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novaursa · 6 months ago

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Where Dragons Dare (1/3)

- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.

- Pairing: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)

- Word count: 9 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.

- Next part: 2

The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.

Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.

At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”

The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.

“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”

Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”

Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”

Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”

Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”

Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”

Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.

“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”

Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”

The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.

At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”

The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.

“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence.

The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.

Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.

Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.

Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”

Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”

Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.

Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.

“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.

Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.

The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”

As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.

The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.

“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”

You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”

Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.

As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.

Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”

You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.

Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”

Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”

“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.

Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”

You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”

Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”

Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay—both of you.”

With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.

But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior. The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.

You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.

You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”

Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.

But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”

Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”

You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”

That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”

You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”

Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.

But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.

The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.

“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”

Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”

Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”

Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”

Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”

Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”

Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.

Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”

She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.

“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”

Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.

As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.

The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.

Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.

Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”

You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”

Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent—kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”

She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”

The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”

Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”

You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”

You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”

There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.

For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.

As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.

The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.

All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.

The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”

You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”

Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”

Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”

You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”

The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.

You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”

The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.

“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”

“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”

The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”

You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.

“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”

You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.

After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”

You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.

As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.

The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.

She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.

The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.

Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”

Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”

The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”

Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”

For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”

Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”

Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”

As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.

And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.

The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.

The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.

Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.

You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.

The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.

You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.

With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.

As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.

From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.

Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”

Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”

Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.

As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.

You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.

#house of the dragon #hotd alicent #hotd #alicent x y/n #alicent x you #alicent x reader #alicent hightower #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x male reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #otto hightower

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maryannecrimsworth · 3 months ago

Text

Dance with me

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Summary: a part 3 of A wolf, a witch, a lover; after months hiding, Mel surprises you in the morning with an dangerous proposal

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings: there's a bit of tension and drama in this one, slightly violent, end is cute though

Mentions: i'm honestly writing this for you guys @jinxjinxjinx12 @superbscissorsdeanexpert @maq34 @justyourwritter69 @powderbomb-jinxed

Your nights together carried the weight of unspoken words and the release of hours of restraint. In her arms, you felt a vulnerability that no battlefield had ever exposed in you. Her touch was deliberate, soft yet commanding, like everything else about her. It reminded you of why she was both a ruler and a temptation—a paradox you couldn’t resist. Every day you'd bowe before her, obedient and willingly as her general; every night, you'd hold her like a lover, and cherish her as long as the night allowed. You'd lose and gain each other every day, every night — and you loved it every single time. A second by her side made you forever grateful, even if it eventually came to an end.

Tonight was no different.

The dawn came too soon, as it usually did, its golden light filtering through the grand windows of her chamber. Mel lay curled against you, her breath steady, her features softened in sleep. For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t the Empress of Noxus but simply a woman who had let down her guard. The world outside the room seemed like a distant memory, but reality wouldn’t wait forever.

Your nights started to be like this: with love and companion, a warm embrace after the hardship of duty. However, the morning always came, and so have your time: you had to leave her side.

You stirred, careful not to wake her, though your movements caused her to shift slightly. Her voice, still thick with sleep, broke the silence.

“Leaving already, General?”

You froze, caught halfway between duty and desire.

“I thought it best to avoid prying eyes,” you replied, your voice hushed. “The palace wakes early, and whispers spread faster than the wind.”

Mel’s lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes still closed. “Let them whisper. I tire of hiding.”

Her words surprised you. For months, you had both maintained this facade, a calculated distance to preserve her authority. Yet now, as the sunlight illuminated her face, she seemed to suggest something different.

“Your position—your vision for Noxus—it could be jeopardized,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction.

Mel finally opened her eyes, fixing you with that piercing golden gaze. “If they cannot respect an Empress who loves, then they are not fit to serve this nation.”

The weight of her words settled in your chest, but before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.

“Empress Medarda,” a servant’s voice called from the other side. “Your council awaits your presence in the Great Hall.”

Mel sighed, the spell of intimacy breaking as she rose from the bed. Her golden tattoos caught the morning light, a reminder of her unyielding strength. She glanced back at you, her expression a mixture of fondness and resolve.

“Duty calls,” she said softly, echoing your words from some nights before.

You nodded, adjusting your uniform. “As it always does.”

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing your arm. “But don’t think for a moment that this ends our conversation.”

Her touch lingered for a heartbeat before she pulled away, leaving you alone in the room to process the weight of her promise.

The day passed in a blur of meetings and preparations. Reports from the shadow unit demanded your immediate attention, and though your thoughts often drifted back to her, you forced yourself to focus.

By evening, you found yourself summoned again—not to the battlefield, but to her private study.

“General,” she greeted as you entered, her tone formal yet warm. She sat at her desk, surrounded by maps and papers, the burden of leadership evident in her posture.

“You requested me, Empress?”

Mel gestured for you to approach, her expression unreadable.

"I have a question for you," she began, pausing before continuing. "How were alliances celebrated in Karyndor?" Her tone was as steady as her gaze, which was fixed on your face. "I’d like to learn more about your homeland."

“We didn’t usually celebrate military or political alliances with the people,” you replied briefly. “The king was keen to keep civil life separate from diplomatic conflicts.”

A subtle smile lifted the corners of Mel’s lips. “No, I meant civilian alliances.”

“Oh.” That was all you managed to say, which only caused Mel’s smile to widen.

“So, how were they celebrated?” she repeated, giving you little time to regain your composure. You could feel your cheeks flush under her watchful gaze.

“It involved a great festival, a ritual that brought together thousands of people.” You spoke slowly, your words drifting into the quiet of the study as you began to pace. “Sometimes several unions were celebrated at once; sometimes, just one. The interested parties would perform a unique dance—a reflection of each individual Karyndorian’s spirit. If the proposal was accepted, their beloved would join in the dance. An alliance was formed in this way.”

Your wings fluttered gently behind you, as if remembering the songs and movements of the rituals. “The wings of the participants were adorned with ornaments, serving as a vital part of the performance. Through them, they displayed their strength and beauty; they symbolized who they were.” A quiet laugh escaped your lips. “If the proposal was rejected, the dancer was required to take flight and keep going until they collapsed from exhaustion. Their honor was preserved only if their effort pushed them to the very edge.”

“What a unique celebration!” Mel exclaimed, her voice brimming with genuine excitement. “Your people must have been artistic and deeply passionate.”

Her sentence was followed by a long, steadfast silence. You said nothing as the realization of her intent started to fall upon you.

After some time, your feet stopped in place, your wings dropped in a cessation of every movement. Her steady gaze on yours, the stirring meaning behind her question, they had paralyzed you.

“Why do you wish to hear about the covenants of my former people, Empress?”

“I told you our conversation wasn’t finished,” she began, but her sentence was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock at the study door.

Her smiling, calm countenance hardened, and her voice carried weight as she turned toward the entrance: “A meeting is in progress.”

Despite the Empress’s commanding tone, the door opened.

“Forgive me, Empress.” One of your soldiers stepped inside, his body trembling. He bowed to the Empress before turning to you. “It’s urgent.”

Mel cast you a worried glance, which you answered with an assuring nod. A threat existed in the city, you were aware, but your shadow unit monitored the situation closely. No surprises would befall the nation.

“Excuse me, ma'am. I must go.” You bade farewell with a respectful nod and left the room with the nervous soldier by your side.

“The guardians are requesting reinforcements for the harvest parade,” the soldier’s voice barely rose above a whisper, lost in the vast corridors of the palace. His tone carried the weight of fear, as though he dreaded being overheard. “They’ve received threats from insurgents—an attack planned during the empress’s speech.”

Your jaw clenched instinctively, and your hand tightened around the hilt of your sword.

“How do they know it’s the insurgents?”

“They signed it, sir. The Red Stain.” The soldier halted abruptly, hesitating. With a trembling hand, he reached into his iron vest and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “Here.”

The note passed into your hands, its scarlet letters glowing ominously against the dark parchment. The message bristled with malice, vowing vengeance against the empress who had "ruined the warrior nation." Along the edges of the paper were the same cryptic symbols and markings that had appeared in alleys and at crime scenes for months, unmistakably linking it to the rebellious occult group.

“They claim they’ll take back the nation of Noxus—once and for all,” the soldier repeated as you scanned the words. “The parade route is the perfect place, general. There are too many civilians for us to act freely. Our hands will be tied, and a tragedy will happen if we don’t cancel the event.”

“Is that what the guardians intend to do?” Your voice remained steady, though his panic grated on you. His demeanor was uncharacteristic of your army—it sounded more like the fearful prattle of civil guardians. He shook his head. “That's what the Stain wants, soldier. To terrorize the people, to show itself to be stronger than us. Its words cannot have such power.”

The soldier's eyes widened.

“What do you mean?” he asked in a sharp grunt.

“Tell the guardians to be ready, but our soldiers won't get involved. There's no need to alarm the people in such a way.”

“But sir---”

“Go!”

The soldier hesitated briefly before retreating, his hurried footsteps fading down the corridor.

There were only a few hours until the parade, a short period of time to mobilize your battalions and organize a proper security perimeter for the celebration. A rushed response would create chaos—the very commotion you suspected the insurgents desired. It was a ploy, you were certain, to keep all eyes fixed on the parade while the rest of the city was left vulnerable.

Even so, you couldn’t gamble with the lives of your citizens on mere intuition. You ordered a few reinforcements for the parade but insisted they remain as shadows—officers blending seamlessly into the crowd, discreet yet ready to strike if the need arise.

But the question gnawed at you relentlessly: Where would they want me not to look during Mel’s speech?

The empress changed the colors of the nation, as well as its brutal attitude. From a country stained with blood, always dressed in dark and red colors, prepared for battle, to the streets of the Noxinian cities reflecting light and golden beams. The peaceful purity of the color white, the golden diplomacy of a flexible nation - the colors of Mel - had dressed Noxus perfectly. The population accepted the changes, even its soldiers changed their uniforms with a hopeful disposition. The future had arrived: the nation state of Noxus was bright and peaceful, with no bloodstains. However, not all Noxians were happy. The red stain was a small but insistent group of citizens attached to the old, violent regime. Because of this, they began to attack former servants, freed prisoners of war, immigrants - anyone who was considered a threat to the deceased Ambessa was also a threat and target for them.

The attacks, however, were small and quickly contained by the local guard. There was no significant threat, not until now. The letter really was frightening, and would have scared most of the military officers you knew. After all, the new military officers of Noxus were still inexperienced, and any threat to their people was enough to agitate them. It was understandable, but it couldn't be allowed.

With your experience in Karyndor, you knew that there would always be dissenters against the government. Violent opposition would exist, it was almost natural on the continent. Even Mel couldn't please everyone, so you waited. You noticed the bluff and withdrew your army from the parade. As you had hoped, nothing happened. The people celebrated happily, the empress's speech was greeted with nothing but applause and the festivities lasted until nightfall. The guardians held their positions without any problems, and your shadows remained silent. It was a good night, from what you heard from the castle servants. Festive, pleasant and comforting. A new tradition that brightened the lives of the citizens.

You were happy to hear how the evening had unfolded. After a few more reports and messages from the guard, your services were no longer required and you made your way down to the most secluded part of the palace. Mel had already returned and was resting in her quarters, and you planned to join her without delay.

Your room was empty and tidy, as usual. A servant opened the door for you and greeted you with a nod, but avoided your gaze. His eyes, for some reason, ran away from your figure. The door was closed behind you and then you heard it: hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor outside.

Something was wrong.

A deafening rumble echoed from the far side of the building, shaking the palace’s floors and walls. The table Mel was leaning on quivered violently, scattering her documents and belongings onto the ground. She sprang to her feet, the golden markings on her body shimmering brilliantly in the face of the unexpected danger. Outside, the night’s calm gave way to chaos—a cacophony of despairing cries and commanding shouts tore through the air.

“What’s happened?” Mel demanded, grabbing the first servant who crossed her path. She stopped him mid-escape, desperate for answers. The man’s face was pale with terror, his lips quivering as he failed to form a response. “Speak to me! What are you—”

“Empress, come with us.” Two uniformed officers appeared, their movements urgent. “There’s been an attack in the western sector. We’re evacuating the palace.”

