#she also had no sense of danger so i doubt she would care to be careful on the battlefield

[epickiya722]

I feel like Curious would have been an absolute threat on the battlefield, she would have caused a lot more chaos for the Heroes if she was still around. The woman's quirk was MAKING THINGS AND PEOPLE GO BOOM.

[rey-jake-therapist]

What's the deal with Sauron and children ?

There seems to be something we don't know, about Sauron and children. Among Haladriels we often joke/hc that Sauron wants to have children with Galadriel and that's why it's a recurring theme. But in all seriousness, we may ask : what are the writers not telling us ?

It started in Numenor, where we saw Sauron smile giddily at the sight of little girls running.

I'm sure many still think : "he was putting on a show for Galadriel". Ok but Galadriel herself didn't smile when she watched them, she just looked at them with indifference. And it's not necessarily a human thing to smile at the sight of children, many humans don't care for them.

Then there's a scene where Sauron as Halbrand confronted Adar, who asked him if he had hurt someone he loved, adding, "A woman ? Perhaps, a child ?".

Galadriel may have noticed that Halbrand seemed particularly tense when he asked if it was a child, because she told Adar, "eat your tongue".

Tbf, it's likely that this scene was just a red herring. The audience still had to believe that Halbrand was a man, and that he had a good reason to want Adar dead. Adar firmly believed he had killed Sauron at this point, so there could be only one reason for Halbrand to be so angry at him, aka he took someone he loved away from him. What I mean is that Adar asking him this question made very much sense, at the moment.

But the reference to children came back in season 2, when Sauron had a vision of little girls running in the vision he had first created for Celebrimbor. It could also, again, mean nothing, because this vision was for Celebrimbor, a make believe to hide him the fact that Eregion was under attack. But someone, I don't know who, noticed something interesting when they put the gif of the Numenor girls on top of the gif of the mind palace girls.

Do you see it ? How the kids in the second seem to continue the Numenor kids' running ?

It may mean absolutely *nothing*. And yet I find interesting that the writers chose to associate Sauron with kids not just once, or even twice, but three times.

Could it mean that at some point, when he was in Numenor, Sauron seriously considered the idea of settling down there, of founding a family and liviving as a human being ? He was in a repentance phase and had, in his own words, "given up" any idea of fixing the damages he had done after Adar betrayed him and turned him into powerless goo, so I don't think it's too far-fetched to imagine that he could have genuinely wanted to settle down, to blend with the crowd.

Or could it be, as @apoloadonisandnarcissus suggested to me, that Sauron associates children with the concept of innocence, an innocence he himself lost when Morgoth corrupted him ?

Saurbrand told Galadriel, about Numenor, that it was "a paradise rife with opportunities". The vision of Eregion he showed Celebrimbor had everything of a paradise. Even after Celebrimbor got back to work and was no longer here to see the vision, Sauron remained for a few minutes in his illusion, contemplating it.

It didn't escape Haladriel shippers' attention that the girl was a sort of Galadriel lookalike, and that his lover, whose face remained unseen, may have expressed Sauron's own doubts regarding his capacity to perfect/heal Middle-Earth without Galadriel and her light.

That said, neither the idea of having a family, nor the association of children with innocence, can be related to what Adar did to him. Adar definitely didn't kill a child of his (and it would be dangerously lore-breaking to claim that Sauron ever had a kid, because Maiars are supposed to be forever bound to their physical form once they conceived), and he isn't the one who stole his innocence either. Adar is the one whose innocence was stolen by both Morgoth and Sauron, actually.

So now it's your turn : do you have any idea about this ? If yes, please share :)

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being Becca and Butchers Child

Requested: Firstly HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!! ﾟ+.ヽ(≧▽≦)ﾉ.+ﾟ. Secondly, could u write like some headcanon about being Butcher's child (like who is two years older than Ryan) and how other members from the boys (+ maybe Soldier boy, cause of season 3 and how he would interact with them :3) - anon

A/N: Thank you my love!!! In the headcanon I made reader 10+ years older so they'd be at least 18 by the time they found out about Becca and Ryan, I hope you don't mind!! That way they can be part of The Boys and grow up with them, if that makes sense? I also had a very similar request of a headcanon so I'm basing it off that so there's some background :) I love this request!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Headcanon Pt. 1 / Headcanon Pt. 2

Butcher knew he couldn't take care of you. He was getting drunk every night, picking fights at bars, searching the city for your mom. Your perfect grades were slipping, you were getting into fights at school, you were emulating him. He knew how dangerous that was. First with your Aunt, then your Great Aunt, until you tracked him down all these years later. He still has a picture of you in his wallet, a baby picture that's creased and faded. You and Becca. You've grown up since then, though. And you're angry. He insist you go back to Judy, pretend you never saw or heard what you did, but you refuse. You want to pick a fight with him. You want to yell and scream and get out eight years worth of grief. He understands where you're coming from, he does. He never wanted to be like his father and yet, in so many ways, that's exactly who he was. Your relationship will never be what it is. That's not possible anymore. You have to learn to deal with one another now, in the present, instead of the happy kid you used to be, instead of the dad he used to be. It hurts you both to think about the past, who you could have been instead of who you are.

Hughie isn't really sure what to do with you. There's no doubt you're Butcher's kid. He's still relatively new to the team, so he just assumed this was something else Butcher hadn't shared with him. When he realizes no one knew about your existence, he's shocked. You, like your father, gravitate towards Hughie for reasons you can't put into words. You'll let him sit next to you when you're watching TV and maybe even talk to him if you're in the right mood. You don't shoot daggers at him like you try with everyone else. Similar to a cat, he's someone you can stand to be around. He comes to your defense a lot, especially when you stumble in drunk and pass out for the day. He's sure if any of them had been raised by Butcher, or at least the outside relatives, they would have turned out exactly like you. He can't blame you for being angry, or pissed, or hurt. He can see the hurt better than anyone else no matter how much you try to hide it. He thinks you just need some time and empathy to get straightened out. The least they can do is offer that, right?

Annie has no idea what to do with you. She tried smiling and talking to you, but you didn't want anything to do with her. She reminds you too much of your Aunt. She always said you should be happier, bubblier, that you were so smiley as a kid. You couldn't live in the past like her, with her. Too much had changed. Hughie assures her it's nothing against her, you're just getting used to things. She thinks it's sweet how you're attracted to Hughie. He's the only one you mildly respect and even, once in a blue moon, listens to. She doesn't take it too personally considering you're ready to rip your fathers head off. It could be a lot worse. Over time you see that Annie and Hughie are together and that definitely earns her some points. Annie can't imagine what your life must have looked like, all those years mourning your mother and father, all those years spent with relatives just doing their best. She understood why you were so angry all the time, so cagey and spiky. She doesn't hold it against you.

M.M. feels conflicted. Betrayed isn't the right word, but it's the closest thing he can come up with. He never 100% trusted Butcher. He was always going behind everyone's backs, doing what he wanted despite the good of the team, etc. He was destructive, combative, and spiteful. But, he thought they knew each other better than that. When he met you he couldn't deny you were Butcher's. Your mannerisms, the crazed look in your eye when you were upset, it all matched your father. He can't help but see you like how he sees Janine, even if you're much older: a victim of Vought. A generational curse. You're stubborn, and angry, and distant all because of what's been done to you, all because of Homelander. If your mom had been around, if Homelander had never done what he'd done, you'd still have your perfect family. He feels this need to protect you the same way he does with your father, even if you both fight him on it, even if you don't want or deserve it. He can't help it.

Frenchie doesn't trust you the same way he doesn't trust your father. He especially doesn't like that you and Kimiko are so close. She doesn't tell him anything about your conversations, knowing it would completely break your trust if she did. He believes Butcher would hide something as big and important as a child. He knows what your family can be like. Lying, drunken, selfish, vengeful. You're only a few of those things, not that he can tell the difference. You know Frenchie isn't your biggest fan, so you love messing with him, teasing him, rubbing it in his face that you and Kimiko are close. Similar to your father, Frenchie thinks this isn't the kind of place for you. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. M.M. might feel fatherly towards you, but Frenchie sees you as a Mini Butcher, just another handful no one on the team can deal with. You yell and scream and fight and drink. That proves to him you're still a child despite it all.

Kimiko adores you. Despite the difference in circumstances, she sees a lot of herself in you. Ripped from your family, angry and hostile and doing everything in your power not to get hurt again. Besides Hughie, you'd warm up to her second. You're actually incredibly smart despite never applying yourself and pick up the signs pretty quickly. Whatever you can't sign, you write to her, wanting your conversations to stay secret. You show her the pictures of your mom that you kept all these years, telling her all about the good times you had before she disappeared. When you see Butcher you instantly grow hostile, angry all over again, and the person she saw, the person she was just talking to who was kind, and thoughtful, and smart totally disappears. When you blast your angry music she never minds. In fact, she quite likes it, adding it to her own playlist. She doesn't look at you like you need fixing or, worse, need to get out of here.

Bonus! Homelander always knew about you. Becca was more than willing to talk about you and Billy to co-workers. He even remembers taking that picture with you that one Christmas. He's kept an eye on you through the years, but you never seemed like the vengeful type. You never knew what happened after your father abandoned you. He does, however, use it as leverage against Becca. Remember the kid you left behind? Seems like she's got favorites. Becca agonizes over leaving you, but she was caught between a rock and a hard place. He uses you to keep her there, in her place. He gives her updates, usually to make her feel bad. You're kid drinks way too much, did you know that? Of course you didn't. He loves to tell her that Butcher abandoned you all those years ago. He loves to see that it absolutely kills her. He's not worried about you coming after him. You've got to work through your issues before you get to him and therapy for a lifetime couldn't get you an Butcher on the same page.

Bonus! Soldier Boy would actually get along with you. I think you'd have a Worst Dad Competition and though you're close, you definitely think you win. You two share a drink and you tell him all about your dear old dad. "No wonder you turned out like this." Ben says, pouring you more. Hughie urges you to slow down, but you have a high tolerance. Ben, to piss of Butcher, will always take your side in arguments and uses what you told him against him. "You dumped them off and never looked back. Now you're parenting?" Butcher absolutely hates it. You tell him about your mom, how much she loved you, how she was killed. You don't mention Ryan though, knowing Ben's go to answer would be to seek revenge. You have a lot of complicated feelings around your brother, but you still have a burning Hatred for Homelander. You make Ben promise he'll kill him. He does, even if it means killing his son. You two bond really fast. Neither Hughie nor Butcher trusts it or him, but you do.

[asvterias]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣: 𝖧𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖣𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Canon-Divergence, Targ!Cest, Implied Mentions of Same-Sex Romantic Relationships, Flirty Undertones, Some Slight Foreshadowing & Typical-Period Homophobia

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, Teen!Alicent Hightower ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, (Brief) Platonic!Ser Harrold Westerling ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader ✘ Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen, Platonic!Queen Aemma ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dragonrides across King’s Landing is enjoyable as one might think, especially when The Realm’s Delight urges her Lady Y/N to tag along. The female Targaryen royals; Princess Rhaneyra and Queen Aemma seem to admire a certain Velaryon girl, wishing to seek comfort and reassurance for very different reasons.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k+

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @username23345 @fae-the-wanderer @hippivanhan34 @harjasblog @feyresqueen @ithemaduh @poopietomuch @starless-nightz @yelenaslyubov @chittakii @laiahernandeeezzz @flowerluzx

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Okay, my first chapter is done, tell me how you like it so far! Sorry for the delay, I was putting some finishing touches. If you wanna be tagged in this book, comment below and say ‘future tag’! Also go check out my tiktok page @/localgirlie, where I post videos relating to this fanfic!

🌊 ✘ 🔥

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣

𝖲𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖮𝗇𝖾: 𝖤𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖮𝗇𝖾

𝟏𝟏𝟏 𝐀𝐂

𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

••••

Lady Y/N of House Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, close cousins, and dear best friends, constantly updating each other about their lives. They’d known each other since the many years of childhood and had always been close.

Due to the close friendship between your mothers and political matters between your fathers, your handmaiden always packed an overnight bag whenever your parents decided to visit The Red Keep.

It was a splendid day to ride your dragon, Silverwing, out in the fresh air above the city skies. Simply for the fun, certainly not to convince your dear cousin Rhaenyra to finish her joyride and return to her princess duties.

Were you filled with outright urgency to have her back on the ground? Nope.

Regardless of your numerous attempts, it would have all been worth futile. Rhaenyra didn’t have a care in the world, sparing no expense to those around her. She lived in the moment alone, not doubting what could have been.

Not only was The Small Council hosting a discussion at this very moment but you were late. It would be noticeable the two teenage girls’ absences from the men’s council, wasting no chance to nitpick on the delay. Certainly not to your faces, they’ll be chastising the princess and her dearest Lady to the King himself. No one dared to defile Princess Rhaenyra or Lady Y/N, for the consequences were always quite fatal.

To secretly scrutinize the dragons was one thing but to blatantly insult the dragons was another danger in itself. Best to keep your humble opinion lingering around in your mind if you are smart enough to do so.

So, no you weren’t hurriedly urging the princess to return back to The Red Keep, for the sake of your status. Or the higher sake of hers as a Targaryen princess.

Instead, you allow her to enjoy herself, she requires a breather, and time to develop the recurring sense of another sibling being born. The Royal Targaryen family of three all had anticipated another child as Rhaenyra preferred a baby sister yet held no indifference to the unborn child’s gender.

Soaring and flying through the calm winds, you breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the nostalgic feeling. Going on dragonback was your favorite pastime alongside Rhaenyra, it was no secret nor have you considered it as such.

Allowing the wind to pass through your silver hair as Silverwing released occasional roars, whizzing above the commoners who stopped to glance. No view from below could compare to the ones over the clouds. Every dragonride spent with Silverwing further proved that the beast was displayed in complete adoration whenever you visited her.

You reminded her of her former rider, your great-grandmother Queen Alysanne, whereas she claimed you as her next rider.

The sight was for sore eyes, two female dragons and their female riders, content with each other’s company.

While Syrax was a carefree dragon, Silverwing was quick-witted with her movements. The mother-daughter dragon pair loved their time spent together, often skimming through the high skies and feasting on their well-prepared livestock.

You laughed, pulling onto the reins to control Silverwing’s sharp dodges made against Syrax.

“Would you slow down? It’s not a competition!” You laughed, the grip on your reins firm.

“It is to me!” She shouts back, turning around to face you, her silver hair flowing in the thick wind. You fought back an urge to roll your eyes as Rhaenyra smiled at your acceptance of her unsuspecting victory.

“We should head back to King’s Landing. Isn’t Alicent waiting for us?” You yelled over the sharp gusting winds.

“Yes, she is,”

Once the four of you landed safely on the broken terrace landscape of Dragonpit, you unbuckled your saddle from your waist. You quickly dismounted Silverwing, sliding down from her beautiful wings. As your shoes hit the dirty ground, you run your fingers against her rough scaly skin, gently tracing across it. Silverwing craned her head downward, giving more access to her vulnerable state, cooing as she blinked at you. She purred, shaking her head as you moved to pet her snout.

“My beautiful girl, Silverwing,” You kissed her nose, giggling when she nudged you backward in response. It was a soft shove, barely sending you a few inches away before you immediately embraced her again. She hummed, exhaling roughly, her hot breath radiating onto you.

“Should we leave you two alone?” Rhaenyra teases, sneaking up behind you.

Your interactions were different each time, but so unique in a way. In a way that only you and Rhaneyra could fully comprehend.

In truth, your relationship with the princess was complicated to say the least, typically swerving the line between platonic and romantic love. The Targaryen Princess always held a large role in your heart, but as your age and body progressed, so did your feelings toward her.

