#salt warrior stories
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I’m weeks late, but happy birthday, @cosmicnovaflare! Thanks for being my oldest and dearest tumblr friend. I hope you enjoy this fic, dedicated to you and all your ancientness<3
Wildest Dreams
Summary: Kai wakes up before Cinder, and she wonders what’s up with him. (WC: 1.3k)
Cinder awoke to the gentlest caress down her nose. In years past, a sensation of such a sort would have startled her—eyes open, body out of bed. But her head was filled with softest sleep, and she felt safe here, warm, as if all were right and good in the world.
She let out a soft hum, tilting her face upward as Kai’s fingers traced the curves of her cheeks, the line of her brow, the arch of her lips. She heard him laugh, a low sound so early in the morning. A smile claimed her face, and she opened her eyes to see Kai, propped up on one arm as he looked down upon her, hair clouding his eyes, the faintest blush decorating his cheeks.
“What are you doing awake so early?” Cinder asked, raising her chin to accept his kiss.
Kai rolled his eyes. “I can wake up before you.”
“You never do.”
“Now that’s just not true.”
Cinder propped herself up to look at him, eyes as level as they were mischievous. She poked him in the chest. “Name one time.”
“Oh, don’t you start.”
She laughed, then flopped back down on her pillow, pulling him toward her, his face pressing into the crook in her neck as he mumbled inaccurate words in his defense that only made Cinder laugh harder. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair, her spare arm creeping around him to hug him close.
“What?” Cinder asked when Kai mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear.
“I said I love hearing your laugh in the morning,” he said. “It’s the only thing that makes waking up worth it.”
Cinder felt her heart pinch, as it so often did where Kai was concerned. Once, she hadn’t been sure whether she was capable of love—whether she would ever have it in her life. Between Adri and Pearl and everyone else who regarded her as a monster because she was a cyborg, she hadn’t thought it possible that another person would want her. Would love her. Would be happy to wake up beside her in the morning. She didn’t think she would ever get over her own surprise. That she would get over how dearly she loved Kai.
Shifting, Kai pulled back, resting his face on her pillow, their faces only inches apart. The soft glow of the sun’s gentle haze bled through the window, shedding warmth and light on them both. Their hands, resting upon the bed’s cover, met and twined together. Kai brought the back of her hand up to his lips, then rested their joined fingers below his chin. She watched him all the while, until his eyes met hers, unmatched in understanding, and she wondered where she would be if not for him.
“Today’s our anniversary,” Kai said, voice quiet. “That’s why I woke before you. Although, let the record show that this is not the first time this has happened.”
Cinder blinked, her chest tightening. Her brain interface conjured the day’s date, and she shook her head, confused.
“Kai, our wedding was in—”
“I’m not talking about our wedding anniversary,” Kai cut in, rolling his eyes once again. Had her heart not been racing, Cinder would have told him—not for the first time—that if he continued to roll his eyes as much as he did, they might stay that way.
“Then what are you talking about?”
“The anniversary of the day we met. It’s been five years. Five years since I came to your booth in the marketplace. Little did I know I was about to meet the love of my life.”
Cinder scoffed. “If I remember correctly, you thought I was supposed to be an old man.”
“Once again, you were not what I was expecting,” Kai said dryly. “But if you had been an old man, I probably would have still fallen in love with you.”
“You were that desperate to get out of marrying Levana?”
“Definitely. But in your defense, I think you would make an attractive old man.”
“Gee, thanks,” Cinder said, struggling to maintain a straight face.
“But I’m glad you’re not an old man. To be clear,” Kai added. He blew a little puff of air at her face, scattering her bangs. She scowled at him. “I like you just the way you are.”
Cinder watched his face, that little piece inside of her that doubted herself—that piece that spoke in Adri and Pearl’s voices—waited for him to laugh. To say he didn’t mean it.
He did not laugh. Instead, he watched her intently, every action reassuring. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand. Her fingers squeezed his tighter.
“You’re my favorite part of every day,” Kai said, his voice completely sober. “I woke up this morning wondering where I would be if not for you. And I realized that I would likely be dead. My brain manipulated, my body and title used until Levana got what she wanted, before she killed me. A knife to the heart, the plague, my own hand turned enemy.” Cinder let go of his hand and pressed hers to his cheek, brushing hair and wetness from his eyes.
“I never thought I would have the opportunity to marry for love,” Kai continued. “I never thought I would be with someone that I even liked. In all my wildest dreams, I could have never imagined you. You saved me. You saved us all.”
“It’s not something I did alone.”
“But it’s something that no one else could have done,” Kai said. “Help or no help, no one could have stood in your place and united Earth and Luna. You did what both my father and I failed to do.”
“Kai . . .”
He smiled at her. “I’m grateful, that’s all. And proud. And so unbelievably happy.”
“Me too,” Cinder said. “Five years ago, the best I could hope for was my own emancipation. To run off to Europe with Iko. I never could have imagined you, or our friends, or intergalactic peace. It just—sometimes I worry that I’m going to wake up and discover that it was all just a dream.”
Kai shifted his face beneath her hand to kiss her palm, his own hand circling her wrist. “It’s not a dream,” he whispered. “My imagination definitely couldn’t have conjured finding Princess Selene at the marketplace. Or you escaping prison with an American convict. Or me being kidnapped on my wedding day. Or anything else that happened. It’s too crazy.”
“You’re right,” Cinder laughed. She wondered why, five years later, Kai was thinking of the first time they’d met. Not once in any of the other years of them knowing one another had either of them brought it up. There were always more pressing anniversaries to consume the mind in the middle of August. Rikan’s death. Peony’s. But perhaps time was allowing them to move forward—not to forget, but to make room. Maybe time—space, everything—let the light shine through, gave them the eyes to see the good that had happened with the bad.
Cinder would never not miss Peony, just as she knew that Kai would never not miss his father. That grief and pain would always be a part of them, but so would all the joy and peace that they brought one another.
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to Kai’s. It was a sweet, slow kiss, tangled with five years of knowing and loving one another. Of making it through everything, of proceeding in the world together.
“I’d do it all again,” Kai said when they broke apart. “Just to be here now with you.”
Cinder kissed the tip of his nose, a smile playing on her lips. “Me too.”
#kaider#kaider fanfiction#the lunar chronicles#tlc fanfiction#tlc#marissa meyer#linh cinder#prince kai#emperor kai#salt warrior stories#just a bunch of fluff i guess
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I wish puppet Zelda’s existence had some actual, tangible consequences in the story.
Like as far as anyone knows before the battle with phantom Ganon, someone they trusted and saw as an ally arrived to bring misery on their people. Surely they’re not all so busy worshiping the ground totk zeldy walks on that they all just accept that she’d decide to do that with no pushback whatsoever? Hell Yunobo is worried that the monster she summoned to try and kill him might hurt her instead of being pissed that she summoned a monster to kill him. Like what if a few of the elderly Zora, still grieving Mipha and now poisoned by sludge, take it as a sign that allying with Hyrule is a bad idea? Or Yunobo shakes off the brainwashing, sees what’s become of his people, and wants her to answer for it? Sidon learns that “Zelda” attacked his father and decides he’s not interested in hearing excuses for her actions if she’d go so far as to harm his only living family? Riju feels torn because she doesn’t want to believe someone she considers a friend would cause so much suffering, but the Gerudo are calling for justice and she has to place their needs above everything else? Tulin ends up at odds with his father because Teba insists on staying quiet so they don’t harm their relationship with Hyrule? There are so many juicy story threads presented by the concept of a fake Zelda that could put Link and the sages in conflict with their communities, loved ones, and each other that just never go anywhere because even the fake Zeldy Ganondorf built is too perfect to ever be questioned
#bluebird.txt#salt of the kingdom#if there’d been any consequences for puppet Zelda she’d have been a really cool story element#but as is she just makes everyone (especially Link) look like a huge fucking moron for not sussing her out sooner#at a certain point it’s like guys for fuck’s sake she wants you dead#you can be a little pissed that your friend is trying to kill you it won’t be the end of the world#hyrule warriors proves superior to totk in every way yet again#at least when og HW did a puppet Zelda plot it had some genuinely interesting conflict between Sheik and Impa#totk neg
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We don't really talk about how much they tripled down on the Gerudo needing to find a man in totk do we?
#I don't care if you liked the damn story or not#if you can't see how sexist and racist they made the gerudo in totk I think you're a moron#A race of warrior poc women who if you actually pay attention in some parts always some how need outsider help and have to learn#how to find a man and take care of him is kinda really sucks ass#and let's not talk about how they all have to apologize for Ganondorf#totk critical#totk salt#snix talks
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ovo whispers menacingly abt his grandstanding .
#(you can grandstand and be impulsive and prone to violence and have a terrible temper without being arrogant thanks)#(the closest he ever gets to saying he's above anyone else is w/ the jotuns if you really squint at it and he only ever said-)#(- that he wanted to use /force/ aka /violence/ to get them to submit to his rule bc otherwise he views them as DANGEROUS)#(based not only on historical /fact/ but cultural differences boogeymanning and seeing firsthand how they-)#(-MURDERED SOME OF HIS PEOPLE???? AND BROKE INTO HIS HOME???? ON CORONATION DAY????)#(he doesn't act like heimdall or the warriors or sif or even loki is below him. he wouldn't /ask them/ for permission otherwise)#(he even asks the humans-he-just-met for permission a la jane and then respects their decisions and apologizes for being rude abt the mug)#(and the one time he says 'know your place' to loki is when loki is actively bUTTING INTO A CONVERSATION that thor is being ridiculous abou#(bc to thor it's about /winning/ the argument with laufey and he's totally losing track of his goal to try and figure out wtf the jotuns)#(were doing ///in asgard inside the palace IN THE VAULT on CORONATION DAY///.)#(arrogance is specifically thinking you are inherently better than anyone else bc you exist)#(thor very clearly demonstrates selfish desires that translate to poorly thought out deeds)#(eg: taking it directly to laufey instead of trying to take a step back and figure it out in OTHER WAYS before a direct confrontation)#(and he also demonstrates overblown self-confidence.)#(eg the “i have no plans to die today” / “none do.”)#(that's being overconfident in his own abilities that's still not arrogance.)#( ooc . ) — stories that leap from the page .#( salt to taste . ) — in this house we love the actual main character . crazy i know .#tbd#(thor expresses boastfulness and pride similarly to his whole culture of over-exaggerating ur war stories)#(his vice is letting that vanity get to his head and fueling increasingly impulsive and stubborn decisions)#(out of the sheer and desperate desire to prove he's good enough to take up such a heavy mantle as the crown of asgard + nine realms)#(but he doesn't just look at other people and go 'oh yeah i'm so totally better than you just because i exist')#(he's also not a lightning mcqueen who actually DOES see himself above the rustees cars and the route 66 cars)#(goes out of his way to make that abundantly clear and wants actually nothing to do with any of them in pursuit of his own gains)#(only to finally figure out he's not all hot shit and slows tf down to understand and enjoy life as part of society not above it)#(he literally flies of the handle because he fully believes the jotunar actually plotted an entire elaborate scheme)#(SPECIFICALLY in the effort to exploit him as the green thumb weak link as Newly Instated King who Doesn't Know What He's Doing)#(And therefore will OBVIOUSLY do a terrible job because he's not odin and can never be odin but he /needs/ to be like odin bc odin is stron#(HE doesn't know it was loki's plan. he doesn't know it was /loki/ who timed it to the coronation.)
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i miss the champions so much i know there's like no logical reason for them to come back in totk but i wanna see my guys again even if it's just more memories or something. do you think there's any way they could pull that off based on what we know about the game already?
i really hope so! at the very least i hope the abilities you get in botw won't be removed bc i cant navigate that fucking map without revali's gale. even the lack of expedited cooldowns from the dlc starts to get to me after a while at this point LMAO. in terms of actual implementation i'm trying to think if there's an easy way to give us more champion content in totk. In theory, we could continue to recover link's memories and see more of the champions that way, but from a writing standpoint that might feel clunky & at odds with the rest of the story unless it's VERY carefully implemented. My honest answer from a writing & game dev standpoint is that i don't think we're likely to get many more memory-style cutscenes, especially with the release of hyrule warriors a few years ago sort of serving as an extra source of champions content already. that might have been the point of hyrule warriors from a game dev standpoint, actually, if they realized while in production that totk wasn't going to have a lot of room for champion-centric content, hyrule warriors would have given them an easy way to satiate fans who really loved those characters without compromising the integrity of their already-written story in totk. tldr realistically i don't think there's going to be a whole lot of champion-centric content in totk but for now we can pray that i will have to eat these words in 3 months
#a lot of this speculation is also based off my own speculations about what the story of totk will be too so. take this with a grain of salt#but the existence of hyrule warriors at all suggests to me that we're going to get a lot less pre-calamity content in totk if any#because like. they wouldn't have made that game if they knew that precalamity cutscenes were gonna be a heavy feature of totk#hyrule warriors' draw from a narrative standpoint is that it occupies a space in the timeline that no other game can fill#and if they knew that within 2 years they were going to release a game that DID fill that space with the potential to retcon whatever they#wrote into hyrule warriors then they would have given hyrule warriors a different story/place in the timeline imo.#releasing 2 games back to back whose stories sit so close together without directly interacting with each other isnt a smart business move#so tldr i do not think we will see much of the champions in totk. HOWEVER i dont think theyll be gone entirely!!! the writers arent stupid#they know how beloved these characters have become and if anything hyrule warriors sales REINFORCED the demand for these characters. so#i think we will see them again in some capacity just probably not memory-style anymore#asks#totk predictions
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look i've read/watched/played a lot of fantastical stories and i love creative displays of how mind-boggingly alien different cultures can possibly get.
but there is something just. so viscerally frightening to me about ishgard and their communal table salt lick and i can't stop thinking about it. ishgard is already framed as a foreign place to the warrior of light/the player so everyone in-story is patiently explaining the importance of the church of halone and ishgard's history because everyone knows the big stuff has to be explained to an outsider. but something small the ishgardians think is normal would slip right past.
i'm ready to laugh myself sick any time of day at the idea of the warrior sitting down to eat at fortemps manor for the first time, emotionally drained and scared. and one of these finicky nobles you have to trust your life with just picks up a pale rock you thought was a centerpiece with a curiously smooth, maybe even already damp worn surface, opens their mouth, sticks out their tongue, and SCHLURPS
i would feel such visceral horror. briefly wonder if i had fallen in faerie-land/the dark world/the upside-down. it would only increase as i look left and right and everyone else continues eating calmly. only maybe if haurchefant were there would someone realize how weird that would seem to outsiders and laugh at my expression.
it's like in the simpsons when homer time travels, sits back down to dinner, and discovers the butterfly effect gave everyone lizard tongues. it's so close to a normal dinner time interaction and yet incredibly far. you think ishgard must have a weird supersition about it to explain. "what, is - is it bad luck to break up a salt lump?" you ask
"no" haurchefant says. "it's just always been done this way"
and so often in any society there is no better explanation than just that but this is so fuckkng weird it would briefly make you question all normal human instincts if ishgard thinks this is okay. that is such silly, terrifying, and superfluous world bulding. it's great.
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🍉 Books for Read Palestine Week 2024 [ Nov 29 - Dec 5 ]
✨ This guide will no doubt get hidden, given the topic, so please help me by sharing this!
❓What are you reading this week?
🍉 Educate and empathize! Here are 82 books you can read for Read Palestine Week! I've included 26 queer books for those of you who #readqueerallyear as well. Please read these books to learn more about the Palestinian experience. Shukran (thank you)!