The western sector. The words struck Mel like an arrow, stealing her breath. It was your sector, the area where your room was—the very reason you hadn’t been by her side tonight.

“Take me there. I’ll fight alongside my army.” Her voice was resolute, her authority unshaken, but her command was met only with hesitant glances exchanged between the officers.

“Protect the subjects,” she continued, her tone sharpening. “Surround the perimeter and search for suspects. We must find out who’s behind this.”

Without waiting for their acknowledgment or actions, Mel charged in the opposite direction of the evacuation route, weaving through a panicked crowd of crying and frantic servants. Only one of the officers dared follow her.

“We’re already taking care of that, ma’am. Please come with us and stay safe.” The officer reached out, his hand gripping the determined ruler’s arm. “Those are the general’s orders.”

Mel twisted free with a sharp, fluid motion, her golden markings glinting as she turned to face the insistent man.

“And where are they?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. She didn’t wait for an answer, turning on her heel and running toward the source of the explosion. She refused to let herself acknowledge the fear in the officer’s eyes or the haunting possibility that awaited her— she couldn't see the wail of death imminently, not when it came to you.

It felt like the longest path she had ever walked. Every step seemed heavier, every corridor an endless expanse. Obstacles littered the way—fallen debris, frightened servants, soldiers trying to guide her to safety. Yet, the empress pushed forward with unyielding determination, even as her body trembled beneath the weight of dread.

Her subjects caught glimpses of her as she passed, their tense faces softening with relief. To them, she was a beacon of strength and composure. But inside, her resolve wavered, her composure fragile. Her eyes remained dry, her focus unwavering only for now.

She had to find you.

Your room was utterly destroyed. The walls were streaked with dirty red, a grotesque smear of what could have been paint—or blood. Shattered furniture lay in disarray, splinters scattered like shrapnel. Pieces of weapons and scraps of your clothing were strewn everywhere. The floor was littered with burnt feathers, a haunting reminder of what had transpired.

Mel stepped forward, her breath caught in her throat, but the officer blocked her path again.

“Let us handle our work, ma’am. Stay safe, with your people,” he insisted, his voice firmer now. “Please.”

“Your work?” Her voice rose, sharp and thunderous, cutting through the air like lightning splitting the sky. “Your work to prevent attacks like this?”

The officer faltered, his words catching in his throat as he struggled for a response. His gaze darted away, unable to meet the fire in the empress’s eyes. Mel seized the opportunity, taking a step forward, but he quickly moved to block her path again.

“We weren’t caught off guard, ma’am,” he said, though his tone wavered with guilt. “Please go.”

Before she could retort, a new sound shattered the tense air of the evacuated palace. It came first as a faint echo, then grew louder—a chilling chorus of howls and exultant cheers from outside. The sharp contrast to the earlier screams of despair sent an icy shiver through her body.

Without hesitation, Mel turned and ran toward the source of the noise. Her heart thudded violently in her chest with each step, her mind consumed by fear. Her tears had already begun to fall, trailing streaks down her face as she pushed through the chaos. She came to an abrupt stop when the scene unfolded before her.

There, in front of the palace entrance, hovering above the garden and the evacuated crowd, was you.

Your wings, bruised and outstretched, bore the weight of your body in the air. The full moon’s glow framed your figure, casting a ghostly light over the scene. Crimson streaked your form, glinting in the pale illumination—blood or paint, she couldn’t tell. But the sight of you, battered and defiant, stole the breath from her lungs. Mel stood frozen, her trembling hands clenched at her sides as her heart screamed what her lips could not: You’re alive.

In your hands, however, was an unconscious man. Your landing in the palace garden was uncharacteristically clumsy, each movement more crude and careless than usual. With little ceremony, you released the man from your grasp, letting him drop to the ground.

“Is anyone hurt?” Those were the first words she heard you say, your voice carrying over the distance between you. Despite everything, the sound of it filled her with a rush of relief. Like Mel, the servants and soldiers were overjoyed to see you, quickly forming a circle around you. “He was fleeing just before the explosion,” you continued, your tone brisk and authoritative as you gestured toward the unconscious man. “He’s one of the suspects. The officers will bring in more once they finish securing the perimeter. Send them all to the cells—investigation only comes after ensuring everyone’s safety.” Command after command fell from your lips as you directed the soldiers with unrelenting precision.

But before you could say more, the crowd parted, and Mel burst through with a speed that drew every eye.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the Empress flung herself into your arms, wrapping them tightly around your neck. Her grip trembled, a desperate hold that spoke of fear, relief, and a hundred emotions in between.

You froze, caught off guard, your body stiffening as the weight of her embrace pressed against you. Everyone was watching—the soldiers, the servants, the officers—but Mel didn’t seem to care. Her head buried in your shoulder, she held on as though she might lose you again.

For a moment, it felt as if the world had paused, leaving only the two of you in its stillness.

“Empress?” you whispered, your voice faltering as you tried—and failed—to return to formality.

“Y/N, are you hurt?” Mel stepped back just enough to scan your body, her gaze sharp and searching. The wet paint staining your skin had transferred to her once-immaculate clothing, vivid streaks of blood-red marring the pristine fabric. But she didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care.

Your armor was cracked from the explosion, and beneath it, cuts and bruises mapped your skin. The red marks covering your body weren’t just paint.

“There’s a fortress to the north of the palace,” Mel continued, her voice steady despite the tremor in her eyes. “We’ll be safe there.”

“You heard her, soldiers,” you commanded, turning to the gathered crowd. “Guide the people. Call the local guard and cordon off the area. Keep your eyes open.”

You avoided looking at her, your focus fixed on the soldiers and servants around you. Anything to avoid meeting her gaze. You feared that if you did, if you saw the pain in her eyes, the emotions you kept buried would surface, and everyone would know. They’d see the feelings you had for each other.

“You need medical attention.” Her voice was barely a whisper, soft and filled with concern, as her hand reached out to touch the crack in your armor. You flinched, recoiling from her gentle fingers—not because of the pain, but because of the others watching. Her touch was too intimate, too exposing. “Come with me,” she urged, her voice firm but laced with vulnerability.

Finally, you looked at her. The moonlight bathed her face, illuminating the fear in her watery eyes. It was a look you had never seen before, not in her. It was unbearable, impossible to resist. You sighed, the weight of her gaze breaking through your defenses. The command was quickly delegated to a trusted officer, and you surrendered to her request.

At the fortress, a small room was prepared for the two of you as you waited for the doctor’s arrival.

The tension between you hung heavy in the air, unspoken words filling the silence as the night stretched on.

"Are you certain you are unharmed?" It was the third time she had posed that question. Mel ceased her restless pacing before you, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression stern and authoritative. "Do not lie to me."

"I am fine. I managed to move away in time." Yet, despite your words, your hand remained pressed against the crack in your armor, staunching the wound to prevent further bleeding. "The furniture endured greater damage than I did."

"Your officer mentioned it wasn’t a surprise. You were aware of the attack." It was not the first time she broached this subject.

"We had suspicions, yes. The mistake was mine—I underestimated them." A sharp pain coursed through your ribs, momentarily robbing you of breath. "I did not imagine they would be bold enough to assault the palace."

"I would call it reckless. They will be apprehended before dawn." Mel’s voice carried an edge, an uncharacteristic sharpness coloring her tone. She was correct, but her rising agitation risked drawing unnecessary attention from the servants in the adjacent room. Their murmurs were already audible, weaving conjectures about your relationship with the empress.

"Mel." Her name escaped your lips in a quiet whisper, heavy with weariness and pain. It was the only way to get her attention. "Come here, please."

You extended your hand, urging her closer. She took it, her grasp firm, intense, and unyielding—holding onto you as though your life depended on it, as though you were slipping away.

Gently, you guided her to sit beside you, and at last, she fell silent.

"Everything is under control," you assured her, though her grip on your hand remained unrelenting. "The attack failed. No one was harmed."

"You were!" she countered, her voice breaking. "They hurted you. They could have..." Her words faltered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I thought—"

You longed to embrace her, to pull her into your arms and quiet her fears. Every fiber of your battered body ached with the desire to hold her, to protect her from the terror she had endured. But the blood soaking through your side held you back. You could not bear the thought of staining her with your pain, of making her carry the burden of your failure.

Instead, you leaned forward carefully, wincing at the effort, and placed a brief, gentle kiss on her lips.

"I am here," you murmured. The words seemed to reach her at last. Her tension melted away, and for the first time that night, her expression softened into peace and relief.

But as you pulled back, her eyes opened, and they immediately found yours. Her gaze was unwavering, filled with regret, resolve, and something more profound.

"I want you to dance with me," she said, her voice steady, though her vulnerability was evident. "As you told me about this morning, as we discussed."

"No, Mel. It is unnecessary." You attempted to pull away, but the movement ignited another sharp pang in your side, leaving you paralyzed for a moment. You closed your eyes tightly, swallowing back a groan. "I am content. I am happy. You need not do anything." The words emerged faintly, but they carried a profound truth. You required nothing more. Mel was enough—her presence in the quiet of night, her strength at dawn. She brought you solace.

"I want this, Y/N," she insisted, her voice deep with conviction. "I want you to be more than mine in the shadows. I want us to be more than a secret concealed within the palace."

Her words struck you like a blow, and your body recoiled instinctively. You shifted back, ignoring the agony of the movement.

"This has been a difficult night. Emotions are heightened, and everyone is on edge. Let us simply..." You paused, gasping as the air seemed to abandon your lungs, another wave of pain overtaking you. "Let us wait for the night to pass. Decisions of this magnitude shouldn't be made now."

"Where is that cursed doctor?" Mel exclaimed, springing to her feet and marching toward the door in frustration. Finding no one approaching, her distress grew palpable.

Her gaze returned to you, fierce and resolute.

"I made my decision months ago. Tonight has only served to reaffirm how much—" Her words were abruptly cut off by the arrival of the doctor. You saw the unspoken curse she suppressed before she turned to explain the situation to him.

You didn't need to say anything; the doctor’s sharp eyes quickly assessed the severity of your injury and began the necessary treatment. As a precaution, he requested that the empress leave the room—whether out of suspicion or to spare her from witnessing the extent of the injury, you could not discern.

Reluctantly, Mel complied.

You did not see her for the rest of the night.

After a few stitches, sutures, and painkillers, you managed to rest.

The exact moment of sleep eluded your memory; you only recalled the adrenaline coursing through your veins eventually subsiding, leaving exhaustion to claim you. When you next opened your eyes, the imposing walls of Medarda Palace surrounded you. The room wasn’t your own—it could not have been repaired so quickly—but it exuded a familiar sense of hospitality.

Curious, you attempted to rise and observe your surroundings, only to be forced back onto the bed by a sharp pang of pain.

"Damnation!" The anger escaped your lips, followed by a stubborn resolve that helped you sit upright. Once seated, you noticed a small figure at a distance.

"Oh!" The young servant exclaimed as your eyes met his. Then, without another word, he bolted from the room.

Now alone, you began inspecting the chamber. Massive paintings adorned the towering walls, while a large window bathed the space in light. Tables and shelves filled the corners, crowded with letters and books.

The realization struck harder than the bruises marking your body: you were in Mel’s room. And now, every servant in the palace knew it. Soon, the entire nation would know you shared a bed with the empress.

Desperate and somewhat disoriented, you leaped from the bed with a strength fueled by fear. You had to leave, had to avoid the inevitable fallout—but you weren’t fast enough.

You hadn’t even made it halfway to the door when it abruptly swung open, revealing the empress herself.

"Empress Medarda." You straightened your posture, lifting your chin as you greeted her with composure. The cost of the movement was paid immediately: something along your side tore.

"Your stitches have broken." Her voice was cold, though her eyes revealed an tremor of concern. She turned to the guard at the door. "Call the physician."

Without hesitation, her orders were followed, leaving you alone with her once more.