But still, you couldn’t openly express your affection for the silver-haired girl, reminded of the period you lived in. Where such love was forbidden and shunned, no one openly hated it but whispering around surely backfired. Then with the consistent whispers follows the judgement alongside the shushed snide remarks. Refusing to condemn yourself to a judgmental life, but once again, you weren’t living based on other’s opinions.

Most of the people who were most likely to talk about you were ranked as handmaidens and other ladies of the court, none of whom had a higher power.

None of those other highborn names were equal to both of your family names. The other common houses owned some land and livestock, but never true power. The real fiery power that House Targaryen solely possessed allied with the blinding sea salt of House Velaryon. Great Valryian houses came with many demands, and luckily you were a combined product of both.

Not when you were a bold Targaryen woman, who reclaimed one of the most notorious dragons.

Therefore, nobody divulged their inquiries about the closeness between the Princess and Lady.

Now, onto Rhaenyra…how could you describe her?

She was truly beyond any simple words to describe her fiery spirit, a true Targaryen woman embodiment, making her even more desirable. Even though she fully understood how her presence affected others, beaming in delight, she’d allow them to swoon over her. Her regal posture and swaying saunter, matched with the stunning outfits she modeled around the castle grounds.

A true princess, indeed.

“Very funny,” You plastered on a fake smile, squinting your eyes.

Silverwing tilted her head at Rhaenyra, almost teasing her to come any closer to you. It wasn’t threatening in any way, just a warm invitation to the reluctant princess. The mother-daughter dragon let out a synchronized shrill of laughter.

Syrax coddled into Rhaenyra’s touch, purring gently, luring the girl into her grasp. The she-dragon had roughly nudged her head against Rhaenyra’s body, basically thrusting her closer toward you, only further signifying true love surrounding the two girls.

Unknowingly to you, the few rushed padded footsteps behind weren’t an over-confident Rhaenyra. Surprisingly, it was a rather shocked and embarrassed princess.

You turned around to be met with an embarrassed Rhaenyra, who tried to keep her cool, failing miserably with each passing second. Her actions made your heart swell in her fondness, eyes twinkling in admiration as she stammered on her forthcoming words.

Making it easier for her, sparing some time to process her thoughts thoroughly. You piped up, tone playfully intriguing.

“Are you embarrassed or flustered, my princess? Or perhaps, both?”

Oh, curse all of Seven Hells! And that switch of sudden formalities sent her brain into overdrive. Yes, everyone else called her princess formally, so it was casual to hear frequently.

But this was coming from you. My princess. She was your princess. You spoke with a clear mixture of elegance and teasing when using formalities on her. It was getting hard for Rhaneyra to control her urges, especially with all these potential witnesses, disguised as workers for the castle. She couldn’t allow you to face dire consequences just for her lack of self-control. Besides, if she truly had the opportunity alone with you, confessions out in the open, this encounter would be very different. All alone in her chambers, with no disturbances, creating an intensified atmosphere, and intimate actions were taken.

During all of your time spent with the princess, she’d never expressed a nerve-wracking emotion such as embarrassment. Even if she hides her embarrassment, your annoying inkling detected it.

It has been a thorn lodged into her side for as long as she knew you. She had hoped that intuition would diminish for your time spent apart. But, sadly, it didn’t, only to flourish and become a source of irritation for the princess.

“Quite frankly, I’m unsure myself.” Rhaenyra maintained a timid voice, struggling to keep eye contact.

You hummed, unconvinced by her staggered voice, supposedly telling the entire truth. “If you say so, princess.”

While Rhaenyra denied your assumptions, Silverwing wasn’t so easily gullible.

However, the older dragon knew the true tension between her rider and the Targaryen princess was more than platonic. Not that the two teenage girls didn’t have anyone else fooled by their closeness. Others had keen eyes, their suspicions being proved right but didn’t dare speak up. Unless they wanted to be met with the terrifying fate of an open dragon’s mouth and the horrid spewing fire following after.

If given the chance, Rhaenyra would protect you, from bold smallfolk stating such accusatory titles unfit for a young princess having close relations with another female, more necessary what meets the eye. The young Targaryen princess would even go against her father’s strict orders, acting out if it regarded you.

How could she not? Especially when you meant so much to her.

Other than that, Rhaenyra would portray the bold daughter of Queen Aemma and King Viserys, the dutiful princess of the smallfolk, and more importantly, The Realm’s Delight, granted by all of the kingdoms to speak upon.

To fall prey to a man’s heart was deemed normal, an acceptance into society. Many people would congratulate the newlywed couple, praying blessings on future children and a great household. God forbid if a woman falls in love with another woman, then it’s considered improper, disgusting behavior.

But being a royal means your love and desire is not your own, but simply a piece of a board game called ‘The Targaryen Dynasty’. Most of the time, it’s unfair, depending on the compatibility of the betrothed or the dedication to developing a certain arrangement that pleases both spouses.

Being a Targaryen meant valuing your duty more than anything. Many gain the demanded power, the dragon blood coursing through their veins, and the ability to claim a worthy dragon.

Targaryens never made their living peaceful, well…some of them thrived on wars rather than peace. Even for one of the greatest houses, nothing else can create its downfall other than House Targaryen itself. Their dangerous dragons were a vital and powerful force. After all, it’s the very symbol used to describe Targaryens and their ascension to royalty.

Death. Dragons. Destruction. That’s all most people think about upon hearing the sacred name of ‘Targaryen’ whispering among many lips.

Is it better to be feared than adored? Would you gain support from genuine love or unwavering fear?

Eventually, Rhaenyra broke out of her trance, embarrassment tinting her cheeks once again.

“Did I break you?” You asked meekly, reaching out a hand for comfort. Stopped yourself halfway, unsure if Rhaenyra would accept it, and retracted your hand. Removing your black leather gloves and anxiously smoothing out your all-black rider’s outfit.

Confusion was laced on her face, eyebrows creased, “What? What do you mean?”

“You’ve never spoken with such shyness, you’re always bold and honest. Embarrassment is not also a common feature of yours.”

“I’ve never seen someone so smitten with their dragon,” Changing the subject was Rhaenyra’s best ideal option at the moment.

What else would she do? Further, embarrass herself in front of you? Gods, no, she had a reputation to uphold, not to wither away by your mere easygoing presence and gentle words. No matter how much of a cocky temptress you proved to be.

She stood a few feet behind you, weary of the older dragon’s sharp gaze. It was obvious Rhaenyra was embarrassed by her sudden fear of your dragon when she had been nothing more than kind to Silverwing.

After all, Silverwing was the most docile creature in the entirety of King’s Landing, maybe in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It made no sense why Silverwing immediately became annoyed by Rhaenyra’s presence.

Very anxiously, Rhaenyra waited for an answer, her body becoming tense and rigid, hoping you’d go along with it.

“Good news, now you have.” You retorted with a huff, oblivious to the obvious relieved look passing onto Rhaenyra’s face.

“Should you call Silverwing your beautiful girl, it’s a little too endearing for a dragon, is it not?”

The princess slowly stepped forward, losing her temporary fear of Silverwing, approaching you.

“Would you prefer I call you, my beautiful girl, princess?” You teased, maintaining her gaze while giving your dragon one last pet on her snout as she softly shook her head at the gentle touch. The Velaryon girl turned to her lovely dragon with a raised brow, “I think she would rather, Silverwing.”

Much to Rhaenyra’s dismay and slight surprise, the dragon nodded at your statement, glancing at the princess. Silverwing slowly opened her mouth, baring her many rows of teeth, displaying a similar action to a small taunting smile aimed at your dear cousin.

Only an amused chuckle left your mouth at Rhaenyra’s bewilderment. It was not often witnessing Rhaenyra being rendered speechless, only fueling your teasing.

“You’re not disagreeing, my princess. If there’s something you wish to inform me on, now’s the time for it.”

“No! I- I never said that, you implied that!” She argued, stammering over her own words, allowing the embarrassment to soak into her features. Any attempt of feigning indifference was now diminished, your cousin was aware.

Not that she’d like to admit, your simple words or gestures made her flustered. She felt absolutely embarrassed to be this flustered over a measly few phrases and bypassing touches.

Raising an eyebrow in confidence, you continued, “I wouldn’t be against it at all. For once in your life, you have to plead a little for good measure.” You grinned, “Would the Princess be considerate to begging for her own sake?”

In an instant, Rhaenyra blushed, an obvious shade of crimson red decorated her cheeks, and an overwhelming smile crept on her face. She tried to suppress it by straightening her relaxed composure or darting her eyes elsewhere.

No matter how she reacted, it was no use at all. You caught onto her movements quicker than anyone else could. Weirdly enough, Rhaenyra liked how easily you have her figured out every time without even trying.

Rhaenyra removed her gloves, giddy to focus on another task than maintaining your intense concentration. As small as it was, she was internally grateful for the little distraction. It was helping her cheeks to return to their normal skin tone, all porcelain with the distinctive Targaryen facial features.

“We should go, you’re delaying us even further.”

“Whose fault is that in the first place? It’s definitely not mine.”

She scoffed, ignoring your statement, retreating to the carriage. Of course, you were right, but the princess always had to have the last word. You knew it and she knew it. It was one of her many admirable traits you loved about your cousin, her unwillingness to back down from an argument even if she’s in the wrong.

“Welcome back, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Y/N,” Ser Harrold greets, prompted high on his horse, “I trust your rides were pleasant,”

“Try not to look too relieved, ser.”

“I am relieved,” He admitted, “Every time that golden beast brings you back unspoiled. It saves my head from a spike,”

“You mustn’t worry too much about the princess, Ser. She can handle herself.” You replied with a fond smile.

“As can you, Lady Y/N.” He gave you a firm head nod.

Deciding to skip ahead of you, Rhaenyra approached your other friend, Lady Alicent, who was standing by the carriage. You chuckled at her flustered state, catching up to your cousin. Smiling ahead at Alicent, propped on the little carriage steps.

“How were the dragonrides?” Was the first thing to leave Alicent’s mouth with a shy soft smile.

Her eyes squinted in confusion, scanning Rhaenyra’s flushed cheeks, red as ever, making it very hard to ignore. The auburn girl leans closer to the princess, further analyzing the red tint of blush, and whispers to her. “What’s wrong with your face?” Her whisper was low, almost inaudible. So low, that you were unable to hear, despite you straining your ears to intently listen. Alicent was a soft-spoken girl so her voice volume was always at a minimum, having the ultimate advantage of blocking out gossipers.

“I’m fine,” Rhaenyra mumbled, swatting her friend’s hand away, shifting her attention elsewhere. Just avoid making eye contact with you. Everywhere but your piercing gaze that can immediately unravel her true feelings.

Alicent nodded, brushing over her flustered state, deeming it to the weather. The heat from the sun surely brought the redness to her cheeks, nothing else. Alicent had so naively claimed and stuck with it.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, glancing at the golden dragon, who was intently watching the trio of girls interact. Silverwing has already been guided by the dragonkeepers into the dragon pit. Once you dismount her, Silverwing will disappear, your presence no longer beside her.

“She’ll soon be as large as Caraxes,”

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, the shy timidness in her voice replaced by her regular brazen tone.

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra suggests, implying a future new rider for Syrax; Alicent, if she’s willing to experience the terrifying thrill.

“I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.” Alicent lifted the bottom of her dress, turned around, and entered the carriage. “For the both of you two, yes Syrax and Silverwing are beautiful, but I will not fly on their backs. I very much prefer to remain on ground level at all times.”

You nudged Rhaenyra’s shoulder, sending her a sly smile, venturing upon the little carriage steps. As expected, the princess kept her intense gaze trained on you, never diverging or faltering, not once.

To her, you were a stunning young woman. You flawlessly completed all the qualifications of marriage into a royal family.

If she were a man, her courtship would already pass, the wedding festivities between you two joyous as ever and the consummation would be passionate and meaningful.

If she were a man, she could do as she pleased, roam around the city whenever. Everything would be at her disposal and would receive little to no consequence. A life without consequences seemed entertaining enough.

But she was not a man. She couldn’t pursue an open romantic relationship with you. She could never court you nor she shouldn’t dream of marrying you. You are both women and couldn’t be thriving wives in a loving marriage.

Your movements halted midway onto the carriage steps, pausing and turning around at the other silver-haired girl.

“Are you to stare at me all day, my princess? If you find me breathtaking, there’s no shame in saying it.” You taunted her, your skirt slightly swaying in the wind.

The familiar flush on her cheeks returned, causing it to be more noticeable, realizing her gaze set upon you was longer than necessary.

Or maybe she was just confused. Did she really like you or were you just a mere distraction? Only until her Uncle Daemon’s sudden secret visits made an expectation.

“What controls your mind with such deep thoughts, princess?”

“Nothing of importance.”

“Your eyes fog over when you highly adore the thoughts running wild in your mind. Surely, it is of much importance.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your mimics?”

“Yes exactly,”

“Years of practice, your attitude stayed intact but your body language seems to defer from you. It’s very detectable when your mood changes.”

“Don’t you have nothing better to do with your time and energy?”

“I would if a certain princess should lessen her time spent with me. Now, I call that being observant.”

“That’s not what I call it.”

“What do you call it then?”

“You’ll never know anytime soon, will you?”

“For now. Your needs and inquiries are often fulfilled by me.”

“When you speak in that manner, you speak as if we’re romantically involved.”

“Should they not be? Who knows what will happen in the future?”

Your tone was insinuating, letting on more than Rhaenyra desperately needed to know. Her heart sped up and the blood coursing through her veins began to heat up.

Why must you be relentless when teasing her?

She swears your intentions are purely cruel when regarding her. Yet, she doesn’t demand answers from you, unless she’s truly too inquisitive.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Y/N.” Her statement was meant to be brazenly sharp, but the delivery was timidly startled. The purpose of her intended delivery and actual response didn’t seem to be conceded correctly. She muttered, cursing in High Valryian at her stupidity.

“My tongue has a mind of its own, princess. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

“Don’t apologize, I find it quite endearing hearing your thoughts out loud.”

“Perhaps if you like listening to my thoughts, I have something more intriguing to share.”

“Tell me, as your princess I command.”

“Okay, princess.” You huffed, a small grin gracing your face, taking a seat in the carriage. “We’re already late to the King’s council and we both smell of dragonback because someone wanted to go on a joyride.”

She groaned, walking up the small steps and into the carriage, sliding beside Alicent. The Velaryon girl was sitting across from her, merely an arm’s length away.

“And someone else agreed to accompany them on that joyride,” A footman closed the carriage door behind Rhaenyra.

“If I didn’t, you’d force me to go.”

With the horses’ hooves clicking against the dirty ground, the carriage started its journey back to King’s Landing.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenyra clicked her tongue, tilting her head slightly. You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip, holding Rhaenyra’s gaze. Her gaze shifted to the auburn girl, gulping down any growing desire, ridding her mind of impure thoughts while clearing her throat. “Tell us Alicent, why do you refuse to go on a dragon ride?”

“Alicent is too afraid of heights…it’s a common fear, one that I had developed not long ago,”

“See you understand, Y/N. I don’t see why Rhaenyra can’t do the same,”

“If you’re not up for the challenge, Alicent, just say so.” Rhaenyra smirked, “There’s no use beating around the bush.”

“You’re quite difficult at times, princess, are you aware of that?”

“You never make me forget so I’m obligated to prove it even more,”

“Oh, the Realm’s Delight at her finest moments,” You chuckled, glimpsing at your well-trimmed nails.

“Aren’t all my moments my finest ones, Y/N?”

“Maybe so,”

The carriage ride to The Red Keep was relatively a long one, but a relaxing one at that. While you kept your gaze out the carriage window, unknowingly Rhaenyra had her eyes intently focused on you, studying each facial feature perfectly.