✨ Poetry 🍉 Enemy of the Sun - (ed) Edmund Ghareeb and Naseer Aruri 🍉 A Mountainous Journey - Fadwa Tuqan 🍉 So What - Taha Muhammad Ali 🍉 Affiliation - Mira Mattar 🍉 The Butterfly's Burden - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Born Palestinian, Born Black & The Gaza Suite - Suheir Hammad 🍉 Breaking Poems - Suheir Hammad 🍉 In the Presence of Absence - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Rifqa - Mohammed el-Kurd 🍉 My Voice Sought the Wind - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 Blood Orange - Yaffa 🏳️🌈 🍉 To All the Yellow Flowers - Raya Tuffaha 🏳️🌈 🍉 Before the Next Bomb Drops - Remi Kanazi 🍉 Birthright - George Abraham 🏳️🌈 🍉 Tent Generations - Various 🍉 Who is Owed Springtime - Rasha Abdulhadi 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Twenty-Ninth Year - Hala Alyan 🏳️🌈 🍉 Some Things Never Leave You - Zeina Azzam 🍉 I Saw Ramallah - Mourid Barghouti 🍉 Nothing More To Lose - Najwan Darwish 🍉 The Specimen's Apology - George Abraham & Leila Abdelrazaq 🏳️🌈 🍉 Shell Houses - Rasha Abdulhadi 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Moon That Turns You Back - Hala Alyan 🍉 Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear - Mosab Abu Toha 🍉 Halal If You Hear Me - (ed) Fatimah Asghar & Safia Elhillo 🍉 Water & Salt -Lena Khalaf Tuffaha 🍉 Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. - Noor Hindi 🏳️🌈
✨ Non-Fiction/Memoirs 🍉 Are You This? Or Are You This? - Madian Al Jazerah 🏳️🌈 🍉 This Arab is Queer - (ed) Elias Jahshan 🏳️🌈 🍉 Love is an Ex-Country - Randa Jarrar 🏳️🌈 🍉 Decolonial Queering in Palestine - Walaa Alqaisiya 🏳️🌈 🍉 Namesake: Reflections on A Warrior Woman - N.S. Nuseibeh 🍉 The Trinity of Fundamentals - Wisam Rafeedie 🍉 Between Banat - Mejdulene Bernard Shomali 🏳️🌈 🍉 Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique - Sa'ed Atshan 🏳️🌈 🍉 They Called Me a Lioness: A Palestinian Girl's Fight for Freedom - Ahed Tamimi & Dena Takruri 🍉 Fashioning the Modern Middle East: Gender, Body, and Nation - Reina Lewis and Yasmine Nachabe Taan 🍉 Balcony on the Moon: Coming of Age in Palestine - Ibtisam Barakat 🍉 We Are Not Here to Be Bystanders: A Memoir of Love and Resistance - Linda Sarsour 🍉 Palestine: A Socialist Introduction - Sumaya Awad & Brian Bean 🍉 Voices of the Nakba - Diana Allan 🍉 Tracing Homelands - Linda Dittmar 🍉 Black Power & Palestine - Michael R. Fischbach 🍉 The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine - Ilan Pappé 🍉 A Day in the Life of Abed Salama - Nathan Thrall 🍉 A Land with a People - Esther Farmer, Rosalind Petchesky, & Sarah Sills 🍉 Inara by Mx. Yaffa AS 🏳️🌈 🍉 Mural - Mahmoud Darwish 🍉 Light in Gaza - Jehad Abusalim, Jennifer Bing, & Michael Merryman lotze 🍉 The Palestine Laboratory by Antony Loewenstein 🍉 Gaza - Norman Finkelstein
✨ Fiction 🍉 A Map of Home - Randa Jarrar 🏳️🌈 🍉 You Exist Too Much - Zaina Arafat 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Skin and Its Girl - Sarah Cypher 🏳️🌈 🍉 Minor Detail - Adania Shibli 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Philistine - Leila Marshy 🏳️🌈 🍉 Muneera and the Moon - Sonia Sulaiman 🏳️🌈 🍉 Belladonna - Anbara Salam 🏳️🌈 🍉 Behind You Is The Sea - Susan Muaddi Darraj 🍉 The Coin - Yasmin Zaher 🍉 Guapa - Saleem Haddad 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Parisian - Isabella Hammad 🍉 Salt Houses - Hala Alyan 🍉 The Ordeal of Being Known - Malia Rose 🏳️🌈 🍉 From Whole Cloth - Sonia Sulaiman 🏳️🌈 🍉 Against the Loveless World - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 The Beauty of Your Face - Sahar Mustafah 🍉 Mornings in Jenin - Susan Abulhawa 🍉 My First and Only Love - Sahar Khalifeh 🍉 They Fell Like Stars From the Sky & Other Stories - Sheikha Helawy 🍉 Enter Ghost by Isabella Hammad 🍉 Wild Thorns - Sahar Khalifeh 🍉 A Woman is No Man - Etaf Rum 🍉 Mother of Strangers - Suad Amiry 🍉 Hazardous Spirits - Anbara Salam 🏳️🌈 🍉 The Book of Ramallah - Maya Abu Al-Hayat
🏳️🌈 Graphic Novels 🍉 Mis(h)adra - Iasmin Omar Ata 🍉 Confetti Realms - Nadia Shammas 🍉 Where Black Stars Rise - Nadia Shammas & Marie Enger 🍉 Nayra and the Djinn - Iasmin Omar Ata 🍉 Squire - Nadia Shammas & Sara Alfageeh 🍉 My Mama's Magic - Amina Awad
#save palestine#palestine books#palestinian books#palestinian authors#books#book reader#booklr#book blog#books of tumblr#reader#readers of tumblr#readers#queer#queer books#sapphic books#sapphic romance#wlw romance#wlw post#wlw fiction#book#reading#graphic novels#literary fiction#historical fiction#young adult fiction#fiction books#nonfiction#memoir#batty about books#battyaboutbooks
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People seemed interested in Library Orc Blorbo so I decided to write down my headcanons about him:
His name is Garthaglir (it’s Sindarin for “poem keeper”)
He renamed himself after discovering a love for library sciences, shortly after he moved to the valley
Rivendell’s head librarian
Used to be an extremely dangerous warrior, now considers himself retired
Extremely tall and buff, blue skin, salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed beard
Very distinguished, very polite
Has a tiny pair of spectacles he uses to read because he's farsighted
He doesn’t look like an old man but he is one deep in his heart
He was one of the first reformed orcs to end up in Rivendell, so he helps other orcs adjust to living there
Basically invented Middle Earth’s version of the Dewey Decimal system
Look, Rivendell’s library is like, unfathomably huge, there’s 6000+ years of books in there, someone had to organize it
He, Elrond, and Erestor are the only people who have keys to the part of the library where they keep the cursed books
The three of them also have a monthly book club
He holds a weekly story time for the kids
(Yes, he does do funny voices, no, you are not allowed to comment on it)
Has tracked people down at 3 AM before because “M’am? M’am you have an overdue book, here, I brought my library stamp would you mind just checking this out again? You can keep it out for another month that way. Just a moment, ah, yes thank you, I’ll be on my way now. Excellent choice in reading material.”
He has a fancy sunhat he wears outside during the day so the sun doesn’t burn him, it was a gift from small Arwen and he cherishes it
He has a library cat, her name is Mittens and he would die for her
Uses his free time to teach himself different languages; there are hundreds in Rivendell’s books
Enjoys recommending books to visitors, he’s gotten really good at getting a read on what people will like
Personally, when he’s in the mood for fiction, he prefers a good mystery
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Here's the fic for those of you who want to read it on Tumblr instead of AO3! (I'm tired so this is my peace offering in place of today's Faebruary post 🙃) Check out @cloudninetonine 's "A Player's Aid" au, it'll give context for this!
Legend Gets What (He Thought) He Wanted
tags/warnings:
Threats of Violence, no y/n, Reader-Insert, Mention of making murder look like suicide, no one actually wants to die so don't worry, The others are there briefly, reader gender not specified, Kinda death threats but not exactly, Legend Needs a Hug, Reader Also Needs a Hug, They both get one tho don't worry, Resolved ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary: Legend is convinced that modern!reader is a traitor and a danger to the chain. He wants to get rid of the threat...Reader just really wanted to use the bathroom, but they somehow end up at sword point.
You all sat by the campfire after yet another long day of long walks punctuated by not long breaks and long fights. You were exhausted, from both the physical toll taken by the day as well as from dealing with Legend’s near constant attempts to make everyone hate you. Heck, you were almost starting to hate yourself because of him. You had to forcibly remind yourself that he’s likely only lashing out because your knowledge of everyone’s adventures probably made him feel vulnerable. You yawned and turned your focus to other things.
Your mind relaxed as you looked around. Your head was leaned to the right on Wild’s shoulder, and Hyrule sat curled up in front of you with his head in your lap. Wind had finally tired of regaling the chain with yet another tall tale, and thus had retired to intently watching Sky as he worked on a new carving. Twilight, Time, and Warriors were conversing in a relaxed manner, laughing at stories of Time’s shenanigans in the War of Eras as “Mask.” They told some embarrassing stories, and Time held a near perpetual blush in his ears and a fake annoyed expression thinly veiling his amusement. Four was quietly polishing his various weapons, making sure they were well-maintained for any future skirmishes. And finally, there was the chain’s resident salt shaker, the Veteran. Legend sat a few feet to your left, not-so-subtly eyeing you with jealousy and what you might label “loathing,” probably because Hyrule had chosen you as his pillow instead of his predecessor. He pretended to sort through his myriad of magical jewelry, but you knew better. You also knew better than to call him out at the moment.
Everyone (mostly) was at peace, full from a good supper provided by Wild, happy from the stories Wind had told, and now content to do as they pleased until it was time for the first watch to start. By your guess, each of the three watches lasted three hours, 9 PM - 12 AM, 12 AM - 3 AM, and 3AM - 6 AM, or just after sunrise, depending on the season. It was about 8:30, and your eyes had been drooping for an hour already. You let your mind wander as you stared into the fire, pondering where the tips of the flames disappeared to as they peaked and vanished, dipping back to the firewood just to jump up once more a second later.
All too soon Wild was nudging you and Rulie back to your own bedrolls as Sky set up for his watch period. You hazily recalled meaning to clean the mud and blood off your shoes as you took them off, but decided to just do it in the morning before you all set off again. It’s not like the stains were going anywhere while you slept. You were out almost as soon as you pulled up your blanket to your chin. You didn’t even hear Wild’s small chuckle as he tucked you in before he walked away to his own sleeping spot.
Your faint dreams of red eyes haunting the dark corners of endless mazes were interrupted by a twig snapping by your face. You inhaled sharply as your eyes flew open to assess the situation, but relaxed once you saw that it was just Sky going to wake Legend up for his shift on watch. He glanced down to you and offered a sleepy smile of apology, which you returned in kind, before nuzzling deeper into your pillow (which was unfortunately rather thin and small, but you figured that even if you had brought a full-size memory foam pillow from home, it wouldn’t stand a chance of fitting into your bag, no matter how enhanced it might be).
You faintly heard the Vet bemoan his fate as second watchman before his blanket rustled and he walked to the fire. You’re pretty sure he intentionally stepped on the same twig as Sky had when he passed by you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Through half-lidded eyes you could vaguely see the grouch circle the camp before sitting on a log before the fire and facing the woods that surrounded your camp. He was even more grumpy tonight, because not only was he designated for the worst shift ever, but he didn’t even have a choice as Time forced it upon him due to a particularly scathing remark he’d made towards you earlier in the day.
You tried not to focus on his insults and apparent hatred, you really did, but recently it was getting harder to ignore. His questioning of Hyrule’s sudden loyalty to you turned to questioning everyone’s desire to not kick you out or abandon you to the next monster camp they found. He seemed convinced you were either an evil witch who forced Hyrule and Wild to love you, a monster disguised to destroy them, or even a direct agent of Dark Link (who you’d not-so-affectionately dubbed “Dink”) and planned to betray them all any day now. You, in turn, had stopped vehemently insisting you were harmless, and eventually resigned yourself to simply not rise to the bait of his stinging statements of distrust. You knew he’d been through a lot of pain and loss through his many journeys, but that didn’t excuse his treatment of you. Only your mother’s advice kept you somewhat sane — “bullies only prosper when you give them a reaction. If you don’t react, they have less reason to target you.” And yet, Legend’s berating only continued.
You silently huffed a sigh and turned around to lay on your other side, facing away from the fire. You didn’t really love the idea of turning your back to the one person who very clearly wanted you to cease existing, but you knew he had enough sense not to literally stab you in the back when you were both surrounded by witnesses who would decidedly not appreciate such a thing. Plus, the fire was too bright for your sleepy eyes anyway. You started a breathing exercise, prayed you’d assumed correctly about not getting murdered by your upset comrade tonight, and closed your eyes again.
——
An hour or so later you quietly groaned and sat up. Not only could you not fall asleep, but your bladder was beginning to rebel against the idea of waiting until morning to relieve yourself. The chain had made camp just a ways off from a wide yet shallow creek, and you decided that since you were already awake, you might as well go ahead and rinse your shoes off, too. That way they’d be dry in the morning and you wouldn’t have to worry about walking around in shoes that made your socks cold and wet. You shuddered at the thought and slowly stood, stretching your arms above your head and popping your back, then bending down to pick up your shoes and a bar of soap you’d bought in the town you all just passed through.
Legend spared you a calculating glance from his seat, saying nothing. You simply waved with your free hand and then signed “toilet” before walking away to take care of business. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he was staring holes into the back of your head; you could practically feel him doing so anyway. You sighed, choosing to instead focus on the foliage you passed on your walk, faintly illuminated by the fire back at camp and the dim glow from a bracelet Wild had given you. He said he’d used a brightbloom seed to make it, and you had been sure to express your gratitude. It was much easier than having to carry a torch, which was not only difficult if your hands were full, but was also very bright to your still-asleep eyes. That, and you’d almost started a forest fire last time you’d been entrusted to carry a torch when you weren’t yet fully awake (once the crisis had been averted, Legend of course claimed that you had done it on purpose, but you were so tired that you just gave him a deadpan stare with a raised eyebrow and plopped back onto your bedroll to resume sleeping).
After answering nature’s call and washing your hands, you sat criss-cross by the creek, took off your dirtied shoes, and started splashing them in the frigid water. It was colder than you’d expected, but everything barring your hands was still warm enough, and it helped shock you to be more awake and aware. You used some more of your soap to aid your struggle against the grossness crusted onto your shoes, thankful that they were made from something like leather, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to clean once you actually got started. As you washed, you listened to the sounds of the world around you, now returned since you were no longer disrupting their peace.
A sound like cricket chirps mixed with owl coos set the backdrop for the soundscape, while the occasional breeze played with leaves and stuck them in your hair. If you listened closely enough and stopped your washing, you swore you could almost hear the life within the flowers and greenery by your feet, the very soul of the land of Hyrule, its perseverance, growth, progress and patience, all poured with a parent’s care into each and every living thing it supported, down to the smallest weed by the creek bed where you sat.
The water before you seemed to whisper, not in the way the Sheikah technology would, but more like it was a living feeling, as if it wanted to impart to you the knowledge it had picked up on its journey to this place. You had heard a story, once, that water could hold memories; that every molecule of water in the world has existed since creation, for it cannot be created or destroyed by those who need it to survive. Every single drop had a story to tell, an event it had witnessed, a place it had once called home. Perhaps some of the water burbling and giggling before you was the same way — some of it might have seen the rise and fall of entire civilizations, the existence of every single hero, princess, and villain up to that very moment — and it would continue to amass these secrets, both big and small, every detail it would pass by, and no one would ever fully decipher its stories, its warnings, its wisdom and playfulness. And even so, it would continue to exist and endure, trickling on through the ages and epochs.
You were somewhat prone to these random philosophical trains of thought, and had thus been unknowingly sitting, unmoving, almost unblinking, in the same place for the past twenty minutes. If anyone were with you, they might have thought you to be having a memory episode akin to the ones Wild sometimes had. Indeed, you were so lost in the wanderings and ramblings of your own mind that you had no idea you were being watched. You had no clue until a sound was made that caused you to spring to your feet with a gasp and reach for the dagger you’d sheathed at your hip.
Legend stood at the tree line a few feet away, posture tense and, dare you say, predatory, unsettling stare boring into your own wide, surprised eyes. “What are you waiting for? Or should I say, who are you waiting for?” You blinked away the black spots at the edges of your vision from standing up too quickly, and relaxed the hand that held your knife as your brain worked to understand the situation.
“What?” you tried to be quiet, still recovering from being shaken out of your reverie. “Why would I be waiting for someone? They’re all asleep last I checked. Ooh shoot, did I wake someone up? I’m so sor-”
“Cut the crap, [Name],” he stood up even straighter, the line of his shoulders taught with anger. “I know you’re waiting for someone to give all your collected information to. Don’t pretend you’re all so goody-goody. I’ve seen the way you ask too many questions, always looking for more details to collect, more ways you can betray us, betray them. I knew you were a snitch, and I don’t know how you bewitched them all to trust you, but they’re all too blind to see it. But I’m not. I see right through you, I have from the start.”
He had stalked closer during his speech, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper you had only ever heard in movies. His approach had caused you to back up until your still bare feet felt the water’s lapping edge. You had dropped your boots, you weren’t exactly sure where, but that was only a vague thought in the very back of your mind. Your eyebrows scrunched together as your mouth opened and closed, trying and failing to come up with a good enough response. You weren’t spying, you were trying to find answers! You came from a completely different world, of course you had questions! He of all people should understand that, and yet he still accuses you? This finally snapped your patience, and you decided to just spell it out him:
“Look, I know you hate me, but this is too far, Legend. I am not some evil being to be defeated like in your adventures, I am not planning to cause trouble for you all, and I sure as anything would never betray you guys, especially not after the trust that has been extended to me by some of you. This group took me in, saved my life, helped me learn to defend myself, protected me time and time again, and I’ve only ever tried to help you, or at the very least not get in your way. I get that I’m not some ‘chosen hero’ with crazy butt-kicking skills, I know that I’m only okay-ish at fighting, not nearly as good as any of you, and I understand that my extensive knowledge of your adventures puts you on edge, but I swear on everything that I’m not a traitor, and the main thing that I just really don’t know is why you despise me when I’ve never even given you a single reason to do so!”
Your voice had steadily increased in volume, not quite to the point of shouting, but certainly not whispering any more. He seemed a bit surprised by your willingness to defend yourself, but he hid it quickly with a scowl and what sounded almost like a growl. You noticed dully that the forest had fallen tensely quiet.
“Oh drop the act, turncoat ,” he spat, “you have never been one of us, and the only reason I didn’t drop you off a bridge yet is because Hyrule would have my hide and Wild would poison my food. But don’t mistake my inaction for acceptance or ignorance. You’re no better than any of the enemies we fight on a daily basis. You’re actually worse, because you’ve wormed your way into my group, my allies, my brothers. You think you’re something special just because you got some of them to trust you?? You’re a parasite, a threat, and tonight is all the proof I need. I knew I should’ve spoken up more from the moment you oh-so-conveniently happened to stumble into our lives. You’re going to regret ever messing with us, and Dark Link will soon know without a doubt that he cannot ever send his agents into my family without dire consequences.”
His expression twisted to a hateful snarl, showing some of his teeth in an almost animalistic display of animosity. Your face, on the other hand, was flickering through countless expressions too quickly for even you to comprehend. You knew some of what you felt, pain, sadness, anger, guilt (even though you had no reason for that one), confusion, denial, and eventually a sort of raging, spiraling emptiness that screamed inside your chest. Your breathing quickened to an almost hyperventilating speed, and your eyes grew blurry with tears you’d been suppressing for weeks. Your hurt, misty eyes locked with a pair of violet, violent, volatile ones, and you realized that he was waiting for your response. His next actions could depend solely upon your response; your very life could depend upon whatever words next left your mouth.
You had tried so hard to be friendly to the group of Links, to not aggravate Legend too awful much. You had tried to help out wherever you could, to not be a burden, to not slow them down. You tried to let the pain of rejection roll off of you like water, to not let it get under your skin. You had tried so, so hard to be one of them; but you weren’t. It was at this point you realized what he’d said without actually saying it — he was afraid . Afraid of losing the only family he had left. He’d already lost his uncle, Marin, the whole island of Koholint, and almost all the people of his Hyrule viewed him with disdain at best and outright hatred at worst. He’d had to leave Ravio and Fable back in his Hyrule, and he never knew when (if) he’d ever see them again. You realized on an even deeper level the true message behind his words — ‘you are a threat to those I love. You are dangerous. You bring pain and that is all you’ll ever do. You are not worthy of any trust, comfort, protection, or love from anyone, least of all my brothers. You would be better off never having met us, having never existed.
You would be
better off
dead.’
You had tried so hard, and yet… You had never actually brought anything to the group but problems. You thought through your interactions with them all, but all you could see is the many ways you’d caused them worry, stress, or even anger. You were another mouth to feed, another bed to pay for at inns, another liability in fights, another person to slow down for as they walked. You were a burden. No, worse: you were a danger. What if they were so busy looking out for you that they didn’t see an enemy until too late? What if you slowed them down to the point where they couldn’t get where they were going in time? What if you drained their food or rupee supplies too fast? What if you got hurt again and caused stress and tension to rise, causing fights and even divisions to break out. You were a problem. Not a traitor, no, and not intentionally endangering, but they couldn’t afford to have you around any longer. And you couldn’t just leave, you’d die within a day if Dink didn’t find and torture you, but Legend wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for a fact that you were out of their way. Permanently. He didn’t just want you to disappear; he wanted you gone. And finally, with a sinking heart, you realized just how right he was.
At this final revelation, a tear finally did slip past your lashes down to meet your quivering chin. You felt your thoughts scatter like startled deer, your heart thundering in its cage, pounding in your ears, scaring away the life in the forest around you. And you decided. You were a danger. You had no power here.