"The suspects did not resist long." She began, her tone formal and composed as she approached you. "Within hours of interrogation, your officers extracted the names and locations of the Red Stain. The leaders have been arrested, and the minor members exiled. The nation is already aware: Noxus does not tolerate terrorism."

A warmth, unpleasant and oppressive, spread through your chest, forcing you to lean back as the empress advanced. By the time she had finished her update, you were seated on the edge of the bed, once again drained.

"I can relocate in a few days. It is the most prudent course of action, considering I could be a target again." Your tone carried the weight of both a general and her lover. Neither role could bear the thought of Mel being endangered because of you.

"The palace is the safest place in the nation. I have ensured that after tonight." Her firm voice left no room for argument.

You should have obeyed your empress. You should have accepted her proposal. You wanted to. A year had passed since you met, and your relationship had deepened, growing strong enough to withstand the wind of rumors. No Noxian tongue could poison what you shared.

Yet, yesterday had proven otherwise. The bomb planted in your quarters was the ultimate symbol of your deepest fear.

The nation hated you. At least a part of it—the faction still devoted to Ambessa. To them, you were an enemy, a traitor, a stranger. In their eyes, you would always remain a winged threat, a rat with feathers, not a citizen. Not a military leader. Not a worthy companion for the empress.

If your role as general was enough to provoke a violent movement like the Red Stain—if your work alone could motivate an attack on the heart of the capital—what could the exposure of your union with Mel incite?

What would their next move be? An uprising? Civil war? The assassination of the empress?

Each possibility that filled your mind was worse than the last, every thought flooding your chest with despair and dread.

"If this commitment frightens you—" Mel’s words cracked like a whip, cutting through the whirlwind of your thoughts. Her tone was careful, serene, yet the meaning sent a violent shudder through your body.

"What?" you interrupted, clearly confused and in pain. "How could you—What are you—" Your lips pressed into a tight line as you struggled to find the right words. "If a commitment to you frightened me, I would never have knocked on your door in the first place." Your voice was aggressive, laden with emotion despite your efforts to remain composed.

How could she even think such a thing?

"Then what is stopping you?" Her question was dry and precise, as if you were engaged in some impersonal debate.

For some reason, that made you snap.

"Because they hate everything I represent, Medarda!" Your body trembled with the force of your shout. "Forgiveness, mercy, new beginnings. To them, I am an invader, an unwelcome stranger to this nation."

Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Blood seeped through the bandages on your chest. Pain poured through your words, spilling from your lips with unbearable weight.

"If you cannot understand why this shakes me, then think like a politician. They will hate me—and they will hate you."

Your gaze fell as Mel moved; you lacked the strength to face her eyes.

"Your renewed nation will be lost because of our alliance. I cannot... I cannot allow that to happen."

Tears blurred your vision for what felt like an eternity. Drowning in pain, time seemed to freeze as anguish filled your chest and exhaustion took control of your body. You were exposed: your wounds lay open, as did your heart. The empress could do whatever she wanted with that — you had no strength left. All you could do was cry silently, blind to your surroundings.

Amidst a sea of salty tears, however, a dark figure came into view. In front of you, Mel’s face appeared; her scent quickly filled your lungs, and a wave of calmness helped you catch your breath again. Gently, her hands cradled your face, guiding it and patiently waiting until you met her gaze once more.

"I can’t either, Y/N." Her words warmed your face like a soft sigh. "And I won’t let this happen. But I want... I want..." In her brief hesitation, you noticed tears streaming down her face too. "I want you by my side. Not just at night, not as a secret. I want you as part of me, as part of my Empire." Her touch on your face grew slightly firmer, more vulnerable and uncertain. What left her lips was not an order but a plea: "Be my spouse."

Your wings immediately fluttered in response: they tried to take flight, a clear revelation of your first instinct. Yes, yes, yes! you wanted to shout. You wanted to hold Mel, wrap her in your arms, and take her to the skies. You wanted to dance with her, to celebrate your union — you wanted to be hers.

But fear still caused a tremor in your voice.

"I don’t want you to get hurt because of me."

"Hiding you from everyone is my greatest suffering, Y/N." Her reply made your eyes widen. "I’m done with these games; I need you out of these webs of interests and lies, I—"

"Yes." Your voice, finally firm, cut through her passionate speech. As much as you wanted to hear more, as much as you wanted to know, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Yes, yes! I will dance with you."

A laugh, carrying equal parts relief and joy, echoed through the empress’s chamber. She laughed with vulnerability, like when you spoke late at night, when your wild tales stole smiles from her until the first rays of sunlight appeared. But this time, her laughter resounded, powerful, meant to be heard by everyone.

Now, you no longer had to hide.

#mel medarda #mel medarda x you #mel medarda x reader #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane request #winged reader

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zvaigzdelasas · 7 months ago

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[Dawn is Pakistani Private Media]

The heinous killing of Hamas political leader Ismail Haniyeh risks tipping the Middle East into “wider conflict”, the chair of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) told a meeting on Wednesday.

The comments from Gambian Foreign Minister Mamadou Tangara came as a senior Iranian official said during the meeting that the Islamic republic would need to defend itself from Israel, which it blames for Haniyeh’s death last week in Tehran.

Iranian and Palestinian officials called for Wednesday’s gathering of the 57-member OIC in the Saudi coastal city of Jeddah, saying the body needed to respond to the killing of the Hamas leader.[...]

Haniyeh’s killing “will not quell the Palestinian cause but rather it amplifies it, underscoring the urgency for justice and human rights for the Palestinian people”, [Tangara] said. “The sovereignty and territorial integrity of nation states are fundamental principles underpinning the international order.

“Respecting these principles has profound implications and their violation equally carries significant consequences.”[...]

“Currently, in the absence of any appropriate action by the (UN) Security Council against the aggressions and violations of the Israeli regime, the Islamic Republic of Iran has no choice but to use its inherent right to legitimate defence against the aggressions of this regime,” Ali Bagheri, Iran’s acting foreign minister, told the OIC.

[NewStraitsTimes is Malaysian Private Media]

Malaysia has proposed four key measures to support the Palestinian cause, including the establishment of a group of eminent persons tasked with assessing and identifying measures to implement the International Court of Justice's (ICJ) Advisory Opinion.[...]

He said the measures emphasised the need to expand global support for Palestine, leveraging the International Court of Justice's (ICJ) rulings and the unity achieved by Palestinian factions through the Beijing Declaration.

"Such measures should focus on universal jurisdiction and ensure the consistent application of international law," he stated during the meeting in Jeddah, yesterday.

Second, Malaysia called for the reinstatement of the United Nations Special Committee Against Apartheid.

The primary task of this committee would be to halt the illegal occupation of Palestinian Territories (OPT) by Israel and to address the apartheid policies imposed on Palestinians, he added.

Third, Malaysia proposed that the OIC, in collaboration with like-minded countries, request a resumed session of the 10th Emergency Special Session of the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) on the Issue of Palestine.

"This suggestion is to discuss the means and ways to implement or "give effect" to the ICJ's Advisory Opinion.

"Finally, we should extend our undivided support and fully assist, in the rebuilding of the Palestinian economy and livelihood post-conflict. This is a key step that would ease their return to normalcy," Mohamad said.

Following the assassination of Ismail Haniyeh, who also led Hamas' political bureau, Malaysia called for a concerted effort to counter Israeli propaganda and misinformation.

"Malaysia has always been a strong advocate for peace and stability. As much as we condemn the assassination, we urge all parties to restraint, to avoid escalating the situation into a regional and global crisis.

"The attack in Tehran could well be an attempt to derail the ongoing peace negotiations in the Middle East.

"We should not fall into their trap. Cool heads must prevail. We should support the continuation of the peace process to be resolved at the negotiating table. Diplomacy is the way to go," he noted.[...]

According to [Turkish State Media] Anadolu Agency (AA), the world body also urged the UN Security Council (UNSC) to impose an immediate and comprehensive ceasefire on Israeli aggression and "ensure adequate and sustainable access to humanitarian aid throughout Gaza Strip."

7 Aug 24

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 30 days ago

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❤️🌹Arcane Valentine's Day 2025 - Rules❤️🌹

Happy Valentine's Day, my sweethearts ♥️🌹♥️!!

In honor of the day of love, I’ll be opening my requests for a short while to let y’all go WILD with Viktor and Jayce from Arcane. I’ve written 100 prompts for you to choose from, separated into 5 categories (Kinks, Objects, Sentences, Places, and Actions/Positions).

You can send in your request through my inbox (or my comment section on Ao3 if you don’t have Tumblr), and I’ll write a drabble/one-shot of a few hundred words to 1K, either during or after the event.

Find the rules and prompts below!

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ RULES ⋅⋆ ──

1- You may choose between 2 to 5 prompts maximum, from all categories combined. You can select more than one prompt from the same category. I will use she/her and AFAB Reader by default, but you can specify if you would like gender-neutral pronouns and/or non-specified genitalia.

2- The number of requests I get can be overwhelming, so I may not be able to answer them all. I might also skip some if they don’t resonate with me at the moment. Please don’t take it personally if I don’t get to yours—I adore you all with my whole heart! 💕

3 - This event is centred around Viktor x Reader, Jayce x Reader, or JayVik x Reader. I will accept requests for the following characters, but they will not take priority over Viktor and Jayce asks: Silco, Vander, Vi, Sevika, and Mel.

(If you follow me for my MHA content, you may send a request with any +18 characters, like the big 3, pro-heroes, and villains. These asks won't take priority over the Arcane ones for this event, but I might be able to revisit them later ❤️)

4- Requests will be accepted from February 1st to February 14th inclusively. Anon will be on for anyone who feels more comfortable using it. You can contact me by DM if you have any additional questions.

──⋆⋅𓍢ִ໋ PROMPTS ⋅⋆ ──

🔥Twenty Kinks:🔥

1 - Dom/Sub Dynamics

2 - Biting / Marking

3 - Edging

4 - Clothed Sex

5 - Hate Sex

6 - Age Difference (starting from 18+)

7 - Virginity

8 - Creampie / Breeding

9 - Consual non-con / Dub con (specify)

10 - Somnophilia

11 - Exhibitionism / Voyeurism

12 - Fuck or Die / Sex Pollen

13 - Strenght Kink / Muscle

14 - Choking Kink

15 - Praise Kink

16 - Humiliation Kink

17 - Size Kink (you can specify a body part)

18 - Rough Sex / Pain Kink

19 - Blood Kink

20 - Dacryphilia

🎁Twenty Objects:🎁

21- Dildo / Vibrator

22 - Cane / Whip / Belt

23 - Lingerie / Corset

24 - Stockings / Tights

25 - Role-play Costume (you can specify, ex: nurse)

26 - Food (you can specify, ex: chocolate)

27 - Fucking Machine

28 - Onahole / Pocket pussy

29 - Handcuffs / Restraints

30 - Blindfold

31 - Camera / Cellphone

32 - Jewelry (you can specify, ex: choker)

33 - Gloves

34 - Animal Ears / Tail

35 - Mirror

36 - Weapon (you can specify, ex: knife)

37 - Candle / Wax

38 - Ice

39 - Heels / Shoes

40 - Strap On

💬Twenty Sentences:💬

41 - “P-please fuck me harder.”

42 - “What are you gonna do about it?”

43 - “So eager, so desperate for me… a little pathetic, don't you think?”

44 - “Sit on my lap.”

45 - “I'm going to make you regret this.”

46 - “What would X think if they could see you like this?”

47 - “I promise I'll be a good boy/girl.”

48 - “Please let me touch you.”

49 - “Get on your knees.”

50 - “How many times can I make you come?”

51 - “Quiet, they'll hear us…”

52 - “No one else will ever fuck you this good.”

53 - “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

54 - “How many others do you do this for?”

55 - “Don't worry, I'll kiss it better.”

56 - “You suck at this. Let me show you how it's done.”

57 - “Don't move until I say you can”

58 - “Are you close, baby?”

59 - “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget how to walk.”

60 - “This doesn't mean I like you.”

