had affected her like this. She then decided to act for her tongue had been tied in knots. Leaning over the balcony with a poised intimacy, she tied her favor to his lance. Their eyes followed the fabric sliding down the weapon. He then pivoted his horse as she did, both turning away. She returned to her seat, her composure intact, though a hot flush ran down her body, coloring her cheeks with a mix of excitement and embarrassment.

“Hahaha, he knows how to ignite the flame for the fight,” Crayn exploded in laughter.l

“Huh?” Euphemia replied, snapping out her recent encounter.

“Asking for your favor before facing Crayn,” her brother explained. “Either he wants a true challenge or to at least take away part of his victory.”

As her brother's words drifted into her ears, a cocoon of silence enveloped her, shielding her from the chaos around her. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to protect herself from the embarrassment swelling inside. How could she have thought it meant something more? He was just trying to spite her brother. Foolish girl.

Her eyes wandered aimlessly, her mind vacant, until the crowd's gasp jolted her back to reality. Crayn had pushed Cregan off his horse, but before falling, Cregan managed to pull Crayn down with him. Euphemia and Adlyn sprang from their seats, rushing to the edge of the tribune to witness the unfolding battle on the ground. Her brother grabbed a spear, while Cregan armed himself with a massive hammer. Crayn, lighter on his feet and armed with his spear, seemed to have the advantage, deftly avoiding Cregan's heavy and slow strikes.

The two opponents charged at each other, their weapons clashing with a resounding crash. But the spear couldn't withstand the hammer's power and snapped in two, leaving Crayn with only a splintered shaft. Cregan seized the opportunity, swinging his hammer with brutal force, striking Crayn under the chin, and sending him flying backward into the arena wall.

The crowd's roar was deafening, a mix of cheers and gasps. Euphemia felt her heart seize in her chest as she watched her brother fall. Blood pounded in her ears, and she clutched the balcony rail, her knuckles white with tension. She sensed a hand reaching out from somewhere and grabbing hers. Adlyn did not look at her, his eyes were glued to the tourney, but his fingers were wrapped around her palm as he gave her a firm squeeze reminding her... Tourneys were not just a spectacle; they were a harsh reminder of the brutal reality of their world, where honour and chivalry could be overshadowed by violence and rivalry.

The scene had been cleared, and Cregan marched triumphantly, the cheers of the crowd still echoing in the air. New players were announced, and the tourney continued unabated, yet Euphemia’s mind was far from the festivities. Her thoughts were consumed by Crayn, his pained expression etched into her memory. Desperation clawed at her as she sought a way to reach him, to comfort and aid him.

“Get some time off,” her lady-in-waiting suggested softly, sensing her turmoil. Euphemia didn’t need to be told twice. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lifted her skirts and ran, heart pounding, to the chambers where her brother lay.

Bursting into the bedchamber, she was struck by the sight of Crayn. His once proud and confident form was now a mere shadow, slumped and defeated. The sight tore at her heart. Emerging from behind the door, the servants eyes widened in relief upon seeing her.

“My lady, you truly mustn’t be here. Come, let us return to the games. Your brother, if he were to--” a maester began, his voice tinged with concern.

“Leave us. All of you,” Euphemia commanded, her voice steely with determination.

The maesters and maids hurriedly collected their things, scurrying out of the room. Alone with her brother, Euphemia approached him gingerly, as if one wrong movement might shatter him completely.

“Brother,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she sank to her knees beside his bed. Her gaze fell upon the hairpin she had given him, now tucked into his belt. With trembling hands, she cradled it, her eyes closing as she devoted all her hopes and energy to her prayers. She prayed to the Father for justice, to the Mother for mercy, and to the Warrior for strength and courage.

Hours passed, and the pain in her knees grew unbearable, yet she remained, her resolve unwavering. Finally, she struggled to her feet, every movement a battle. She heard footsteps approaching the chamber--Cregan, holding a single winter rose.

“I see that you have won, but do not enter this chamber if you truly believe for one moment I wish to share your victory,” she spat, her voice dripping with disdain.

“How is he?” Cregan asked, his tone softer, almost hesitant.

“Why do you care? Weren’t you the one who caused him to be in this state?,” she retorted, fury blazin in her eyes.

“Like you assumed. I have won, and here I crown you Queen of beauty and love,” he said, ignoring her insults and extending a pink rose toward her.