“I - I’m so sorry , I - I never meant to drive you apart, I -” you paused to hiccup and take a breath. You knew you were breaking, your composure deteriorating, but it was too late to stop. “Legen- Link. If you truly see me as a threat, if you truly believe that I will bring nothing but harm to you, to my-your friends, if…if you think that - that I should - I should never have met you, that I should never have…existed, I…I know I can’t force you to change what you so deeply believe, I -” You gasped a little shuddering inhale, and you made your final decision, the choice that you knew would be your last. You steeled yourself, and spoke. “If you honestly believe that you would all be better off - be safer - if I was gone, if you believe I’m a threat, that I would hurt you, that I - harbor ill intent, then…” you swallowed, still taking short, stuttering breaths. Then you turned around, held your hands palm-outward and arms open to the sides, and bowed your head; you left your entire back and neck, your spine, completely exposed to the man who wanted you dead. You leveled your voice, and accepted your fate. After all, he was an experienced hero, while you were just an inexperienced nobody. He would know what he’s talking about, what would be safest and best; you wouldn’t. He was not prone to emotional decisions; you were. If that was the case, then he was right. You were a threat to your friends.
“If you truly think that I should die for the good of the group, for their safety and happiness, then…then I… I trust you to do what’s right for your family. I would never willingly hurt any of them, I never wished any of you ill but…maybe I do just bring bad luck. Maybe I truly am a curse, a threat, a liability. If that’s the case, maybe - I know I can’t just leave, since Dink is after me and I know too much so - maybe I really am better off dead.”
There was a moment of silence, and then you heard him unsheathe his sword. The back of your neck prickled with danger, but you didn’t dare look over your shoulder. You counted the seconds as they passed, and you realized you had made it to thirty and nothing had happened yet. Why the hesitation? You assumed you’d be dying by now. Perhaps…perhaps Legend feared taking the blame for your death? Causing more division within the chain? Well, you shouldn’t let that stop him if your friends’ lives and safety were at stake. You would do anything to protect them, no matter what. Legend was right, and this had to happen. He had to do this. So why hadn’t he yet? You decided to offer some support, try to speed it along. You were never one for fearing the future but you really wanted this to be over, since you could feel the dread clawing up your throat, numbing your words and preventing any cohesive thought, forcing you to stand still and hear your blood thundering through your ears.
“You could, uh, you could make it look accidental, if you want?” You suggested. “Maybe - maybe I slipped, hit my head on a rock in the creek, maybe I drowned after I fainted or something, maybe I was playing with my knife and - and accidentally hit an artery.” At this point you started to hyperventilate again, desperate, but unsure as to why. “Maybe I was surprised by an enemy, a - a stalfos! - and I was too slow,” you continued, “or - or maybe I was kidnapped, maybe I was gutted by an enemy, maybe I - I just hit my head on something, maybe I had a - a - a hidden injury,” you were nearing hysterics now, “maybe, maybe I just — maybe I did it myself? Maybe I just couldn’t go on? Maybe, maybe I, I just - what if - I,” you lost your sense of words for a moment, “I can’t, I - what about if I just - just - You don’t have to take the blame, you know? You - you could cover it up! Maybe you just were doing your final rounds at the end of your watch and just found me - m-my body, maybe -”
“[Name] are you serious?” He cut through your rambling and you guessed he thought you sounded rather impertinent. You were trying to tell him how to do his job, and you’d kept on repeating what he likely had already worked through in his own mind.
Your mouth clicked closed so quickly your teeth almost clipped your tongue. Perhaps he wanted you to die quietly. You realize you were panicking and might’ve been too loud. Oh no, what if you woke someone up? Then Legend would get caught, and you would be the cause for even more trouble for everyone, and things would get even more tense, and if they were more distracted then they’d be in more danger, then…
…
…
…
You were still alive for some reason, although if you hadn’t been breathing so heavily you would have heard someone else’s suspiciously loud breathing behind you. As it was, you continued to hold still, arms sore from being held out, but you didn’t dare move. Even you knew better than to rob a predator of his prey, especially when he is so close to the killing blow. You were no fool, you knew he’d likely planned this for a while, and you knew better than to irritate him further. You just wanted to say one more thing, one final reassurance.
“I only want what’s best for them…best for you. I don’t hate you, contrary to what you probably think. I’m so sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, I truly am…I - I only ask that you make it quick, not for my sake, but if I was too loud a second ago and it woke anyone up and they found you kil-” your breath hitched, “killing me, it — it might make things worse for you all, and the last thing I wanna do is make things harder for all of you guys, I love you all and I—”
“Just SHUT UP!” Legend’s voice crashed through your pleading, and you stopped. And through the suddenly deafening silence, you realized something. Had his voice cracked? You listened more intently. He was breathing unevenly, almost gasping, almost…no, no your soon-to-be-killer couldn’t possibly…
He inhaled deeply and hoarsely whispered, “ Why? How, how could you just, just…” And in his struggle for words you heard something you would never have considered possible.
You had offered to die, just like he wanted, and
Legend —
Link —
was crying .
The man who wanted you dead, who planned to watch the light leave your eyes, was crying.
Perhaps he was just so happy you’d stopped resisting? Or perhaps he simply disliked the idea of causing someone pain? Yes, that was likely the reason; you were still a person, after all, and you knew that the Veteran, despite his callousness, did in fact have a heart (however guarded it might be).
“…It’s ok, Link,” you whispered reassuringly, “I’ll probably hardly even feel it, and if you’re right, and I’m sure you are, then…I deserve it anyway, and…I trust you to do what’s right, because…well, you’re a hero. You’re Link. I’m just… I’m nobody , nothing, so…It’s okay…” You stopped there, you knew he didn’t want you to talk, but darn it you always had a weak spot for people who cried, and you just had to try to reassure them, even if this particular person was planning to send you to meet your Maker a bit earlier than you’d thought you would.
But…there was still no sudden pain, no sword through your chest or severing your head, no sudden hit to the skull, nor were there hands forcing your face into the water until the bubbles stopped, nor any cutting, no slitting your throat, just…quiet sobbing?
Your mind froze for a second, and you held your breath to see whether the crying was actually from you. And it wasn’t. So, you waited. What else could make Legend wait? He was a hero, right? Maybe he just needed to psych himself up? It couldn’t be easy, you figured, literally stabbing someone in the back —
OH! Maybe that was actually the problem? Maybe he wanted to be at least a little more honorable and kill you face-to-face? After all, back-stabbing has a rather negative connotation attached to it. Facing forward and watching your killer do the job wasn’t really what you’d prefer, but it’s not like you had much choice in the matter. After all, he was the one with the sword.
In order to solve this newfound problem you slowly turned around and faced your whole body towards him, eyes closed, arms still out in a sign of surrender, tense muscles still ready for whatever method he would choose to end you. Maybe it would be kind? Likely not, seeing as you were a threat to his family.
Tentatively you opened your mouth and quietly reassured him, “If you want to do it head-on and not with my back to you, that’s…cool too? I-”
“Oh goddesses,” he practically choked on the words, “you…you actually are serious…?” His voice was rough with…emotion? Confusion? But why? You were giving him what he wanted, right? You were keeping your frien- his family safe…right?
Right?
And then you cautiously cracked open your eyes a little bit, and then opened them all the way, and you lifted your gaze and actually looked at him, rather than just listening.
And you saw that he was an absolute wreck.
Rarely seen tears now freely flowed from his violet eyes, and he had to sniff to keep his nose from running too much. His chin quivered slightly and his adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to find words without openly sobbing. He dropped his sword as his posture went slack, a hand raising to cover his mouth, his watering eyes wide with disbelief and something remarkably akin to grief. Your confusion turned to concern for the man before you. Why was he crying? Was he hurt somewhere? Surely that was the case, for no one could change their mind as abruptly as he seemed to, right?
He finally whispered hoarsely, “You…do you really…you’re actually willing to just…let me kill you?” He seemed shocked at your actions, but you didn’t know why. Unless…oh gosh, had you misread the situation?? You weren’t sure how you could have, but what if you did? What if you were the one to make him cry? How awful of a person could you be?
“I — I’m sorry, I — yeah, I meant it, really. I mean, I still do, but — I-I’m sorry if I misunderstood, I really am, I just wanted what was right, and I — I just figured you’d know better than me, that you’re right, but I didn’t mean to upset you, I swear, I’m sorry for making you cry, I never wanted that, I just wanted to keep them — keep you all — safe, but if I—”
“Just…stop… please .”
And you froze. Because Legend…he’d said please . He had never said please in the entire time you’d known him, and certainly not while addressing you of all people. So, you stopped. Your arms were in pain, however, and you risked slowly lowering them so they could lose their pins and needles. He didn’t react. He just brought his fist to his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the tears. He was no longer actively crying, so you counted that as a win. You continued to look at him, confused, but not trying to talk any more. You figured he would decide what to do in a minute. Maybe, you thought, he was crying with relief that he could finally stop fighting you.
And then he finally spoke again, in a very small, very subdued, almost unbelieving voice. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” He seemed to hardly believe it.
No, you denied the small spark of hope trying to take root in the void of your chest. There’s no way. It’s too late. He’s going to kill me. He can’t have been wrong. I’m supposed to die, right?
He raised his eyes to meet yours once more, and it was all you could do to nod in agreement. After all, you had never tried to deceive any of them. You’d only ever endeavored to tell the truth, and you weren’t going to stop now of all times.
“You’re not…a witch?” He seemed to almost be thinking aloud, not actually talking to you anymore, but you nodded along anyway, just in case. “You’re not actually a traitor, are you?” He murmured, “You’re…goddesses, you’re not even evil, are you? An enemy would never turn their back to me, Dark Link would never surrender, but…that means you…you’re just a person…just…” Then, in an even smaller voice and with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, “You’re…just you? Was I about to — to kill — an innocent?”
And at that moment you recognized his emotion: horror.
Link was mortified, absolutely horrified that he, a hero of courage, one of Hylia’s chosen, a bearer of the triforce, savior of realms and countries, Link, was about to kill you, a person who had never actually harmed him or his brothers, someone he’d been so set on not trusting that he’d tried to twist you into something that you’d never been. You had tried so hard to protect them where you could, to ease their burdens, to not cause problems, to bond with them, to ignore his acidic hatred, and you’d been through so much pain and loss, and been targeted by Dark himself, and he still had tried to make everyone reject you. You were traumatized, hunted, injured, afraid, and he still hadn’t held back. Your questions had never been any sort of interrogation, but simply confusion. The trust you gained from the others was simply friendship, not any sort of witchcraft or manipulation.
And, with mounting terror, he finally, deeply, truly realized that he had somehow even convinced you — sweet, innocent, confused, traumatized, eager-to-help, optimistic [Name] — that you actually were the problem, that you should —
Oh goddesses, he’d convinced you that you were better off dead, that you should want to die — that you should just let him kill you. And for some heartbreaking reason, you had not only agreed, but then you’d exposed your most vulnerable points, without any sort of armor or protection, dropped your weapon, lowered your guard, closed your eyes, and told him to do what he believed was right…
You thought he was going to kill the person he should have been protecting this entire time. And you endorsed it only because of ignorant trust in someone who was supposed to be a hero.
And when he panicked, you’d tried to help him kill you .
He looked at you and saw your pain, your sadness, your survival, your resignation, your scars, your desperation to help others, he saw YOU, and not a trace of what he’d so firmly believed you to be. He was planning your death, and you’d tried to comfort him.
And Legend broke.
He did something neither of you expected; Legend, the one who had tried so hard to hate you, vaulted over the small distance between you, wrapped his arms around you, and held on so tightly he thought he might never let go. You had stiffened at first, halfway expecting a knife in your back, but when that didn’t happen you relaxed, almost dizzy with relief and swirling emotions, and you hugged him back just as fiercely. His face was on your shoulder, head bowed so that the fabric of your shirt muffled his increasingly panicked sobs and hiccups. And through those noises you could hear him apologizing relentlessly,
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, goddesses I’m so sorry, [Name] I — I’m so — so sorry, I’m sorry, I was so blind , I’m sorry, I was wrong, I was so, so, so — wrong, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and so he continued.
You finally breathed for what felt like the first time since he’d snuck up behind you. Your heart was pounding and, now that you held Legend in your arms, you could feel his heart thundering just as quickly as your own. You gently lowered the two of you to the ground, trying to comfort him even as you worked through your own dissolving panic. You held him as if he were a child, gently rocking back and forth as you tried to imbue him with a sense of safe-secure-trust-okay.
“Shhh sh sh shh,” you whispered, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m okay, shh shh shhh, it’s okay, I…
I forgive you, Link.”
At this statement he began to sob even more heavily, and your own tears soaked his tunic as surely as his did your own.
“NO! No, you shouldn’t! You — you — I almost killed you!!” He pulled back and looked at you without letting go. “I would have killed you, [Name]! You — you can’t just forgive me! I — I’m so sorry, I can’t ever explain, I — I was so sure you weren’t trustworthy, I didn’t even give you a chance, I — gosh I basically just tried to freaking kill you, and you just…you can’t just — just —” he fell into hysteric hiccups once again, allowing you to interrupt.
“Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t decide what I can and can’t do, isn’t it?” You released your hug to hold his face in both hands, using a thumb to brush his tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll admit…I was, for a moment, scared, but,” you cut off his heartbroken and shattered gasp, “I get it. I don’t excuse what you’ve done, but I do somewhat understand and I forgive you, Legend. I choose to forgive you, Link.”
…
His world stopped in that moment. He stared into your eyes, so open, brimming with tears that he had caused. You shouldn’t forgive him. He was going to murder you, literally stab you in the back, in cold blood, right outside the safety of camp where his own brothers, who trusted both him and you, slept peacefully, placing full faith in him to keep the monsters at bay. And yet here he was, more of a monster than any of their Ganons or Ganondorfs could have ever hoped to be. He was despicable.
And then you even went so far as to offer him a watery smile that tugged gently on the Sheikah scars adorning your face, the scars of what you’d endured and survived. Oh goddesses, you were trying to comfort him — him — instead of yourself. You opened your arms and offered him another hug, and he was suddenly so thankful you were alive, that you were there with him, and that he hadn’t killed you. And he finally, fully, completely collapsed, releasing the pain he’d hidden away for so long from so much betrayal, distrust, and loss, burying his face into your shoulder once more. His stuttering breaths and hiccups prevented him from speaking, from begging you to hate him back, from telling you to strike him down then and there as surely as he planned to do to you, from screaming until his voice gave out simply because of his pure loathing toward himself, toward this monster he had let himself become.
You gently nudged him back toward camp, all the while holding him and tracing pointless patterns along his back, caressing his hair and whispering forgiveness in his ears. You fell asleep trying to keep watch for him by the fire, both of you tangled up in the other’s embrace, resting in the safety of someone you loved.
You both slept soundly and without nightmares for the first time in weeks.
….
And as the two of you sat there after crying your souls out to each other, having realized how much you actually cared for one another, the sounds of the forest slowly filtered back, joining with your sobs in a beautiful melody of mourning and life, shame and forgiveness. Your rivers of tears mingled together and joined the small creek, the whispers of your pain, relief, salvation, and reconciliation joining the water’s ever-increasing library of whispered memories and silent emotions. And it would never tell a soul, for no one could know what it knew; and you would never, ever know just how happy it was to gain your streams of tears and joy instead of the rivers of your life-blood.
And if the third watchman woke to find the two most bitter of enemies curled up together asleep by the fire, tear tracks on their red-splotched faces, hair unkempt and, in your case, feet bare, and if he simply draped a blanket over you both and almost cried himself, well…who needs to know?
#linked universe x reader#linked universe fic#legend of zelda x reader#legend of zelda fic#linked universe#legend of zelda#lu#loz#fanfiction#fanfic#writers on tumblr#writers on ao3#ao3#lu legend#the legend of zelda#legend x reader#robyn writes
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I have decided against my better judgement to be weird about the Dawntrail MSQ
and we can't talk about an expansion set in the fantasy americas without talking about
COLONIALISM
oh yeah, we're going there baby
So disclaimer that I may be brazilian, but my ass is white as hell, so take everything I say with a grain of salt. Also if any native americans have made posts on this please let me know so I can boost their analysis as well
Also also I'm more than happy to delete this post if I mess up. I'm genuinely trying to make a thoughtful analysis, so if I fuck up just say the word and this thing is gone from this website
Oh also also also, Dawntrail MSQ spoilers ahead!
So FFXIV has had a... messy relationship with colonialism over the years
The fact that the major antagonists for the first half of A Realm Reborn a literally called "beast man tribes" is absolutely not a good start to this story
Add to that the fact that The Twelve (Eorzea's gods) are shown to be kind all powerful deities, while the Primals (the tribal gods) are evil spirits summoned to bring destruction to the world
and yeah no ARR is not good with that shit. It's EXTREMELY not good. If I hadn't been told it got better later on I would have dropped this shit before I got to Titan
But they have been taking steps to unfuck things. First we're shown that even the "civilized societies" (in this case the catholic elves) can summon Primals, then that Primal summoning isn't an actual native custom but was introduced by foreigners with malicious intent, and that not all "beast man" practice that
Then they changed the names of the "Beast Man Tribe Quests" to "Tribal Quests" and then finally to "Allied Society Quest"
Which would have been an empty gesture had like half of the post-Shadowbringer patches, as well a lot of Endwalker, not been about forming alliances with those people and working together with them, recognizing that they have as much right to the land and to life as any Eorzean, this all culminating on the Primals being summoned with the express purpose of helping you protect the world you all share
I guess they realized that they couldn't have their big bad for most of the game be the evil expansionist empire, if they didn't like actually reflect in their own imperialist fantasies they were propagating
Then the teaser trailer for Dawntrail drops and everyone in the fandom is like "wait... are we gonna do a colonialism?"