🏖Twenty Places:🏖

61 - Store / Changing Room

62 - Car

63 - Public Transport

64 - Class / School

65 - Lab

66 - Council Room

67 - Couch / Chair

68 - Cemetery

69 - Shower / Bath

70 - Public Restroom

71 - Jacuzzi / Sauna / Hot Springs (you can specify private or public)

72 - Beach

73 - Hospital

74 - House Party

75 - Bar

76 - Strip Club / Brothel

77 - Library

78 - Music Festival

79 - Camping / Woods

80 - Alleyway

🫶Twenty Positions/Actions:🫶

81 - Missionary

82 - Cowgirl / Reverse Cowgirl

83 - Doggy Style

84 - Standing

85 - Solo Masturbation

86 - Mutual Masturbation

87 - Eiffel Tower (Jayvik x Reader exclusive)

88 - Countertop

89 - Fingering

90 - Boob Job

91 - Hand Job

92 - Ass Job

93 - Foot Job

94 - Thigh Sex

95 - Chair Sex

96 - Oral Sex

97 - Humping / Grinding

98 - Cock Warming

99 - Premature Ejaculation

100 - Author’s Special (You let me choose!)

((Example of a potential ask: Viktor with 4, 17, 18, and 65))

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hy6erion · 1 month ago

Note

Hi! How are u doing?

May I request a Mel Medarda x female reader who has a natural kind of deep voice and is kinda insecure about it (cit me) and Mel likes it and if possible add a suggestive end?

Of course you don't have do this if you don't want to.

Remember to drink enough water and take care of yourself.

PS: It's my first time requesting something lol 🫠

𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 - 𝐌𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰-𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞!! 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 (≧◡≦)

𝟏.𝟔𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

The first time Mel hears your voice, truly hears it, is at a gala in Piltover’s upper district—an event meant to soothe fraying alliances between merchants and the Council. She’s always been attentive, always noticing the small things about people before they ever realize she’s watching.

But your voice—your voice makes her pause.

Not because it’s loud or demanding, but because it’s the opposite. Smooth like the finest aged whiskey, a resonance that hums more than it speaks, deep enough to settle low in the bones. It’s the kind of voice that should belong to a ruler, a deity, someone carved into history.

Instead, you keep your head lowered when you speak, as if ashamed of the sound that drips from your lips.

Mel watches. She listens. And when the opportunity presents itself, she seizes it.

“You hesitate before you speak,” she remarks, wine glass in hand, golden adornments catching the candlelight.

You’re taken off guard—Mel Medarda is speaking to you. Not in passing, not in politeness, but to you. Directly.

“I—” Your voice betrays you, that same deep, rich tone curling around the single syllable.

Mel smiles, indulgent. “You hesitate because you think your voice does not belong in these halls.”

You stiffen, fingers tightening around the stem of your own glass. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?” She tilts her head, watching you carefully. “Then tell me—why do you let others speak over you when you have a voice that could command the room?”

You feel exposed, as if she’s peeled away the layers of careful restraint you’ve built over the years. “It’s just… different.”

“Different?” Mel echoes, amused. “Is that all?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t answer.

Mel hums, thoughtful. “It’s a shame, really. You hold back something so devastatingly beautiful.”

You almost laugh at that—almost. It’s the kind of effortless flattery Mel Medarda is known for, the kind that twists people around her finger. And yet, there’s something in her tone, something honest.

“You don’t have to humor me,” you murmur, sipping your wine.

Mel leans in, her presence deliberate, warm. “Who said I was humoring you?”

Your pulse betrays you, quickening beneath your skin. She notices. She always notices.

She doesn’t press further. Not yet. But that knowing smile of hers lingers long after the gala ends.

The Second Time

You don’t see her for weeks.

Not until a late evening at her estate, where political dealings and shifting allegiances have made the night long and tiresome. You’re not supposed to be here, not really—but the invitation was extended, and you were too curious (too drawn) to refuse.

She finds you on the terrace, watching the city below, wrapped in the quiet hum of the night.

“You disappeared on me,” she says, voice smooth as silk, stepping beside you.

You huff a soft laugh. “Didn’t know I was expected to stay.”

Mel turns, leaning against the railing, eyes studying you in that way that makes you feel entirely too seen. “Tell me something,” she muses, tracing a finger along the rim of her wine glass. “Do you hate your voice?”

You tense. The question is too direct, too knowing. “I don’t hate it.”

Mel watches you, and for a moment, the only sound between you is the gentle breeze rolling in from the cliffs.

“Then why do you flinch when you speak?”

Your fingers tighten against the railing. “It’s not like that.”

“It is,” she counters, tilting her head. “You hold back. You swallow words that should be spoken.”

You exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t know. It’s just—people notice. People expect something different when they see me.”

Mel’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And you hate that they notice?”

You hesitate. “I hate that it sets me apart.”

For a moment, Mel says nothing. Then, she steps closer, her warmth pressing into your space, her fingers skimming along your wrist in a barely-there touch.

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” she murmurs, voice low, intimate. “Your voice doesn’t set you apart. It sets you above.”

Your breath catches.

She takes the wine glass from your hand, setting it aside.

“You want to hide it,” she continues, voice like velvet, tracing the underside of your wrist with the tips of her fingers. “I want to hear more of it.”

You swallow hard. “Mel—”

She lifts a brow, amused. “Don’t stop now.”

It’s deliberate, the way she says it, coaxing, teasing. As if daring you to keep speaking just so she can feel your voice in the space between you.

Your skin prickles with heat. “You—”

Mel hums. “There it is.”

Your breath stutters. “You like my voice.”

“I love it,” she corrects smoothly, fingers trailing up your arm. “And I’d like to hear what it sounds like when you stop holding back.”

Your stomach tightens.

Mel watches, waiting. She’s in no rush, her patience a slow, agonizing pull.

“You—” Your voice nearly fails you, low, rich, curling around the words like something sinful. “You play a dangerous game.”

Mel smiles, slow and knowing, like a lioness that has cornered her prey.

“And you’re the one who keeps walking into it.”

Mel has always been patient.

She understands the art of the slow game-the build-up, the tension, the anticipation. She thrives in it, lets it weave through her interactions, lets people stew in the possibility of what she might do.

And right now?

Right now, she's letting you stew.

Your pulse is quick, your breath uneven, and yet you don't pull away from her touch. She can feel the hesitation, the sharp contrast between want and restraint.

"Tell me something," she murmurs, fingers brushing the inside of your wrist, light enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Have you ever had someone worship your voice the way it deserves?"

Your lips part, but no words come out.

Mel watches you carefully, golden eyes half-lidded, full of knowing amusement. "No? Then I have the honor of being the first."

Your throat tightens, heat curling low in your stomach. "Mel-"

"Again," she says, leaning in, lips dangerously close to the corner of your jaw. "Say my name again."

You swallow hard, pulse hammering against your ribs. "Mel."

The way her breath catches is almost imperceptible, but you feel it, feel the way her fingers tighten against your skin for just a second before she exhales, slow and controlled.

"There it is," she whispers, lips grazing against your jaw, just enough to make you shiver. "I could listen to you say my name forever."

Your head tilts slightly, instinctual, exposing more of your throat to her.

She doesn't move just yet-just lets her fingers trace the line of your arm, a featherlight touch that leaves heat in its wake.

"You're cruel," you murmur, voice thick, rougher than usual.

Mel smiles. "Am I?"

She lifts her hand, brushing her knuckles against your jaw before dragging a finger along your bottom lip. Your breath stutters at the touch, the sheer intimacy of it making your skin burn.

"Would you like me to stop?" she asks, voice low, velvet-soft.

The answer is immediate. "No."

Mel hums, pleased. "Then tell me what you want."

You hesitate. Not because you don't know-but because saying it aloud, in that deep, sultry voice of yours, feels too much like giving yourself away.

Mel sees it. Sees the way you war with yourself, the way your throat works as you try to form the words.

She steps closer, pressing her body lightly against yours, letting you feel the heat of her. "Don't hide from me now," she whispers.

You exhale sharply, fingers gripping the railing behind you. "I want you."

Mel lets out a quiet sigh, as if savoring the sound of your confession.

"Say it again," she murmurs, hands sliding up your arms, slow, deliberate.

Your stomach clenches. "Mel-"

"Again."

You shudder, the demand slipping under your skin, curling around you. "I want you."

She exhales, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just so before she leans in, brushing her lips over yours. It's not quite a kiss-just the promise of one, lingering in the air between you.

"Good," she murmurs, her breath warm against your mouth. "Because I want you too."

And then she kisses you.

It's slow at first, teasing, coaxing, like she's savoring every second of it. Her lips move against yours with careful precision, deepening just enough to make your knees weak.

Then she pulls away, just enough to let you chase her, let you murmur something low and needy against her lips.

The sound makes her hum, pleased, fingers tangling in your hair as she presses herself against you more firmly.

"You sound divine when you let go," she murmurs, dragging her lips along your jaw, down to the curve of your throat. "I wonder what else I can make you say."

You exhale sharply, fingers digging into her waist as she presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Her hands move with purpose, slipping under the fabric of your clothes, fingertips grazing over bare skin, slow, unhurried. She's savoring this, savoring you, dragging out every little sound you make just to hear the way your voice trembles against her.

She likes it-likes the way your voice catches when she sucks lightly on the sensitive spot below your jaw, the way you murmur her name in that impossibly deep, honeyed tone that makes her stomach tighten.

"You should never hide this from me," she murmurs against your skin. "From anyone."

You tilt your head back, letting her mouth trail lower, your breath coming out in uneven, shuddering exhales.

Mel's lips curve into a satisfied smile.

She's only just begun.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #arcane #arcane x reader #Mel medarda #mel medarda x reader #arcane Mel #arcane Mel medarda #mel medarda arcane #Mel medarda x fem reader

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yanderes-galore · 4 months ago

Note

Hi hope it’s not too late to request Yandere obi wan kenobi who falls for senator reader while he was protecting her from assassins.

We love giving Jedi a crisis on this blog.

Yandere! Obi-Wan Kenobi with Senator! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Denial, Brief mentions of murder, Jealousy, Isolation, Dubious relationship.

Obi-Wan is one of the people many think of when they hear 'Jedi'.

He doesn't let personal connections get in the way of his job.

He's also extremely loyal to the council.

He's different from other Jedi who are sometimes controlled by emotion.

So him becoming yandere comes with a lot of denial on his part....

Especially since Jedi aren't supposed to fall in love in The Order.

Obi-Wan would know his feelings are wrong, try not to fall for them, but succumbs eventually.

Especially considering canon with Satine.

He nearly left the order for her.

Similar thing would happen with you in this case.

Jedi are appointed to those who are in the most danger.

They're meant to enforce peace, acting like bodyguards.

It's normal for Jedi to be appointed to aid political figures.

Especially senators.

Due to politics, senators are easily targeted by assassins.

To protect you, Obi-Wan becomes your bodyguard.

Obi-Wan would originally be respectful yet not overly emotional with you.

He's here to protect you... to be your guard... not anything else.

Imagine if you were the one who was social with him.

You feel it isn't right to just ignore your bodyguard and might try to converse with him.

The job shouldn't be boring, right?

Plus, it feels weird for you to know nothing about your protector.

Obi-Wan originally tries to put some distance between you two.

He entertains your conversation, yet tries to keep it professional.

When you get too personal, he tries his best to decline.

Yet over time as he protects you he begins to feel more... fond.

I imagine you two are together for months in order to make Obi-Wan obsessed.

For the most part he sees himself as your guardian.

He's merely a Jedi Knight meant to protect his assignment.

Yet you're so social with him it catches him off guard.

On quiet nights you two chat.

Sometimes you can't sleep due to the stress you're under, leading to you and Obi-Wan talking to one another.

Obi-Wan feels it's natural to talk with you.

He wants you to feel calm and quietly listens to your rants and worries.

He's sympathetic... but he shouldn't be so close to you.

Obi-Wan definitely gets attached to you by accident... then tries to ignore it.