“Very well,” she said, her voice laced with both defiance and hurt, as she jerked the rose out of his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly with the intensity of her emotions. "And now what? Am I to offer myself to you, to court you, to marry you?! I might have indulged the man who asked so sweetly for my favor, but not the one who knocked my brother into a sleep of death."

Euphemia stepped closer, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with Cregan. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with anger, and a hint of undeniable attraction that he struggled to suppress. The air crackled with tension, charged with unspoken words and raw emotions.

Their faces were now mere inches apart, the warmth of their breaths mingling in the confined space between them. Euphemia could feel the heat of his presence, his eyes searching hers for forgiveness, for understanding, for absolution.

“My deepest apologies, my lady, but it was he--”

“Don’t you dare finish your words, my lord. You have done nothing but belittle and mock my family. If you are truly a man of honour, then go and swing your sword at our heads instead of playing this pathetic game of yours, for I refuse to partake in it.”

She stepped back, her expression one of cold fury. “Now, do me the honour and take your leave.”

Cregan hesitated, a strange look crossing his face. "Very well," he said, turning to leave. But as he reached the door, he paused. "If there is something you need you should know that I'll be always available for you, my lady," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

---------------------------

For three days and nights, the world around Euphemia had seemed a dark and desolate place. She had sat by Crayn’s side, holding vigil in the dimly lit chamber as he lay unmoving, his breath shallow and his skin cool to the touch. Her prayers had become a whispered mantra, a desperate plea for mercy, her hope a fragile thread that threatened to snap at any moment.

The chamber was a place of shadows and whispers, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the faint flicker of candlelight casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. The maesters had done all they could, leaving Euphemia to her silent vigil, a constant, unwavering presence beside her brother.

But as the first light of dawn crept into the room, casting its gentle glow upon his still form, something stirred. The golden rays of the sun danced across Crayn’s face, highlighting the contours of his features and bringing a touch of warmth to his pallor. Euphemia’s heart skipped a beat, daring to hope for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She leaned in closer, scarcely breathing, her eyes fixed intently on any sign of life.

Then, like the softest whisper, his eyelids fluttered. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but to Euphemia, it was everything. Her breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch his hand, her fingers brushing against his cool skin.

“Crayn?” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. The sound of her voice seemed to penetrate the silence of the room, hanging in the air like a fragile thread of hope.

Slowly, impossibly, his eyes opened, revealing the familiar depths of his gaze. His eyes, once full of life and mischief, now held a weary awareness, as if he was emerging from a deep, dark abyss. Tears sprang to Euphemia’s eyes, blurring her vision as she saw the spark of recognition in his eyes.

“You’ve awakened. It has been three days. Thank the Seven,” Euphemia murmured, joy and gratitude flooding her heart as she gazed at her brother’s now-open eyes.

Crayn’s response was a low, pained groan. Hearing her mention the period of his absence brought a surge of frustration to his still-weary mind. “Allow me to apologize in advance for the words I am about to use, but that fucking barbarian cunt.”

“You are forgiven because I can’t help but agree with you,” Euphemia replied, a faint smile touching her lips despite the gravity of the situation. The relief of seeing him awake overshadowed any shock she might have felt at his harsh words.

Crayn’s face contorted with the effort of speaking, his voice a raspy whisper. “I--I did this bet with him. If he knocked me out for three days, he could have my blessing for the two of you .”

“U-us?” Euphemia stuttered, eyes widening in confusion. She had no idea a pact had been made, let alone that it involved her so directly.

Crayn realized at that moment that she was completely oblivious to the plans that had been made above her head. The weight of this knowledge settled heavily on his chest. He stared at her, seeing the innocence and confusion in her eyes, and took a deep breath, steeling himself to explain the situation. He had to set this right, for he was an honest man.

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 2: the hunted

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,327

A/N: Have a chapter in honor of my new computer!

Astarion spent the next morning as he always did, sitting just outside his tent with a book in hand. Most of the camp was up and milling about, starting their days by breaking their fasts and groggily wishing each other ‘good morning’s. He made sure to stay away from it all, as usual, but watched the proceedings with a keen eye and a great sense of unease. His attention kept flitting back and forth between the ever growing gaggle of his awakened traveling companions and your darkened tent.

He felt a sense of dread inch its fingers up his spine, cold and unyielding, the more time passed without your lively and authoritative presence to command the group of companions. The sun’s reach expanded well over the horizon now, and it was so very unlike you to have a lie in, no matter the circumstances.