And memes were abound of how all those lessons from before don't apply to the "New World" of Tural
THANKFULLY the actual questline leading to Dawntrail helped to settle some of those worries
We're not going to Tural to explore a new uncharted land, but are actually being invited over by the local royalty in order to aid them with their right of succession. We get introduced to the nation of Tuliyollal and how it's a thriving land with its own culture and not just a "terra nil" waiting to be colonized
Still there are some worries that this is gonna turn out poorly and that we're just gonna end up being white saviors
But I think they managed to avoid that pretty well
For starters neither the Scions nor the Warrior of Light are the protagonists of this story. You're all simply supporting character's in Wuk Lamat's story
A story that centers her people, her culture, and her family
And it's not even one culture. They don't portray Tuliyollal as this monolithic mish mash of every single native american culture
No, the lands of Tural are in fact comprised of multiple different people's and nations, each of them with their own customs and traditions which are informed by their history and the lands they live in
In fact learning about their cultures and partaking in their customs is the whole point of the Rite of Succession. It's all set up so that the next Dawnservant would be someone who understands and respects each of the peoples that comprise Tural
(I could, and probably will, write about what Dawntrail has to say about what makes a good ruler)
And our girl, Wuk Lamat, is shown to be the rightful heir because she really goes out of her way to understand each of the nations and show her appreciation for their customs
Putting her well above her Sharlyaboo brother Koana, The King of Unresolved Daddy Issues Zoral Ja, and whatever the fuck is going on with Bakool Ja Ja
(I joke, I love my two headed traumatized dumbass)
Tho I will admit that this does end up giving the tribes a somewhat "planet of the hats" vibe. Like their named NPCs are diverse and interesting, but you can just assume that most random NPCs of any given people are gonna act according to the stereotype
Which is unfortunate, but I have hopes that with the next few patches and the addition of Dawntrail's own Allied Society Quests, we'll get to see more to them
But that... is only up to lvl95 and the end of the Yok'Tural (southern Tural) segment
because then we get to Xak'Tural (northern Tural) and holy shit does it feel like they drop the ball there
Like they really COULDN'T keep themselves from making Shaaloani a fucking Wild West map
Instead of doing anything with the actual cultures and histories of Native North American people, they just do wild fucking west
Because there's ceruleum in them thar hills! And apparently Koana turned most of the region into Sharlyaboos too
So we get a bunch of Wild West frontier towns mixed with native american tribes and mud brick cities. We have trains and guns and a sheriff and a duel at high noon, but now everyone got native american names
At least there's one group off to the northern side of the map who seems to stick to tradition and live in harmony with nature, and that group is shown respect by the other people of the region
so we at the very least avoid the "cowboys vs indians" crap, but my god does that region just feel bad compared to everything else they had done so far
Then we get to the big twist: THE CYBERPUNK PORTION OF THE GAME
because yes, we go full fucking cyberpunk
so turns out that a whole segment of Xak'Tural got colonized by the kingdom of Alexandria, including the lands of the Shetona (Erenville's people)
And I feel like this is the most poignant section of the MSQ when it comes to colonialism
Because here we have Alexandria, an empire that has reached the limit of what it can do sustain itself on its own world, and so has decided to spread out and colonize others in order to gain resources
We see the Shetona and other natives of the region being separated from their families and kept in isolation from the rest of their people
And tho Queen Sphene is shown to be a kind and caring ruler who gives people a choice when it comes to joining the empire, WELL SHE'S STILL THE QUEEN OF A FUCKING EMPIRE
Like her form of kindness and just stagnant peace is put in stark contrast with Wuk Lamat's own love for her people and more proactive pursuit of happiness and harmony
(again with the "what makes a ruler theme")
Also the people that choose to be assimilated into the Alexandrian Empire? Yeah, they're doing so because Alexandria has advanced medical technology and you can only receive their aid if you're a citizen
Not only that, but you have to be a working citizen. We see later on a character being denied medical aid, because he lost his job, thanks to the King's decision and at no fault of his own
yeah this is cyberpunk, not just sci-fi
ALSO can we talk about how the technology used for that medical aid and the little gizmo they give you to signify you're now a citizen, will literally erase the memory of the people you lost
So the Turali who are assimilated into Alexandrian culture not only lose ties to their culture and their loved ones, but are not allowed to grieve their loss, because what they once had is slowly being erased
How their choices add up to survive on their own OR be assimilated
How this all takes place IN NORTH FUCKING AMERICA!
THE CYBERPUNK CITY IS LITERALLY SET IN THIS WORLD'S EQUIVALENT TO THE UNITED STATES
So yeah, I don't think is is accidental. I genuinely thing that they're making a point about the realities of imperialism and colonialism, as well as taking some shots at the US while they're at it
Of course this part is still centered around Wuk Lamat, and instead of having a moment of "the only ones who can stop the evil white europeans are the GOOD white europeans", we have Wuk Lamat be the one to save the day, defeat Sphene, and save her people from the colonizing empire
So I would like to argue that everything that happens from lvl97 onwards is them picking up the ball again and making a real point
buuuut that comes at the cost of us being unable to engage with the native peoples of Xak'Tural outside of the context of colonialism
Which genuinely fucking sucks, and I hope it will be remedied with the post-Dawntrail patches
As well as handling the whole shared land situation they ended up with and how this might end up in a Land Back sort of movement, and oh boy can they mess shit up royally there
So in conclusion FFXIV has had a messy relationship with colonialism and imperialist fantasies and tropes, but the devs seem to be making a concerted effort to undo their mistakes and show respect in their depictions of american natives
They still fuck up
boy do they
but they're at least trying, and I'd say Dawntrail so far has been quite well executed
so yeah, look forward to more insane rambles like this one I guess
#dawntrail#ffxiv dawntrail#dawntrail spoilers#ffxiv spoilers#wuk lamat#tural#sphene#solution 9#media analysis
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Ok so basically Kai starts getting really bad headaches at one point not knowing why. (Like REALLY bad. Like makes him vomit bad) and he tries to just bear through whenever it happens and hide the pain, but sometimes he will be talking to torin or something and either have to stop talking or it gets hard for him to talk. Then one day it happens torin just pauses and goes “you know, your dad had migraines too.” Then Kai realizes what it is and goes to the doctor and also learns more about his dad
So I wrote half of this forever ago and then decided to finish tonight. Woohoo! I also took a lot of liberties with this prompt, but I like where it wound up, and I hope you do too:)
Burden
Summary: Kai feels like he's failing as an emperor. Torin reassures him. Set during Scarlet. (WC: 1.1k)
Kai pressed his palms to his eyes, trying his very best not to whimper. He had a two-hour digital conference meeting in less than ten minutes, but the idea of looking at a screen for even two seconds made him want to puke. His head was throbbing and his brain felt like a mess of knotted string and he just wanted to lie on the floor and cry.
“I can’t do it,” Kai whispered to himself. He pressed his forehead into his desk, wrapping his arms about his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” Tears began to slip from his eyes. His chest felt tight with misery. Somehow, his head hurt even more than before.
A knock sounded at his office door. Horror washed over Kai as he scrubbed at his eyes, but the pain within his head stole most of his anxiety away. What did it matter anymore? He was failing everything. He was failing with the search for Linh Cinder, he was failing to make peace with Queen Levana, he was failing to give his people safety. And yet, Kai still didn’t want people to know.
“Your Majesty?” Torin’s voice called through the door. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Kai replied. “Yes, I mean. Everything is fine. I know I’m running late. I just . . . I just need a minute.” He balled his fists and pressed them to his eyes, trying to relieve the pain there. If only he could get rid of this pain. If only he could find a way to concentrate on something other than the gut-twisting, life-quenching pain he was feeling.
The door opened, and Torin stood silhouetted in the frame. He flicked on the light, but when Kai gasped, he shut them right off again. Quickly, he closed the door then moved to Kai’s side.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “what’s wrong?”
Kai looked at his advisor, barely managing the feat despite the darkness of the room. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to put on a brave face and tell Torin he had it under control. He wanted to be able to do everything on his own. He wanted to be his father.
He couldn’t be his father.
“My head,” Kai said. He pressed his palms to his eyes once again and tucked his knees up to his chest. “My head is killing me. I can barely think of anything other than the pain. And even if I could, looking at my port is agonizing. I don’t know why, but the light just . . . it hurts. And standing feels about as possible as winning this war right now.” He sucked in a breath, trying desperately not to cry again. “I can’t do it, Torin. I’m not my father. I’m a failure. The net is right. I’m too young and inexperienced. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a failure, Torin. I am a failure.”
Torin pulled up a chair beside Kai, then rested his hands on Kai’s face. Then, without another word, he pulled Kai into a hug. A sob broke through Kai’s throat.
“You are not a failure,” Torin said. “You may not be your father, but you are not a failure. The Commonwealth needs you, Kai. I’m sorry that you were given a near impossible job—it is not what you deserve—but you are the only one who can do this.”
“But I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He patted Kai on the back and then sat back in his chair. Kai brushed his hands messily across his face. Torin watched him, a sad look in his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“I don’t know,” Kai said, rubbing his nose with a tissue. “Last night.”
“Not the last time you fell asleep. The last time you got more than a couple hours at a time. When was the last time you had a proper sleep?”
Kai laughed, though it was a mad sound. “Definitely not since before all of this.” Kai gestured at the desk, and while there was nothing there, Torin seemed to understand. “I don’t have time, Torin. People are dying every day of Letumosis, and if that’s not enough, now there are wolf-people from the moon attacking Earthens as well. We still haven’t found Cinder, and I’m not sure if we ever will. Levana is breathing down my neck for a marriage alliance. And I’m scared. There are billions of people looking to me to take care of them, and I don't know if I can do it.”
Torin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Kai felt almost as he had as a child, looking up into Torin’s lined face, trying to understand why his father’s advisor was so serious, why his eyes always appeared exhausted. Now he was the one looking down upon his advisor, wishing for that seriousness—Torin’s wisdom—to bleed into his veins and pull him through this crisis.
“Your father was scared too.”
Kai scoffed, then coughed, choking on the excess phlegm in his throat. “Only at the end.”
“Always,” Torin corrected. “And his head hurt too. All the time.”
“No it did not.”
“Kaito,” Torin said, “your father was not a god. He was not a pillar of strength. He was just a man—like you. Life tore him down, and he chose to build himself back up. Over and over and over again. From the day he was born, he was destined to rule billions, and there wasn’t a day that went by in which that knowledge did not petrify him. Did not weigh upon him. Did not threaten to crush him.” Torin placed his hand on Kai’s shoulder. “In the end, his biggest regret was leaving you with that same burden. With the sleepless nights and headaches that feel like the end of the world. But he knew you could do it, and so do I.”
“But what if I fail?”
“Then this world never stood a chance.”
Kai let out a choked breath, then placed his hands over his face, wiping the moisture from his cheeks. Then, as if possessed by some strange, unintelligent demon, he laughed. “Stars, Torin,” he said, “how did we get here?”
“Now that is a question I cannot answer.”
Kai laughed even harder.
Torin stood, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ve had your meeting pushed back by half an hour. Close your eyes. Breathe. Build yourself back up. Would you like me to send Nainsi up with anything? Tea? Soup?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Kai said, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you, Torin.”
“Of course, your Majesty.” Torin gave him a slight bow. “I’ll send her with something for the pain in your head as well. It will only be temporary, but hopefully everything that’s happening will only be temporary.”
“May we all hope,” Kai said, closing his eyes and feeling strangely hopeful.
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sea-salted-wolverine replied to this post:
Wdym Anakin mind tricking padme isn't real? You could chalk it up to bad writing from Lucas who isn't quite sure that women are people, but its pretty clear that by ep III that her grip on reality is toast. Whether or not it is a conscious effect on Anakins part is up for debate, but it is definitely a thing that happened
Not really the main point of my post, but no, that fan theory is not "real" in the sense of being remotely canonical for the films. It's nothing more than a popular headcanon nowhere even slightly stated to be happening in the actual films as written and produced. There's no reason in Lucas's films to suppose that the Anakin/Padmé relationship was coerced through a mind trick, that Padmé specifically would be susceptible to a mind trick, that she does not genuinely love Anakin or have any insight into his character, that her grip on reality is ever "toast," or that the mind trick (previously depicted as temporary and resistible) would work that way at all. Padmé is underwritten in ROTS in the way that cool girl heroines invented by men are often underwritten as grown adult women and especially as mothers, but that is not attributable to any character in the story.
Yes, Padmé is tired in ROTS and misses a lot of what's going on psychologically with her young secret husband who is in a cloistered order of warrior monks fighting a long-term war far away from her, but she sees the threat of Palpatine and recognizes exactly what his accession as emperor means. Her mind is fine. And in Lucas's films, also, Anakin is never shown using the mind trick on anyone. It's not really his style—it's a sneaky short-term solution whereas he's smart and resourceful enough most of the time, but mainly reliant on overwhelming power and skill. His signature "trick" is the Force-choke, not the mind trick, and it's the Force-choke that he ultimately uses against her—not because he's been using his powers against her the whole time (including when he's not even there, I guess?), but as a mark of how far he has fallen by that point. That's lost if it's not a drastic change from their previous relationship. Padmé's own choices also lose all meaning if she was mind-controlled by Anakin the whole time, and her arc becomes deeply boring.
Tl;dr - it is very far from "definitely a thing that happened." It is a headcanon that doesn't reflect anything the movies are trying to do (whether they fail or succeed at doing those things!) and is, IMO, a pretty terrible headcanon as well in terms of the overall coherence of the story and characters and how their world is shown to work.
#sorry if this is harsh but. no. it's a fanon meme that would make the already flawed story worse on every level#and which i find deeply unfunny in addition which is why i mentioned it - in passing - in my other post#respuestas#sw fanwank#long post#anghraine rants#star wars#anakin skywalker#padmé amidala#pt critical
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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 10 Chapter 10 | proposed union⌟
╰ ⌞🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇮🇳🇩🇪🇽⌝
❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘
Telemachus wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back from the training ring, his muscles aching from the relentless sparring session he had just endured.
Despite his father's age, Odysseus still fought with the strength of a warrior in his prime.
Each blow carried the power of years spent on battlefields and journeys across the sea. Every strike, every counter, every feint—all of it left Telemachus reminded that the man before him was still a force to be reckoned with.
His father may have grayed, but there was nothing frail about his frame, nothing slow in his movement. He felt proud, yet also deeply sore, his body protesting as he made his way towards the courtyard.
The bright sunlight greeted him as he stepped into the courtyard, the warmth soaking into his skin, making his sore muscles relax slightly. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness, blinking against the sharp contrast after the dimness of the training ring.
The air was fresh, filled with the scent of blooming flowers carried by a gentle breeze. The courtyard was quiet, and for the first time in a long while, Telemachus found himself able to simply enjoy the moment.
There were no suitors darkening his home, no cloud of sorrow hanging over Ithaca.
The palace, which once echoed with tension, was now filled with peace, and Telemachus found himself savoring it. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders loosening as he stood there, taking it all in—the sound of birds singing, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the feel of sunlight warming his face.
After a while, though, a thought crept into his mind, nudging at him until he could no longer ignore it. He had completed all his duties for the day, and now he found himself with unexpected free time. But what to do with it?
He stood there for a moment, considering, his eyes drifting over the courtyard, searching for something to occupy himself with.
And then, almost instinctively, he thought of you.
A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it, and he felt warmth spread through him, a gentle heat that had nothing to do with the sun above.
He could almost picture where you'd be—your usual spot around this time of day—and without even realizing it, he began walking in that direction. His steps were light, a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him as he moved through the palace grounds.
The sun shone down, bathing everything in golden light, and the air smelled of grass and distant salt from the sea.
Telemachus' heart quickened in his chest, his thoughts filled with images of you—your laughter, the way your eyes seemed to catch the light when you smiled, the calm determination that you carried even in the hardest moments.
You were gentle, but there was a strength in you that had always amazed him.
You were beautiful, inside and out. And your voice—gods, your voice. It could soothe even his worst fears, each word like a melody that stayed with him long after you'd spoken.
Telemachus sighed softly, a lovesick smile spreading across his face as he continued to walk, his thoughts wrapped up at the thought of seeing you.
Most nights, he found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts twisting and turning, always finding their way back to you.
He didn't know when it had started—this feeling that seemed to take over his every waking moment, but he knew it now—he wanted to be yours, and you, his.
He hoped to share something that went beyond mere friendship or affection.
He hoped to give you the kind of love he'd heard stories of, the kind of love his parents shared—deep and unwavering, a love that could withstand anything.
But more than anything else, he hoped that you felt the same.
Soon, the familiar cypress tree came into view, and just as he predicted, you were settled a few feet away, your lyre in your hands.
His eyes immediately zeroed in on you—the way your figure was framed by the soft sunlight filtering through the leaves, your head slightly bowed as you plucked the strings of your instrument.
It made his heart swell just watching you, the simple peace of the moment making him feel like the luckiest man alive.
Telemachus didn't even notice his footsteps speeding up, his stride becoming almost a bounce as he made his way toward you. He was eager, almost too eager, his heart fluttering in his chest at the prospect of hearing your voice, seeing your smile directed at him.
But just as he was about halfway to you, a firm hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, halting his progress. Telemachus stilled immediately, instinctively whipping around, his grip harsh as he grabbed onto the wrist of whoever had stopped him, his face hardening into a cold mask.
But then, he saw who it was.
"Lady Andreia?" He blinked, surprised, his eyes moving over her form. She was wearing a dress in a shade that looked somewhere between turquoise and sea-green, the fabric flowing around her in soft waves. He cleared his throat, his expression softening as he quickly dropped her wrist, giving her a small nod. "My apologies, Lady Andreia. You startled me."
The princess only giggled in response, waving him off as though his reaction hadn't fazed her in the slightest. "Oh, no, it's my fault. I didn't mean to startle you, Prince Telemachus," she said, her voice light, almost teasing.
Telemachus shifted awkwardly, glancing behind him to where you still sat by the cypress tree, oblivious to his presence. He could feel a pang of frustration at the interruption, but he quickly turned his attention back to Andreia, doing his best to remain courteous. "Is there something I can assist you with, Lady Andreia?" he asked, trying to keep his tone polite.
Andreia's eyes seemed to brighten at his question, and she clasped her hands together, her smile widening. "Actually, yes, there is," she said, and before Telemachus could react, she had reached out, grabbing his wrist. "Come, let's chat!"
She tugged at him, her grip surprisingly firm as she began to pull him away, her laughter ringing out in the quiet courtyard.
Telemachus let out a small yelp of surprise, stumbling slightly as he was dragged along. He almost protested, almost telling her that he had somewhere else he needed to be—someone else he wanted to be with.
But then, he remembered his mother's words. Be kind to her, Telemachus. She's a guest in our home, and she has lost much.
So, he bit his tongue, forcing himself to swallow down his frustration as he allowed himself to be led away.
Still, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on you, sitting peacefully beneath the cypress tree, unaware of how close he'd been.
His heart sank slightly, a feeling of longing settling deep in his chest. All he wanted was to be near you, to hear your voice, to share even just a small part of his day with you.
But for now, it seemed, he would have to wait.
☆
☆
Your eyes snapped open at the sound of laughter echoing in your ears. You blinked quickly, bringing your focus to the source of the sound.
Your gaze lifted just in time to see Telemachus being pulled away by Lady Andreia, her hand gripping his wrist as she laughed. Your eyes tracked them, watching as the prince's figure grew smaller and smaller, swallowed by the distance between you and the lively courtyard ahead.
When he looked back, you quickly looked down, and after a few seconds, you glanced back up, only to see them disappear from your sight altogether around the bend.
You let out a sigh, looking back down at your lyre, your fingers tracing the familiar strings.
It wasn't the first time you'd watched Andreia intercept him like this. It had happened more than once since her arrival, her presence always lingering close to the prince, her laughter ringing out a little too often for your liking.
You hated how easy it seemed for her, how naturally she took up space in his day.
It made you feel small in comparison, like an afterthought, a shadow on the periphery of his world.
You told yourself it was ridiculous, that you had no claim to him, no right to feel this gnawing ache in your chest. But the feeling remained, stubborn and sharp.