He puts himself in denial, he can't be in love!

Jedi Knights have a mission to uphold.

His goal is to simply cut down assassins.

Yet Obi-Wan finds himself attached to your late night conversations.

When he isn't putting his saber against someone, you invite him to your room to speak.

Your conversations start formally... only to become more personal as much as Obi-Wan tries to avoid it.

Obi-Wan is different from Anakin.

Unlike Anakin, he has a better grip on his emotions and reactions.

He's less controlled by his personal feelings... yet with you it's a struggle.

Jedi are not immune to love.

They simply learn control and restraint.

Yet they still feel connections with others, even if they shouldn't.

Obi-Wan tries to ignore it for a couple months.

He offers smiles and info he can spare that isn't against any code.

He always stays close yet also tries to distance himself, concerned he'll be too attached.

Yet by the next few months, Obi-Wan finds himself slipping up.

You invite him everywhere... Your smile is pleasing....

Obi-Wan finds himself snapping when he tries to protect you, too.

He's always supposed to protect you...

But now he finds himself... paranoid about what could happen if he's distracted.

Ironically, his feelings for you are the most distracting thing in his mind.

This is proven when he finds himself tense around those you interact with.

He tells himself it's paranoia, you both just need to be careful around others...

Yet there's always the chance that what he's feeling is restrained jealousy.

Obi-Wan never outright acts on his jealousy.

Anakin might, but he doesn't.

He tries to accept it as he stands beside you, standing a little closer while you negotiate.

Obi-Wan may actually try to keep you away from others for your safety.

He reminds you every day to be careful.

After all, assassins are never easy to spot.

Anyone can be a spy out to get you.

You may even listen to Obi-Wan, after all, he's your bodyguard.

He no doubt has had many missions like this, right?

This thought is what makes you believe him and listen to him.

What keeps his obsession under control is the fact you usually follow what he says.

Obi-Wan isn't a possessive yandere as he's so controlled.

But, of course, he's overprotective due to his job.

He's scared to lose you... especially since it's easy to do.

You're an important figure... and fear poisons a Jedi.

Obi-Wan dreads the day he has to leave your side.

He knows when the time comes, someone else will protect you.

But they aren't him.

With those thoughts in mind, Obi-Wan listens eagerly to every little thing you say.

He enjoys protecting you and making you smile.

You're a pretty woman who knows her way through politics.

As much as he shouldn't think about it... He can't help but fantasize about you two being together.

His obsession makes him rethink his loyalty to the Jedi.

He thinks of leaving The Order...

He thinks of what it would be like to always be by your side, to protect you.

By the end of his station, he's madly in love.

The unfortunate thing is he has no idea how to deal with his feelings....

Obi-Wan knows he shouldn't act on them.

He should rein himself in, he shouldn't corrupt himself.

But it seems love controls even those with the strongest of wills.

While Obi-Wan may not kidnap you, he'll find ways to extend being your guard.

He tells The Order that you're still in danger, that he should watch you and possibly have you moved somewhere safer.

This way Obi-Wan spends more time with you... He's able to soothe his yearning for a little while longer...

He isn't entirely lying, is he?

Senators are always in danger.

Obi-Wan is desperate to keep himself from going against The Order.

He tries to stay beside you as long as he can.

But eventually he'll have to leave your side...

By then, he hopes he'll make the right decision.

After all... He feels you love him too... You must...

Surely he can just leave The Order and... have you as his wife, right?

While Obi-Wan is praised for being a flawless example of a Jedi Knight...

Perhaps he isn't as flawless as everyone thinks when it comes to you?

#yandere star wars #yandere star wars x reader #yandere obi-wan #yandere obi-wan kenobi

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snifekinner · 7 months ago

Text

some more

insulting you based on your favourite hetalia character:

tagging @council-of-beetroot who requested lithuania and poland

austria: you are exhausting. a conversation with you feels like a 30k run. you have so many Takes and you are determined to tell your friends about all of them. you are the type to wear white to a wedding.

prussia: there is something undefinably wrong with you. your life sounds made up to others, but to you it makes sense because weird shit happens to you every day. you are constantly engaging in shenanigans and you lack any sense of self restraint.

hungary: you have no sense of when a night out is over, and will be urging people to get a bag and come back to your flat at 4am. bad influence. you exist in your own world which is mostly soundtracked by nightcore.

poland: you dream of the day you will clap back at your employers and leave the office in a swirl of glory but realistically you have rent to pay, so you act like a sickening little yes man. you treat your pets like children and it weirds people out.

lithuania: you think your shit dont stink, so you never ask for help. you self martyr worse that a mum on a family holiday. everyone would like u a lot better if you just admit how horny you are. your clothes never quite fit you properly.

#hetalia #hws austria #hws lithuania #hws hungary #hws prussia #hws poland

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thechaoticplayer · 1 year ago

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Hi you lovely person! May I please request smut where you help Hex 'relax ;)' because this poor man is so stressed and depressed. Being the student council therapist is a hard job after all! :( also the brainrot has been real since he talked about how men need to moan more during sex- Thank you!

Author's note: AAAAAA A REQUESTED HEX SMUT VAMOS VAMOS VAMOOSSSS TY YES THIS IS PERFECT (THIS IS SO FUCKING SHORT WTFFFF)

Summary: Hex Haywire, the student council therapist, always seems so exhausted after doing his job. So you decide to help him "relax" in his office. Contains: NSFW content, praising, a blowjob, fucking in an office where anyone could walk in at any time but who gives a fuck, relaxing Hex haywire, some fluff at the end, none of my works are proofread so yeah sorry if theres mistakes MDNI or dont I dont give a damn

"Darling," you start, shutting the door softly with a click behind you. "You seem stressed. What's wrong?"

Hex rubs his temple with a drawn out sigh. He seems more stressed than usual. Which was usual and at the same time, unusual. Shouldering many people's pain is a rough job, but he looks completely drained. You couldn't possibly imagine what it would be like, being in his shoes.

"Nothing baby, just..." Hex pushes up his glasses, but it's still lopsided. "A long day, that's all."

You navigate around the wide mahogany desk and he turns his chair towards you, arms extended. You smile gently and climb into his lap, arms around his neck. Hex buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent.

You run your fingers through his hair. "How about I make you feel better? Relax?"

Hex looks up, studying your face. A smirk tugs at his mouth. "What are you suggesting?"

You can't help but smirk back. "An efficient relaxing method perhaps."

"Feeling shameless today, hmm?" Hex squeezes your waist with a soft chuckle. "I'm not opposed to it, but are you sure?"

"Isn't that my duty? to take care of my stressed boyfriend?" You reply, sliding off his lap and kneeling on the floor, your hands on his belt. Hex gazes down at you, his eyes seeming like they're glowing. Glowing with need. "Just sit back and relax, and I'll take all the stress away."

You unbuckle his pants and unzip, his cock straining against the cloth. You take it out of its restraints, your hand around his member.

"Don't be afraid to spit on it baby," Hex says, voice deepening as he watches you. You do so without hesitation. "That's my girl."

You rub your thighs together, gathering friction for the growing heat between your legs. Your hand goes up and down Hex's cock as you look up and watch his eyes flutter closed, mouth parted slightly.

"Just like that..." he murmurs.

You lick a stripe from the base to the tip and Hex shivers slightly. As you travel up, you take the tip into your mouth and suck lightly, earning a breathy moan in response.

You stop halfway of his cock because holy shit it was big and there was no way in hell you could fit it all, so you stroke the lower half. While hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard and Hex's hand grips your hair.

"Fuck, that's good," he pants, moaning softly. "Keep going keep... mm..."

You trace a vein with your tongue as Hex pants above you, a hand covering his mouth as he struggled to keep a low volume. He praised you constantly, making you moan against his cock. The vibrations make his cock twitch. Hex could feel himself getting closer but he wanted more.

Hex, with his grasp on you, pulls you off his cock with a pop. Breathing hard, he stares you in the eye. "Ride me."

You scramble up to your feet without pause, getting on top of him as Hex assisted discarding your underwear. His hands finding home on your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto his length.

You both release a moan once he's sheathed inside your warmth. The stretch hurts so good. Your walls hug his cock perfectly, and it made him hungry to feel you even more.

"Can you move sweetheart?" Hex rumbles in your ear, nails digging into your skin.

You nod obediently, raising your hips up before slamming back down.

"Fuck!" Hex exclaims and you bite your lip to keep quiet. You rise up and down and his head is thrown back. "Just like that! God, you're so fucking perfect-"

Your tits bounce up and down, your legs quivering as you rode him hard. Hex adjusts himself so he can rolls his hips into you and you let out a moan, pressing your mouth against his neck and biting down.

You could feel him moving inside you, his cock ramming into you and hitting the spongy bit inside. Hex's noises loud in your ear, his breaths ragged. You had to grab his biceps for stability, afraid you'd fall off from how rough you two were going.

"I'm close baby, 'm close," he breathes against your skin, licking from your neck to your ear and sending shivers up your spine.

"Me too," you gasp, the heat pooling in your lower stomach. You feel yourself squeeze around Hex's length and he groans at the feeling.

"Cum with me love," Hex rasps. You nod earnestly as the coil in you grew tighter and tighter and-

A strangled noise rips from your throat as Hex's seed coats your walls, your own cum envelopes his cock. Hex groans loudly, digging his nails so deep it was sure to leave small crescent shape Mark's for the next few days.

You press against his chest, shuddering from the hard orgasm. Hex wraps his arms around you and you feel his fast heartbeat matching with yours as you rest in each other's embrace. Both heartbeats slow down in tandem, and Hex is practically purring as he holds you.

"How was... that? Do you feel relaxed?" You ask, a bit tired to get off him and it appeared he was also not willing to pull out of you so soon.

"That was perfect love," Hex says, and you can feel his voice rumble deep in his chest. he gives you a brilliant smile, kissing you affectionately. "Thank you so much. You never cease to amaze me."

You cup his cheek and he leans into it. Giggling softly, you return the kiss on his forehead. You also fix his lopsided glasses. "You're welcome, darling. Anything for you."

Hex cuddles against your chest and you laugh. He mumbles compliments and a soft but discernable, 'I love you' and your heart swells. You bury your face in his hair.

"I love you too."

#nijisanji #nijisanji en #vtuber #nijien #nijisanji smut #nijisanji x reader #favorite vtuber #Hex haywire #hex haywire smut #hex haywire x reader

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ratwithhands · 11 months ago

Text

Character relations/opinions!

Alright before I post any more Battle Addict stuff I should probably explain what a League Council is. Here's a summarized diagram:

A Pokemon League is a region's network of specialized skilled trainers. It is run by the League Council, which includes finance, HR, marketing, PR, and other managing departments which are divided into different branches depending on who they work with.

This is all to say that everything gets messy very quickly when news of the diagnosis spreads through the network. Originally the diagnosis was supposed to be private information for only the Battle and League departments, however certain higher ups felt it was a safety risk and notified gym leaders as well in the event of future collaborations.

The network is mostly divided into people who are positive/neutral about the news, and people who feel negatively about the twins as a result. Coworkers who were already familiar/close with the two tend to be positive, or at least supportive, whereas those who didn't know them got another reason to avoid them. Some people think they should go on leave for "recovery", but some are more forward and want them terminated.

If you're wondering where Cynthia falls in this, she's a foreign top league worker (Sinnoh Champion) who is hosted in Unova. Basically she has dept. employees assigned to help her connect to people around the region and get different services if requested. She's basically watching everything unfold from the sidelines, with every interview about her opinion boiling down to "lol if you're scared of people stronger than you then get good". She does also bring up historic accounts of CM/HCCM though, mostly to clarify that CM is not a new or scary thing. She's not for or against the twins, rather just hoping to use this as an opportunity to teach others.