Oh gods, did I go too far last night? What if I killed her?!

Just as he prepared himself to go check on you, lest he find you dead at his hand, you popped your head out of your tent. You raised an arm against the onslaught of daylight and blinked blearily, running a hand down your face to dash the sleep from your eyes. Astarion sighed audibly in relief, until your now-focused gaze found him. Dread’s icy grip once again clutched at him, stealing his breath anew.

This is it. This is where I’ll be tossed.

You made a beeline for him, taking care to avoid drawing the attention of the other companions. Astarion slipped into his familiar guise of nonchalance, preparing himself for his inevitable departure. He made to stand when you stopped a few feet from him.

“Good morning,” he began with a coy smile, “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, if a bit woozy,” you waved noncommittally. “And you? How do you feel?”

Astarion’s false confidence crumbled in an instant, blanching at your question.

“How… how do I feel? My dear, I’m not the one that had a leech to their throat last night!”

“That’s rather beside the point, leech,” you giggled. “Now, do you plan on answering me? Or are you simply going to stand there agape like a dead fish?”

“I suppose I feel… well. Superb, even!” he giggled back. 

“Wonderful! Any idea how long this will last?” you pointed to your head, no doubt referencing the foggy sensation clouding your thoughts.

“It’ll pass,” he flicked his hand dismissively. “Just be grateful I’m not a ‘true’ vampire. A bite from them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self,” he leaned forward, voice hushed, “All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”

He heaved a dejected sigh at the reminder.

You crossed your arms over your chest, a smile toying at your lips, “Oh? Any other drawbacks I should be aware of?”

“That’s the odd thing: standing in the sun, wading through rivers, wandering into homes without an invitation - they’re all perfectly mundane activities now, things I never could have done before the tadpole. Seems someone, or something, has changed the rules. If only Cazador were here so I might laugh in his face before I rip it off,” he laughed heartily - then abruptly cut himself short, a shard of terror lancing through his thoughts at having revealed too much.

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow, studying him, but did not press.

“Nonetheless, it’s a stroke of good fortune to have a vampire on our side. I meant what I said, I am excited to see you fight,” you intoned softly, dropping your arms.

“Oh yes, and now I can fight with all my weapons,” he responded with a devious smirk, fangs glinting in the bright morning sun. “If I drain a bandit dry every now and again, it isn’t as if they weren’t destined to meet their maker anyway.”

You laughed, loud and full, at his witty remark. He was surprised to find that it stirred a delightful warmth in his chest, a feeling unfamiliar to him.

“I’m just glad you’re being sensible about these… revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks,” he began with a smile, though it was rapidly erased as he noticed the other companions wandering into earshot with a mixed array of expressions. 

“Although, there’s still time,” he nodded over your shoulder gravely. He watched intently as your expression hardened and you turned to face the horde.

“A vampire among us? So be it. But should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him,” Lae’zel snarled.

“I’d just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat,” Shadowheart scoffed with disdain.

“Of course we’re traveling with a vampire,” Gale threw his hands up in exasperation, then pointed at him menacingly, “A word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful!”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and whatever you saw on his face steeled your resolve.

“I trust him,” you said, voice hardened and posture defensive. “Besides, like it or not, we need him. And there’s no need to worry about the safety of your necks. He’s got mine.”

You turned your head and bared his bite mark to your companions. A round of hushed murmurs and surprised faces met your bold confession to his feeding. If he could blush, he would be red from the tips of his ears to his toes in mortification at what your words implied.

“Well, now that’s settled, we should be getting on our way. Karlach, Astarion, Shadowheart, you’re with me. We’re to find the witch, Ethel, today,” you finished with a nod, effectively dismissing the group.

Astarion continued to stare at the back of your head in shock, and you turned to face him again, an inquisitive look adorning the fine features of your face once more.

“I…” he began, but petered out, unsure of what to say.

You snorted and turned to stride back towards your tent, presumably to stock your bag for the day.

He reached out to stop you instinctively and grabbed at your shoulder. You flinched uncharacteristically and froze on the spot, and he ripped his hand away as though scalded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he mumbled as you turned toward him again. The look you regarded him with was far icier than before, the lingering warning of a threat still causing your pulse to flutter.

“S’fine,” you mutter. “Out with it.”

“I… just wanted to thank you. Again,” he finished lamely, waving his hands awkwardly at his sides.