The princess thought she was smart, thinking you were unaware of her lovesick staring but you were highly aware. You fought back a wicked grin, a hand resting underneath your chin as the silence overtook the carriage. It was best to not confess that the princess was admiring you, not so subtly either since Alicent caught on to Rhaenyra’s longing gaze. Her eyes followed Rhaenyra’s own, brows furrowed in confusion as she observed the silent connection.

So much palpable tension wafting in a royal carriage, yet so few words were exchanged.

But there was a certain glint in Rhaenyra’s eyes that exceeded beyond a platonic relationship. It was almost as if she was yearning for your touch, craving to hear those teasing remarks and desperate for even the slightest bit of attention. Safe to say, Rhaenyra, herself, didn’t understand these new feelings sparking within. Of course, this certain feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to the princess whatsoever, but a recurring one.

Unsure of these newfound recurring feelings for the Velaryon girl, she loomed her heart in denial, obtaining a different interest. Her uncle Daemon was another pursuit she often indulged herself in.

Did she harbor romantic affection for her Uncle Daemon? Or did she share them with her beloved cousin, Y/N?

••••

Now inside the castle gates, the trio of girls kept their arms looped together, the Velaryon teenager in the middle, giggling as you sullied the halls.

You rounded up the stairs, venturing closer to Queen Aemma’s birthing chambers. Finally entering the room, filled with busy maids scurrying around, continuing their daily tasks, attending to the Queen.

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” Queen Aemma rejoiced, fanning herself to keep cool. It was a hot strenuous morning, dousing everyone in sweat.“You know I don’t like you to go flying when I’m in this condition.”

“You don’t like me to go flying while you’re in any condition,”

“Your grace,” Alicent acknowledged her friend’s mother with a small smile.

“Good morrow, Lady Y/N and Lady Alicent,”

“Good morrow, Queen Aemma,”

“Believe me, Queen Aemma, I tried to stop her, but she’s stubborn.”

“She joined me, Mother,” Rhaenyra interjects with an eye roll, taking a seat before her exhausted mother.

“Only because she forced me!”

“False accusations. Is there anyone to vouch for your claims?” She asks, sharing a skeptical glance with the other highborn women, none objecting.

A sense of pride overtakes the princess’s facial features, ignoring the pointed gaze sent her way from you.

The Targaryen princess smiles in gaining another victory, “My point stands corrected,”

“Your point stands unfair.”

“Same thing.”

“No, but I’m one of the only people you’ll listen to.”

“That’s not a privilege most people can claim for, especially from a princess. You should be honored, tasked with such a great deal,” Rhaneyra firmly nods.

“Honoured, perhaps. Dealing with you frequently is a bigger burden than anyone else can handle,”

“Oh, so I’m a burden now?” The Princess raises her eyebrows.

“Don’t let it get to your head, my princess.”

You chuckled, venturing closer to the Targaryen women, settling right beside Rhaenyra.

“I’d like to believe that you’re in way over your head,” She turned her head slightly, eyes trained on your small movements.

“Believe what you must, my princess. You’ll still love me regardless.”

“Yes, I always will,” She mumbles to herself, glancing down at her lap before lifting her head.

“Did you sleep, your grace?” You asked the Queen.

“I slept.”

“How long?” Rhaenyra interrogates her mother.

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

At her daughter’s statement, The Queen remains silent, almost contemplating how to further proceed with the conversation.

She hits her foot on Rhaenyra’s dress, “You will lie in this bed, soon enough Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.”

“Do you agree, Y/N? That women should be made to squeeze out children and nothing more?”

“Leave me out of this, she’s your mother and I’m not going against your mother. You’re on your own.”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at you, refocusing her gaze onto her mother.

How convenient must you be when siding with her mother instead of her?

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

The Queen laughs at her daughter’s comment, finding amusement in her words.

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.” The older Targaryen woman solemnly informs, both tone and expression filled with sorrow.

For a moment, Rhaenyra wondered about her future as a grown woman. Marriage and children ultimately occur later, mindlessly staring out at the window. She spares a glance your way, dread filling her mind with the mere thought of you being married off to a dense lord and swollen with his heirs. The thought creeping into her mind caused a grimace to appear on her face.

Not only would you forget about her, you’ll be leaving her in these castle walls. The very castle that you both grew up in. Many memories wandered passed these castle corridors, some rare ones too. By Rhaenyra’s remembrance, you lived in the Red Keep longer than Driftmark with your family.

All she wanted was for you, her and Alicent to remain unmarried and childless.

Is that so much to ask for? Apparently in this society, where men ruled the world, unfortunately, it was too much to ask for.

For once, women couldn’t be bound to marriage and be viewed as an incubator for their husbands. Taught to raise their children and care for the household. Knowledge was limited to women and men made sure of it. Only the Septas and highborn women gained the luxury of knowledge and owning a dozen historian books.

You sent your friend a tight-lipped smile, strumming your fingers against the fabric of the chair, watching as her attention redirected back to her mother.

“Now take a bath, you stink of dragon.” The Queen shoots you a teasing grin, “The both of you,”

“Together, your grace?” You jested, raising an eyebrow, moving closer to your cousin. That little gasp coming out of Rhaenyra’s mouth went by unheard. “I’m sure Rhaenyra would love that, wouldn’t you?” Your eyes met hers, enjoying the dilation in her brown eyes expanding to the very core.

“Hmmm….I reckon so. Would you like that, dear daughter?” Queen Aemma joined in on the teasing of her only daughter.

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Yet you’re still dodging the question.” Your tongue clicked against your mouth at her reluctance to admit the plain truth.

The silver-haired princess chuckles, standing up from the small chair, ready to take her leave with Alicent.

“Will I get an answer or not?”

“Leave you guessing, that’s my way of things.”

“You’re a minx, princess.”

“Careful of the words you speak, I could have your tongue cut off for that.”

“You could but you wouldn’t.” You stepped forward, slow but subtle pace.

“Are you so sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You must think highly of yourself.”

“When a princess is righteously spoiling me, what mindset must I inherit?”

“An indifferent one.”

“So if I did that, you’d go overboard with the luxurious gifts, yes?”

“Things would take a different approach, I agree.”

“If anything, this is your doing, princess.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed in agreement, relishing your little banter. So ever as the innocent bystander, Alicent smiled at the interaction, and Rhaenyra tilted her head, brown eyes twinkling with fondness.

“I should have you know–“

“Stay behind Y/N, I seek your kind words.” Queen Aemma interrupts her daughter’s statement, knowing that conversation sparked much undeniable tension and Rhaenyra had little restraint.

The silver-haired princess, already standing, complied with her mother’s wishes, approaching the Hightower girl.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Alicent in the meantime,” Your cousin loops her arms around your friend and they leave the chambers.

“So, how the pregnancy’s treating you, your grace?” You seated yourself in the latter chair.

“To put it into short words, not very good. I fear I may not survive this one.”

“Oh well…” You frowned, glancing at her swollen belly. Queen Aemma was frightened, for herself and the developing babe. Your observations are keen and clever, nothing can get past you so there was no sense of hiding it. Evidently, her movements were just as predicted, her tense posture rolling on her emotions, her forehead creased heavily in frustration and her hand softly clutching her swollen belly.

After Rhaenyra, all of the Queen’s pregnancies were taken by baby boys and it was stressful, to say the least. According to Queen Aemma, the birthing pains were devastating but the grieving pains were far more excruciating.

You hoped to never experience the pain that The Queen succumbed to as Rhaneyra secretly made a vow to never produce heirs, for her own safety.

Sadly, none of the babes survived the birth or even endured the 9-month term as required. For a while, Queen Aemma gave up on birthing her husband any more children, for the sake of her health and well-being. Yet, she still attempted again and again, risking her health, bound by her marital duty, to fulfill the King’s need for a son, a male heir. Rhaenyra witnessed the toll it took on her weary mother, exhausted and desperate to provide a son for The Seven Kingdoms but her efforts were all in vain.

Seeing The Queen’s hopeful spirit vanish with each passing baby was too unbearable to watch.

Of course, this only further increased your worries, despite you not trying to show it, but the entire ordeal was beyond any control.

“Doubt is a common thing, but we shouldn’t let it cloud our perspective. We should have hope, maybe the gods might bless us and finally give the King a son, so you can stop suffering from pregnancies. I don’t even want to think, the outcome if we were to lose you, the effect it’d have on Rhaenyra….”

“My dear, you shan’t worry about the possibilities, it’s not your concern,” She places a hand on top of yours, squeezing the soft flesh. “And there’s something else you should know…”

“What is it, your grace? Shall I fetch for a chambermaid?”

“No, no, I’m fine, leave the chambermaids to their duties.”

“Then, what else might you inquire, your grace?”

“You never fall short of telling me the truth,”

“Of course,”

“So tell me the whole of it.”

“Your grace, please don’t mistake me as a deceitful girl. I’m nothing of the sort.” You reassured the older woman.

She nodded, appreciating your kind reassurance to ease any impending doubts lingering in her mind.

“If you harbor romantic feelings for my daughter in any way, you have my full blessing,”

“Excuse me, my queen?”

“Y/N rest assured I hold no ill feelings towards you nor is this an attempt of mockery,”

“You’re giving me a blessing over something that hasn’t come to pass yet?”

“Only time will tell,”

“So you’re hoping that me and Rhaenyra share affection for each other?“

“It may be now or years from now. All I know is that your relationship with Rhaenyra goes way beyond platonic.”

“What you’re implying is far-fetched, your grace.”

Somehow, you refused to believe her words, choosing to keep your hopes at a bare minimum. It was the best default option for you. As a result of either decision that occurs, you will remain neutral and hold no resentment towards Rhaenyra, your friendship overruling unrequited love. You intend to move past the eventual rejection or surprising acceptance, your heart lies in Rhaenyra’s words.

“Is it? I doubt that. I’ve seen the way my daughter looks at you, simply as you hold the moon and stars for her. As if only the two of you exist in this world and your bond is unbreakable. The love you share for one another is unconditional in so many ways.”

“My queen, since when are you so poetic with words? If I didn’t know any better, you sound more invested in this relationship than me.”

“I’m only invested because I know it’s true.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Instead of replying to your statement, she changes the entire conversation.

“Run along, now, Rhaenyra needs her partner in crime, and Alicent shouldn’t be led astray because of the princess.”

“Your grace, are you purposely dodging my question?”

She tutted you, shaking her head, “No I’m not, just delaying it, there’s a difference.”

“You amuse me, my queen.”

“Where do you think Rhaneyra got her humor from? Certainly not from her father.”

“Well wishes on your pregnancy, your grace. I truly hope the labors and recovery goes smoothly.”

“You’re not the only one.” She chuckles, dismissing you with the shoo of her hand. “Stop fretting about me and go find Rhaenyra. God knows, what will happen without you in her presence.”

“Plenty of mischief rooted from boredom, and ultimately more added stress to The King.”

“Go find her before she does.”

“So, I’m the princess’s protector, now?”

“Much more to her.”

“You have no regard for the peering ears or eyes, your grace? The maids or guards might overhear us and start rumors.”

“What will they do? They have no real power or authority to stand on because they all rely on the mere gossip of others, especially a royal family at that.”

“I see where Rhaneyra gets her resilience from, no doubt about it.”

“Hush now, I’m the Queen, they know to keep quiet about certain issues if they wish to remain employed.”

“Are you certain, your grace?” Hesitant crept onto your expression and you couldn’t bother concealing it.

“Yes, now stop being such a worrywart, it’s a horrible look for a Lady. Run along, for real this time.” She gestured her hand out to the chamber’s doors.

A faint smile carved at her lips, sensing the hesitation in your movements. Still, you ignored the slight hesitancy in your mind, getting ready to take your leave.

“I’ll see if I can visit you tomorrow before the tournament, your grace.”

“Until then, I’ll see you.”

At her command, you politely curtsied and left the chambers, searching for the rebellious princess. Besides, the princess couldn’t have gotten too far, especially with Alicent accompanying her, the girls would be easy to find.

••••

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[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 13

Cassian X Archeron Sister

Summary: Cassian won't leave Y/N alone in hopes she will at least talk to him, giving her the best gifts money could buy. Perhaps material things are not the way to earn her forgiveness...

Content Warnings: Low self worth

A/N: We're kicking off the 1000 Follower Celebration with a bang!! WOO HOO. I once again can't Thank you enough for your love and support!

Also, we are getting so close to a portion of the story that I have been plotting since day one and I'm so excited. Though I highly doubt you all will be when we get there.

Word Count: 4.3 K

Also thanks @prythianpages for giving me a new banner to use 😍😍

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Unwavering Presence Masterlist

Chapter 12

I awoke to knocking on my door fully aware of who was on the other side. Not moving I tucked the blanket closer to my chin, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping he would leave. When I didn’t answer, the doorknob began to jostle, “Princess, can we talk please?” Cassian’s voice carried through the wood. “I want to make this right.” He continued to knock on the door.

I closed my eyes and sent my emotions down my tattoo; my direct link to Rhys. Hoping he and Feyre were on their way back from the Summer Court.

Cassian’s knocking finally ceased, and I could breathe easier. Inhale…Exhale…

Angel Rhys’ voice rang out in my head, What’s wrong?

Tears prickled my eyes as Cassian’s cold stare from the night before came to the forefront of my mind, “You can barely take care of yourself.” His words rang in my ears.

Can you or Az get me?   I sniffled.

Why? Did something happen to Cassian? Are you in Danger? Rhys’ voice sounded panicked.

Take a look I brought the memories from the night before for him to see.

Me or Az?  Was all he asked; his voice was a lethal calm.

Az, Please.

He is on his way, Angel. I want you to know no one thinks you’re helpless. We love you.

I cracked a smile. Thanks Rhys.”

Rhys left my mind, and I closed my eyes and let sleep consumed me once more.

The sound of shouting jolted me awake. It took me a moment to distinguish the yelling. It was Azriel’s voice that carried throughout the cabin. He. Was. Angry. I slid out of bed, grabbed my robe and opened my door just enough to peek through.

“You’re not taking her!” Cassian snarled his siphons blaring. His face held a mixture of emotions I didn’t care to decipher.

Azriel’s siphons flared in response. “She asked for me. This is Rhys direct order. I’m taking her home.”  Cassian swung at the Shadow Singer only for Azriel’s shadows to flair out and push him to a chair.

I stepped out of the room as shadows pinned Cassian to the chair. “Azriel.”

Both males looked over at me Cassian had a pained look on his face and opened his mouth to speak. Az’s shadows wrapped over his mouth as Azriel glared at him. “You don’t get to speak.” Cassian lunged at Azriel, and I jumped back gasping. Cassian slammed back in the trail trying to fight Azriel’s shadows and I moved closer to the Spy Master. His hand slipped through mine and Cassian glared as his hazel eyes, cold and unyielding as he watched our hands intertwine.

Always hoping someone will save you. Cassian’s words swirled in my head and when our gazes meet, I can tell that he knows what words are filtering through my head, as his gaze shifts from cold to guilty. I tried releasing Azriel’s hand, but he gripped tighter. “She is going to gather her things and we are going to leave.” Cassian dipped his head, “Rhys expects you home in three days’ time. Meaning that he does not want to see you until then. Nod if you understand, Cassian.”  Cassian gave a nod. “Good.” Azriel led me to my room, and he shut the door, and I closed my eyes my heartbeat racing. My thoughts began to overtake my senses.

Weak

Pathetic

Worthless

You don’t belong with him. You don’t belong with anyone.

You. Don’t. Belong.

I choked on a sob leaning against the bed post. Shadows swirling up to my cheeks, kissing away my tears.

“Come on,” I opened my eyes as Azriel’s hands gripped my shoulders, “Let’s get your things.”