I didn't end up drawing her because I got tired but Elesa got the news too!! She actually got it before everyone else since the twins decided to go tell her beforehand. The general scene basically had Ingo and Emmet deliberating in the car, Ingo telling Emmet it's not too late to turn around and go home while Emmet was hesitant but adamant that they needed to tell her first. She probably took it the worst out of everyone but that's mostly just cause it caught her off guard that her friends would just randomly drop in to deliver the news. She's still rooting for them though, mostly trying to support the Subway with more collaborative events to make the twins look better after the hit from the media. She also tries to rework Emmet's restraints where possible, usually trying to make them look more cohesive with the rest of an outfit or trying to make them less visible (cause as much as Emmet says it's not a big deal it's still the first thing he looks at in his reflection).

Here's them in alt clothes :7

Man is cuffed under there (T_T)

Can't really think of too much to say so hope you guys like the art and see you later!

#submas #submas au #au #ingo #subway master ingo #ingo pokemon #nobori #emmet #subway master emmet #emmet pokemon #kudari #pokemon shauntal #caitlin pokemon #marshal pokemon #champion cynthia #grimsley #Elesa will use these two to model clothing lines without mentioning Emmet's are technically modified to match his work requirement #“His hands are just cold dw about it”#I wonder if Emmet's version of the clothes would be sold seperately #surely there must be a market for thick clothes with long sleeves and a compression fit #hell Emmet's league restraint is like half leather by volume there's gotta be an audience for that #also for those wondering‚ BFOs are considered auxilliary to the formal league and are considered as extra members for special events #They're generally not included unless an event is being planned or they need the extra marketing bait #Also the General Department handles other tasks!! it's just that most people are assigned/categorized for a specific dept. anyway #so the GD is for people coming in from out of the region or people ranking below gym leaders since they aren't assigned #All this writing is kinda making my head hurt‚ see you guys later

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lani-heart · 9 months ago

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MASTERLIST || LANI-HEART <3

if you're new here -> my introduction, blog guidelines, ko-fi

to shorten things up this will be my masterlist for all works, I also mainly write series but I do take requests if you do want to request a one-shot, drabble, etc. but for that please refer to my guidelines, and my respect boundaries.

BEFORE READING ANY OF MY WORKS PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TRIGGERS

IF YOU SEE A [ 18+ ] IT MEANS IT CONTAINS SUGGESTIVE CONTENT THAT IS NOT INTENDED FOR BELOW-THE-AGE RATING AUDIENCES

ATEEZ PRESENT (S)

-> CIRCUS || abstract || forced to adopt a hybrid becomes harder than the reader anticipated. in which she'll encounter eight troubled and challenging hybrids to take care of. will she be able to handle it? || poly au, hybrid au, includes 18+ posts / smuts || series || || status -> ongoing || masterlist ||

-> GOLDEN RESTRAINTS || abstract || picked in the games and give ultiminatum after ultinatum... you realize not everything is as good or evil and instead everything is morally grey. || poly au, hunger games au, includes gore / murder || series || || status -> ongoing || masterlist ||

-> HOW WOULD ATEEZ GIVE ORAL || REACTION || abstract || How would the different members of ATEEZ give oral? || reaction, seperate member, requested <3 ||

CONNECTING TO ENHYPEN

-> BRIGHT SUN || abstract || with the merging of several schools, the councils will learn to work with each other. what happens when the reader has seven soulmates in the Decelis Academy council, and she gets rejected by them? || dark moon inspires, soulmate au, fantasy au || series || || status -> complete || masterlist ||

-> 7TALES || abstract || what can go wrong in a world of hybrids? || separate member, hybrid au, school au || series || || status -> ongoing || masterlist ||

STRAY KIDS STEP OUT

HWANG HYUNJIN -> FREE OF SERVICES || abstract || what happens when you have gum in your hair due to some petty coworkers and the cute stylist fixes it for you? who knew you'd see him the next day at a coffee shop? || fluff / smut / one-shot / requested <3 ||

SEVENTEEN RIGHT HERE

-> none for now feel free to request

HERE IS NCT

-> none for now feel free to request

#lani heart #lani's corner #masterlist

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lolxzzz · 8 months ago

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Fool

Alicole fic- maybe a little angsty

“And request that she grant her favour-“

She stopped.

Stopped listening to the rest of what the new Lord Hand had to say. Her former sworn shield.

Or so she assumes, for they have not discussed him retiring his post as her protector. Her loyal Ser mere moments from leaving her side possibly forever, not having spoken a word of his plans to her prior to rallying the council for a headlong thrust into war.

Not that he sought her out much for conversation lately.

No, the little insights he would tuck away to repeat to her at a later, more private, moment were no longer. Images running through her mind of unsuspecting courtiers, ignorant of the glint in the eyes of her otherwise stoic knight as he listened on to their ramblings. That brief smirk in those dark orbs as his gaze caught hers, leaving the Queen bemused, stirring her to ready her own commentary, for despite drawing comfort from her enduring shadow all these years, Alicent had long since yearned for more.

The final walk back to her quarters had been precious to them. When the sun had set, and with it the shadows dissolved, when Shield and Sovereign were both bathed in darkness, when she could pretend she was but Lady Alicent and he, her Ser Criston. While it may be duty that held him close to her, she fancied to herself it was more than just a vow that led him to unburden himself, as was their nightly tradition.

What started as a simple cutting comment on some errant lord that had dared irk his Queen, became much more than just a lingering good night. Their evenings had ended with a glass of wine in the Queen’s chambers, unwinding and unfolding the events of the day, both keen to prolong their commentary despite having lived each moment of it together. And so, her loyal knight remained, until, of every person had there been an opinion made of, every contentious topic agonised over, until key military strategy been carefully explained by the experienced Dornishmen and until he had heard her laughter fill the air after his poor jests.

But lately there had been none of this. Each word uttered to her in these recent days seemed as though they were wrenched from him, as though he could only bare to give away one part of his essence and so she clinged to that part, pulled him closer with every kiss and let herself deny her fears and cover it with his burning touch. Each time feeling further away from him as his eyes refused to meet hers once the throes of passion sub-sided, and yet all she could do was stare, implore him, beg him to look once more and to see her: see that she was still there. She had liked to believe it was guilt that stayed him. For his vows and for her faith did he force this separation.

But now, with that one word- ‘favour’- clarity broke through the haze of emotions and she willed icy acceptance to prevail.

Was it not said that with age comes wisdom? Yet in comparison to her younger self, Alicent now felt keenly that she was a fool. A sharp turn of her head to see if anyone else was witness to her humiliation, but no, she must bare this pain in secrecy too. She forced restraint upon herself, doing her best to appear nonchalant and yet as much as she wished to wither and crawl away from his gaze, she could not help but stare searchingly into those pools of brown, suddenly feeling like she could no longer understand the depths with which they used to communicate. That mirth she used to delight in, was it directed at her now, laughing at her?

She remembered as a young girl, the dejection of being passed over by the handsome Knight for her silver haired friend; painful but expected. Who was she to be compared to the Realm’s delight? Yes, that pain had burned quietly, she had had no hopes or illusions when Cole left euphoric after winning the Princess’ favour. Alicent felt the sting of rejection by the Dornishmen to be much like the bleeding of her nailbeds. Self-inflicted and controlled. Why would the winner of a Tourney crown her the Queen of love and beauty when her friend would hold that title more easily than the crown itself with she its heir? Why would anyone, for that matter, look to Alicent when there was Rhaeneyra?

And Alicent accepted this, she had no hopes, back then, of ever being looked upon as more than the daughter of a second son. And yet 20 years later it seemed Alicent had been brought back to that moment with none of the sense and composure that had been her bastion in those humble days.

It was as though something had snapped and suddenly she had awoke. Her children taking up arms, the kingdoms at war and yet all she could see was him. Their 20 years together cycling through her mind and none of it had mattered. They had been the same in his eyes. Trophies to collect. Opponents he had bested. Alicent felt she had once again come second to Rhaeneyra. For she had, come second- a poor replacement. Another Rhaeneyra. All these years of duty that she mistook for devotion. How stupid of her to think that soiling his cloak and breaking his vows would somehow be different when done with her, for her, that these decades of companionship and what she came to feel as love would mean so little. Stupid to think he would not resent her like he did her predecessor. And yet what of all that she has lost? A lifetime of piety and unrelenting prayer and devotion destroyed by a man who refuses to look or speak with her before tearing away the very foundations of which she has built her fortress.

His touch lingers and he smiles triumphantly as he watches her turn away, the dance of light dimming a little in his eyes as he thinks to Alicent’s wide eyes moments ago. Ser Criston wishes he could rid her of the fear he saw in those depths and promise to never part, but rather than slay those demons, he must do his duty as her sworn protector and slay all those truly posing a threat to his Queen.

Would that he had time to jest and hear her laugh as he longed to.

#alicole #hotd #alicent hightower #criston cole #angst #first fic I am so sorry #I just want more fics of these two #courtly love

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magnificentmaleficent · 6 days ago

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ʙʟᴀꜱᴘʜᴇᴍᴏᴜꜱ | ᴅʀ. ᴢᴀɪᴜꜱ x ꜰ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ [III]

𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎: Blasphemous 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Dr. Zaius x F! Reader 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Stranded on a world ruled by evolved apes, you are the anomaly- a human that defies the natural order and no one in Ape city resents your existence more than Dr. Zaius, the rigid and unyielding minister of science and chief defender of the faith. Who, more determined than ever, wants to keep his world safe from humankind- your kind. But... Is it normal to be so consumed by your enemy's presence? Why can't he keep you out of his thoughts? 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Zaius wrestles with his growing jealousy and inner turmoil over her presence, realizing she threatens not just ape society but his own tightly controlled emotions. As the High Council questions his tolerance he fights to maintain his composure. 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: [I] [II] [III] 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @pandaworldkawaii 𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: I'm so happy to be welcomed into this community! I've got some Kingdom!PotA request that I'm working on! So stay tunned for more! ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ ✿)

★゜・。。・゜゜☆゜・。。・゜★

CHAPTER III: ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ & ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ.

Zaius' jealousy burned like a slow poison, eroding the foundation of his convictions. He had prided himself on restraint, on control, yet the thought of her speaking about Taylor—admiring him—unsettled something deep within him. He recalled the moments when his restraint wavered: times when his gaze lingered for too long, the instances he caught himself searching for her in the halls, the breathless, unspoken anticipation of their next confrontation. These were weaknesses he had never allowed himself before. And yet, here he was, consumed by thoughts of a dead man and a woman who should have meant nothing to him. What was this wretched emotion twisting inside him? And why, despite everything, could he not let it go?

The rational part of him scoffed at his own folly. Taylor had been a disruptive force, a human anomaly who had confirmed every fear Zaius had harbored about the past. And yet, he had also been something else—a rival he never acknowledged, an adversary who had challenged his beliefs as fiercely as she did now. That she spoke of him with such intensity, that she carried his memory as something precious, stroked a fire in Zaius' chest that he neither recognized nor welcomed.

As chief defender of the faith and minister of science, he had long prided himself on his ability to govern with logic, to uphold the sacred laws of ape society without allowing emotion to cloud his judgment. But tonight, as he stood by Dr Zira’s study, his mind was a battlefield of contradictions. He should have been on his own study, focusing on his work yet his thoughts keept being consumed by something far more troubling.

Her

She was an enigma—an impossible disruption in the fragile balance he had spent his life protecting. He had told himself again and again that she was nothing more than an unfortunate remnant of the past, a reminder of humanity’s inevitable destruction. And yet, no matter how much he tried to convince himself of that truth, he could not stop thinking about her.

“…He was my friend,” her voice was distant, lost in reminiscence as he hid by the ajar door,“Taylor… he wasn’t perfect, but he was kind. He didn’t deserve whatever happened to him.”

Taylor. The name alone sent a wave of bitterness through Zaius’ chest. The astronaut had been reckless, arrogant, dangerous... He had upset the balance of their world and challenged everything ape society held sacred. And yet, hearing her speak of him with such quiet affection sent a sharp pang through him, one he did not wish to examine too closely.

“You truly cared for him,” Zira observed gently.

Exaling, you shook your head, voice tinted by sadness. “I did. But it wasn’t like that. He was like… a tether to my past. The last piece of a world that doesn’t even exist anymore.”