The song that had been on the tip of your tongue faded away, your fingers now motionless against the strings. The mood to play had left, leaving behind an odd sense of emptiness.
You shook your head, trying to dispel the unease settling in your chest. There was no sense in dwelling on it.
Telemachus had his duties, his responsibilities, and you had yours. He was a prince, and you were—well, just you.
You forced a small smile, letting your fingers pluck a few lazy notes, but it was half-hearted, even to your own ears.
"Are you the official musician?"
The sudden voice startled you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, the lyre clutched tightly to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise.
You looked up quickly, your gaze landing on a figure squatting just a foot away from you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion—how had he gotten so close without you noticing?
He wore Bronte's colors—green and yellow. His skin was olive-toned, warm under the sunlight, and his dark brown hair fell just past his shoulders. His eyes, equally dark, studied you with a kind of quiet curiosity that made you shift where you sat.
Realizing you hadn't answered his question, you cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. "U-um, no," you stammered, your fingers fidgeting against the lyre strings. "I'm actually Queen Penelope's personal handmaiden." The words trailed off awkwardly, and you glanced down, picking at a blade of grass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
The young man hummed in response, and, without any hesitation, he plopped himself down directly in front of you, crossing his legs. You blinked at him, startled once again by his forwardness. His eyes were still on you, staring down at you as if he were trying to figure you out, his gaze curious, almost intense.
"I saw you play at the feast last night," he said after a moment, his voice carrying an ease that made you slightly envious. "You were incredible. Honestly, I couldn't look away."
You felt your cheeks heat up, and you waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, no, it wasn't just me," you said quickly, glancing down at the lyre. "I played among others. It was nothing special."
He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Doesn't matter," he said, his tone light but sincere. "You were great, regardless."
Before you could think of a reply, he extended his hand out to you, his gaze unwavering. "Callias, at your service. I've come along with Princess Andreia from Bronte."
You blinked, staring for a second at his extended hand, your mind taking a moment to catch up.
A handshake? Here? Between servants?
Your eyes darted to his face, searching for any hint of mockery, but he just kept smiling, waiting patiently as if there was nothing unusual about his gesture.
Hesitantly, you wiped your hands on your dress before tentatively placing your hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, and he shook your hand with an ease that almost made your face heat up.
It was so casual, almost as if you knew each other for years, and the boldness of it threw you off-balance.
"I'm ____," you said softly, feeling the words stumble out of you.
He smiled again, broader this time, as if your awkwardness amused him. "____" he repeated, as if testing your name on his tongue.
You nodded, your hand still tingling from the unexpected contact. The handshake had felt strangely intimate—too bold, too modern for servants, especially in Ithaca.
You weren't quite sure how to react, so you just smiled politely, hoping the flush on your cheeks would die down soon.
"Well, um, welcome, Callias. I hope you find things to your liking here."
Callias gave you a nod, his smile turning almost conspiratorial, as if you shared some private joke. "I think I will," he said lightly, before casually leaning back on his hands, his gaze drifting up to the clear blue sky above.
You shifted slightly where you sat, unsure of what to say or do next. The unease from earlier had yet to fully disappear, replaced now by an odd mix of curiosity and apprehension.
Callias seemed comfortable—far more comfortable than you felt—and you couldn't help but wonder why he was here, sitting with you, instead of mingling with the other guests or tending to his duties.
"So, the Queen Penelope's personal handmaiden," he mused after a moment, his eyes flicking back down to you, his gaze soft but inquisitive. "That must be... interesting. Busy, I imagine."
You nodded, your fingers still fiddling with the strings of your lyre. "It is," you admitted. "The Queen is kind, though. She makes it worthwhile."
He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to piece something together. "And playing music—is that something you do often?"
You gave a small shrug, your gaze shifting to the lyre resting in your lap. "Whenever I have the time. It's more of a hobby than anything else."
"A hobby," he repeated, his tone light, almost teasing. "Well, it's a good one. You're talented—clearly."
You felt your cheeks flush again, and you ducked your head, letting out a soft laugh. "Thank you," you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.
Callias watched you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering before he finally looked away, his eyes once again drifting to the sky. "I think Ithaca's lucky to have someone like you," he said, his voice almost too soft to hear. "Someone who brings music and warmth to a place that's been through so much."
You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, you weren't quite sure how to respond. "Thank you," you said again, the words barely a whisper, your heart giving a small, unexpected flutter.
Callias' eyes then trailed down to the lyre sitting comfortably in your lap. His eyes brightened, a spark of excitement lighting them up as he leaned forward slightly. "What else can you play?" he asked.
You shifted a bit, unused to talking so openly with someone new—especially someone from another kingdom. After a moment, you answered, "Uh, well... I can play the sistrum, the aulos, and a few others." You trailed off awkwardly, your fingers absently toying with the strings of your lyre, the delicate notes barely audible.
The male let out an excited gasp before rummaging through his tunic. He pulled out a small instrument, a panpipe, holding it up with a cheeky grin on his face. "Can you play this?"
Curiously, you reached forward, and he placed it into your hands. You turned it over in your fingers, examining the little wooden instrument, its simple form somehow feeling significant.
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as you studied it. You had seen panpipes before—they were common—but for some reason, you hadn't thought to learn it. Almost as if the idea had simply slipped your mind.
You looked back up at Callias, humming softly as you held it back out to him. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever played this."
Callias just grinned, the teasing glint in his eyes growing even brighter. Without warning, he leaned forward, his larger, calloused hand covering yours, gently closing your fingers back around the pipes. "Wanna learn?" he asked, his voice a bit lower, almost conspiratorial. "I could teach you."
You blinked, taken aback by his closeness, the warmth of his hand on yours making your heart stutter. Your mouth opened and closed, no words forming as you tried to process his boldness.
Callias' grin grew even wider before he pouted playfully, his head tilting to the side as if pleading with you. "C'mon, ____. It's a fair trade—you teach me the lyre, I teach you the pipes. Deal?"
You stared at him, your eyes widening slightly at his audacity. But there was something disarming in the way he spoke—something almost childlike in his enthusiasm—that made it hard to say no.
Slowly, you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Alright, deal," you said softly.
The brunet beamed, his entire face lighting up with excitement. "Great! We'll start now then!"
Your eyes widened in surprise. "N-Now?" you stammered, glancing around the courtyard. It wasn't exactly crowded, but the thought of practicing a new instrument, here, in the open, made you nervous.
Callias chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched your apprehension. "Don't worry," he said, his voice gentle. "It's just me. No pressure." He leaned back, giving you some space as he gestured toward the pipes still in your hand. "Give it a try," he urged, his smile encouraging.
You took a deep breath, glancing down at the Panpipes, your fingers brushing over the smooth wood. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, hesitating for a moment before blowing softly, a gentle note escaping the pipes.
Callias clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. "See? You're already a natural!"
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. "I doubt that," you said, but there was a warmth in your chest now, the unease from earlier finally beginning to fade away.
"Here, lemme show you a simple song," Callias said, grabbing the pipes from your hand. He positioned them against his lips and began playing a soft, lilting melody. The notes flowed smoothly, the sound filling the air with a gentle charm.
You watched, entranced, as he played, his mouth moving deftly over the pipes.
After a few moments, he paused, looking at you with a grin. "See? Just follow along with the rhythm—nothing too fancy. It's simple enough. Here." He handed the pipes back to you, his smile encouraging.
You hesitated, feeling a bit of nervousness returning, but there was something so genuinely encouraging about Callias that made it hard to refuse. You took the pipes and held them to your lips, trying to mimic the way he had played.
The notes that came out were shaky, uneven, and you winced at the sound.
It felt... off. Not quite right.
You tried again, huffing slightly when the sound didn't come out as smoothly as it had for Callias.
With a pout, you pulled the pipes away from your lips, glaring down at the instrument. "Here," you muttered, holding it back out to him. "I can't seem to get it right."
Callias just laughed, his eyes twinkling as he took the pipes from you. "Aw, don't be too hard on yourself," he said teasingly. "Looks like there's finally an instrument you can't master."
You gave him a playful scowl, rolling your eyes. "Very funny," you mumbled, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.
Callias placed the pipes back into his tunic, patting them gently as if they were some treasured item. He leaned back further on his hands, his eyes closing as he let the sunlight warm his face. "It's okay, though. We can practice more another time," he said casually, as if he were already planning on spending more time with you.
You chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really? How can you be so sure there'll be a next time?" you teased, your voice light.
Callias grinned without missing a beat, his eyes still closed. He gave a lazy shrug, the corners of his lips quirking up. "I don't know... just a gut feeling," he hummed, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.
☆
☆
The two young royals walked slowly through the palace gardens, their feet crunching over the pebbled pathway.
The sun was bright, its golden rays filtering through the leaves of olive and laurel trees, the air filled with the scent of thyme and blooming myrtle. The gentle hum of bees and the occasional chirp of birds added a pleasant background, giving the illusion of perfect serenity.
Telemachus cleared his throat, trying to shift the awkwardness away. He turned to Andreia, offering her a small, polite smile. "So, Lady Andreia, what is it you'd like to talk about?"
Andreia sighed softly, her gaze drifting as they passed by a bush of narcissus flowers. She paused, reaching out to gently touch the soft petals, her fingers lingering there.
Telemachus couldn't help but think back to when you'd called them daffodils—what a silly name, he'd thought then, but now the thought made him smile.
"I must say," Andreia began, her voice almost wistful, "Ithaca is even more beautiful than I'd imagined. The people here are so kind, and everything is so... peaceful." She turned to look at Telemachus, her lips curving into a bright grin. "Despite the unfortunate reason for my visit, I find myself grateful for the chance to experience your homeland."
Telemachus blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Andreia had already begun walking again, her gaze fixed forward. As she moved, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes twinkling with a teasing light.
"I hear the prince of Ithaca is known for his hospitality," she said, her tone playfully challenging. "Does that extend to entertaining lonely guests as well?"
Telemachus found himself chuckling, the sound escaping him before he could even register it. It was strange—he hadn't expected to laugh, not in this moment, and definitely not with Andreia.
With a soft sigh, he followed after her, shaking his head slightly as he tried to push away the lingering thoughts of you beneath the cypress tree.
As they continued walking through the garden, Andreia engaged Telemachus in conversation, her voice warm and charismatic. She asked about the palace grounds, about his duties as the prince, and even about the people of Ithaca.
Her interest seemed genuine, her laughter light and easy as she responded to his answers.
Telemachus answered her questions politely, describing the routines he carried out to support his father and the responsibilities he had to the people of Ithaca. Andreia listened intently, her eyes never wavering from his face, and she nodded along, occasionally humming thoughtfully in response.
"I must say, my prince, for someone to be the son of a legend, you must be plenty prepared if trouble to arise, no?" Her eyes flickered back to Telemachus, her expression smoothing into one of respect. "The way he reclaimed his throne with such strength, such... resolve. It's rare to see a man so certain of his purpose, so willing to do whatever it takes for those he loves. It's admirable."
Telemachus blinked, watching her as she spoke.He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond. "My father has always been... determined," he said cautiously, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face.
Andreia turned back to him, her expression brightening once more, her smile easy and warm. "Indeed. And that determination is something that runs in the family, I'm sure." She reached out, lightly brushing her fingers against his arm in a gesture that seemed casual yet deliberate. "After all, Ithaca is in capable hands with you, isn't it?"
Telemachus forced another smile, nodding. "Thank you, Lady Andreia. I... appreciate your confidence."
She gave him a final, lingering look, her lips curving into a smile that held just a hint of mystery. "Confidence is easy when one knows what to look for, my prince."
After a while, the conversation took a more serious turn.
Andreia turned to face him fully, her steps slowing as they neared another flowerbed. "Prince Telemachus," she said, her voice softer now, "I know that there has been tension between Ithaca and Bronte in the past. It's unfortunate that we meet under such grim circumstances, but I cannot help but think that perhaps this is an opportunity."
Telemachus' brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head. "What do you mean, Lady Andreia?"
She smiled, her eyes glimmering with something that seemed both hopeful and calculating. "Well, your mother, Queen Penelope, spoke of the importance of peace between our kingdoms. She spoke so warmly of a future where Ithaca and Bronte could coexist without distrust or resentment. And I agree with her." Andreia stepped closer, her gaze never wavering from Telemachus' eyes. "Peace can be achieved, and strengthened, through alliances." She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, her tone almost coy. "Perhaps even through marriage."
Telemachus blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. For a moment, he was unsure if he had heard her correctly. "Marriage?" he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief.
Andreia giggled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't look so surprised, my prince. It's only a thought, after all." She leaned in slightly, her smile widening as she added, "A very practical thought, wouldn't you say? A formal alliance would ensure that our kingdoms remain on good terms."
Telemachus could feel the weight of her words settling on his shoulders. It was as if, in that single moment, everything had changed between them.
Lady Andreia was no longer just a guest in their home—no longer just a mourning sister seeking refuge. She had become a player on the board of politics, and suddenly, he too felt like a piece being maneuvered.
His role as her host, her supporter in a time of grief, had shifted—now, he was the prize, the potential bridge between two kingdoms.
The realization left him uneasy, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He forced a smile, though it felt a bit strained. "It is... certainly something to consider," he said, his voice careful, diplomatic.
Andreia's eyes sparkled, as if pleased by his response. "That's all I ask," she said, her tone light once more. She turned and continued walking, her fingers brushing against the leaves of a nearby shrub as they moved along the path. "I only wish for what is best for both our homes, Prince Telemachus." She glanced back at him with a teasing grin. "Besides, who wouldn't want to secure peace in such a charming place as Ithaca?"
Telemachus found himself chuckling again, though this time the laughter felt more like a reflex than genuine amusement; Andreia's suggestion had taken him off guard.
He hesitated, looking at her with a hint of curiosity. "Why are you so certain of this, Lady Andreia? We've only just met, after all," he said, his voice tinged with both hesitance and genuine curiosity.
Andreia paused, a playful hum escaping her lips as she tilted her head thoughtfully. She stepped closer to the flowerbed, her eyes catching sight of a cluster of blooms.
Without another word, she reached toward a bushel of vibrant flowers and plucked a stem delicately.
It was aconite, with its hooded, deep blue petals—though Telemachus couldn't recall its name. He watched as she approached him, the faint scent of the flower wafting through the warm air.
Andreia moved in close, her red tresses tumbling over her shoulder as she stood on her toes. Her perfume, light and sweet, mingled with the fragrance of the garden. She reached up, tucking the stem of the aconite behind Telemachus' ear, her fingers brushing against his skin.
The touch was gentle, almost intimate, and Telemachus found himself momentarily frozen.
A soft smile rested on her lips as she gazed into his eyes, her head tilting to the side in an endearing manner. "You could say... just a gut feeling," she murmured, her voice playful yet soft. And with that, she twirled away, her laughter echoing lightly as she continued along the garden path. "Now, I wonder if the anemones are in bloom," she mused aloud, as if her previous words hadn't left a strange tension in the air.
Telemachus watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest—confusion and perhaps a touch of unease. He reached up, touching the flower she had tucked behind his ear.
The gesture, the closeness, her words... they all left him with more questions than answers.
The prince wasn't sure what to do next—he knew he would have to tell his parents about this conversation, and the thought made him uneasy.
For now, though, he simply kept his thoughts to himself before following the young royal, unsure of what direction this unexpected turn would lead.
A/N: ahhh, i had so much fun with the lil hints thrown in here blahhhh, y'all i literally researched so many meaning and stuff cuz im a nerd and wanted to see if i can try my hand at suspense/tension building, anywho ignore my rambling, hope you enjoy the new OC Callias... [A/N: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐂 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 "𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬" 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦~]
callias:
#epic the musical#epic the ocean saga#epic the musical fanfic#jorge rivera herrans#the ocean saga#epic the musical x reader#greek mythology#greek gods#the odyssey#the odyssey x reader#etl#the troy saga#the cyclops saga#telemachus x reader#apollo x reader#hermes x reader#xani-writes: EPIC multi ml#x reader#greek gods x reader#apollo x you#telemachus#odysseus#penelope of ithaca#odysseus of ithaca#telemachus of ithaca#telemachus epic the musical#telemachus etm#apollo etm#hermes x you#xani-writes: godly things
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thinking about pathetic half-suicidal Halbrand in an au where Sauron’s been hiding out in the Southlands for decades, power diminished, ego thoroughly bruised. Gone are the grand towers, the orc armies, the Dark Lord aesthetic. These days, he’s Halbrand: local smith, decent with a hammer, decent enough with people. He doesn’t exactly like his life but much of his power is gone cause he spent the last centuries as a bowl of jajangmyeon.
Until Galadriel shows up.
She storms into the village with her company like a wrathful force of nature, dragging the smell of sea salt and vengeance with her. Sauron feels the shift before she even arrives—the unease among the villagers, whispers about some elf lady hunting Sauron. Hunting him.
And okay, maybe he could just let her do it. Maybe it’d even be fitting. She’s got her brother’s dagger, and he’s half-convinced its edges still carry the weight of Valinor’s light. Would it kill him for good? Who knows? But he thinks about it a lot more than he should.
Except… he’s not ready to die. Not quite yet.
So when Galadriel shows up and demands answers, Halbrand shrugs and spins a story. Yeah, some guy came through the smithy a few months ago. Shady type. Wanted me to fix a weapon or something— (he makes up something good, vague but believable).
And Galadriel—determined, brilliant, infuriating Galadriel—looks him straight in the eyes and says, "You’re coming with me."
Sauron doesn’t argue. Part of him is curious to see where this goes. Part of him wonders if dragging her into this mess will finally end it. So, Halbrand—the man she believes to be a helpful guide—sets off with Galadriel, the elf warrior who’s vowed to destroy him.
But as the days turn into weeks, something shifts. She’s relentless, yes, but also vulnerable in ways he never expected. She’s weighed down by grief, guilt, the sheer force of her own righteousness. And him? Well, he starts to admire her.
More than admire her.
The truth claws at him with every mile they travel. He knows this will end in disaster—how could it not? But for the first time in an eternity, he allows himself to hope.
Then, of course, she finds out. She puts the pieces together, and the betrayal is immediate, fiery, devastating. She’s furious—not just at him, but at herself. Because it’s not just vengeance anymore.
It’s love.
#haladriel#hope's aus#hope talks to hope#the rings of power#sauron#one ship to doom them all#saurondriel
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SHADOW
Daemon x Hightower!reader
Description - You’re alicent’s sister, back in kingslanding after years away, fed up of being overshadowed by your sister. But Daemon sees you potential, what you can be… with his help of course
SMUT!! 18+
Porn with loads of plot, dark!Daemon, manipulation, preying, sex, oral f!recieving, mentions of kidnapping. Daemon Is just devious. I did not proof read lol
a/n - huge thanks to @calmingmelody96 for helping inspire me to write this request, its so long but I had so much fun making this charcater!!!