Azriel helped me pack my things, I slipped out to the door and headed back to Cassian. Hearing the chair shift as I headed toward the door the Shadow Singer in tow, calling out my name, though muffled by the shadows. Azriel opened the door, letting the sun in and I turned to look at Cassian. His hazel eyes lined with silver, there was pleading there. Don’t go, please, they said.

“Goodbye, Cassian.” A sob escaped and his shoulders began to shake violently as tears streamed down his cheeks. Something felt heavy against my chest, and I had to battle the urge to go to him and wipe his tears. Azriel guided me outside and shut the door behind him, muting the sounds of the General of the Night Court’s Army’s cries.

Wrapping my arms around Az’s neck he grips my waist my bag in his other hand, and he shot us up to the sky. “You, okay?” He asked.

“I just want to go home.” I said, fighting off my own tears. Az shadows consume the two of us as he winnows us to the streets of Velaris. He put me down but gripped my hand as he led us to the town home. The sidra glistening against the morning sun. I instinctively leaned my head against his arm, trying not to focus on the male we left behind.

We walked in silence for a couple beats before nudged me with his shoulder. “You know for what its worth. I know he is remorseful.”

I rolled my eyes, “How could you possibly know that?”

Az smirked, “He could have easily broken away from my shadows. Had them skittering back to me without blinking an eye.” I lifted my head to meet his eyes. His hazel eyes held no hint of humor. “He is one of the most powerful Illyrian, Archeron.”

We reached the town home, and I gripped his elbow halting him in his tracks. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he chose to stay in that chair.” Azriel’s shadows swirled around my wrist. “He didn’t want to frighten you.”

I crossed my arms, “That’s not good enough.”

Azriel lips pressed in a tight line for a moment. “I know. I would be disappointed in you, if it was enough for you.” He cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead, “Make him suffer, Archeron.”

I gave him a smile, “I’ll make him the Lord of Tears Shed.”

Azriel barked a laugh, “I’m stealing that.”

“Go for it.” I smiled as we headed into the house.

“Rhys, Feyre and Amren are almost back.” Az gracefully changed the subject.

“Were they successful?”

Az’s face turned grim, “Yes.”

“But?”

“But it came at a price.”

I sighed, “It always does. How bad?”

Azriel smiled, “Let’s just say Cassian isn’t the only one banned from the Summer Court anymore.”

Cassian’s POV

A fist collided with my cheek while I was at the training ring, Rhysand’s ring digging into my skin. Blood pooled in my mouth the metallic taste assaulting my taste buds. “You called her weak.” I lifted my head for Rhys to hit another blow on the opposite cheek. Blood spattered on the rock as it sprayed out of my mouth. “You called her worthless.”

I snarled, “I never called her that. I would never call her that!”

It was Azriel’s voice that spoke next, “That’s exactly how she felt though!  She opened up to you about her deepest insecurities, things she hadn’t even told Feyre about!  You used that insecurity and threw it back in her face.” Azriel’s flickered with anger, his shadows swirling around him clearly agitated.

“You know who also does that, Cassian?” Rhys’ voice is calm as my gaze meets him. At that moment, Rhysand was not the High Lord, or my friend. He was being a protective brother. “Nesta. She has spent most of her life with that kind of torment. I would believe that Xavier did it too.” He wound up his arm and felt the crunch of my nose. “Feyre told me that she kept to herself. That she doesn’t trust easily. She trusted you. For whatever reason, you made her feel safe.” I could hear one of my ribs cracking. “Why?”

I fell to my knees, “I was angry.” I hang my head low, blood dripping on the concrete. “Devlon got under my skin, and I was pissed.” My breathing was labored. I went straight to my room to prevent myself from lashing out, but she followed me.” The tears could fall before I could stop them. “She wanted to help.”

“And then you said she was barely able to help herself.” Rhys roared. “That she was always waiting for one of us to help her.” He knelt and gripped my face tightly. “Imagine how she feels, in a place where most fae hate her kind. Imagine how she felt when the first time she went back to the one place she should feel safe in, she was taken. She absolutely should expect us to be there for her. Because should any of our enemies get to her, she may not actually stand a chance.”

“I know.” I wheezed. “I want to make this right.”

“Go to Madja and get healed.” Rhys said, his violet eyes cold.  “I still need my general to breathe.” With that he took to the skies, likely checking in on Y/N. Leaving me alone with my best friend. His face cold, no playful glint in his eyes.

Azriel stalked over to me, his face was one I’ve seen before; one he used on his for the poor souls in his dungeons. I dipped my head, blood dripping past my lips. Az gripped my hair yanking my head back to meet his gaze. His shadows swirled as his lips turned into a snarl. “Fix. It.” He tugged my hair harshly once more. “And pray to the mother that she forgives you.” His knee collided with my chest, the underlying threat clear as I collapsed to the harsh gravel, trying to regain my breath. As Azriel left me in the training ring with my thoughts.

 I tried to take a deep breath the searing pain of my abdomen screamed in response. This was what I deserved. No pain would ever compare to seeing Y/N’s eyes look so broken at my words. I had a plan I just hoped she would hear me out.

Rhysand had other plans. “I’m not arguing with you about this.” My brother crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “You’re going.”

I clenched my fist. “How can I fix things if Y/N is here and I’m dealing with her insufferable sister.”

“She won’t even be in the same room as you for longer than five minutes. You can make your sad attempts at forgiveness when you return.”

I slammed my fist on his desk, “You’re a prick. You know that.”

“Watch it, brother. I could ban you from seeing her at all.” Rhys’ voice was even, his voice void of any emotion.

“You wouldn’t do that.” I whispered. “You know how much she means to me.”

Rhysand stood placing his palms on the desk in front of him eyes dark. “You want to wager on that?” I remained silent and his words softened, “As much as I want you to fix this. I need my General right now. I’m not saying this to hurt you, Brother, but she doesn’t need you right now.”

I pressed my lip in a tight line. “Fine.” I turned to walk away. I opened the door.

“Cass, she will come around you know?” I walked out the door leaving his question unanswered and took off to human lands. Though the hairs on the back of neck tingled, unease coiling in my belly, as I had the sense someone was staring at me. I wouldn’t turn to see Mor’s smug face.

I met Nesta’s cold stare with one of my own. She had let me in without so much as a glance only to lead me into the dining room. “Where’s Elain?”

“In her garden. I’m trying to limit her time with…your kind.” I may have towered over the eldest Archeron sister, but she had a gift of making people feel small with just the tilt of her head. On this day Nesta wore a beautiful blue gown, and her hair was braided in her usual style. Yet my mind kept drifting to her baby sister and how similar they look. The way they stand, the same scowl that scrunches up their nose.

“Has your brutish ways impacted your hearing as it has your brain?” My wings rustled as I returned my gaze to the eldest Archeron, “I asked how my sisters were.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re fine.”

Nesta quirked a brow, “Oh yeah, Y/N giving you a hard time?”

I stilled, “What makes you say that?”

Nesta smirked, “You have the same look most people have when she’s being difficult.”

“She’s not difficult.” I tried to focus on my breathing, remembering the vile things she said to her sister the first time we met. “If anything, I’m the one who made things difficult.”

Nesta lowered her arms and stared at me, her cold gray eyes searching my face. “You love her?” I snorted and to my surprise that took Nesta off guard. “What is loving a human such an outlandish thought to you?” her lips curled upward in a snarl.

I shook my wings and my body and eased my body and mind into something calm, thinking of Y/N’s hand in mine or who beautiful smile. “No, not outlandish for me at all. No what is outlandish to me is the fact you have spent years treating her so terribly and yet here you are asking if she’s okay and if I love her, when even if you did love her, you will never tell her as much.

I approached the woman her back pressing against the wall, “Tell me Nesta, do you know what happened that night you asked her to die?”

Nesta’s eyes widened, as if she too was recalling the memory. “You almost got your wish that day. She almost died. I found her strung up like an animal, her blood was everywhere. We barely made it in time. I could see Nesta paling as I continued. “Did you know the lover she took here got off on torturing her even assaulted her?”

“How dare you-“

“Did. You. Know.” I gritted my teeth my arms caging Nesta in so she couldn’t avoid this. “Did you know that this man had been using her as a doll for months using her job as leverage to get her to stay? Only for her to come home and want love and affection from her sisters only to find disdain and despair here.”

Nesta face looked pain only for a moment before her cool mask slipped back into place. “No, I didn’t and it’s not my place to know what type of lovers my sisters make. I’m sure if he was in high standing to help us get out of poverty, she would have made do.”

I stepped away from her. “Unbelievable. You would have subjected Y/N to a death sentence if you made her stay with him. You didn’t see the cuts on her back like I did. If you had it maybe you wouldn’t be so calm and serene about it.”

Nesta stepped away from the wall smoothing her skirts walking over to the desk in the living room. She opened the drawer to quickly shut it and turned back to me with an envelope in her hand. “They wish to meet in a weeks’ time.” Nesta eyes were glassy, but the fiery rage remained. “Be here in that time. Now. Get Out.”

I snatched the letter from her hand, “You are a disgrace. You failed in every way that counts, Nesta Archeron.” I walked past her heading for the door. I called over my shoulder, “And yet Y/N is the first person to come to your defense or speak of you as someone who needs healing. You never deserved her as your sister.” And with that I left, and I swore I heard a choked sob before I took to the skies.

Reader’s POV

Cassian had been home for a week. I had managed to avoid him by training with Azriel, studying with Rhysand and using his own brothers as shields if he got too close. Both Rhys and Az were happy to oblige in keeping me close and occupied. Then the gifts began appearing at my door.

Chocolates, Jewels, Shoes, by the end of the week the stack of Journals came to my hip. They all went unanswered. The boxes began to collect dust, the chocolates went stale, and the jewels suspiciously went missing after day two. Something tells me a short black-haired female was the culprit of that. Though nothing Cassian could buy with money would not be able to sway me to forgive him. Not after he hurt me in such a deep way.

Feyre walked into my room with a box in her hands at the start of the week, we had been able to spend more time together since the fiasco at the cabin, reading in the library, sharing meals together, walking through the streets of Velaris. It felt like the times before we lost our fortune when it was me and her against the world, I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being in her presence until we started spending more time together. “This was at your door.”  She said shaking the box. She plopped on my bed dropping the box onto my lap. “Open it!”

I sighed, putting my book down, I untied the ribbon and open the lid, with a note.

Princess,

Please accept this gift as my apology to you.

I miss you.

Cassian.

Handing Feyre, the note, I began unwrapping the paper to find a gorgeous red silk gown I picked it up out of the box. Feyre smiled and nudged me, “Try it on.” Facing her I opened my mouth to protest and was met with her pushing me off the bed. “Right now.”

A few moments and I emerged from the changing partition and Feyre gasped. “Y/N… you look so beautiful.” I walked over to the mirror and turned to get a full view. The bodice of the gown, being held up by thin straps, had glittered fabric covering just enough that the swells of my breast were on display. Rich Silk overlapped meeting the sheer fabric covering my abdomen, red boning standing out against the flesh tone. The red satin draped down ruching at my hips as it cascades down a revealing slit to reveal my newly toned and muscled leg. I had to agree with Feyre.

The dress was stunning, but I recalled the note left with it and I pursed my lips.

Are you that incompetent of taking care of yourself? His voice echoed in my mind.

 “He called me worthless. Did he believe that that him buying me this was going to make me fall to my knees and forgive him.” I rolled my eyes and went back to change out of the dress. “Didn’t even hand me this gift himself, had to leave it at my door like a coward.” I mumbled sliding the rich fabric off my body and back into my purple dress with light lavender tulle sleeves. I walked over to the bed to place the dress back into the box.

“What are you going to do with the dress?” Feyre questioned not seeming to have an answer for my earlier inquiries.

“Keeping it. The dress is gorgeous and fits me like a glove. The dress will not suffer because the male who gifted it, is incompetent.” I sighed and crawled into bed placing my head on my twin’s lap where she instinctively fingers through my hair. “This isn’t enough.”

Feyre hummed and we sat in silence for a moment. “What would it take for him to earn that forgiveness?” I glance up at her and her blue eyes meet mine, “Is what happened unforgivable to you?”

I thought about it. Cassian up to this point had been nothing by kind and attentive to me. What he said was said at a moment of anger and if I was honest, I pushed when I should have let him be. However, that did not give him a right to throw my past and my insecurities back in my face the way he did. “No. It’s not. Not for him anyway.This dress or the other gifts for that matter, doesn’t tell me that this won’t happen again.  That he won’t lash out and hurt me. I have given my heart to cruel people too many times. I can’t risk that again.”

Feyre hummed once more. “Rhysand and I are going to the human lands.” I sat up at that and gave her a questioning look. “Yes Nesta, sent word to Cassian two days ago.” Oh, so that’s why the gifts had stopped at that point. “We are to go back in a few days.”

“Great I’ll-“

“Rhys thinks it would be best if you stayed home. I can’t say I disagree, with everything that has gone on,” and everything that happened the last time I was in the human lands, though she doesn’t say it. “I must agree. I would feel better knowing you were here.

I lay back on the bed and groan, “You are lucky that I am in no mood to fight. I’ll stay but I’ll grumble about it the whole time.”

Feyre kissed my cheek, “Thank you. Now let’s go get breakfast, I’m starved.” I laughed and followed her out the room, though I can’t get the image of Cassian taking off that dress off me from my mind.

Cassian’s POV

I was almost ready to give up by the time Feyre and Rhys were getting ready for the meeting with the human queens. I stormed into Rhys’s office with the last gifts I provided. “What kind of person destroys a stuffed toy?” I hold up the stuffed bat I got her, whose wings are now ripped apart.

Azriel and Rhys both pressed their lips in a tight line, but it was Azriel who lost his composure first. I threw the bat at him, and he caught it with ease. “She’s brilliant. I love her.” He looked to Rhys, “Can we keep her?”

I groaned plopping on the couch as Feyre came in. “I just don’t know what else to do. I have tried everything. I even wrote her a letter. She looked me in the eye as she threw it in the fire.” Her words still haunted my memories:

“How would you feel if the one person you trusted with your heart took your deepest insecurities and threw them in your face. The one person you felt safe and protected with just takes everything you are so afraid to burden people with and tells you, you are exactly that. A burden.” Then she walked away.

“Cassian did you hear me?” Feyre’s voice pulled me out of my daze. Recognizing that she caught me she smiled and gripped my hand with her own. “She doesn’t want material things or pretty words Cass. She wants security that what happened at the cabin will never happened again.” With her free hand she pressed her palm against my chest. “She would much rather you give your heart in exchange for hers than any material object.”

An idea blossomed into my mind, and I smiled looking at my girl’s twin. “My heart”. I pressed my palm over the back of her hand on my chest. I kissed her cheek, “Have I told you how brilliant you are today?”

Feyre smiled, “No, but I can see your gears turning in that mind of yours, do you have a plan?”

I nod and look to Azriel, “I do, but I need your help, Az.”

Azriel smiled, “Tell me what I need to do.”

So, I did.

Rhysand and Feyre had left for the human realm that night and I set off to go find Y/N. I started in the library and to my surprise she was there. I smiled looking at her reading, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lip tucked between her teeth. Her hair was up in a cute little bun, and she wore those knee-high socks that made my cock strain in my leathers.

“I can see you, General.” She said not bothering to look up from her book. “Something you need?”

“Get dressed.” That caught her attention. Her eyes meet mine in a challenge. “I can’t keep doing this, Princess. I miss you.”

“You should have-“

“I’m well aware of what my actions have done,” I stepped deeper into the room approaching her. “I am asking you to give me a chance to show you, just how sorry I am.”

“I can’t leave-“

“I’m not arguing with you about this. I am asking for a chance. Please.”