“Don’t mention it,” you said gruffly, then finally strode away to your tent and began donning your armor.

Puzzled by your reaction, he watched you pack for a few moments too long. ______________________________________________________________

“It’s so unpleasantly muggy in these parts, and there are so many bloody bugs,” he whined, swatting at the air around him.

“Does the big, bad, bitey monster fear a taste of his own medicine?” Shadowheart mocked, deepening his scowl.

“Don’t worry, Astarion. They won’t bite you; you’re dead, remember?” you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Just as a retort reached his lips, you stopped dead in your tracks and raised an arm - a signal to await your command.

“What is it?” he whispered apprehensively.

You hushed him, scanning the sunny fields of wildflowers surrounding the group.

“Illusion magic. This isn’t real,” you murmured. As if triggered by your words, the grassy knolls give way to reveal a bog, fetid with the stench of death and decay.

“Oh lovely!” he chirped sarcastically, “I always did want to rot in a bog!”

You shot a glare at him and signaled the group to continue onward. The change in landscape was drastic; where once there were flowers, now fungi resided, drawing sustenance from the mossy trunks of felled trees. The sunlight had vanished into humid gloom, and the sheep that had been quietly grazing were revealed as redcaps, feasting on the corpses of their victims.

Karlach’s eyes almost bugged out of her skull, raising her greataxe in preparation for a fight.

“Ignore them,” you waved at her. “They think we still see sheep.”

She nodded gravely.

The group continued through the putrid haze of the bog, avoiding the redcaps and picking through half-rotted remains for loot, when they happened upon a man fletching crossbow bolts. Astarion smelled him before he saw him, and a flare of panic shot through him.

The Gur.

He watched you wrinkle your nose as you called out in greeting.

“Ah, stranger!” the man called back, noticing your sour expression. “Forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-vine, an old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me.”

Against his better judgment, Astarion piped up, “You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised - I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.” 

He sneered at the man in front of him, no doubt an errand boy for Cazador, meant to drag him back for judgment at his master’s mercy. What were the odds, a lone Gur hunter this far from Baldur’s Gate? It was surely a message meant for him alone.

“Pardon, but who - or what - is a Gur?” you interjected, posture defensive and coiled to spring.

“A mystical and dangerous people who travel the land, never settling in one place,” the man flourished with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters… your friend here has heard it all, I’m sure,” he gestured at Astarion.

Astarion fought the urge to bare his fangs.

“I wish I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer,” the man dismissed, “A simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I am no witch doctor or cutthroat.”

“So what monster are you hunting, then?” you bit back.

It was as though Astarion couldn’t help but draw the attention back to himself despite all of the warning bells ringing in his ears, his nerves causing him to prattle on.

“Something terrifying, no doubt! Dragon? Cyclops? Kobold?”

“Nothing so dramatic,” the man scoffed, “I’m hunting for a vampire spawn.”

Astarion felt his face fall in panic and caught your subtle glance in his peripheral vision.

I knew it! Just when things were beginning to look up…

“His name is Astarion, but I think he’s gone to ground. I was hoping the hag of these lands could help me flush him out, if I can afford her blood price.”

“And when you find this ‘Astarion’? You’ll, what, kill him?” you asked, subtly lowering your stance in preparation for a fight.

“Not this time. My orders are to capture him,” the man replied, eyeing you more warily by the moment.

“Oh, and bring him where, exactly?” Astarion questioned, trying his best to keep the fear from lacing into his words.

“Baldur’s Gate. My people wait for me there.”

“A vampire spawn doesn’t seem worth the hunt. It’s not like he’s a real vampire,” you added, trying to wheedle more information from the Gur hunter.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it,” Astarion snarled, unable to help himself at the slight.

Shut up! You’re going to give yourself away!

Astarion’s fingers twitched, longing to feel the familiar weight of his dagger in hand. His mind was racing, addled with the lingering sensations of dread and rage like so many unwanted hands clawing at him, his skin crawled with it.

The man, taking no apparent notice, continued talking to you.

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage! But at night, when they hunt? You will not find a more deadly quarry,” he finished, expression carrying a grave countenance.

Astarion caught your gaze, clearly calculating your next move. Whatever you saw in his face - fear, loathing, fury, he knew not what - made your mind up.

“Interesting, indeed,” you said, holding his eye. “Astarion, what do you think?”

“What? No, it isn’t possible! It’s daylight!” the man exclaimed, looking between you and Astarion.