Your dress was tight, too tight. As if the green fabric adorning your waist was trying to kill you. For that, you thought, a small part of you might be thankful. You didn’t feel natural being in Kings Landing again after so long, after all these years. Childhood memories which carried much joy now feeling tainted as you glance to the looming towers of Kings landing. The air was thick with the mingled scents of the city, Salts from black water bay, the tang of smoke from coutless chimneys, and the unmistakable stench of the teeming masses that calle the capital home. For her, it was both familiar and alien, like an echo of a song half forgotten.
It all looked the same, yet so strikingly different. Your dresses green was mirrored by the banners that fluttered proudly on the walls, mixing with the stark red dragon of the targaryen’s.
The sight of it all set your heart twisting - a pang of longing that was tainted with the bitterness you have harboured all these years. This was Alicent’s domain now, Alicent’s world.
The air here was thicker than the skies of Oldtown. The sound of your boots tapping along the cobble stone as you made you way to the red keep, it felt strange that you knew the way all by yourself. Granted you did live here for years, but it still all felt very unnatural to you coming back again
You had left kinglanding not long Alicent’s marriage to the King. Despite being a few years younger than them both, you would join Alicent and Rhanerya as they caused troubled around the castle, listening intently as rhanerya would tell you of what a warrior she would be one day as she rode on dragon back, and giggling as alicent taught her how to become a proper lady of the court. That was the time when your father loved you equally.
But soon, things changed, the girls grew up and so did you. Rhanerya and Alicent got into a fierce fight - Alicent telling you about it later in her frustrations. Rhanerya had laid with Ser Criston Cole, putting her honour on the line. And then Alicent was to marry the king. You were made aware far later than you should have been, you father always dragging Alicent away, secretly talking with her about things he deemed you not worthy of understanding. That was when your relationship truly faultered, Alicent no longer had time to be your sister, only your Queen. Your father had no time for you, Only his other daughter
At first you had tried to stay, trying to find a role in court. You just wanted to be close to Alicent. But the bing you once shared withered, turning you into a shadow of a family obsessed with power and position.
The descion to leave was your own, no one even thought about trying to stop you. Alicent had kept you away from rhanerya, you only other friend. How you wished you could listen to her stories once more. But as you bind with your sister died, so did the one with you friend. when you passed her in the halls, you were once again a shadow, nothing there to acknowledge.
Deep down that childish part of you had hoped for a latter or a visit, anything on your night of leave. None came. And so you buried the hurt, and buried the little girl who had grown up here, convincing yourself you were far better on you own, out of the vile web of lies and twisted politics
Each step up the stairs you took bringing a tight feeling on your chest.
The doors of the red keeps grand hall swung open - and there she was. Alicent. Your sister stood on the far side of the room, bathed in the white light shining from the tall windows. Time had refined her beauty, her soft childish features now sharpened and regal. Clad in a deep green gown, her every movement measured, elegant and deliberate. She truly was the Queen your father had modded her into.
Seeing your sister again only brought back the flood of memories you share, for a moment you were certain you could hear her giggle, echoing in your mind. The faint scent of the lavender perfume you would brain into each others hair.
But those memories were gone almost as quick as they came, replaced by the sharp sting of reality.
Alicent’s Gaze met yours, and for the briefest moment something flickered there - recognition or perhaps even guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by her polished mask of queen.
“Sister,” Alicent begins, stepping towards you with open arms “It gladdens my heart to see you, it had been far too long.”
Your heart twisted at the sound of her voice. It wasnt fair - how could she act as if nothing had happened all these years., You wanted to shout, to demand answers. But all you could do was stand there, frozen.
“Indeed, it has been.. long” You manage a stiff nod.
“Far too long dear sister, I have missed you.” Alicent replied, her smile unwavering
‘dear sister” the words felt hollow, like a polished piece of fruit, rotting inside. Missed you? why had she never written never sent word. You only heard of her children due to word of mouth.
“How have you been?” Alicent asked, her tone so light, so casual, as though they had parted only yesterday. Her hands grasping your unwilling ones.
You pulled her hands back slowly, your jaw tightening. “I’ve been as well as one can be,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It seems you’ve been… busy.”
If Alicent noticed the edge in your tone, she didn’t show it. “There is so much to catch up on,” she said, linking their arms as though nothing had changed. “Come, walk with me. You must tell me everything.”
As Alicent led you deeper into the keep, talking as though the years of silence had never existed, you felt your bitterness churn like a storm. you wanted to shake Alicent, to force her to acknowledge the hurt she had caused. But instead, you let herself be pulled along, your mind spinning.
It was clear Alicent wanted to erase the past, to pretend the years of abandonment didn’t matter. And maybe, for the sake of the queen’s peace, she expected you to do the same. But as they walked, one thing became certain—you wouldn’t make it so easy for your sister to forget.
The chamber was quieter than you had expected. Outside, the sounds of the bustling castle filtered through the walls—servants hurrying down corridors, the clang of preparations echoing from the kitchens, and the faint hum of voices carrying snippets of conversation. Yet here, within these four walls, it felt as though the air had stilled, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.
you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. Alicent’s words still echoed in your mind—a feast. A grand gathering to celebrate your return, Alicent had said, her voice warm and full of purpose. But beneath the surface, you knew there was more. There was always more with her sister now.
Your gaze flicked to the small mirror on the table, catching your own reflection. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The years had changed you—softened some features, hardened others—but it wasn’t just time. It was everything you had lost. Everything you had left behind
Your mind was now flowing with thoughts and worries. How would Rhanerya greet you? Would she be indifferent? Hostile - you knew her an Alicent’s relationship was over now. Or would she wear the same mask as alicent, pretending the past had never happened? you weren’t sure which would hurt more.
And then there were the others—the courtiers, the lords, the ladies, all of whom had watched you fade from the capital without a word, without a care. What would they think, seeing you now? A woman called back by her sister, thrust into the court she had abandoned, a pawn in games she no longer wished to play.
Perhaps tonight would be a reckoning. A chance to remind them all that you were not a woman to be forgotten or dismissed.The thought sent a flicker of fire through your veins, though it was quickly doused by the nerves coiling in your stomach. You stood and approached the window, looking out at the Red Keep bathed in the light of the setting sun. The feast would begin soon, and with it, the weight of a past you could no longer avoid.
With a deep breath, you turned back to the gown on the bed. If they wanted you to play the part tonight, you would. But it would be on her terms.
The dress you adorned that evening was not of your typical house style, your gown was crafted from a get black silk, small peaks of green lace poking through around the hem and bodice. You gave up all symbols of your house, not picking any of the gold jewellery you had. Instead a necklace. A silver one your mother had left you - you expressed your dislike for the family colours, this was something she left you an only you. Beautifully cast, shinning sharply in the light a small emerald in the middle, dangling on your chest. The necklace was tight, framing your neck and features. It fitted the low cut of the gown, you were no longer a child. Your gown sat delicately off your shoulders, the sleeves are embroider with the same green lace, yet a see through material. Silver chains frame the front of the bodice, you felt like a warrior, a knight maybe as they fit your snug and securely. No symbols of your house - other than the mild green adorned you that evening. You were a shadow, the black of your dress embracing that fact.
You step into the feast hall, deliberately late, and the moment the doors creak open, everything comes to a sudden, charged halt. The room falls into a heavy silence, like a breath held too long. You feel it—the weight of every single eye on you, the way their gazes burn into your skin. It isn’t unfamiliar, this attention. But tonight, it’s different. It’s not curiosity this time. It’s judgment, suspicion, and something colder, sharper. You feel the moment you’ve become the center of it all, and you savor it.
Your gown, the deep jet black of midnight, flows around you like a shadow, its silken fabric whispering against the floor as you move. It’s simple yet striking—elegant, with just a hint of rebellion woven into its very design. The silver chains draped across your bodice glint softly in the candlelight, the thin, intricate lines sharp and strong, like armor beneath the dark silk. The lace sleeves, almost ethereal, brush your arms like whispers of something long forgotten. The gown feels heavy in its defiance, the stark contrast to the rest of the court, and as you move through the room, you know it’s all they can see.
You catch his gaze—Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince. He sits there, as still as a shadow, his eyes never leaving you. There’s something in his stare, something unreadable and intense, that lingers a moment longer than it should. You feel it pull at you, as if his gaze could reach deep inside and expose what you refuse to show. You look away quickly, trying to push aside the strange fluttering in your chest. You’ve come here for yourself, for your own reasons, and not to be drawn in by anyone’s attention, not even his.
You remember the small moments, the ones that made your heart race, even though you knew they meant nothing. Daemon wasn’t cruel, not exactly. He would glance at you sometimes, when you were playing with Rhaenyra in the garden or lounging in the courtyard, his eyes flicking over you with a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was nothing—a momentary flicker of attention that was gone before you could even process it. But it was enough to make your heart race, enough to send a jolt of excitement through you every time he acknowledged you, even if only for a split second.
He would never say anything to you directly, never linger long enough to make you believe there was any real interest. Instead, it was those little gestures—how he would ruffle your hair playfully, as though you were still just a child, but the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Or the way he would give you a smirk when you said something, as if amused by your words, as if you had somehow caught his attention, even for just a fleeting second. He never made it obvious, never let on that he cared about you more than anyone else, but that was what made it so intoxicating. It was always just enough to keep you wondering, enough to keep your heart tied up in knots.
When Rhaenyra would run off, lost in her own world, you would find yourself alone with him in the garden, and the silence between you would stretch out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes, when he caught your eye, his expression would soften ever so slightly, and your breath would catch in your throat. You’d feel the heat in your cheeks, but you’d never look away. Not then. Not when he was looking at you like that, even if it was just for a moment.
He would lean in just a fraction closer as he spoke, his voice low and teasing, making you feel as though the conversation was just between the two of you. The others were never around, not when he let himself be just a little more relaxed, a little less of the untouchable prince. You lived for those brief moments, those stolen seconds when Daemon’s attention was on you, however fleeting it might be.
It was never more than that—a flicker, a smile, a brush of his hand against your arm—but it kept your heart bound to him, kept that crush alive even as the years passed. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t interested in you the way you dreamed. But still, when he glanced your way, when his eyes lingered just a second longer, it made your world spin just a little faster.
You force yourself to keep walking, straight-backed and steady, as you approach your sister. The silence follows you, the gazes still locked onto your every movement. When you reach the high table, you see her—Alicent. She looks so much the same, yet so very different, and when you sit beside her, the space between you feels like an abyss. You can sense the tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the edge of her goblet just a bit too tightly. The anger that simmers beneath her calm exterior isn’t something she’s even trying to hide now. It’s there, thick in the air, the silent wrath that she’s been holding back ever since you returned.
But you don’t flinch. You don’t look at her directly. Instead, you sit down with your back straight, your hands resting calmly on your lap as though nothing in this room could touch you. You can feel her tension, feel her eyes burning into you from the side, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The game has changed. You are no longer the girl she could command with a glance.
The air between you two thickens, like a storm that’s already begun to break. You feel it, the undeniable shift, as Alicent’s anger seethes just beneath the surface. But you hold your ground, your mind focused on the present moment, on the power you now hold in the space you’ve carved for yourself.
The moment you sit down, your eyes inevitably find him—your father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. He’s seated just a few places away, his posture as straight and composed as you remember, the weight of duty etched into every line of his face. He looks older, though. Perhaps it’s the years of maneuvering the chessboard that is court life, or perhaps it’s simply time catching up with him. But his eyes... they haven’t changed. They are still sharp, calculating, always looking for the next move.
For a moment, you’re struck by the sheer oddity of it—how he can seem so familiar and yet so distant all at once. You’d spent so many years trying to earn those eyes' approval, only for them to shift away from you and settle on Alicent the moment she married the King. You can still hear his voice echoing in your mind, dismissing you as if you were an afterthought: “You are no longer needed here.” The sting of those words hasn’t faded, even after all this time.
Now, though, his gaze has found you again, drawn there almost magnetically. But it isn’t approval you see. No, it’s something else entirely. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and you notice his eyes catch on the necklace resting just above the neckline of your gown. Your mother’s necklace—silver, not the greens or golds of your house. You haven’t worn it in years, not since the day he told you it didn’t “suit your station.” It had been easier, back then, to simply put it away, to avoid the argument, to not feel the heavy weight of his disapproval every time he looked at you. But tonight, it sits proudly against your skin, a subtle but deliberate act of rebellion. And you know he sees it. You see the flicker of recognition, the way his lips press into a thin line, the tightness in his jaw that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. He’s never been one for outbursts, not in public, but you know the signs of his displeasure as well as you know your own reflection.
Alicent notices too. Her eyes flick briefly to your necklace, her expression unreadable. She’s perfected that, hasn’t she? The calm mask that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath. But you see the slight shift in her posture, the way her hand stills on her goblet for just a moment too long. She recognizes it as well—your mother’s necklace, the one that had been left to you and only you. And though her face remains impassive, you can sense something stirring beneath the surface. Guilt, perhaps? Or simply discomfort? You can’t be sure, and you don’t particularly care.Your father, however, is a different story. You meet his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink under the weight of his disapproval. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’ll say something, if he’ll try to admonish you here, in front of the entire court. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
And for the first time in years, you feel a strange sense of power. It’s not much, just a small spark, but it’s there—a quiet defiance that burns brighter with each passing second. Let him stew in his disapproval. Let him wonder if you wore the necklace for this very reason, to remind him of what he cast aside. Because in truth, maybe you did.
The feast continues, but for you, it’s like you’re in a different world—your heart beats steadily, and a quiet sense of satisfaction hums through you. You’ve made your choice. Tonight, you are no longer just a pawn. Tonight, you are the one who will shape the story.
And as Daemon’s gaze lingers on you once more, you smile to yourself, knowing that he—like everyone else in this room—will soon see that you are a force to be reckoned with.
The feast hall hums with life, the air thick with the clink of silverware, the rustle of rich fabrics, and the soft murmur of conversation. You sit in silence, the noise of the room all but fading into the background as you watch the scenes unfold before you. Lords and ladies cluster in small groups, their voices low but eager, whispers floating like smoke in the air. They glance at you now and then, no doubt wondering what’s behind the change in your appearance, the subtle defiance in your gown, in your presence. They can’t decide whether you are the same, or something new. You don’t mind. Let them wonder.The soft strains of music begin to fill the hall as the dancers step onto the floor, swirling in delicate steps as the violins and lutes carry the rhythm of the night. The bright, flowing colors of the dancers’ gowns blur in the air as they move, their laughter light and carefree. The court seems to forget its formalities for a brief moment, caught in the frivolity of the dance, the sound of soft feet tapping against the stone floors. You feel like an observer, watching them from your seat, your own heart at a steady, deliberate beat, disconnected from the joy that surrounds you. You don’t dance tonight. Tonight, you are simply here, marking your place.
The King, kind-hearted as he always was, leans toward you with a smile, his voice gentle as he speaks. “It’s good to see you back at the capital,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. He’s never been anything but kind to you, his eyes always carrying that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to feel anything but at ease in his presence. You nod politely, your lips curling into a small smile, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the room shift around you. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly. But it’s different now. There’s something in the air tonight that you can’t quite shake. You sense the tension in the corners of the hall, in the soft glances exchanged when they think no one is watching.
You see Alicent’s head snap to the king, you could tell she did not approve of his kindness, but she didn’t care say anything. After all, she needed this night to go incredibly well.
Before you can respond fully, Rhaenyra leans toward you, past her father, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her words a comfort, a reminder of the past. “I know I haven’t written... I should have. I’m sorry for that. Things have been... complicated.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes—those familiar, warm eyes—hold something more, something unspoken, a shared understanding of how much has changed since the days when you were just children.
“Thank you rhanerya, its so lovely to see you again” a soft smile graces your features and youre glad that something positive has managed to from from this night. Alicent one more looking frustrated by the kindness of rhanerya’ a words, yet the princess paid her no mind.l
Rhanerya opens her mouth to carry on, when a new voice breaks in, cutting through the conversation like a blade. “A dance, my lady?”
Daemon Targaryen.
He stands at the edge of the table, a playful smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief as he surveys you. He’s always had that look about him—the kind that makes your stomach tighten, the kind that draws you in despite yourself. You feel the room’s attention shift again, as if everyone is waiting for you to respond, waiting to see what you’ll do. You know what they expect, what they want to see: a game, a flirtation, perhaps even a refusal that will keep the air buzzing with gossip for the rest of the night.
But you’re no fool. You know the rules here, and you know Daemon well enough to know that he’s never one to simply walk away. He stands there, waiting, his smirk deepening as he looks from you to the others at the table, all too aware of the eyes on him.
Rhaenyra’s expression falters just for a moment, but only for a brief second—something in her eyes, a flicker of recognition. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy or something else, but it’s gone before you can truly understand it. She shifts, her gaze quickly returning to Daemon, then back to you. You can almost hear her soft, unspoken question: What will you do now?
You know what the court expects. You know the rumors that swirl around Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the dashing yet dangerous man who can make any woman’s heart race. But tonight, you are not the girl you once were. You are no longer the one who swooned at his glances, who dreamt of him in secret. Tonight, you are your own woman, unafraid to carve your own path, even if that path leads into the whirlwind of trouble Daemon inevitably brings.
But still, when his eyes meet yours, you feel that familiar flutter, that rush of something old and dangerous stirring within you.
“A dance?” you repeat, a slight smile tugging at your lips. You hesitate, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, before you rise, the tension in the air palpable. The music swells around you as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you like a shadow, as the hall watches you, the game already set in motion.
And for just a moment, you wonder if this night will change everything.
Daemon extends his hand, his grin sharp as a blade, his silver hair catching the glow of the hall’s countless candles. His confidence is infuriating and intoxicating all at once, and you can feel the room’s collective breath catch as you place your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sends a ripple of something electric up your spine. He leads you to the center of the dance floor with the grace of a man who knows exactly what kind of chaos he inspires.
The music shifts as the two of you step into place, the tempo slow and seductive, perfectly suited to the swirl of your gown as he begins to guide you. His movements are precise yet effortless, and you find yourself matching his steps with an ease that surprises you. His smirk deepens as his eyes meet yours. “The Queen of Shadows,” he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “How fitting. A shadow is all they’ve ever let you be... but tonight, you’ve turned it into a crown.”
Your breath catches at the words, a mixture of disbelief and... something else. The way he says it, it’s not mockery. It’s a compliment—a rare, genuine acknowledgment of your defiance, your power. For years, you’ve been invisible, cast aside, an afterthought. And yet here you are, the center of attention, with the Rogue Prince himself spinning you around the room as though you are the only one who matters.
The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you meet his gaze head-on. “Careful, Prince Daemon,” you reply, your voice laced with a confidence you haven’t felt in years. “Someone might think you mean that.”
“Oh, I do,” he murmurs, twirling you effortlessly before pulling you back against him. His hand rests at the small of your back, firm yet not restricting. “You’ve always been wasted in the shadows. Tonight, you remind them all what a mistake that was.”