I could see her expression turn into contemplation. Then with a sigh she closed her book, and I fought my heart from swelling as her eyes met mine, “What should I wear?” I smiled.

It felt good to have her in my arms once more as we landed in the mountains. She was shivering as we walked a few miles from the clearing I landed in. I tucked my wing around her to prevent the wind from whipping her skin raw. Her teeth chattering told me otherwise. “We’re almost there, Sweetheart.”

“Cassian, Where are we goin-“She paused mid-sentence as the Cabin came into view. A large cabin sat here the chimney already having plumes of smoke swirling out of the top. Her mouth was slightly agape that the cabin was about the size of the town home, and she looked around the area her gaze found the one thing I was hoping she would find. Walking closer to one of the larger trees that had wildflowers blooming she looked at the frame of the woman. The portrait had faded over time and not in the best condition due to weather here, but the woman shared my eyes and it was the only good quality photo I had of her. “Cass, what is this? Who is she?”

I knelt in front of the memorial and smiled my hand grazing the picture, “This is my home, Princess.” I looked to Y/N and gave another smile, “This is a portrait of my mother.”

Chapter 14 Part 1

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655 @azrielsmate3 @nebarious @tele86 @chelsiemp @fightmedraco @blackgirlmagicforever @fullmoon-94 @thehighlordishere @jenniferpendragon @ray4hotchner @phoenix666stuff @misskennygirl @whitewolfsbitch @highladyivy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @packsvlog @heyyhelloohii @parabatai-winchester @julesofvolterra @lilah-asteria @lyanna133 @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @milswrites @eve175 @acourtofbatboydreams @saltedcoffeescotch @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @talesofadragon

If I didn't tag you please let me know so I can get it fixed straight away!

[kiraman]

vi is so fucking fascinating to me, I am studying her like a bug in a jar

she was a CHILD putting on her father's gauntlets in spite of the fear gathered in her little body, in spite of just witnessing someone she's known all her life die in a HORRIFIC way (benzo), still she rises, still she says I HAVE TO DO THIS still she takes on men three times her size and fucks them up so bad that silco has to send his shimmered up fucked up monster to try to stop her and STILL she persists, indifferent to the worst happening because she’s survived the worst already. furious and unstoppable and determined to do whatever she has to survive and ensure those she loves survive, no matter the cost.

vi under all that debris, bruised, bleeding, screaming, watching her family die, staring at the monkey head in shock and crying because this can't be happening, they were so close...

sobbing in pain until her father saves her just to watch helpless as he dies protecting her. they were so SO CLOSE to surviving, so close to escaping and everything gets ripped away in a second

vi trapped in that prison cell for years and years on end with the ghosts of her family and her guilt for company, drowning in guilt, wondering if her sister's still alive, no doubt thinking about how she LET her slip right through her fingers

the last thing vander said to her was "take care of powder"

she's let the man who's her FATHER and loves more than anything down.

"whatever happens is on you" / "protect the family" / "take care of powder" .... but she can't, not anymore, she's fucked it up and let everyone down (re "I should have been there for you, for everyone") all she can do is sit in that shitty prison cell, on that freezing floor, hungry, bloody, counting the hours until she can somehow rescue powder

Vi is piercings and tats that no doubt got infected, she's a child becoming a woman too fast, she is a danger-zone high-risk disaster area and won't back down, won't give up.

Vi is soft!! self-sacrificing, protective, supportive. ("You wanna talk about today?", "We've all had bad days, but we learn, and we stick together") brave, SMART, witty. she's got a tongue sharp as her fists and a barbed, delicious sense of humour. she gives people nicknames (cupcake, pow pow, pretty boy) and fights with everything that she's got to protect what she loves!!!! she is her father's daughter!!!

she is idealistic and expects the world to see her reason, look at things through her eyes and wanna make a change ( "This is how things are, how they've always been. I was so stupid to think it could change. / "oil and water that's all there is" )

and yes! vi is not flawless. she's obsessive (re sevika. to her eyes she is the last thing standing between her and silco/getting to silco and saving jinx) and complicated, morally ambivalent because she makes mistakes, flies off the handle like a comet crashing through everything in her way, makes reckless choices because she has to. she is selfish when it comes to jinx and would do anything to keep her safe.

also

look at the way she hugs the people she cares about!!!

[sachaa-ff]

Aemond x reader x sir criston (platonic) x rhaenyra (platonic)

Elena is the daughter of rhaenyra, and even if she was claimed as the daughter of Leanor, but she was in fact created during the union of the princess and sir criston..

Enjoy and don’t forget

Request are open ( please I beg you 🫶🏼🙏🏼)

Secrets and Shadows

The Red Keep thrummed with a tense energy, a palpable undercurrent of ambition and secrecy swirling in the air. Rhaenyra Targaryen paced in her chambers, cradling her newborn daughter, Elena, who slept soundly against her chest. The weight of her secret pressed heavily on her heart, the truth of Elena’s parentage a dangerous burden that could unravel the very fabric of her life.

Months had passed since that passionate night with Ser Criston Cole, a night filled with longing and reckless abandon that had ignited a fire within them both. When Rhaenyra discovered she was pregnant, fear gripped her. The implications were dire; a child born out of wedlock could bring ruin not only to her but also to the realm. So she made the decision that would haunt her: she would claim Elena as Laenor Velaryon’s daughter, ensuring her lineage and legacy remained intact.

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, she cradled Elena, her heart swelling with love and trepidation. The infant’s small features mirrored her own, and Rhaenyra could hardly bear the thought of losing her to the cruel judgments of the court.

As the months turned into years, Elena grew, her bright eyes and spirited nature becoming a source of joy for Rhaenyra. Yet, the secret weighed heavily on her, and she felt the shadow of the truth lurking, ready to pounce at any moment.

Among the court, Aemond Targaryen began to take notice of Elena. He had always been observant, and something about the girl caught his interest. Aemond’s curiosity shifted to obsession as he watched her, particularly drawn to a unique birthmark on her shoulder that mirrored one he bore himself. The resemblance intrigued him, leading him to ponder the girl’s true lineage.

One sunny afternoon, Aemond sought out Ser Criston, eager to gain insight into the knight who had so recently risen through the ranks. They found themselves in a secluded corner of the gardens, the atmosphere thick with tension.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond began, his casual tone belied by the sharpness in his gaze. “We need to talk about the princess’s daughter.”

Criston’s heart raced, instinctively sensing the direction of the conversation. “What about her?” he replied, striving to keep his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside.

“She’s remarkable,” Aemond said, leaning in closer, a predatory glint in his eye. “But there’s something peculiar—did you notice the birthmark on her shoulder? It’s quite distinctive, isn’t it?”

The words hit Criston like a blow, and a chill ran down his spine. “What are you insinuating, Prince Aemond?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

“I’m merely stating the facts,” Aemond replied, his smile betraying a sense of victory. “It makes one wonder about her true parentage... You have a similar mark, do you not?”

Criston felt the ground shift beneath him. Memories of that fateful night with Rhaenyra flooded back, and the implications of Aemond’s words clawed at him. “Elena is Laenor’s daughter,” he insisted, though doubt began to creep in.

“Is she?” Aemond pressed, a sly grin on his face. “It seems that the princess has woven quite the tale, doesn’t it? But I wonder if she’ll be able to keep it hidden from those who are truly observant.”

Criston stepped closer, the air between them crackling with tension. “You will not speak of her like that,” he warned, his voice low and fierce. “A women’s lineage is not a game.”

Aemond shrugged, feigning disinterest. “You’re quite defensive for someone who claims to have no stake in this. But it is intriguing, isn’t it? The way she looks at you—there’s a connection.”

The challenge in Aemond’s tone ignited a fire within Criston. “I care for Elena, yes, but that doesn’t give you the right to speculate. I will protect her and the Targaryen at all costs.”

“Protecting her may not be enough,” Aemond said, stepping back with a flourish. “Just remember, secrets have a way of surfacing in this court. If you truly wish to keep Elena safe, you might want to consider how much you reveal—especially to someone like me.”

With that, Aemond turned to leave, the weight of his insinuations hanging in the air. Criston felt a surge of anger and protectiveness welling within him. He could not allow anyone to threaten Elena.

As the days turned into weeks, Criston found himself increasingly drawn to the pair, shadowing her throughout the castle, his instincts on high alert. He watched Rhaenyra readswith Elena, their laughter echoing through the halls, and he felt a fierce protectiveness blossom in his heart.

One evening, as Rhaenyra and Elena were walking in the gardens, Criston approached, a smile breaking through the tension that had gripped him for so long. “May I join you, my lady?” he asked, kneeling beside them.

“Of course, Sir Criston,” Rhaenyra replied, her eyes lighting up. Elena smiled, reaching for his hand, her fingers wrapping around his own.

“She’s getting gorgeous every day,” Criston said, watching Elena with a mixture of pride and love. “You’ve done well, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened as she looked at him. “Thank you Sir Criston... I couldn’t have done it without your support.”

Criston felt a swell of emotion at her words, the bond they shared deepening. “I will always be here for her, for both of you,” he promised, his voice firm. “I won’t let anyone threaten your safety or Elena’s.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze turned serious. “But you must also protect yourself. The court is a dangerous place, and Aemond’s curiosity could easily turn into something more malicious.”

Criston shook his head, resolve hardening within him. “I won’t let Aemond or anyone else dictate our fates. I’ll face whatever challenges come our way to keep Elena safe.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the garden, Criston felt a renewed sense of purpose. He would shield Elena from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. The world around her might be fraught with treachery, but within their small circle, he vowed to create a sanctuary.

Days passed, and Aemond’s obsession grew, his sharp eyes always lingering on Elena. Criston sensed the danger rising, and every encounter with Aemond left him feeling more on edge. He could not shake the feeling that Aemond was plotting something.

One afternoon, Criston confronted Rhaenyra. “We need to speak about Aemond. His interest in Elena is becoming too intense.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed with concern. “What do you mean?”

“I fear he may try to use her against you, to expose the truth and worst if he want to have her as his wife..” Criston replied, his voice low and urgent. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

Rhaenyra’s expression turned grave. “Then we must be vigilant. Elena’s safety is paramount.”

Criston reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. “I will not let anything happen to either of you. I swear it.”

As they shared that moment of solidarity, Criston felt a surge of determination. He knew he had to confront Aemond directly, to make it clear that he would do anything to protect Elena from his schemes.

The next time Criston encountered Aemond in the halls, he approached him with purpose. “Aemond, we need to talk.”

Aemond looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “What is it, Ser Criston? More threats? I find them rather entertaining.”

“Leave Elena out of your games,” Criston warned, his voice low and fierce. “She is a child, not a pawn for your amusement.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Oh, a child really? She’s 17 Sir Criston, but I’m simply fascinated by her. She has the Targaryen fire in her, does she not?”

“She is more than that,” Criston shot back. “She is Rhaenyra’s daughter, and I will not allow you to put her in danger.”

Aemond stepped closer, their faces mere inches apart. “You’re quite protective of her. It’s touching, really. But you should know—there are consequences to defying me.”

Criston’s heart raced with anger and protectiveness. “I’m not afraid of you, Aemond. You may think you have the upper hand, but I will do whatever it takes to safeguard Elena.”

As Criston turned to leave, he felt Aemond’s gaze burning into his back, the tension thick in the air. He knew the game was far from over, but he would not falter. He would protect his family, no matter the cost.

Back in the safety of her chambers, Rhaenyra awaited Criston’s return. When he entered, she could see the tension in his posture, the fire in his eyes.

“What happened?” she asked, concern etching her features.

“Aemond thinks he can use Elena against us,” Criston said, pacing the floor. “I confronted him. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

Rhaenyra moved closer, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve done well to stand up to him. But we must be cautious. He’s dangerous.”

Criston looked down at her, his resolve hardening. “I won’t let him take either of you from me. She’s my family, my blood, and I will protect her at all cost.”

As he spoke those words, Rhaenyra felt the weight of their situation lift slightly. In the midst of the turmoil, there was solace in knowing that they were united in this fight. Together, they would navigate the treacherous waters of court intrigue, determined to keep their secret safe and their family intact.

In that moment, as they stood together, Rhaenyra felt a spark of hope ignite within her. They would face the challenges ahead with strength and courage, knowing that their bond was unbreakable.

The road would be fraught with danger, but together, they would overcome whatever obstacles lay in their path. For Elena, for their future, and for the love that had blossomed in the shadows, they would stand firm against the storm.

[bronze-vermithor]

Freedom

aegon ii/lyseni!reader, aemond/lyseni!reader

summary: Aemond is in an arranged marriage with a Lyseni woman. She does not like him but she does like his brother Aegon.

warnings: reader hates Aemond, reader and Aegon only talk but emotional cheating?

note: this is not the same Lyseni!reader from my other fic Isolation. In my first draft, this fic took place during the Dance but I decided that might complicate things and took out anything implying what time this is set during. I also went with the book's canon of Otto being the one who thought of the alliance with the Triarchy. But since this fic doesn't take place during the Dance any longer, the alliance got created earlier than canon. If that doesn't really make sense then so be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Aemond’s wife stood at the window, gazing out at the darkening skies of King’s Landing, her expression as stormy as the gathering clouds. The oppressive air of Westeros choked her, just as its rigid customs stifled her spirit. Everything here felt like a prison, much like her husband Aemond.

Lys had felt like a world of freedom, alive with color, music, and indulgence. Here in Westeros, her every move was scrutinized. They expected her to play the role of the dutiful wife, to behave like a proper lady, and to mind her tongue and fall in line. It was a dull, suffocating existence, and Aemond, dutiful, and unyielding, was the embodiment of everything she despised about this place.

She did not choose Aemond. Their marriage had been arranged. Her father, with Otto Hightower’s careful planning, had sealed the alliance between her family and the crown. Her father was a wealthy magister who had strong ties to the Triarchy and Otto Hightower hoped he could potentially use that connection in the future if a war over succession ever broke out. Or something like that. She didn’t really care about their politics here.

She didn’t arrive in King’s Landing wanting to hate her life here. She wasn’t excited but she had been hopeful that her and her husband would find common ground. But immediately there had been no warmth in Aemond’s gaze when he first looked upon her, only a cold calculation. He was a man with a constant chip on his shoulder who held infinite grudges. He was stern and seemingly had no sense of humor. His presence made her feel wary and uncomfortable.

But Aegon was different.

A small smile touched her lips as she thought of her husband’s brother. Aegon was everything Aemond was not. He was wild, carefree, reckless, and perhaps a little too fond of wine and women. In his company, she found laughter, something sorely missing from her life in the Red Keep. With Aegon, she felt alive again, a stark contrast to the cold, rigid man she was bound to.

The sound of heavy boots echoed outside her chambers, and she knew it was Aemond before the door even opened. When he entered, the air seemed to chill, the tension between them thickening.

“Where were you today?” His voice was sharp, he was suspicious.

She didn’t bother to turn. “In the gardens,” she replied, keeping her tone cool, though they both knew it wasn’t the full truth.

Aemond stepped closer, his single eye narrowing. “With my brother, no doubt.”

She finally turned to face him. “He’s better company than you,” she snarked with a teasing smile.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. “You dishonor yourself by being around him. My deviant brother is no better than the whores he spends his nights with.”

“And yet,” she said, her voice cutting, “he’s far more tolerable than you.”

Aemond’s fury flared. “You are my wife,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Your place is with me, not parading about with Aegon.”

“I never wanted to be your wife,” she shot back, her voice rising. “My father gave me away like an object. I didn’t choose this life and I refuse to suffer in silence. At least your brother treats me like a person, unlike you.”

Aemond’s fingers twitched, a dark shadow passing over his face. For a moment, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he turned sharply, his back rigid, hands clenched.