Astarion ignored the bewildered hunter, a vicious, fanged smile contorting his face as he pulled his dagger.

“I think the hunter has become the hunted,” he growled, and then lunged at the Gur, plunging his dagger hard into the man’s throat.

Karlach gave a great shout of indignation, and Shadowheart gasped in surprise. You, however, did nothing more than cross your arms over your chest, mouth set in a grim line.

With no reaction time to reach for his crossbow, the man stumbled back, pawing weakly at the blade protruding from his neck. A bright scarlet stain spread across the front of his worn doublet, and with a final anguished gurgle, he collapsed into the muck.

“What in the Nine Hells did you do that for!” Karlach screeched at him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words that came were not his.

“He was a threat to our own. He had to be neutralized.”

Astarion looked up at you shrewdly, scrutinizing you for any deception, but found none. Neither did he find any betrayal of disgust or fear in your expression, only wry determination to protect your companions above all else.

“The deed’s done,” you said with an air of finality, looking down at Astarion crouched by the body of the fallen hunter wiping his dagger clean. “On we get to find Ethel, no doubt the hag the hunter spoke of.”

The rest of the group grumbled their assent and started moving, but Astarion was held firmly in place by the look in your eyes. A new kind of anxiety gnawed in the pit of his stomach.

He could read the many questions held in that one look, and he knew the time had come for further explanation once you regrouped at camp later that night.

[bluemantics]

Julance Week One: Broadsword/Youth

I've decided I'll follow @callmelyc's Julance prompts! HI LYC i missed you lots <3 Please give Lyc lots of love and consider following their prompts too!

--

A broadsword. Lance stared blankly down at the weapon he held, red and white, gleaming under the harsh training deck lights. Its weight in his hands was unfamiliar, and yet, somehow felt right in a way he loathed. The sword had manifested seemingly at random-- one second, he'd been shooting at bots in the training room, satisfied with the way they dropped at his feet.

"Fuck yeah," he muttered under his breath as another clang sounded. The blue holographic screen lit up with a happy 'ding,' signifying another slain foe. He whipped around to face the next batch, no hesitation present in any of his movements as he dodged, shot, dodged, kicked out, moved faster, sharper, panting for breath.

So the sword shouldn’t have had any reason to appear! Really, it was all a misunderstanding. As the training drones closed in on him, their little propellers whirring in violent chirps, Lance had only barely conjured the idea for a split second. It wasn’t even a thing! Lance had been standing there, face flushed, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his trigger finger aching. The idea came from an exhausted daze.

Man, he inwardly lamented, eyes focused on the drones closing in. I wish Keith was here.

Boom. Sword. Lance slashed through the clump of bots without pause until the program had run its course.

That thought had been purely utilitarian, of course. First of all, Keith was with the Blade, and was doing much better there! Obviously he couldn’t actually have Keith’s help in a stupid fucking training exercise. It was just that the robots seemed to get in too close for his weapon to be really effective, it being a rifle and all. He hadn’t expected anyone to be listening to his stupid wandering mind and its stupid wandering fixation on a stupid, wandering, mulleted asshole.

He should have known better. Everything about space had been freaky and magical, so why couldn’t his own goddamn gun have a brain?

Lance let out a small, quiet sigh, watching the way his wrist rotated the sword around in a move that he’d seen plenty of times between urgent missions. Rotate in. Rotate out. The tip of the blade formed little infinities in the air, while the flat of it reflected his lost expression back to him. His eyes were half-lidded and his teeth were gritted.

Lance McClain truly couldn’t have one goddamn thing of his own, could he? Doomed to have Keith’s leftovers for the rest of his life, Lance couldn’t help but draw up images of this exact moment happening fifty times before.

A starry-eyed kid who only got to be an attack pilot after a dropout punched a commander. A throwaway paladin who only assumed the red lion once the original pilot had left for brighter things. And now this.

Being the youngest in a large family meant he was no stranger to hand-me-downs, but Keith Kogane’s always left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like he was almost strong, almost talented, chasing after a perfect Grecian champion he’d never catch.

Keith always left him behind with some nagging reminder of his existence, of the fact that Lance could try as hard as he wanted and still never quite meet his standard.

The sword fell to the ground, transforming back into a bayard. Its clatter echoed off of sterile walls with resonating finality. Lance didn’t spare it another glance as he walked out of the training deck.

He was tired of running after an apparition.