You can feel the heat of countless eyes on you, but none more so than Alicent’s. She sits rigid at the high table, her expression betraying a flicker of worry as she watches the two of you glide across the floor. You know exactly what she’s thinking. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She’s fretting over the arrangement she’s carefully orchestrated, the marriage she’s likely secured for you without your consent. But you don’t care. Not tonight.
Otto’s face is a mask of controlled tension, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair just a fraction too tightly. He, too, is calculating, trying to figure out how to intervene without causing a scene. But Daemon doesn’t give them the chance. He spins you again, drawing you further into the crowd of dancers, further away from their reach.
“They’re furious, you know,” Daemon teases, his voice laced with amusement. “Your father, your sister... I’d wager half the room is scandalized.”
Good,” you reply, your voice firm. “Let them be.”
He chuckles at that, a low, rich sound that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t fully understand. “That’s the spirit. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than they realize.”
The music swells, and Daemon guides you through the intricate steps with a practiced ease, his hand never faltering as he keeps you close. He leans in slightly, his lips near your ear. “But tell me,” he says, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “did you wear this gown for yourself... or for me?”
Your heart stutters for a moment, but you catch yourself before you falter. You tilt your head slightly, your own smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His laughter is soft and wicked, and as the dance carries you both across the floor, you realize that, for the first time in years, you feel truly alive. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Tonight, you are no longer a shadow. Tonight, you are something more. And the Rogue Prince, with all his dangerous charm, seems to see it too
You were far to busy to notice you father and sister slipping away from the feast
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The murmur of the feast hall echoes faintly down the corridor, but here, in the shadowed alcove behind a tapestry, Alicent stands with her father, their voices low. Her fingers nervously trace the edges of her green gown, her expression carefully measured.
“She’s drawing far too much attention,” Alicent murmurs, glancing toward the faint glow of the hall. “Daemon, of all people. If she continues like this, the lords will start talking, and that cannot happen.”
Otto, ever composed, clasps his hands behind his back. “She won’t have the chance. The arrangement has already been made. The match is strong, politically advantageous. Once it’s announced, her theatrics will be irrelevant.”
Alicent nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “Does she truly need to be told tonight? This was meant to bring her back into the fold, not alienate her further.”
“She has no choice,” Otto says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The King has agreed. It is done.”
Alicent swallows, her throat tight as she lowers her gaze. “She’ll hate me for this,” she whispers.
Otto’s voice softens slightly, but it remains resolute. “Better that she hates us now than jeopardizes the stability of the realm. She’ll come to see the wisdom of it in time.”
The sound of laughter swells from the feast hall, and Alicent straightens, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she forces a calm expression onto her face. “Very well,” she says quietly, before stepping back toward the festivities
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The feast blurs around you, the laughter and music fading into the background. The weight of Daemon’s gaze pulls at you, as if tethering you to him despite the chaos swirling in the hall. You’ve tried to ignore him, to keep your composure, but when he suddenly appears at your side, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there.
“Are you bored yet, little shadow?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
You glance at him, trying to mask your curiosity. “And why would that concern you?”
His smirk is wicked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because I know how much you hate being their obedient little puppet. And because I have a much better idea for how to spend the evening.”
Your brow furrows, suspicion flickering in your chest. “What are you suggesting?”
He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Come with me. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”
Part of you worries the man is toying with you, you were no fool, you knew what he was like. But you cant help be drawn into his trap.
The air between you feels charged, dangerous. You know you shouldn’t. You know whatever he has planned will only make things worse. But the allure of defiance, of stepping out of the role they’ve forced you into, is too tempting to resist.
He was the wolf, guiding you to slaughter. Daemon knew what he wanted, and if toying with you was what he had to do, then so be it.
A dark streak in him loved to watch as you fell into his plan, just as he thought you might.
Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.
The cool night air greets you as Daemon leads you through the darkened corridors of the castle. Your gown whispers against the stone floors, and the sound of the feast grows faint behind you. You should feel nervous, but instead, there’s a strange exhilaration coursing through your veins.
“Where are we going?” you whisper, your voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.
Daemon glances back at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “You’ll see.”
He leads you out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The city of King’s Landing sprawls beyond, its lights twinkling like a sea of stars. Daemon leans against the railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as they study you.
“Do you know what they see when they look at you?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.
You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”
“They see a girl too afraid to claim what’s hers,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours. “Too afraid to break the rules they’ve chained her with. You let them shape you, define you, when you could be so much more.”
His words sting because they’re true, and he knows it. But there’s something in his tone, something almost cruel in the way he peels back your defenses. The way he’s sculpting you into what he needs you to be.
“And what do you see?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost a challenge. You desperately wanted to know.
A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face before he steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the silver chain of your mother’s necklace. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who could burn it all down if she dared.”
The words are intoxicating, and you hate how much they resonate. He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“They think they can control you,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing the necklace. “Prove them wrong. Let them see what happens when you step out of their grasp.”
Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. “How?”
Daemon’s smirk returns, sharper now. “By doing what they’d never expect. By doing exactly what they forbid.”
He gestures out toward the city, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. Sneaking out of the castle with him would be reckless, dangerous—everything they would hate. And he knows that.
“You want to unsettle them?” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”
There’s a challenge in his eyes, and you can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You know he’s playing on your desire for freedom, on the resentment simmering in your chest. But the temptation to follow him, to throw caution to the wind, is impossible to ignore.
Temptation was all Daemon was, he thrived off it. Relishing in how you gave into it so easily.
As you stare back at him, you realize that Daemon isn’t just dangerous—he’s intoxicatingly so. And tonight, he’s offering you a taste of that danger, knowing full well it’s something you can’t resist
The air outside the castle walls is thick with the scent of the city—smoke, spice, and the faint tang of the sea. It’s noisy here, alive in a way the stifling halls of the Red Keep never are. Daemon moves through the labyrinth of streets as if he owns them, his steps confident, his silver hair catching the glow of lanterns as he glances back at you.
“Try to keep up, little shadow,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You quicken your pace, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings overwhelm you. The streets are crowded, lined with vendors, performers, and people shouting over one another. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and you feel the weight of every curious glance thrown your way.
“Daemon,” you hiss, catching up to him. “Where are we going?
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as a group of rowdy men stumble past. The touch is possessive, almost territorial, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re with me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”
His words are meant to be reassuring, but there’s an edge to them, a reminder of his reputation. You don’t pull away, though, and he notices, his smirk deepening.
The tavern is dimly lit, filled with the smell of ale and sweat. The din of laughter and shouting washes over you as Daemon leads you inside. It’s a far cry from the elegant halls of the castle—crude and chaotic—but Daemon seems entirely at ease.
He tosses a coin to the barkeep without breaking stride, securing two goblets of wine before steering you toward a corner table. The wooden bench creaks as you sit, and you feel the weight of curious eyes on you.
“You’ve done this before,” you say, watching him over the rim of your goblet as you take a cautious sip.
“More times than I can count,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat. “The city is far more entertaining than that gilded cage we left behind.”
You glance around, the noise and unfamiliarity pressing in on you. “I’m not sure I belong here.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans forward, his voice dropping. “That’s where you’re wrong. You belong wherever you choose to be. The problem is, you’ve spent your entire life letting others decide for you.”
His words sting, but there’s a truth to them that you can’t ignore. You look away, swirling the wine in your goblet, and he chuckles softly.
“You’re too used to being told who you are,” he says, his tone softening just enough to draw you back in. “But tonight, you get to decide. No one here knows your name, your bloodline. You could be anyone.”
You glance at him, searching for any sign of mockery, but his expression is unreadable. “And who are you when you’re not the rogue prince?”
His smirk returns, but there’s something darker beneath it. “Exactly who I choose to be.”
The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
As the night wears on, Daemon’s attention never wavers from you. He teases, flirts, and challenges you at every turn, his words laced with a mix of charm and provocation.
When a musician begins to play, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Dance with me.”
“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.
“Why not?” he counters, his smirk daring you to refuse.
You hesitate, but the weight of his gaze and the pull of his confidence draw you to your feet. The floor is uneven, the space too crowded, but Daemon moves as if none of it matters. His hand finds your waist, his other clasping yours, and he guides you into a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
“I’m not used to this,” you admit.
His smirk softens into something almost resembling patience. “That’s the point, little shadow. You’ve spent too long hiding. Let them see you.”
His words sink deep, stirring something inside you. But even as you let him lead, you can’t ignore the way he looks at you—as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if every word and gesture is calculated.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask suddenly, searching his face for an answer.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “Because you deserve to know what it feels like to live.”
But there’s something else in his eyes, something he doesn’t say. And as he spins you across the uneven floor, you realize that with Daemon, the line between freedom and manipulation is razor-thin. He’s offering you a taste of something intoxicating, but at what cost?
The tavern hums with the chaotic noise of its patrons, but in this small corner, everything feels unbearably still. Daemon’s eyes are fixed on yours, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a magnet. The warmth of his hand rests lightly on your waist, the touch sending a strange shiver through your body. You can feel your heart racing, uncertainty curling in your stomach.
“Daemon...” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend.
He leans in closer, the proximity making it impossible to breathe normally. The scent of wine and something darker—more dangerous—lingers around him, but it’s intoxicating, and you can’t seem to pull away.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Daemon whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. “I won’t hurt you, little shadow. Not unless you want me to.”
Your breath hitches at the weight of his words. You know better than to be so close, to let him get under your skin like this, but something inside you trembles with curiosity, with an aching desire to know what he’s offering.
But there’s still hesitation, a voice in your mind warning you to be careful, to stop before things go too far. You glance around, but the world outside this little bubble of silence feels distant. There’s no escape.
“I... I’m not sure,” you whisper, your heart pounding.
Daemon’s fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, the touch soft but purposeful, sending a wave of heat rushing through you. He smiles, a slow, knowing thing that sends an uneasy thrill through your veins.
“I think you are,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, the words laced with something darker, something you don’t fully understand yet. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just needed a little push.”
Before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, the kiss coming so swiftly you don’t have time to think, to pull away. His lips are firm against yours, and the world fades. You can taste the wine on his breath, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, you forget everything else.
But then, a flicker of awareness creeps back into your mind—his hands, too deliberate in their hold, the force behind the kiss, the way his tongue brushes against yours with an almost possessive edge. You want to pull away, but the pull of his touch keeps you rooted, his lips deepening the kiss, coaxing you further into the storm he’s created.
For a moment, you let it happen—because you want it, don’t you? There’s no mistaking the way your pulse quickens, the way your body reacts to him, to the dangerous thrill of what’s happening between you.
But then, a small voice inside you whispers that this isn’t what it seems. Daemon isn’t just taking what he wants; he’s testing you. He’s pushing you, knowing you won’t resist, and that thought should terrify you, but instead, it only deepens the knot in your stomach.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes watching you with a glimmer of something—triumph, perhaps, or perhaps it’s something more complex.
“You’re so innocent,” Daemon breathes, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “So naive. But you’ll learn.
The words hang between you, heavy and loaded. And for the first time, you realize that the weight of his care is just as suffocating as his manipulation. He sees you as a puzzle, something to unravel, and in doing so, he’s slowly drawing you into his world—one where rules are bent, and where the only thing that matters is getting what you want.
You blink, your breath shaky, trying to regain your composure, but it’s hard with Daemon so close. You can’t tell if the heat in your chest is desire or something darker.
“What... what do you want from me?”
Daemon chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Everything, little shadow. Everything.”
The moon is a silver crescent, casting shadows across the streets of King’s Landing as you and Daemon slip through the dark alleys, hearts still racing from the night’s escapade. The thrill of defiance still buzzes in your veins, but something else gnaws at you—a feeling you can’t shake, a creeping sense that this is all too dangerous, that you’ve stepped too far into a world you can’t control.
Daemon walks beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours. You can’t tell whether it’s for your comfort or his, but you don’t pull away. His grin is still mischievous, his eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy that makes your heart skip a beat.
“I do enjoy watching them squirm,” Daemon murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you hear it clearly. “You, little shadow... you do have a knack for it.”
Your chest tightens with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. This was reckless—this was too much. But just as quickly, your rebellious streak rises again, and you refuse to be the one to regret. Not yet.
However, as you near the castle gates, you realize too late that you’ve already lost the luxury of freedom. The looming figures of your family stand before you, gathered like statues carved from ice. Alicent’s face is pale with fury, her lips tight in an unforgiving line. Otto stands at her side, his expression unreadable but sharp as a blade. The King, normally so composed, stands with furrowed brows and clenched fists.
Rhaenyra’s presence only makes it worse—her eyes flick between you and Daemon, her gaze mixed with concern and a subtle understanding of the storm that’s about to break.
Before you can even take another step, Alicent’s voice slices through the air like a whip.
“There you are. Thought you could slip away unnoticed, did you?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her voice tightening. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand that? You’ve ruined your future. Your marriage to Lord Harroway... gone. All because of this.” She points an accusing finger at Daemon, her eyes filled with disdain.
Daemon, ever the provocateur, gives a lazy smile. “Ruined? Hardly. She’s free for once. Shouldn’t that be celebrated, dear sister?” His voice oozes mockery, and you can’t help but feel a spark of anger at his casual disregard for the consequences.
Your heart lurches as Alicent’s words sink in, the anger bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t know! You—you never told me! I didn’t even know about this... this arranged marriage!”
“You don’t have the luxury of ignorance,” Otto’s voice cuts in, cold as ice. “The plans were made. Your future was decided long ago. And now, thanks to your impulsive behavior, we have to start from scratch.”
“I have to start from scratch? What about you?” you snap, your temper flaring. “You’ve decided my life for me without even asking what I want, without ever giving me a choice!”
Alicent steps closer, her voice hissing through gritted teeth. “You have no choice now. You’ve made your bed, and you’ll lie in it. There’s no room for him in it. Not anymore.” She points at Daemon again, and you feel a pang in your chest. The venom in her words cuts deeper than you expected.
Daemon, undeterred, steps forward with that same cocky smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. “What’s the problem, sister? Afraid my presence will overshadow your perfect little plans? Your little puppet of a daughter?” His words are sharp and deliberately cruel.
Daemon’s voice becomes dangerously soft. "You think you can just control her, that you can marry her off like some prize? You should be grateful, Otto, that I didn’t choose to go even further."
Daemon leans in just a bit closer to Otto, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "After all, I kissed her. Right under your nose. I took what you thought you could control." He lets the words hang in the air like a heavy, biting taunt, the cruelty of the statement drawing a sharp intake of breath from Otto and the others.
You see Alicent’s hands tighten at her sides, her jaw locking in fury, but it’s Otto who steps forward next, his voice low and dangerous.
“Enough. This ends now. I don’t care if you’re the King’s brother. You’ve risked her honor—my daughter’s honor—and I will not tolerate it.”
Daemon doesn’t back down, though. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper, more calculating. “You know you can’t cage me, Otto. She wanted this. She wanted the freedom.”
For a moment, Daemon leans into otto, right next to his ear muttering something only otto can hear “How about I fuck her next, then you’ll truly be ruined.”
You have no idea what Daemon said, but Otto pushed him away with such hatred in his eyes, you knew it was bad. “You bastard!” otto bellowed
Daemon chuckles darkly. "I’m not done yet. If you try to stop me again, Otto... you’ll regret it. I’ll take her whenever I want—no one, not even you, can stop me. I’ll just steal her away from you. And if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make sure your precious plans fall apart for good."
He grins, his expression both teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix of arrogance and cruelty. "The marriage is ruined, Otto. She’ll never be yours to control, not after this. You’ve lost."
Daemon then turns to look at you, eyes cold, calculating. "And don’t think I’m done with you either," he sneers, amusement flickering in his voice. "You were so willing to follow my lead tonight, to sneak away with me. And yet you stand there like you’re innocent. Do you really think I’ll let you just go back to your life?"
His words hit you harder than expected, and you can’t help but feel that the power Daemon wields over you is suffocating. You want to speak, to argue, but his presence is overpowering, his smirk twisting your insides into a knot.
Before you can react, the King steps forward, cutting off Daemon’s threat with a sharp command. "Daemon!" The King’s voice rings through the night like a hammer. "Enough of this insolence!"
Daemon’s gaze flickers briefly toward the King, his smirk returning. "Ah, the old man finally speaks. Are you afraid of losing control of everything, Your Grace?"
The King’s face hardens. "No one is taking her anywhere. You will not leave this castle with her. And if you try anything... there will be consequences."
Daemon’s smirk falters for just a moment, but then, in the blink of an eye, he gives a slight, mocking bow. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand." His voice is laced with sarcasm, and though he’s feigning submission, the air of threat still lingers in his every word.
Daemon turns back to you, his eyes still dark, but with a hint of something more—something that could be regret, or perhaps satisfaction at having rattled the cages. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he steps away, his presence still hanging heavily in the air.
Later, you find yourself in the cold, sterile confines of your chamber, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing finality. The guards stand at attention outside, their presence a silent reminder that you’re not free to leave.
The anger inside you refuses to fade. How could they do this to you? How could they keep this marriage a secret, control every part of your life like this? Your hands tremble as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. This was your life. Your choice. But now...
“You will marry Lord Harroway.” Otto’s voice, gravelly and severe, breaks through your spiraling thoughts. You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his face set like stone.
“I will not,” you say, your voice low, but steady. “You can’t force me into this. I won’t be some prize to be handed over for a political alliance.”
Otto takes a step closer, his eyes cold with an authority that’s suffocating. “You have no choice in this. You’ve ruined everything. Daemon has ruined everything. You will do what’s expected of you.”
Your chest tightens, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill. “I don’t want him,” you whisper, the truth cutting through your anger like a knife. “I want me. I want my freedom. Why can’t you see that?”
Otto’s expression hardens further, his jaw clenched as if the mere thought of your independence disgusts him. “You don’t get to decide that. It was decided long before you were born. You will marry Lord Harroway. If you want to see Daemon again—if you want any part of your life back—you’ll accept the life we’ve planned for you. There are no more choices.”
The finality in his words hangs in the air like a death sentence. You stand abruptly, your legs shaky beneath you.
“I won’t... I won’t do it.”
“Then you’ll live with the consequences,” Otto replies, his voice colder than ever. He turns to leave, but then pauses. “You’ll stay here until your head is clear. And if I hear of Daemon again, if I even hear his name from your lips...”
The threat is left hanging, and you can’t help but shudder at the coldness in his tone. The door slams behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your prison.
Anger burns hot in your chest, a tangled mess of fury at your family, at the life they’ve forced upon you, and yet, there's something darker festering within. You’re furious with Daemon too—furious that he pushed you into this, egging them on with his recklessness, his devil-may-care attitude. Did he ever stop to think about the consequences? About how you would bear the weight of his actions? Of course not. He took what he wanted, without a second thought, and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces. And the worst part? You still want him
The days drag on, suffocating you in your solitude. Your chamber has become a prison, and every second spent there is a constant reminder of how tightly your family has bound you—your father, your mother, Alicent, all of them shaping your life without a care for what you want. They’ve planned your marriage, decided your future, and left you with no choice but to accept it.