“You will stop this,” he said, his tone soft yet menacing. “You will not see him again.”

She laughed bitterly. “You can’t keep trying to control me forever Aemond.”

“I can,” he replied coldly, “and I will.”

As Aemond stormed out of her chambers, her heart pounded in her chest. Each confrontation only strengthened her resolve. She would not remain trapped forever. Aegon was her key to escape.

Later, when Aemond was called away for some reason or another, she quietly slipped away, her footsteps soft but determined as she made her way to Aegon’s chambers.

She found him lounging on a chaise, a half-empty goblet in hand. His smirk widened when he saw her enter.

“Well, well,” Aegon drawled, setting his cup aside. “Come to escape my oh-so-noble brother?”

She smiled faintly, moving closer. “You could say that. I find your company much more interesting.”

Aegon’s grin widened, and he gestured for her to sit beside him. “I imagine Aemond is about as enjoyable as a cold bath. I don’t know how you stand him.”

“I don’t,” she replied, sitting down with a sigh. “I survive him.”

Aegon laughed, his hand brushing against hers casually. “That’s all anyone can do in this place. But you…” he tilted his head, his eyes appraising her. “You were made for more. Freedom. Pleasure.”

She felt lured in by his words, the rebellious part of her coming to life at what he said. It made her recall the memory of her life before she was bound by the restrictions of Westeros. With Aegon, she could almost pretend she was back in Lys, where laughter and wine flowed as freely as the sea breeze.

“And what would you know of freedom Aegon?” she teased, her tone genuine but curious. “You may live without care, but you’re still bound by your title and by your family.”

Aegon shrugged, reclining further. “Perhaps. But I take my pleasures where I can. Wine, women, a good fight. Isn’t that enough?”

She turned to face him more fully, leaning closer as her voice softened. “It’s not enough for me. I don’t want to simply indulge in pleasures. I want to be completely unshackled.”

Aegon’s smile faltered, just for a moment, as he studied her face. “You never will be as long as you’re married to him, you know.”

Her throat tightened at the truth of his words. Aemond would never grant her the liberty she craved. His jealousy had already grown stronger, especially over her time spent with Aegon.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’ll take whatever I can get, even if it’s stolen moments like this.”

Aegon’s hand lingered on hers. “Then take more. Aemond doesn’t have to rule you.”

Her breath caught at the implication behind his words. She knew Aemond’s jealousy was close to boiling over, but wasn’t that what she wanted? To push him, to see the cracks in his usual icy facade? Maybe then he might show some personality for once.

“I won’t be his prisoner forever,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I refuse to be.”

Aegon smiled again, more genuine this time. “Good. You deserve better than to waste away under his control.”

They drank to that, to freedom, in whatever form they could find it. As their cups clinked together, she felt a surge of something reckless, much like the man sitting beside her. In Aegon, she could forget, if only for a little while, the heavy dull weight of life in Westeros. Here, she could breathe again. She could feel alive.

But even as they laughed and drank, she knew they were playing a dangerous game. She knew Aemond was not a man to be trifled with. She knew his jealousy was growing more intense with every passing day. She knew how much he disliked his own brother. It was only a matter of time before it all boiled over. And when it finally does, the consequences would be far worse than either of them could imagine.

I thought about writing another part but in Aemond's perspective so we could understand from his point of view why he's seemingly a bit harsh in this. But I'm undecided on if I will or not.

[yanderes-galore]

Oooh can i get some yan hcs on cherri bomb and angel dust sharing darling? :>

I feel like these two are best as platonic yanderes together? So that's what I did since the pairing wasn't specified.

Yandere! Platonic!Cherri Bomb + Angel Dust Sharing a Darling

Pairing: Platonic - Sharing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Drugs/Alcohol, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Blood, Coercion, Peer pressure, Dubious companionship.

Based on what I've seen, these two are such a chaos pair.

They've even been described as partners in crime.

The two are often supportive of one another through their problems.

They even attend parties together... which is what brought about my idea for this.

How I think this would go is you're a friend they go partying with.

Maybe the two first met you at a party.

You had come to a bar to party and have a good time, although you aren't used to it.

Which is where you meet Cherri and Angel.

The two naturally come off as intense at first.

After all, you may not be used to parties.

Meanwhile they're two intense sinners who do alcohol and substances.

However... Cherri's social behavior may rub off on you.

She's extroverted and can tell you you'll have a good time.

Which leads to a night with the two of them, filled with intense parties and socializing.

A party goer obsession makes the most sense for them.

Mostly because... well, parties can be dangerous at times, right?

So imagine if you have two overprotective friends who often meet with you to party.

Then during said party, the two watch over you like a hawk and keep your attention on them.

After all, they seem like they'd know about the dangers of partying the most.

Angel has, unfortunately, been drugged enough to know what it looks like.

While Cherri makes sure no one takes advantage of your inebriated state.

I personally think this is how they'd be as platonic yanderes.

Just two suffocating protective best friends who are looking out for you.

The two want you to have a good time.

They want you to trust them and stick beside them while you party.

They seem like they'd throw hands if someone tried anything with you.

For example, if your drink was spiked, they'd hunt whoever did it down.

Cherri would comfort you if you happen to have any problems, similar to what she does with Angel.

While Angel would, probably, be picking fights with whoever tried to use you.

Honestly, this alone doesn't sound bad.

Although, to make it dark, maybe the two often drag you to parties.

Maybe you're not that big into partying, but the two pressure you into it.

You three have so much fun at parties!

You're not scared, are you?

Don't you know they'll look after you as your friends?

Imagine if one of them pressures you a bit more to drink.

Perhaps they both just... enjoy taking care of you and having you rely on them.

Sure, they're the ones now coercing you into partying...

But you'd be bored otherwise, right?

It isn't surprising to wake up at the hotel or Cherri's place with the two of them standing over you.

You can faintly see a dark red or black on their clothes... but they brush it off.

They just say when you were passed out, a bar fight happened.

They got into a bit of a fight... but it's all good and you're safe now!

Need anything for that hangover?

The two act caring and attentive.

Yet I can see them pressuring you into parties and substances/vices just to spend more time with you.

It's manipulative and disturbing alone.

But I can also see them killing someone over you.

Those bar fights? Well, they aren't a total lie.

There was a fight.

Yet he two no doubt killed someone for getting too close to you.

Usually during parties you're sat in a corner booth, away from every other demon.

Either Cherri or Angel stays by you, offering you a drink.

Angel playfully teases you, all friendly of course.

Although the moment another demon comments on you, Angel becomes hostile with them.

As though complimenting you is only for him and Cherri to do.

During parties, regardless of if you like being there or not, the two act as bodyguards.

They hang around you after parties too.

Mostly to chat and help you out with the... side-effects of said partying.

While the way they hang out with you is twisted... They care about you.

Even if it isn't healthy.

I can see the two finding ways to keep you beside them.

Be that by taking you home inebriated... or making you stay with them at parties...

You're their hardcore party friend.

At least... You should be.

Why would you refuse them?

They're your friends and... you enjoy their company...

They're just looking out for you.

Maybe you should just try one more party for them... Just to have them happy...

Except the more you give in... The more trapped you become... Then soon they won't let you go... Ever.

[calaisreno]

His Move

1557 Words / Prompt: Manipulate

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Mary was an assassin, the business of her past never quite behind her. She’d run away once, and Sherlock had insisted they go after her. At that point, John was willing to let her go. They were never going to have the future he’d imagined when he bought her that ring. 

She was already dying when he arrived at the aquarium, and said the things you would expect a loving wife to say. You were my whole world. 

He felt a dull sense of relief, and hated himself for it. The problems of your future are my privilege. 

A future, cut short. And still, her problems would haunt him.

When Sherlock reached out his hand towards John, his eyes wide, John saw the horror-stricken expression on his face.. 

You were my whole world, he thought. 

Her body was lifted, put on a stretcher, and carried out. John followed.

Sherlock texts him: I’m so sorry. SH

John doesn’t reply.

Please talk to me, John. SH

He feeds Rosie, gives her a bath, puts her to bed. She fusses; she’s old enough to sense something is wrong. Now she has only her father to keep her world stable.

John, please. SH

He plans the funeral; there’s no one else. Mary has no family, only a few friends. It’s his responsibility. This keeps him busy, gives him space to work out what comes next.

Sherlock is actually sorry. This John doesn’t doubt. He’s not a sociopath, regardless of what he says.

John’s words at the aquarium were spoken in anger; he doesn’t blame Sherlock for Mary’s death. John is the one who brought her into their orbit. He can’t change that, but sometimes he thinks about what would have happened if Sherlock had returned six months sooner. Of course he would have been angry, and would have expressed how he felt about watching his best friend die, being abandoned for two years. Six months earlier, maybe he wouldn’t have paid attention to the new nurse, the one who kept flirting with him. 

He has no doubt that he would have come back to Baker Street if Sherlock wanted him. The compromise, as always, would have been on John’s part. Sherlock is never going to change. He will always treat John as a convenience, a habit that doesn’t require thought. 

Sherlock is rarely solicitous, never bestows compliments, only flatters someone if he’s being manipulative. The speech he gave at the wedding nearly knocked John over. Maybe Sherlock was only trying to do what was expected of him, but it was unexpectedly touching. 

Sitting there, hearing the two people who love you most, he’d had this thought: I would have waited for you, if I’d known. 

In his own way, Sherlock does love John. He also knows how to manipulate John, to get him to do what he wants. To keep John in the dark when he doesn’t trust him. 

Loving Sherlock has always meant giving something up. It means following him into danger. John isn’t sure he can afford that any longer, not with a child to care for. 

He has to be sure.

It doesn’t surprise John to see Sherlock at the funeral. Mrs Hudson sits with him, and Lestrade joins them. Molly slides into the pew, whispers something to Greg. It’s a protective entourage; they all know what John said.

Harry is home, watching Rosie. John sits alone, in the front row. 

Sherlock has texted him daily, and John hasn’t replied. That’s why Sherlock is here. He wants John to accept his apology, for everything to be as it was before he ruined it all by dying. Not that Sherlock understands it this way; he doesn’t think that dying ruined things. He’s convinced that he had to do it, that John would have died if he hadn’t. In his mind, there was no alternative. 

Maybe he’s right, but for two years, John carried the weight of grief. That’s just feelings, sentiment; Sherlock wan’t dead; he was saving John, saving the world, winning the game. He left John behind, let him grieve, because that was the only way to solve what happened at Barts that day. 

Sherlock will still leave John behind at crime scenes, run heedlessly into danger, and probably get wounded at some point. He will question John’s intelligence, talk to John when he’s miles away, text him impatiently while he’s treating patients. He will dismiss John’s concerns as frivolous, insist that sentiment makes him weak. He will break John’s heart again and again. That’s just the reality.

And John could break his heart, too. He has a temper, and letting go of anger is hard. Will that anger still be simmering in a year, two years? It’s hard for him to forgive; even in death, he hasn’t really forgiven Mary. 

Can he say he forgives Sherlock and really mean it?  

John prayed for a miracle, and hit the ghost when he returned. Sherlock didn’t hit back; he made a joke. He missed the point. 

But he pulled John out of a bonfire. His look of panic is something John won’t ever forget.  

He tricked John into forgiving him—but has also tried to be worthy of that forgiveness. 

He has expressed his love for John in front of a hundred people. 

These are not the acts of a heartless man.

Sherlock needs him. Maybe two years away was as hard for him as it was for John. 

Does John need him?

He imagines a life without Sherlock. He weighs it against a life without Mary. One is possible, one is past.

His wife was a master manipulator. He’s only beginning to realise the extent of that. He’d had doubts, but couldn’t put words to them until he was in Leinster Gardens, hearing her admit that she’d shot Sherlock, that she would do anything to keep John in the dark about who she really was. 

The woman he fell in love with saved him from despair.

The woman he’d married was a facade. 

He never forgave the woman who shot Sherlock. 

The woman he went back to gave him his daughter. 

So. Mary’s gone, and what he feels about that is a confusing mixture of guilt and sorrow—and relief. At some point, he loved her. Or the idea of her. He chose her. 

She made choices as well. She chose death, rather than allowing Sherlock to take that bullet. When John came back to her, she understood that he would never completely forgive her, that he was doing it for Rosie. She’d chosen to save Sherlock, to die rather than live with John’s grief over losing him a second time.

Sherlock didn’t kill her. She chose to die.

But when he stood at her grave, he didn’t ask her not to be dead.

What he wishes now is that they’d never met, that he could rewind time and make a different choice. That she was still alive, a stranger living somewhere else. 

But then he wouldn’t have Rosie. He loves his daughter completely, protectively, without rhyme or reason. He wants the best life for her, the carefree childhood he never had. And he imagines her growing up without a mother—with a father who has chosen to be alone. 

He pictures her, a child with pigtails and a stubborn streak. A teenager able to go toe-to-toe with her father and still see reason, take a small step back when she’s wrong. A young woman with curly blond hair and a teasing smile. She leaves for uni, and he’s alone again. He grows old, and remembers.

Does he need Sherlock? 

Absolutely, desperately. Like air. 

Can he trust Sherlock? 

Probably not. And he won’t change him.

He misses Sherlock. Whatever they have been to one another, his heart wants him. 

Is it worth the risk?

He’s standing in the church reception hall, drinking a cup of terrible coffee. Sherlock is across the room, looking at him. His expression is sorrowful, not the fake sorrow he can put on during a case, pretending he cares. His hands are stuffed in his coat pockets and he’s slouching against the wall, watching John.

Coworkers from the surgery express their condolences. Mrs Hudson hugs him tearfully. Lestrade tells him they need to get together over a pint. He accepts their sympathy, makes small talk because that’s what people do. All the while, he feels Sherlock’s eyes like a magnet, pulling on him. 

As the hall begins to empty out, he can resist the pull no longer. Sherlock looks up, surprised, as John walks towards him. His pale eyes fill with tears. 

John has given up so much already. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself. Maybe he’ll never fully trust Sherlock, but he’s already forgiven him. 

Setting aside all his objections, laying down his anger and his regret, he surrenders.

When he pulls Sherlock into the hug he’s always wanted, this time Sherlock hugs back. John makes deductions. He can smell a cigarette, maybe two (nervous). He feels his ribs, still too prominent (unhappy). He’s trembling with the emotion he hates (love). The world may have lost a fine actor when Sherlock Holmes became a consulting detective, but this is not acting.

“Please come home,” Sherlock whispers.

John smiles into his shoulder, his own tears beginning. “Oh God, yes.”

[coirinthyurilo]

Headcanon and explanation about Will's plague powers and how dangerous he can actually be, even if it's watered down.

Okay. So I get it. Will is the son of Apollo, and he's pretty OP in a sense. He can heal people, and that's like. Technically the most important thing in the Demi-god world. Due to the amount of injuries you can have.

You need a healer on bay. But Will is not only just a healer. He actually has plague powers as proven in TSATS. Able to give hay fever to a primordial that even Zeus fears? If your hink about it. If Will's plague powers weren't that powerful. Nyx wouldn't even have registered that she had gotten sick. But she did?

I doubt even a primordial goddess can even get sick. So imagine her shock when she realized she got sick all because some boy who was made from the sun gave him sickness in one of his domains.

And imagine that much power to even AFFECT Nyx? To a Demi-god or a simple fragile, can die at any-given circumstance, MORTAL. They'd probably have the worst known disease that not even mankind has even registered to know yet.

And I like to think. That as he grows his healing over time so does his plague powers. They're two sides of the same coin. Like they develop at the same time in the same way. Every time Will heals, it adds more power to his healing. With his plague powers it does the same.

That's also probably why he was able to make Nyx sick. Because if he had just found out about his plague powers wouldn't it be really weak at first?