The orangutan felt something in him tighten. He had spent so long viewing her as an outsider, an interloper, an uninvited guest in his world. But for the first time, he saw her as something else—someone who had lost everything. Someone who had been torn from everything she had known and thrust into a world that did not welcome her.

And yet, she adapted. She laughed. She spoke with Zira and Cornelius as if she belonged.

That thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he heard her continue,voice softer now. “You have each other. A home. A place where you belong.”

There was silence before Cornelius’ voice intervened, cautious yet firm. “Dr Zaius had that once, too.”

You looked up sharply. “What?”

Zira looked at Cornelius with quiet reproach, she hesitated, glancing around as if ensuring no one else could hear. Then, she sighed. “It isn’t my place to say, but… before Taylor came, before any of this—Zaius had a family. A wife. A daughter. He only has his granddaughter left… She lives in the countryside with her father.”

You blinked, expression unreadable. “I… didn’t know.”

Zira nodded. “Not many do. He doesn’t speak of them. They were lost in the great catastrophe, before we met Taylor.”

“The great catastrophe?” You asked, slightly confused. “What happened?”

A long silence befell them, Zira’s eyes saddened as Cornelius held her hand. “We used to have a moon… But one day, it was destroyed.”

Cornelius held her hand tighter as Zira choked down tears, he continued gently. “ We were unaware of what effects it had on the planet, but shortly after its destruction a giant wave hit the chimpanzee district… Millions were lost.” The ape said gravely as Zira sought refuge in his arms. “Zira and I met that day, actually. We survived together.”

The female ape held her husband’s cheek tenderly as he wiped a tear from her cheek. “Cornelius helped me look for my nephew Lucius and my sister… He was such a worrywart..” She teased.

“But you love this worrywart.” He teased back, lightening the mood slightly. You smiled at their shows of affections, suddenly the hairs in you neck rose as you felt a blistering gaze in you.

For Zaius, the weight of the past crushed down with suffocating force. He had buried those memories, locked them away so they could never hurt him again interfere with his duty. And yet, here they were, unearthed by a conversation he was never meant to hear.

Her voice was quieter now, touched with something he could not define. “ Losing so many people…that must have been unbearable.”

Silence followed her empathetic comment, but the orangutan turned away before he could hear more. He did not wish to hear her sympathy, did not want her to see him as anything other than what he was—a guardian of ape faith, a protector of order. Not a man burdened by loss. Not a man plagued by emotions he could not control.

As he walked away, a bitter realization settled deep within him.

She was unlike Taylor.

She was not reckless. She was not blind with rage. She listened. She learned.

And that made her infinitely more dangerous.

Zaius had spent his life ensuring that apes never repeated humanity’s mistakes. That knowledge remained locked away, buried in the ruins where it belonged.

But she was digging it up.

And what disturbed him the most?

He wanted to know her and he wanted her to know him.

He wanted to understand the world she came from, the history she carried in her mind. He had spent his entire existence trying to suppress humanity’s past, and yet—

When she looked at him, with those sharp, defiant eyes, he felt something unfamiliar.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Late at night, when sleep eluded him, his thoughts turned inward, tangled and confused. He would replay his interactions with her, dissecting them as though they were academic puzzles. He would recall the moments when she had challenged him, the times she had looked at him not with hatred, but with something else—something neither of them dared to acknowledge.

He told himself it was simple frustration. That his anger stemmed from her defiance, her refusal to accept the order he had spent his life preserving. But deep down, he knew it was something else entirely.

It was the way she unsettled him, the way her voice lingered in his mind long after their conversations ended. The way her presence had become something he anticipated.

Most of all, it was the way the thought of Taylor standing in his place—Taylor earning her trust, Taylor seeing the fire in her eyes and knowing it was meant for him—made something dark and unyielding coil inside him.

Zaius had spent his life believing human’s needed to be exterminated for the good of apekind. That they were dangerous killer machines. But now, as he stared at the flickering candlelight in his chamber, haunted by ghosts of a woman who should have meant nothing to him, he remembered that same night, when he confronted her when he had found her alone.

"What was he to you?" he asked, more brusquely than intended.

“Who?” She asked, confused but guarded.

“Taylor” Zaius’ voice was like venom, cold and unforgiving.

She had looked at him, surprised and perhaps, even slighty amused. "He was my friend. He was brave, reckless, and flawed, but he tried to do what was right. He deserved better than what he got... All of them did."

Her words had settled into him like a barbed hook, tearing at something raw inside him.

Deserved better.

Had she looked at him and thought the same lens? Did she think of him as the villain?, as an executioner of inconvenient truths?

No. He refused to be seen as such.

And yet, he found himself watching her more closely. Every time she mentioned Taylor’s name, a bitter taste settled on his tongue. He would catch himself wondering if she compared them, if she resented Zaius for surviving when Taylor had not.

Was that why he felt this unbearable pressure inside his chest? The knowledge that Taylor had earned her admiration, her loyalty?

Why should that matter?

And yet, it did.

It infuriated him.

Doctor Zaius had always known his role in society. It was not a simple matter of governance or law—it was the burden of knowledge, the weight of truth that few could bear. He was both protector and executioner, safeguarding the future of the ape species by ensuring the past remained buried. There had never been room for doubt, never been space for personal feelings.

And yet, as he sat within the grand chambers of the High Council, his hands clasped tightly together, his thoughts were not on laws, nor on the precarious balance between progress and destruction.

They were on her.

On you.

It was absurd. He had spent decades ensuring that no human, no remnant of their wretched past, could upset the world the apes had built. And yet she was there, walking among them, speaking with Zira and Cornelius as if she belonged. She disrupted everything, not just with her presence, but with the way she made him feel—feelings he had spent a lifetime suppressing.

He had caught himself several times today, noticing the fractures in his carefully composed exterior. Small moments were his restraint wavered, when he looked at her for too long, when he clenched his fists as she smiled at other apes. When his chest burned at the thought of her choosing to remain in the city rather than run.

But last night had been the worst of them all.

Hearing her speak of Taylor—of her past, of her world—it had ignited something deep, something ugly. He had told himself his rage was at Taylor, at the reckless human who had thrown their world into chaos. But no… it was jealousy. Pure, seething jealousy over a man who was already dead. A man who had shared a past with her that Zaius never could.

And now, in the chamber of the High Council, he found himself barely listening as another elder spoke of stability, of maintaining control. He knew the words by heart, had spoken them himself a thousand times. And yet, his mind wandered.

What was she doing now?

Had she spoken of him? Had she mentioned the confrontation last night?

The thought sent another wave of irritation through him, though whether at himself or her, he could not say.

“Doctor Zaius,” Honorus, one of the council members, addressed him, breaking through his storming thoughts.

He lifted his head slowly, composing himself, his eyes settling on the speaker. “Yes?”

“The matter of the human,” the elder continued. “It is concerning that she moves so freely among our people. The citizens grow curious. And curiosity leads to unrest.”

Zaius exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the armrest of his chair. “I am well aware of the risks.”

“You have been… tolerant.” Another member spoke, and there was an unspoken question in their voice, an accusation lingering just beneath the surface.

Tolerant.

As if he had welcomed her presence. As if he had not spent every waking moment resisting the urge to cast her out, to rid himself of the constant war she had ignited in his mind.

“I do what is necessary,” Zaius said, his voice carefully measured. “She is an anomaly, yes. But she is no Taylor. She is no threat.”

It was a lie.

Because she was a threat. Not to their laws, not to their government—but to him. To everything he had spent his life building within himself.

He should have rid himself of her the moment she appeared.

So why did he keep hesitating?

A/N: Have any request for PotA? Let me know!

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 2 months ago

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A/N: I loved this request so I broke it into 3 parts! I’ve already written Alastor and Vox’s version, so the last one is Husk!! I really liked this idea, so I wanted to make sure I was able to give each of the characters kind of an in depth version of this, hence why it’s broken into 3 parts. I hope you enjoy & Happy reading!! I saw the updated request for this concept, and decided to add it into here since I was writing husk’s version when the new one came in, so i hope this is what you wanted!!

Warnings: None!!

Navigation!! // Alastor’s Version!! // Vox’s Version!!

Void

The dim light of the bar hung heavy in the smoky air, the hum of the jukebox playing a melancholic tune that seemed to seep into the walls themselves. Husk leaned against the counter, swirling the contents of his whiskey glass. Another night, another tedious parade of demons with problems he couldn’t care less about. But it paid the bills—or at least kept him occupied.

The creak of the bar door caught his attention. It wasn’t the usual shuffle of patrons stumbling in for cheap booze or a quick brawl. No, this presence was different. It was yours.

Husk didn’t need to look up to know it was you. The weight of your power filled the room like a silent storm, commanding attention without trying. Despite being a goddess—one of the highest in your pantheon—your steps were deliberate, your aura quiet. Husk had known you long enough to understand that subtle heaviness in your posture, the way you held yourself with just enough restraint to keep from swallowing the room whole. Tonight, though, there was something else. A tension that clung to you like smoke.

You approached the bar, and Husk straightened, watching as you slid onto a stool with your usual elegance. Even when you looked exhausted, you carried yourself like a queen—a quiet contradiction to your raw, celestial power. But tonight, there was something more subdued in the way you moved, as if the weight of the universe had finally caught up with you.

“You’re back,” Husk said, his tone gruff but laced with familiarity. “What’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you’re slumming it here for the cocktails. You’re too good for that.”

Your lips twitched slightly, the faintest trace of amusement that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m not here for the drinks, Husk.”

“Figures,” he muttered, setting a glass down in front of you anyway. “So what’s the deal? Divine council finally get sick of you, or are you just here to make my life interesting?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your fingers traced the rim of the glass, the simple motion drawing his attention. Husk’s sharp eyes caught the way your hand trembled slightly before you clenched it into a fist, as if willing yourself to stay composed.

“Do you ever feel like…” you began, your voice low, steady, but carrying a weight that made Husk pause. “Like the only thing you’re good for is what you can give to others? Like no one really sees you—just the power you can wield?”

Husk blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this—this raw vulnerability from someone who could summon black holes with a flick of her wrist. You, who could bend space and time, whose mere presence could make lesser beings crumble.

“Can’t say I’ve been a cosmic powerhouse,” he said, tone dry, trying to mask his surprise. “But yeah, I know the feeling.”

You looked at him, clearly not expecting his agreement. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” he grunted, pouring himself another drink. “What do you think my life is, huh? Just one long string of people coming in here, expecting me to pour drinks and play therapist. Nobody cares about me past the whiskey glass in their hand.”

For a moment, your expression softened, but Husk waved you off before the conversation turned too sentimental. “But this ain’t about me. What’s got you thinkin’ like that?”

You hesitated, staring into the liquid in your glass as if it held answers. “It’s my pantheon,” you said finally. “I’m supposed to be their wisest. The one they turn to for knowledge, for solutions. But all they see me as is… a weapon. Something to wield when they need destruction or answers. It’s all I’ve ever been good for.”

Husk frowned, tail flicking as he studied you. “That’s a load of crap.”

Your head snapped up, startled. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, leaning against the counter, golden eyes locking onto yours. “You think the only thing you’re good for is tearing things apart or solving their problems? That’s bull. I’ve seen you—you’re not just some cosmic battering ram. You care about people, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Caring doesn’t matter when all anyone wants is to use you.”

“It matters,” Husk said firmly, his voice unusually steady. “Because it makes you more than what they think you are. You’re not just some tool for their convenience. You’re…” He paused, searching for the right words. “You’re you. You’ve got a mind of your own. You don’t owe them anything.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. Husk shifted, uncomfortable under your gaze. “What? Did I grow a second head or something?”

“No,” you said softly. “It’s just… no one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Well, someone had to,” Husk muttered, pouring another drink to distract himself from the warmth creeping into his chest. “Can’t have you thinkin’ you’re just a walking black hole or whatever.”