The anger you feel burns hot inside you, but it’s a quiet rage, simmering beneath the surface. And then, just when you think you might explode, you hear it—the sound of your door creaking open.
Daemon.
He steps inside without hesitation, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling familiarity. The way he looks at you—it’s like he knows something you don’t.
For a second, your heart skips in your chest, and a twinge of excitement rushes through you. But then, the anger floods back, sharp and bitter. You feel it, and you want to lash out at him. He’s the reason everything has gone to hell. He’s the one who pushed your family to this point, his reckless actions leaving you to clean up the mess.
“just in your night gown my lady? How scandalous” he jokes, a sultry look in his eyes
“Daemon…” you hiss, not bothering to hide the fury in your voice. “What are you doing here? You’ve ruined everything! My life is no longer my own, and now you show up like it’s some kind of joke?”
He smiles, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is laced with amusement, as if the destruction of your life is just another game to him. “But let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy it a little. You did, didn’t you?” His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to play, and now we both have to face the consequences.”
You flinch at his words. It’s true—you did enjoy the attention, the excitement, the flirtation. But you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t expect him to abandon you, to let you suffer the consequences of his actions.
You cross your arms, trying to steady your breath. “How dare you speak to me like that the other night?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it doesn’t matter. You want him to know how deeply he’s hurt you, how careless he was with his words.
Daemon chuckles lowly, a sound that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. He stops just in front of you, his eyes glinting with something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you think I didn’t mean it?”
You recoil slightly, the words stinging. “What’s wrong with you?” you snap, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.
He’s too close now, too overwhelming. His presence fills the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Daemon’s fingers brush against your arm as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you’re angry,” he whispers. “I know you want to hate me. But you can’t. Not really. Not when you know how much I’ve ruined you...”
You swallow, the accusation hanging in the air. His words have a way of finding their mark, cutting deep into the places you thought were safe.
“I’ve ruined your little plans,” he continues, his voice mocking. “But you followed me, didn’t you? You followed me just as easily as you’ve followed everything else. And I know you can’t stop thinking about it. About me.” He pauses for a moment, eyes trailing over your face, reading every flicker of emotion. “You can’t stay angry at me, not when you know you want to be with me.”
His hand slowly reaches for your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip is tight, possessive, and for all your anger, you don’t push him away.
Daemon’s smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “You’ve always wanted to be a part of my world. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You couldn’t resist me then, and you won’t resist me now.”
His words are like a gentle caress to the skin, but they’re coated with venom, sharp and cruel beneath the surface. The accusation burns, and you want to deny it, want to push him away with everything in you. But something in the pit of your stomach churns—doubt, confusion, and a pull that you can’t seem to escape.
Daemon leans closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You hate that I’ve made you feel this way. But you know, deep down, that you’ll forgive me. Because, whether you like it or not, you belong to me now.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and Daemon watches you carefully, his gaze a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knows exactly how deeply his words are cutting into you. He’s playing you like a stringed instrument, and you’re helpless to resist.
His lips brush against your ear, whispering softly, “You’ll forgive me, because you have no choice. You’ll forgive me because, no matter how much you deny it, you want me. And you know, darling, that’s the hardest truth you’ll ever have to face.”
You close your eyes, anger mixing with confusion, as Daemon straightens up, his fingers lingering on your chin a moment longer before he releases you. He steps back, seemingly content with himself, watching you, waiting for you to break, to give in.
“And don’t pretend you’re above it,” he adds, his voice low and cutting. “You’re not. You’ll forgive me. You always do.”
Daemon steps closer, the air between you thick with something charged. His presence is overpowering, and every part of you wants to pull away. But you can’t. You’re drawn to him in ways you don’t want to admit.
His voice softens, and he places a hand on your arm, his touch far too intimate, far too familiar. “Don’t be angry with me,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little closer. “I know you’re upset. But we both know you’re not some delicate flower. You’ll weather this storm better than anyone else.”
You can’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. The way he speaks, like he understands you, like he’s the only one who truly gets you—it makes your resolve start to crack. Your anger still lingers, but it’s harder to hold onto with him standing there, looking at you like he’s the only one who sees the real you.
“I’m not some pawn in your game,” you snap, even though part of you wonders if you already are. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to come here and tell me everything will be fine, Daemon. Because it won’t be.”
He smiles again, but this time, there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory, like he’s toying with you, pushing you into a corner you didn’t even know existed. “You’re angry,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. “I understand that. But don’t mistake my actions for cruelty. I did this because I knew you were strong enough to handle it. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re... different.”
You swallow hard, the words stirring something inside you. He’s right, in a way. You are different. You’ve always felt out of place, like the world around you was something you had to adapt to instead of shaping it for yourself. Daemon makes it sound so... tempting, as if he’s offering you a chance to be something more than just the dutiful daughter.
But then he steps closer, and the moment your skin touches his, something shifts. His presence is overwhelming, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s dangerous. You know this. He’s the reason your life is in chaos. But the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen, it draws you in like a moth to the flame.
“You’re stronger than you know,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the line of your arm. “But you don’t have to face this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”
His words are so smooth, so convincing, and in that moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who will help you find a way out of this mess
“You can’t fix this, Daemon,” you say, though your voice cracks, betraying the doubt in your chest. “You’ve already made everything worse.”
“I’m not here to fix it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if the words are meant for only the two of you. “I’m here to offer you an escape. An escape from them. An escape from the life they’ve planned for you.”
The weight of his words hits you hard. You’ve been trapped for so long, your fate sealed by others, and the thought of escaping it, of finally having control over your life, is a temptation you can’t ignore.
Daemon watches you closely, reading the turmoil in your eyes. “You don’t have to be their puppet anymore,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your skin. “Come with me. Leave this place behind. I’ll make sure you’re free.”
Your heart races. Every part of you wants to run, to escape this suffocating existence. But you hesitate, because you know that following him means crossing a line you can never uncross. Yet, his gaze pulls you in, and for just a moment, the desire to be free, to be anything but the person they’ve molded you into, is stronger than anything else.
You look up at him, your breath shallow, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What do I do now?”
Daemon’s smile is slow, almost too pleased with himself. “Come with me,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll show you.”
Before you can say another word, his hand is on yours again, and he pulls you toward the door. Every step you take feels like a leap into the unknown, but you follow him anyway, trusting him more than you should, believing in the words he’s whispered into your ear
Daemon’s chambers are dimly lit, the flickering flame of the candles casting shadows that stretch across the stone walls like ghosts. The air is thick with the quiet of the night, but the tension is palpable. You stand near the door, heart racing in your chest as your nightgown clings too tightly to your skin, an innocent, exposed fabric that makes you feel both vulnerable and strange in Daemon’s presence. It’s just the two of you in this room now, and every breath feels heavy, weighted with the electricity that hums between you.
Daemon leans casually against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his waist, his gaze fixated on you with a curiosity that’s both unsettling and magnetic. His eyes—those stormy, knowing eyes—never leave you, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, yet is intent on solving.
“You’ve made quite a habit of defying your family,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that mischievous edge you’ve come to know all too well. “It’s... interesting. They thought they could control you, tie you down with a simple marriage, a pretty little contract. But here you are, free as ever. It suits you.”
You shift uncomfortably, his gaze like a weight pressing against you. The room suddenly feels too small.
“I’m not free,” you murmur, trying to push back against the pull of his words. “I’m just... running from one cage into another.”
Daemon’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s not comforting. It’s dangerous, calculated. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s savoring the moment, the game. He steps closer, and the space between you grows smaller, until he’s only a few feet away.
“No,” he says, his voice dropping, lowering the temperature of the room even further. “You’re not running. You’re... escaping. There’s a difference.” His eyes flash as he takes another step, and you can’t help but notice how his movements are predatory, yet effortless. He makes it look so natural. “You’ve never really had a choice, have you? Always being told what to do, who to marry, where to go. You’re always playing by someone else’s rules.”
Your throat tightens as his words sink in, and the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes shakily. You swallow, trying to ground yourself. But then he’s there—right in front of you—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Daemon’s hand brushes against yours, just barely, like a spark flickering in the dark. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a jolt through you. His touch is a reminder that he’s not just another man in the room. He’s Daemon Targaryen, and you’ve never been able to ignore the effect he has on you.
“You know,” he says softly, his voice like a velvet whisper against your ear, “they’re never going to give you the freedom you crave. They’ll always keep you in your place, a pawn for their schemes.”
Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you refuse to let him see the way his words are hitting you. You look away, trying to gain some semblance of control, but Daemon won’t let you. He steps closer again, his body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your wrist—just a light, fleeting touch—but it burns like fire.
His lips twitch upwards at the reaction he knows he’s getting from you. “You’re so... tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, thick with promise. “You can let go, you know. No one is here to judge you. Not tonight.”
The words dance around your head, teasing, tempting. You try to step back, but Daemon is there again, his hand on your arm, pulling you gently but insistently toward him.
His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.
Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”
His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.
“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”
The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.
He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.
“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.
“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”
The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.
Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.
The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.
Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.
You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.
Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.
“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”
His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...
Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.
“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”
The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.
You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.
And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.
You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.
Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.
He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.
This is it. This is the point of no return.
This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.
The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.
He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.
“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.
You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.
You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.
He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.
You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before
A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.
“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault
“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.
When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.
Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.
Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.
There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.
Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.
His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.
He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours
“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk
“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.
“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is
Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.
The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.
Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.
After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.
NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.
His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.
Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.
“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.
He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.
“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.
Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.
“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.
“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.
“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.
That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.
He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”
The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.
You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.
Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms
The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.
He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.
You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.
Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.
He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.
The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.
“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”
Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.
Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.
“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”
Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.
Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”
Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”
Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”
You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.
“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”
Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”
“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”
The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go
#daemon targeryen smut#daemon x you#hotd daemon#daemon x reader#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen#hotd smut#hotd men#hotd fanfic
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Linear Flux
"As the universe settled, amongst the creations yet unknown, the faintest pulse of life stirred in the cosmos: one called Time."
Since the beginning of time, time entities have structured the rules of the universe, events, eras, rises and falls of empires, all at the delicate hand of those who can weave it. Yet, there will always be oddities, miscalculations and curveballs thrown at even the simplest of plans. Heroes where none should be had, humanity where tyranny should prevail, despair in times of hope.
You are such an oddity, you brought the risk of humanity evolving leaps before its time, risked bringing peace in the eras of destruction, a voice of reason in the time of fools. You, simply being, risked the structure of time.
Linear Flux is an IF (interactive fiction) where you, the reader, find yourself taken by a time bureau as to prevent your actions from having brought a catastrophic change to your time. It is rated 18+ for violence, time relevant bigotry, sexual themes.
You were a valuable asset, one too valuable to fully rid themselves off, and have now (with little say on your end) been brought in as a part of the Vanguard group, a group of individuals from different eras of time, all brought together to prevent time from imploding on itself, and for humanity to take its course.
This is a work of fiction and will therefor take grand leaps in its historical accuracy, so take everything with a grain of salt (but do let me know if I have in anyway misrepresented, misread or gotten something wrong when any historical thing is mentioned!) It is loosely based on our Earth and I've taken some major liberties with city names and made up events, character and places. Linear Flux is a romance based 18+ IF story due to its heavy themes, violence and sexual themes (optional when it comes to romance!) There will be a list of trigger warnings I heavily suggest you read before delving into this story, and they will all be referenced before each chapter (or possibly before the prologue.)
In Linear Flux you can play as the following: ✵Non-binary, male, female, trans, cis. ✵Gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual. ✵Choose your origins: be the violent but bold warrior, the idealistic but kind poet, the clever but pragmatic inventor or the cruel but charming assassin.
Meet a varied cast of possible RO's (romance options)
-Scott/Sonya Leyton 32 [M/F] The Saboteur Possible Poly with H
S is a Southern gentlefolk, with a heavy accent fitting their robust frame well. Once out of their shell, their usual quietness is replaced with a open heart and kindness, their mama didn't raise no fool after all! But will their sorrow for leaving their family behind eventually catch up? And when it does, will you be there to help them stay in the saddle? S is from 1875, from the Wild West American frontier, where they were part of a gang. •As Scott, he is 6'3, Caucasian with sun kissed freckled skin, his hair is an unruly short crop in a copper colour, and his eyes are a deep welcoming blue, he is stocky and fairly hairy. Hidden behind his usually covered chest there are two distinct scars, a bullet wound under his left pectoral and a large gash across his upper chest. •As Sonya, she is 5'9, Caucasian with sun kissed freckled skin, her hair is shoulder length and a messy copper colour, eyes a deep blue, she is curvy but athletic and has natural body hair. Hidden behind her usually covered chest there are two distinct scars, a bullet wound under her left breast and a large gash across her upper chest.
-Hakiem Nujum 29 [M] The Liberator Asexual/Possible Poly with S
Hakiem is a gentle soul, with a soft demeanour and fondness for freedom and baking, along with him comes the smell of freshly baked bread, thyme and a hint of Kyphi. He holds the essence of family tightly to his chest and is more than eager to let you become a part of it, but is he willing to let go of his past to fully embrace you?
Hakiem is from 237 BCE and from Egypt, where he worked as a scribe. •He has dark golden skin, being from a Persian-Egyptian lineage, his eyes are a golden amber and his hair a curly shoulder length dark brown which he has styled into a more modern haircut. He is 5'8 and has a lean and rather thin swimmers build, his skin is usually decorated with golden jewellery, such as his nose stud and lower lip stud, his body lightly dusted with hair.
-Elton/Edna Hawksford 41 [M/F] The Hound
E is unapproachable, a wall built high on the base of nobility, their heavy British accent harsh and cutting, leaving little room for building relationships. Though seen as the leader, their iron fist is softened by their apparent love for the team, and once you've earned your place in their eyes, maybe you will be able to get a glimpse behind that British façade, and see a more honest and broken veteran. But will their flaws be too much for you to handle, or will you show them that even those with a past are worthy of redemption?
E is Scottish but lived most of their life in England during 1765. •As Elton, he is 5'7, Caucasian, with a rosy pale complexion. Originally from Scotland he has trained away his accent from years playing the game of nobility. His hair is greying, hair wavy and in a slicked back style, though still peaking is his natural mousey brown. His eyes are a dull grey, cold and calculating. His body is one of a veteran, scarred and muscular, with a layer of fat over it, he is broad and holds himself like one much taller. On his back is a plethora of scars, with hints of past scraps and years of service to a 'greater good'. He is very hairy all over, except his back. •As Edna, she is 5'6, Caucasian, with a rosy pale complexion. Originally from Scotland she has trained away her accent from years of playing the game of nobility. Her hair is greying, a wavy style that's slicked back and reaching her shoulders, her natural brown hair still hinting through. Her eyes are an icy grey, cold and calculating. Her body is one of a veteran, scarred and muscular, with a layer of fat over it, she is broad but slightly curvy and she holds herself with elegance. On her back is a plethora of scars, hints of past battles and hidden trauma from living up to the eyes of nobility. She maintains a pristine body grooming ritual and only has a faint dusting of hair on her underarms.
-Mateo/Matt 30 [M/F] The Defiant Possible Poly with Sigurd
M is analytical, and the very definition of stoic, very literal and to the point about most things, lacking social cues. They are an older model of a fashion android, now attempting to live a life for the first time in their existence. Now having a chosen name, identity and a choice to become more than what they once were. But living a life when one was never an option can break the strongest of humans, so what will it do to someone who isn't one?
M is from 2128 in a futuristic version of a collective union in Europe. •As Mateo, he is 6'4, he has deep dark umber skin with hints of bluish hues by his joints, his eyes are an electrical blue and inhuman, his hair long and white, completely straight, reaching down to his waist, if not lower, and he is ethereal in an eerie way. His body is tall and sleek, with a wider chest and almost sculpted look to him, as if a marble statue. •As Matt, she is 6'0, she has deep dark umber skin with hints of bluish hues by her joints, her eyes are an electrical blue and appear inhuman, her hair short and white, a choppy straight cut, the longest parts reaching her cheeks, and she harbours an ethereal essence. She is tall and sleek, with a very pronounced chest and an hourglass figure, soft and curved, as if a marble statuette.
-The Boss 200,000 [M/F/NB] The Boss Possible Poly with Sigurd
The Boss is a mystery in and of themselves, who they are, their origins and their purpose. Being one of the time entities, they are closer to man than any of their kind, holding it close to their proverbial heart, perhaps with a hint of something other than order dictates. When it all falls on their shoulders, will you be able to keep them steady?
As a time entity their appearance will not vary much, the only difference between them being slight alterations in body type, The Boss will always be 6'2 regardless of chosen gender. •As a man, The Boss has a chiselled body, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. His hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to his lower back, usually held up by a rebar piece in a low bun. His skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on his limbs, his smile is rare and fanged. •As a woman, The Boss has a chiselled body what is slightly curvy, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. Her hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to her lower back, usually held up by a rebar piece in a low bun, but occasionally braided instead. Her skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on her limbs, her smile is rare and fanged. •As non-binary, The Boss has a chiselled body that is without curve, mostly covered up by a business casual outfit, consisting of a synthetic wool turtleneck, an embroidered vest, blazer and wide-legged pants and a pair of worn leather gloves. Their hair is made from a mixture of natural fibres and cables, forming long dreads that reach down to their lower back, usually left in a loose hair do. Their skin is a dusty concrete colour, fading into a darker tone on their limbs, their smile is rare and fanged.
-Sigurd Gunnírsson/Sednadottír 27 [M/F] The Lover Possible Poly route with M or The Boss.
Sigurd is a lover, through and through, and is defined by their lust for life. They are quick to love and even quicker to befriend, eager to take in all that time and life has to offer them. But is the bubbly and hopeful view of life an act? And who will wind up loving them, when even they can't seem to muster up enough love for themself?
Sigurd is Icelandic/Irish and is from 862 CE Ireland. •As Gunnírsson, he is 5'10, Caucasian with Rosy porcelain skin covered in heavy layers of freckles. He has wavy locks of auburn hair, reaching down to his chest, with braids and beads interwoven out of wood and bone. He sports a thick well kept beard and has piercings in his ears, septum and nipples. He is heavily built with pudge, and his arms have tattoos from travels overseas and from home, the most prominent being the Gebo on his right hand. He is very hairy and takes pride in his appearance. •As Sednadottír, she is 5'7, Caucasian with Rosy porcelain skin covered in heavy layers of freckles. She has wavy locks of auburn hair, shaved on the sides to create a mohawk with braids added and bone beads woven in. She has piercings in both ears, her septum and her nipples. She is heavily built with pudge, giving her a curvy figure, and her arms have tattoos from travels overseas and from home, the most prominent being the Gebo on her right hand. She is hairy and takes pride in her appearance.
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