So there. That's my explanation on it.

Now for the headcanon.

I like to think that in a future war or so, when Will is shoved to the edge, seeing multiple die at once. He just wants it to stop. He wants the war to stop. He NEEDS the war to stop. Especially when he finds Nico fatally injured.

And because of that desire and need for that to happen. The only thing his brain processes a logical answer. Is death. If the enemy is dead. The war will end sooner and no one that he cares about will continue dying.

So imagine seeing Will Solace walk into the middle of a battle. Many lay dead at his feet and there's an entire army in front of him. Out of pure fucking anger, he let's out piercing supersonic whistle that catches them off guard. And once they drop their swords to cover their ears.

Will takes a breath.

One single exhale leaves him. And green smoke erupts from his throat, like a poisonous gas. It didn't seem to bother then at all at first, it didn't even smell..?

And it looks pretty harmless, until people start to have burns and rashes, eyes turning red, as their legs give in, their Asaphogus shuts tight and they have the trouble to even breath. And they die. They die and they fall.

And the so called healer. Has once made an entire army sicker. That's how scary Will's powers can be if developed to the FULLEST of it's potential.

There's even a head canon I thought on how Will can drain people's life force and take it for himself to use and resotre his power to heal once he runs out of energy. That would be such a weird and cool concept.

Imagine some guy uses another person's life force and transfers that life force to you so can survive instead? What an eerie and such a terrifying thing to see and think about.

Especially when the harmless healer can most likely be fatal. It's just that no one has ever made snap. 🤷‍♀️

[everythingblackblack]

Just remembered that Professor Agasa is Jii's inventor friend who helps with Kid's gadgets so Shinichi and Kaito have another connection. It would be hilarious if Shiho/Ai figured it out first because of this, I think Kaito would get along great with her and the Professor.

I've thought about this before.

Jii is a close friend of Agasa, I don't doubt that maybe Agasa even knows that Jii works for KID but chooses to ignore it.

However, we all know how much he cares about Ai, I imagine that at some point they had a conversation about that along the lines of:

"We've been friends for a long time, I know you're a good person, but I also know that you work for KID."

Jii doesn't look at him, he just takes a sip of his drink. They never talk about it, it's a not-so-secret secret between them, Jii always hinted at it, but Agasa never seemed to care. He doesn't think he's going to turn them in, so he waits for him to continue.

"I have a daughter, not biological obviously, she's suffered a lot, bad, very bad people are after her, I'm afraid I won't be able to protect her."

"Do you want him to investigate them?"

"No, it's very dangerous, and I wouldn't put a friend's family in danger for mine, just… if one day that girl comes here without me, do you think they can hide her? She's my family, and I know she'll be perfectly hidden with someone as skilled with disguises as KID."

"Knowing my master, I don't think he'll reject you, and I won't either, however, I'm sure he'll want to meet her."

"I think it would be good to make proper introductions, I want her to know where to go if she needs it." It makes a lot of sense to me that Agasa would want to hide Ai away if things went too bad, and what better place to hide than with someone he has no "relationship" with?

I can see Jii explaining the situation to Kaito, and being the kind person he is, agreeing to help them out. And he's also thrilled at the idea of ​​meeting the inventor of his gadgets! Kaito has so many questions! He might even ask him for suggestions for his card gun and his opinion on it.

In Ai's case, I feel like Agasa makes her a hot drink and they sit alone talking in the middle of the night when Conan isn't around and the kids are in their own homes.

"Why did you need to talk to me alone?"

"I want to introduce you to my bartender friend and his grandson."

"Just me? Why?"

Agasa takes Ai's hands, more to comfort himself than her.

"I may not say it as often as I should, but you are important to me, we don't know what will happen to the organization in the future, so if things get bad enough that I can't stay by your side, I want you to have somewhere to go, I don't want you to be alone again and I'm worried about your safety."

Haibara would stay silent, what Agasa says makes a lot of sense, but she has a lot of thoughts in her head. A part of her feels touched, she never thought she could have a family again, and on the other hand she is worried about the uncertain future that awaits them.

For now, all she can do is give him a hug, he's not a person who usually shows affection, but with the two of them being the only ones there, she gives herself the opportunity to do so.

"Wouldn't it be dangerous for them if that were to happen?"

"My friend's grandson is very good at disguises, I hope that with him they would never be able to find you, and also that almost no one knows my connection with them, it makes it the perfect place to hide."

"You thought a lot about it."

"I want you to be safe."

Kaito immediately recognizes Haibara, and also Agasa, they are friends of Conan.

The first thing Agasa says in this situation is that Ai must not tell Shinichi about this unless this situation becomes too dangerous.

Haibara did not think that the professor's friend would work with KID, nor that the latter would use the professor's inventions, she thinks it is very funny.

While Agasa and Jii talk, Haibara and KID get to know each other.

KID: I'm surprised that you chose to stay, I thought you would leave as soon as you found out who I am.

Haibara: You don't care about my secret, so I don't care about yours.

KID: Don't you think I'm suspicious? That my assistant and I are?

Haibara: You can't expect me to trust you right away, but Professor Agasa does, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but don't expect mercy from me if you end up getting involved in a robbery just because you use his inventions.

KID: Interesting. I like you.

Haibara: I just threatened you, you have weird tastes.

KID: I like people who try to kill me, they make life more fun.

Haibara: You're strange.

KID: Well, trust is something that is built. Here's my number.

Haibara: Is it real?

KID: No, but if we're going to make friends, we need to start somewhere right?

Haibara: I didn't say I wanted to be your friend.

KID: But you said you don't trust me, and from what the brilliant and charming professor said, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you can't go home, you have to find us, so… Why not become friends? I think that way you wouldn't feel awkward and distrustful if that possibility ever came up.

And that's how these two become text friends.

Since Kaito and Haibara have programming skills, I like to think that they design their own app to talk to. I like the headcanon that Kaito has knowledge in chemistry and creates his own smoke bombs, so he asks Haibara for a lot of advice.

She has him listed as "Unpaid Intern" and Kaito as "Labor Slave."

Conan is incredibly curious about her strange online friend, he makes Haibara laugh, she seems happier, he needs to know who can make her laugh out loud with a single message.

However, every time he tries to access the strange app it asks for a password, and he has no idea what it is.

She'd be surprised if she knew it was 1412, and yes, Kaito's is 4869.

Kaito asks her about the antidote, since he's seen Shinichi use it, she tells him that "unlike that reckless fool, he only uses it in serious emergencies", she shyly tells him that she would have liked to go on a date with her, but understands the gravity of her situation, so she apologizes for thinking something stupid.

Haibara tells Kaito about the kids, how dumb Shinichi is, Agasa, the new music she's listening to, the series she watched.

Kaito about his day at school, magic tricks, mentions the Nakamoris, complains about Hakuba and Akako, and asks if it would be too much to use pink glitter for their upcoming heist. I would really like to read a fic (or make it myself, since I'm at it) with their online friends, and if it comes to the point that Ai has to become Shiho once again, Kaito can take her out for a good time for a change.

[kichikichiko]

Ok, so I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable with this request. If I do, just tell me!

Ok, and you do a SFW/Fluff of Wally Darling x Y/N who is pregnant (I don’t even think it’s possible that puppets can be pregnant but I guess roll with it 😅)

So, can you do headcannons on marriage + pregnancy (If you’re comfortable with writing that. I don’t know why I just think sense he’s in a kids tv show and is overall calm, I think he would be amazing with kids) gender of children/kids if there will be multiple are up to you, doesn’t really matter.

Also I think you would be cute if we got a small reaction from the neighbors of the marriage and or pregnancy! Like how would the whole neighborhood react to this?

Our little family

An: HI EVERYONE IM BACKKKK

I saw this cute request and literally could not resist I HAD TO!

I love reading n writing pregnancy related fics its so fun n fluffy UGH

Hope you like this liz! I totally agree with you. Wally would be good with kids no doubt

Synopsis: HC of Wally with a pregnant puppet reader!

Pairing: Wally Darling x AFAB reader

Cw: fluff, pregnancy, established relationship, reader is called mother @ the end, wally is probs OOC, defies all puppet logic known to mankind

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You and Wally Darling have always been Welcome Home's "it" couple, so imagine the happiness everyone felt when the two of you got married, and imagine the shock everyone felt when you got pregnant!

When you found out you're pregnant you couldn't contain your happiness

You had to tell Wally ASAP after he came back from Barnaby's place

You like knitting so you thought it'd be fun to surprise him with knitted baby clothes, so you got straight to work.

Wally came home at around 1 PM, right after lunch. "Darling I'm Home!"

"Over in the living room dear!" You called, and he made his way to the living room.

Seeing your giddy expression has become one he's used to, but Wally had a feeling that something was different "Darling, you seem really giddy today, did something happen?"

To his question you grinned wider "Im happy everyday with you dear, but I suppose you can say the reason as to why is..." trailing off you picked up the yellow knitted baby outfit you have finished in the morning

Wally couldnt believe it.

Mr. Darling had always been known to have the same expression no matter what, but hearing this news caused him to have his jaw dropped to the floor (quite literally)

Most people would take this as a bad sign, but you knew Wally better than that. You could tell all sorts of emotions and thoughts ran through his brain

"I'll be a father? This can't be happening!" "What a miracle!" "Ill be the best papa for my son or daughter... or both!" "Im so lucky" were just a few he manage to say to you before deciding to kiss you all over your face with his signature slow laugh.

All the other 8 neighbours were delighted to hear that youre pregnant! Thanks to Wally walking around and casually telling them of course.

Julie screamed with joy, hugging you jumping up and down (dangerously close to you) which caused your dear husband to kindly and gently, push and remind Julie to be more careful. To which she complied, causing you to giggle

Sally, a drama queen obviously giggled with joy as well, only she knew better than to hug you while jumping up and down. She promises to give your kid a show once they were old enough to understand.

Poppy was shocked and happy for you and wally, so much so the bird started baking you a cake as a congratulations. She promised you that if you ever had any cravings, just give her a call and she'll be more than happy to bake you something!

Frank was delighted to say the least, despite his face not showing it. You knew he cared. And Frank being Frank, gave you heads up on pregnancy, what to avoid eating, what to do when feeling contractions, letting you know the size of your baby etc. This is his love language, info dumping. He will come and visit Home whenever you need him. As he is Welcome Home's book worm.

Howdy was very delighted. Gave you a pat on the back as well as a hearty laugh. Howdy started stocking up on baby items like pacifiers, diapers and baby toys just for you in the shop

Eddie of course, was just as happy as the other members of Welcome Home. Being the Mailman, he told you that once your belly grows big and you can no longer walk, he'd be happy to deliver your mails and or deliver things to you.

It was delightful having so many wonderful and kind neighbours all around you! And having a wonderful husband made your pregnancy journey fairly easy despite its occasional ups and downs throughout the 9 months.

BONUS:

Once your daughter came into the world, everyone was in awe and took care of her like the niece they never knew they needed!

Wally was obviously a fantastic father, and you were a fantastic mother

When your daughter is old enough, he'd teach her how to paint and they'd go on father daughter dates around the neighbourhood. Painting all they can see and proudly showing their work to you once they get back

Wally would read your daughter bedtime stories to help her sleep

Maybe even throughout the day as well

Waddles up to her father and shows him a book

"Oh? Whats this my sweet peach?" He'd startd "you want papa to read you this book?"

With a gleeful nod she'd get on her tippy toes and give Wally a full clear view on the book

"My sweets its not even bedtime yet are you sure you dont want to save this for tonight?"

He ends up reading it to her anyways

His daughter is his greatest weakness

It made you feel at ease knowing that your daughter is surrounded by kind and loving people <333

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REQUESTS

Masterlist here!

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 14 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Another day in town reveals a deep-seated lack of worth within Arthur that you do your best to distract him from.

Author’s Notes: I’ve decided on a relative timeline for this story—about three years before the events of the game, hence Arthur’s age mentioned in this chapter. More alcohol consumption in this chapter. Chapter fourteen of this one. More notes at the end.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Fourteen: A Good Day’s Mischief

Word count: 5057

Still ain’t told me her name. Considering her drunken state last night, I doubt she remembers any promises well enough to keep them. Still, I was hoping to get it out of her while her judgement remained so poor. Now she’s back to herself—defiant and stubborn as she ever was.

~

You and Arthur had done all you’d set out to do, freshly laundered clothes in hand, horse and mule checked on, and bellies full. You could get used to a life like this. Especially the way the two of you walked side by side, quiet for all that had passed between you the night prior. Simply happy to be together. He may not have wanted you in the same way you wanted him, but after being held by him all through the night, feeling so protected and cared for, you didn’t care. That closeness was unlike anything, something you craved deep in your bones. You prayed you weren’t too obvious about that need, especially as you walked beside him now where you would normally follow along. But he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he kept that mild satisfaction on his face and walked on. It was all you could do not to smile like an idiot at his happiness—at knowing you were the one who put it there.

The two of you trudged up the creaking hotel steps and inside, Arthur nodding at the hotel owner just as he had the day before. It filled you with such a sense of familiarity you could hardly stand it.

Upon reaching the room, you immediately held out your hand for Arthur to give you his shirt.

“Let me sew that up, get this thread back to the hotel worker.”

Something passed over his expression you couldn’t place, but he did as you asked. And you were soon sewing the small separation shut with the same swiftness as before, glad his shirt was also blue so that the thread matched.

You finished and looked up to find him watching your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

You passed the shirt over to him, tucking the needle and thread in your pocket. “I had lots of practice.”

He smiled—a soft, genuine thing compared to his usual smirk. It made him more handsome than any haircut could.

“Let me get this back downstairs,” you told him, patting your pocket. “Be right back.” And, when you headed for the door without a word of protest from him, you turned. “What, no quip about me being careful?” His gaze was on his shirt, his thumb running over the newly threaded mend. But when he caught you staring, he tossed it aside and cleared his throat.

“I thought that was implied.” All haughtiness returned.

You just grinned and left the room, nerves rearing at that same sense of familiarity that came from spending time with him. It was a dangerous thing to be so happy about—something that wouldn’t last.

Items returned, you reentered the bedroom to find Arthur looking out the window and smoking. His coat was once again shed, those broad shoulders on display. You had to keep yourself from staring.

He turned and offered you his cigarette.

“Never again,” you said, holding up your hand in refusal.

He chuckled. “Come on. It weren’t that bad.”

“Tell that to my lungs.”

The light in his eyes as they held on yours was deceiving. Partially because their genuineness reminded you of when he had kissed you, and you were filled with a hope you knew to be false because of it.

“You…wanna go back to the saloon?” he asked, voice careful like he realized what that look did to you.

“Maybe,” you said just as soft. “What else could we do while we’re in town?”

You thought you caught a tinge of red crossing his face before he turned back to the window, looking down to the street below. “There’s plenty of mischief for an outlaw to get into around these parts.”

Surprised, you pondered what that could possibly entail. “An outlaw, huh?”

He just lifted the cigarette to his lips again, not responding.

“As eager as I may be to see a bit of this world, I believe that’s where my sense of adventure ends.”

He looked at you then, a smirk lighting his eyes. “Please, do enlighten me on what you think I’m suggesting.”

“I, uh…” Truth be told, you had no idea. You’d thought he meant mischief beyond the arms of the law. For the both of you. “I guess I don’t know.”

He was really smiling then.

“What?”

“It’s a wonder we get along,” he said on a chuckle, smoke puffing out as he did.

“Do we?”

“Good point.” He leaned back against the window frame, one hand landing on his gun belt. Something about that relaxed grace of his made you want things you didn’t know how to want. He went on. “It’s just strange. Me, an outlaw, and you, skittish as a wild horse, not even knowing what that word means.”