You let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh—a sound so rare it made Husk pause mid-sip. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Still, the shadows didn’t leave your eyes completely. “It’s hard not to believe it when that’s all anyone’s ever seen me as. Even my own pantheon… they don’t see me. Just my power.”

“Then screw ‘em,” Husk said bluntly, setting his glass down with a thud. “If they can’t see past that, they’re idiots.”

You blinked at him, startled by his intensity. “It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his ears flicking back. “But it doesn’t mean they’re right. You’re more than what they want you to be. I’ve seen it.”

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and unspoken. You looked at Husk, really looked at him, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe he might be telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, the sincerity in your voice making Husk shift awkwardly.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t go gettin’ all emotional on me. I’m not good with that kind of stuff.”

You smiled faintly—an expression so subtle most wouldn’t notice it, but Husk did.

The jukebox played on, filling the silence with a low, haunting melody. You leaned back in your seat, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time that night. For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply be, without the weight of expectation pressing down on you.

As the night wore on, you and Husk fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing between you in a way that felt natural, unforced. And though the world outside the bar remained as chaotic and unforgiving as ever, within these walls, there was a sense of calm—a fragile, fleeting moment of peace.

And for now, that was enough.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin demon #isuckatwritingsobenice #husker x reader #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel headcannons

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scentedstrangercreation · 2 years ago

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An Indecent Proposal

Absolutely self-indulgent fluff. Fake proposal trope 🤡

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The wrench slipped from Garrus’ hand, bouncing off the thanix’s compressors and sliding beneath the cannon.

“Dammit.”

He crouched down and sprawled onto his back to slide under the battery. The opening was too narrow for his carapace, so he could only lean against it and stretch out his arm. His talons just barely grazed the tip of the wrench, spinning it hopelessly in place. Garrus sighed, tapping his head against the cannon’s base. His omnitool pinged on the opposite arm. He turned his head and watched the red light blink in its slow, deliberate rhythm. There was no point in checking who it was from. He’d only just spoken to his father yesterday, and the message had been clear: It’s time to stop playing mercenary and come home. There was a position ready for him on Palaven, a good service role. One that would make his family proud. The past few years would be forgotten—the Normandy, his time on Omega, Cerberus. Even the battle at the Citadel was becoming a distant memory everyone wanted buried. The bottom line was that the council wanted to move on—and Shepard was becoming a liability. The light pulsed again. He wasn’t sure why he bothered putting off his response. Turians didn’t make requests. Garrus was being given an order—an opportunity—and there was only one answer. Yes, sir. The door to the battery hissed open. “Garrus?” Shepard entered the room and the door shut behind her. He tried to sit up, forgetting his arm was still jammed beneath the Thanix, and slammed into the steaming pipes, “Spirits,” he grunted, extracting his arm. “Sleeping on the job?” Shepard crouched down beside him. “We didn’t all get a palatial suite.” He squinted up into the light as Shepard came into focus above him. “How’s the face holding up?” she gestured around her jaw. Garrus sat up, touching the bandages around his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be pretty.” “Thank god.” She offered her hand and he pulled himself up, “Wouldn't want you scaring the children.” He should have laughed, said something quippy back, but he was out of practice. Instead, he just stared at her for a minute in silence. He still wasn’t used to it—to her. Shepard was here. She was alive. He didn’t like thinking about it too much. Part of him was worried that if he wasn’t careful, he might wake up. Garrus shook the thought from his mind and cleared his throat, “What do you need?” Shepard held up a data pad, “Just wanted to go over—” Garrus’ omnitool pinged three times in quick succession. “You need to take that?” “At some point.” he dismissed the messages without looking. She looked at him curiously, but didn’t say anything. “It’s—nothing. Just…” he’d have to tell her eventually. He just wasn’t sure when…or how. She tapped the data pad against her leg and tilted her head slightly. He could tell she wanted to say more. But at Miranda's request, she had been practicing her…restraint. He smiled. It was like she had to physically restrain each word before they bullied their way out of her mouth. “Actually, we can do this later.” She gestured with the pad, “Want a drink?” He waved her off, “I should probably get back to—” “If you say calibrations, I’ll vent the battery.” “Well, I won’t say it then.” “Come on, don’t make me beg.” She turned around and started walking as if he’d already agreed, “have a drink with me.” “It’s actually been more threatening than begging.” “Oh, good. Then you’ll take it seriously.”

Shepard’s cabin was garishly large. He knew she agreed. The fish tank held nothing but water and the entire back half of the room was left untouched. He suspected she didn’t even use the bed, with its corners pulled taut and undisturbed. The contrast against the couch was almost cartoonish. It was clearly a hive of activity, dwarfed beneath a mountain of clutter. There were signs of small, abandoned projects strewn about: stacks of tablets, an omnitool’s motherboard exposed and connected to a desktop by frayed wires, her sniper disassembled and half-polished. His gaze continued about the room before settling on Shepard, rustling around in a small cabinet. "Look what I’ve got.” She retreated from the cabinet, two glasses and a bottle of something dark in her hands. She tossed it to Garrus. He caught the bottle, twisting it in his hand to see the label and released a low whistle. “Guess working with Cerberus has its perks.” He joked, flaring his mandibles and holding the bottle out to her. “Guess so,” she took it back and filled up a glass, passing it over before filling her own. “To the perks,” she said, gently knocking her glass against his. Not hard enough to spill it, but enough to make a sound. A ‘cheers’ she’d called it before. It always surprised Garus how many casual little rituals humans had. They enjoyed the first sip in silence. She released a groan and sank back into the couch, “Don’t tell Chakwas, but this is so much better than brandy.” “Your secret’s safe with me,” he walked over to the empty tank. Even without fish, it was relaxing to watch the light move through the water. He almost forgot what he’d been trying to ignore when his wrist pinged again. He could feel her watching him. Now or never. “My father reached out yesterday.” She made a noncommittal sound behind another mouthful of wine. “There’s, uh…” he struggled to find the phrasing, “He asked me to come home.” “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, “He just thinks…it’s time.” He knew he sounded foolish. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to a human. There was so much context she couldn’t understand. He watched her reflection. Her expression was carefully neutral. She seemed relaxed, but her eyes had a slightly unfocused, calculating bearing. “Is that what you want?” She asked like there was an easy answer, missing all of the complexities that seemed so obvious to him. “My father—,” he turned to face her. “I don’t care about your father.” He laughed, “You two have something in common.” “You know what I mean,” she rebuffed his joke. “What do you want?” “It’s…complicated. It’s not about what I want.” “Why not?” “Because...Turians—,” He paced a few steps away, releasing a frustrated sigh and rubbing his head. He wasn’t going to explain the intricacies of Turian culture to her. He wasn’t sure he even could. “Garrus, this isn’t some teenage rebellion.” He didn’t understand the phrase but he let it go. “This is for the galaxy. Your people should be rallying behind you.” “The way your’s have rallied behind you? Shepard, we're working for a literal terrorist organization.” “With” she corrected, “...But your point isn’t entirely lost.” He could see she wanted to argue more, but had decided on a more tactical route. “So what’s the situation exactly? You go home or you’re what? Banished?” He laughed a little, “Not with quite so much flair.” It was hard to put words to norms he’d always just accepted, “I don’t know how to explain it. To put yourself before the family, before the colony, is…You just don’t.” “This is the opposite of putting yourself first.” He wished he could say that was true. That if it weren’t for her, he’d still be out here fighting the good fight—but he knew better. Sure, he believed in what they were doing, but he was here for her. And they both knew it. “This isn’t Blasto 6, Shepard. I can’t just ask the Turian Hierarchy to just ‘go with it.’ Even you know how crazy it all sounds: ancient machines culling the galaxy?” He paused but she didn’t counter. “As far as they’re concerned, humans have been the biggest threat to the galaxy since the Geth.” “How flattering.” She gulped down the rest of her wine. “And then, after the Citadel, after…you—you know…” he stumbled over his words, refusing to make eye contact. “Well, they gave me time to grieve, and now it’s time to get back to reality.” “Glossing over the fact that this,” she set her glass down and tapped on the table, “is reality. So, what? You don’t go home and it ruffles a few feathers?” He ignored the turn of phrase.

“It’s more than that. We’re a collective, going against the Hierarchy is…egomaniacal. It goes against everything my people stand for.” She still didn't seem convinced.

“It’s not even really about me.” He sighed, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m...not exactly a model Turian.”

She raised her brows and tilted her head. He could tell she was fighting a small mirk, but she didn’t say anything.

“I was a lost cause long before teaming up with the illustrious Commander Shepard—but my family?” Her brows furrowed and he tried to think of an example, “Say a Turian is demoted. It’s not really his fault. The disgrace lies with whoever promoted him in the first place. It’s the same principle in a family. They’re responsible for my actions as much as I’m responsible for theirs.” He thought he spied some semblance of understanding, “and since I’m not married, that means my father and sister would be—,” “Wait,” she held up her hand, “what does marriage have to do with it?” “It’s—,” He exhaled, annoyed by the tangent he’d introduced to the conversation. Shepard’s eyes flickered with a teasing curiosity, and for the umpteenth time since they’d met, he was grateful Turian’s didn’t blush. He rushed through the explanation. “Every Turian is completely tied to their family from birth. Your name, your reputation, your accomplishments and your failures. Everything is shared. That doesn’t change until you’re married. Then it sort of…” he searched for the right word, “transfers to your spouse?” He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her understanding. “Then, when you have kids, they’re tied to you and your partner until they marry—and so on.”

He caught a flicker in her expression and stopped, “What?” “So you’re saying you’re twenty-seven years old, you’ve no money and no prospects. You’re already a burden to your parents and you’re frightened.” her words sounded strange. It took him a minute to realize she was using a different accent. He wasn’t sure what purpose it served, but he figured she was making a joke he didn't understand. “I guess?” He shrugged. She dropped it. “So if you were married—,” “It was a bad example.” “No, no, listen. If you were married and your spouse—hypothetically—requested that you fight, I don’t know, the Reapers, you’d have to listen?” “Have you taken a psych eval lately?” She ignored him, “Then, even if the Turian Hierarchy comes knocking, it’s just about you and your partner? No kids, no dad, no sister to worry about.” “How romantic.” “Is that really how it would work?” She pressed. “You’re glossing over a lot of nuance and context—but on a basic level…yes? I guess.” He crossed his arms. How had the conversation gone so off-course? “Regardless, I still need to—” he stopped, “is something wrong with your leg?” Shepard was crouched down onto her knee. “What? No. This is how humans do it.” “Do what?” “Propose.” She said it so matter of factly he almost felt absurd for asking. “Shepard—” “Garrus—” “Shepard, don’t—” “You can just call me Jane now.” “Stop.” He pulled her up, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable fluttering in his stomach. She wore a calm, level expression that frustrated and excited him. “I’m not joking.” Her eyes left his and began to drift across the room as she seemed to consider her words. “Listen. I…need you.” She let the words hang for a minute, as if testing the waters. Her eyes finally settled on a point just over his shoulder, mercifully avoiding his gaze. “We’ve been in this together since the beginning. I trust you and I can’t imagine doing…any of this without you.” She finally turned her eyes to his. Her expression serious. “You're my best friend, and if I’m going into hell, I want you at my back—If you’ll have me.” She added.

“Now you’re begging.” She grinned but continued to push, “I’m serious. Nothing has to change between us. You just get a Turian hall pass to come save the galaxy with me.” It wasn’t that simple, but there was something there. “I feel like this conversation has gone from zero to 100.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He felt like he was watching himself, standing dumbly in front of her. “Time’s kind of a luxury these days,” she shrugged. “Shepard, I don’t—this is crazy.” He shook his head. She stepped towards him and took his hand, “Garrus Vakarian, will you marry me?” He sighed and she laughed. He was confused, flattered—a little annoyed—and something else he couldn’t quite put his talon on. “I’m not taking your name.” He said, finally. She laughed again, and this time he smiled.

#shakarian #Shepard x Garrus #Garrus Vakarian #garrus x shepard #garrus x femshep #awww shiiiiii #mass effect 2 #Mass Effect

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