“I know what it means.”

“Do you?”

“Outside of the law. Getting by on…thievery at best.”

“And at worst?”

Even though a small smile remained on his face, you could tell he cared about your answer. It was a loaded gun, that question. This circling conversation the pair of you never could seem to rid yourselves of.

He held your stare, and you held it right back. “That violence you showed me when those two men tried raiding our camp. What it could have turned into.”

“And what’s that?”

He wanted you to say it. Like he wanted you to fully understand—to hate him for it.

You stared at him a long time. Then, “I’m not scared of you, Arthur.” He made to laugh that off, so you pushed. “You’ve been awfully good to me for someone who wants to think himself so evil.”

That finally made him crack. He looked to his boots and let out the last of his laugh, smoke trailing in its wake. “Evil ain’t the right word.”

“What then?” You didn’t know you wanted to know him so badly until that very moment.

He turned back to the window and stood there a long time. It was only when you thought he wouldn’t answer that you heard his voice, deep yet small.

“Undeserving.”

The word tore through you. It was said with such sadness, such honesty, that you felt your chest cave knowing he wore that burden so heavily. Thinking himself truly beyond saving.

You could have consoled him in so many ways—namely by saying a worthless person wouldn’t worry themselves over whether they deserved good things. But you found yourself unable to get it out, unable to say a word. You just watched him in front of that window, smoke billowing up like old wounds finally brought forth—veiled and, consequently, impossible to staunch. It killed you to see that in him. It had you rethinking everything, every moment spent with him. You had been taking and taking and taking, never once thinking of his needs. So you vowed, right then and there, to begin.

“Let’s go, get out of here for a while.”

“Where?” he asked without facing you.

“Anywhere.”

He finished his cigarette, the stub short and burning in the noonday light.

“On one condition,” you amended.

He turned then, face clouded with something you couldn’t decipher.

“That you enjoy yourself.” He made to answer, but you interrupted. “And don’t lie and say you’ve been doing that already because you haven’t. Not while you’ve been so busy watching my back every second.”

He didn’t deny it.

“When’s the last time you quit worrying about everyone else? Did something for yourself?”

He let out a flat laugh. “Been a while.”

“Exactly. So come on and show me a good time, and stop babying me.”

“That ain’t-”

“Save it.” You opened the door and motioned for him to go ahead of you as dramatically as you could.

He rolled his eyes and made a big show of being annoyed, but you did know that much about him—all that gruffness was only that: show. So he gave in like you knew he would and was out the door in seconds.

You let Arthur lead the way this time, vowing to go where he went, to keep out of trouble. He must have really taken your word for it, for he soon walked straight into a saloon you hadn’t noticed before that was behind the hotel. It was…far from the likes of the Red Horse. Very far. But you were glad to see that Arthur wasn’t watching you for once, catering to you. Instead, he stepped up to the small, dingy bar and ordered a drink with a certain lightness in his step. He ordered you one too, but after seeing the state of the place, you didn’t feel like drinking from the dingy glasses he was handed. You gave him yours, and he only shrugged and started drinking both, propping himself against the bar top.

You took the time to note your surroundings—the piano player who kept missing notes not because of a lack of talent but because of a lack of keys. The few seedy-looking men who were already looking at you. You were immensely glad you hadn’t changed back into your own clothes, as their eyes hardly lingered on you any longer than they did Arthur. But the pair of you were strangers here, and with the way most of them huddled together in watchful silence, you could tell they frequented the place enough to call it their own. You and Arthur couldn’t say the same. And you felt the weight of their stares as a result of that long after turning away.

Arthur didn’t seem to mind the saloon’s company. In fact, if it weren’t for your being with him, you would be willing to bet he fit in around places like this. He seemed comfortable, less watchful, less shifty. It took you all of a heartbeat to decipher why, and the reason behind it both alarmed and saddened you—he was among like-minded people here. All shabby clothes and unkempt hair, guns on most patrons’ hips. You were willing to bet Arthur wasn’t the only man in the room who frequently found himself on the opposite side of the law. But more than that, it seemed he hadn’t enjoyed the company of the Red Horse as much because he felt he would never belong with those people. The more you looked around, the more you realized how abysmal Arthur’s self-worth was. He was worth ten of every man here. You didn’t even have to know them to know it—you could see it in their beady eyes. None of them would have helped you off that cliff bottom, but Arthur had. And you let him go on enjoying himself because of it, knowing any attempt to convince him of that worth would be futile. It would just anger him, and that was the opposite of the point of coming here. You instead thought of ways to help him keep his mind off things and grinned when an idea hit you.

“So.”

He turned to you. “Aww, don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That one. Pure mischief if I ever seen it.”

“Isn’t that the point?” you asked, grin never fading. “You said it yourself. Plenty of mischief to get up to around here.”

He swigged down the rest of his drink and set it on the bar top, already waving at the bartender for another. “What did you have in mind?”

“You remember that little question game we played? With the gin?”

“Sure,” he said, not quite meeting your eye. Of course he did. It was hard to forget when the end result had been that kiss.

“I’ve got questions.”

“Here we go,” he muttered.

“I wasn’t properly…prepared last time. It was unfair from the start.”

“I let you ask me just as many questions as I asked you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but the caliber of questions was, well, tipped in your favor.”

“That so?” he asked, turning to you. The smug look on his face had you trying your best not to think of where the last game had led, because it was already getting difficult to resist wanting that again.

“They were,” you said simply.

“Well, fire away then.” He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “You already know enough to get me hanged. How much worse could you throw at me?”

You didn’t know enough to get the man hanged, for Christ’s sake, but you banished the thought before your confidence could be shaken. Instead, you started simple—with exactly the same thing he had.

“What’s something you never told anyone? Your deepest, darkest secret?”

“Deepest and darkest, huh?” he said, tilting his head back in thought and amusement.

You gave him time to think it over, knowing better than to tease him when you had the upper hand. He would just quit, and where would the fun be in that?

Whether from liquid courage or from genuinely wanting to enjoy himself, he relented.

“I don’t like the cold.”

“What? That’s not an answer,” you chided.

“It’s plenty answer,” he said with a grin, knowing it was anything but.

You were a breath away from arguing when you caught the way he was looking at you, just waiting for you to do exactly that. So you clamped your mouth shut and rerouted. “I meant something more along the lines of downright humiliating like my answer was, but…I’ll allow it.”

“You didn’t say humiliating. You said something no one else knows about me. Living with that gang of misfits every second of every day, you learn everything there is to know about each other.”

“That’s…more like it,” you admitted. Then, “Well, why the cold then? I like it.”

“Oh, and I’m not allowed to have an opinion?” he teased.

You glared. He just tilted his head back and laughed, and it was better than any answer he could have given you.

“Fine,” he said on a sigh. “It’s because it’s miserable. Heat can be bearable. It’s never painful, but the cold…”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said, feigning understanding. Then, because he deserved some hassling in return, “It’s hard on the weak-willed.”

He scoffed and bumped his shoulder into yours in retaliation, and all you could do was laugh into your hand, trying to hide the feminine sound from the surrounding crowd.

“My turn,” he said. “And you got two, so I get two, and don’t even try to wiggle out of that.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

“You ever daydream about kissing the postman?”

You could feel your face burn at that one, trying to answer fast enough to cover your embarrassment. “What kind of question is that? Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“I ain’t never brought it up since you did,” he countered.

Maybe not, but he always aimed these questions right where you were most guarded. Or most clueless, more like.

You groaned your frustration and were about to blurt denial before you realized that would be a lie—you’d never kissed anyone before Arthur, and you couldn’t deny that childish curiosity that had you imagining a hundred different scenarios with that stupid postman at the ripe age of fourteen. Maybe even thirteen.

Your hesitation was your biggest mistake. Arthur’s shit-eating grin had already taken hold. “Knew it.”

“There’s nothing to know,” you hissed, trying to keep from a yell. Lucky there was the sound of a piano currently filling the saloon, or this whole conversation would be on display for the patrons.

“Can’t lie,” he teased. “Those are the rules.”

“I haven’t even said-”

“Next question,” he interrupted. “Since you want to play dirty.”

“I wasn’t playing-”

“Did you imagine him your age in said daydreams, or were you kissing a forty-year-old man?”

“You’re terrible,” you said. “Absolutely awful.”

“So…that a yes?” he asked over a wicked grin.

“No.” He gave you a knowing look, and you immediately shut it down. “No. He was…like he always looked. Not forty, for Christ’s sake.”

“Thirty-nine?”

You swatted him. He laughed. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” you said, exasperated. “How old are you? He looked about like you do.”

You realized your mistake the moment the words left your mouth. Especially when Arthur’s expression turned from amusement to smugness.

“Like me, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” His grin had turned feral.

“He looked your age.”

“Sure.” He dropped it, but you knew by the look on his face the conversation was far from over. Meanwhile, it was likely your face would soon burn away with how red you knew it to be.

“I’m thirty-three,” he said, interrupting your embarrassment.

“He was around that.”

He nodded. Then, “Well, as fine a question as asking my age is, it’s my turn again.”

“Excuse me?” You said it loud enough for Arthur to shush you.

“Pipe down with all that. Lest you want these fine folks knowing you’re a lady.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What?”

“Lady. That’s the second time.”

“That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

“Woman,” you corrected.

“Woman. Lady. Same thing.”

You leaned over the bar, facing away from him. He was too amused with you to let it lie. “What, you got a problem with it?”

“No. It’s…not terrible. Just don’t expect me to go calling you gentleman.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, nameless.” You whipped around at the nickname, and he winked at you before lifting his glass to his lips. Goddamn him for it. This was the Arthur you couldn’t stand being around since that kiss. The one who had led to that kiss. And all you wanted was for it to happen again.

You tore your eyes away from him and tried to think of a question that would justify why you were suddenly wracked with nerves and dead silent because of it.

“How ‘bout this,” he said, his smile so wide you knew it would be an awful question. “Have you ever…” His voice trailed when his eyes met the door. Yours followed, and you immediately knew why his focus had become so sharp—in walked the man from the night prior, the one who had lost so much money playing poker. Bowler hat, greasy manner, and all.

“And, like his father, he’ll come to regret that,” he was saying to one of the men he was with the night before. Well, slurring would be more accurate. His red-tinged face and bloodshot eyes gave him away for a drunk if his speech didn’t.

“Mr. Lawrence,” the bartender called over to him. “Nice to see you in.”

“Ah, Mr. Begley,” the man—Lawrence—responded. He leaned over to his friend, either not bothering to lower his voice or unaware of its loudness as he said, “Can’t very well say it’s a pleasure in this dump, can I?”

His friend chuckled in response, but all you could do was glare. Your distaste must have been obvious enough for Arthur to lean into you and whisper, “Eyes forward, there.”

You did as he asked, not needing to draw attention to yourself now.

You were grateful when the man and his friend settled on the opposite side of Arthur, though not even a minute passed before he was drawing Arthur’s attention.

“A new face, have we? Haven’t seen you here before.”

Arthur kept his eyes forward as he said, “Never been here before.”

“A newcomer then. Staying or passing through?”

“Just passing through.”

“You and your…ah…”

Lawrence leaned past Arthur to look at you.

“My friend,” Arthur answered, though it only resulted in a raised eyebrow from the man. It was obvious enough to anyone looking closely you were a woman. But if he realized, he didn’t say anything.

“Yes. Well, the name’s George Lawrence. Brother to the notorious James Lawrence.” The description dripped with disdain for the latter, though you had no clue who he was referring to.

“Who?” Arthur asked, and you had to rein in a smile at the way he blatantly snubbed the man, offering up no name of his own.

This really got the man’s attention, and his friend’s too. “You don’t know? Oh dear, what filthy little rock have you been living under?” When Arthur still didn’t take the bait, Lawrence kept on. “The shootist? Recently appointed town marshal?”

“Here?”

The man scoffed a laugh. “Yes, here.”

“Well, if he’s as friendly as you, maybe I’ll go pay him a visit,” Arthur jeered.

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed with disgust, his oily nose crinkling up with it. He looked Arthur up and down. “And you are?”

“Arthur Callahan.” You were surprised Arthur even offered that much, though he still wouldn’t meet the man’s eye, too busy leaning over the bar top and trying to ignore him.

“And you?”

Lawrence’s eyes had fallen on you, and you blurted the first name that came to you to keep Arthur held back as he turned toward the man in offense. “Frances Smith.”

Lawrence’s eyes narrowed as Arthur whipped around, surprise lining his gaze—he didn’t realize the name was fake. You just shook your head at him.

“Well. I hope the two of you enjoy yourselves in our humble town. Though I do suggest sticking to the back streets. That’s where the other…what do you call it? Cowmen tend to reside.”

Never in your life had you heard that word said with such disdain, and it drew Arthur’s attention like a gunshot. “Excuse me?” he grimaced, voice dangerously low.

“I don’t believe I stuttered.”

That did it. Arthur stood to his full height, towering over the smaller man, and swept into his space so quickly that Lawrence stumbled back onto his friend’s foot.

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to,” Arthur threatened, “but I ain’t like these other townies, scared of some marshal brother of yours. So I’d suggest you get lost before you find yourself with a few less teeth.”

The whole saloon had stopped to stare—even the piano player. It was dead silent as Lawrence answered with a slight slur in his voice, “I would think twice about the crowd you find yourself in before you threaten a fight.”

Arthur looked around as you did, finding many glaring patrons. But they weren’t glaring at the two of you. Rather, it seemed they had caught just enough of the conversation for Lawrence to offend the whole lot of them too. Arthur must have noticed this, as he looked back to Lawrence and, without hesitation, yanked him forward and head butted him right in the nose. A crack rent the air, Lawrence went crumpling to the floor, and his friend could only shout his shock and try to help him back to his feet, both too drunk to do much of anything else.

A few of the patrons laughed, one exclaiming, “That’ll show him, the sorry bastard.”

Lawrence finally reached his feet with a bloodied nose, straightening his jacket with whatever dignity he had left. And, seeing no one would come to his aid, he just glared at Arthur and cursed under his breath as he stepped past him.

“Come on, Higgins. I think it best my dear brother hears about this.”

With that, he left. You and Arthur watched him until the doors snapped shut behind him and his friend.

“As satisfying as that was,” the bartender said, drawing your attention. “I would be careful with that one.”

Arthur pushed his glass back toward the man for him to refill it, tossing another coin down. “Slimy bastard like that deserves worse.”

“Perhaps.” The bartender waited until the room resumed its careful conversation, most men eyeing Arthur now. The rickety piano started back up when the bartender leaned in close over the bar. “He wasn’t exaggerating about his brother. They say he’s the quickest draw anyone’s laid eyes on in years. And, newly appointed town marshal to boot. You would do well to remain in his good graces.”

“If he’s anything like his sorry excuse for a sibling, I don’t care to be,” Arthur muttered.

“He’s not. He’s likable enough. You get on his bad side, and you’ll find the whole town against you.”

Arthur noted this but didn’t answer, so you did. “How on earth did a man like that wind up with a brother like George?”

The bartender really looked at you then, likely just now realizing your gender. But you appreciated his kindness as he only tipped his hat to you and explained. “They say George has lived in his brother’s shadow too long. Not as talented, not as favorable. And his nasty gambling and drinking habits make for a sour man indeed. Too much money and too little entertainment. I would steer clear of both men.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Arthur said, cutting you off before you could respond. You looked to find him glaring at you, likely because you had drawn so much attention to yourself twice now.

The bartender took the hint and his leave, letting you and Arthur be.

“We need to get going, Frances.”

You couldn’t help your smile. “Is that what you’re upset about? You did just crack a man’s nose with your skull, you know.”

He didn’t acknowledge that. “All this time, you wouldn’t tell me your name, and you dole it out to the first bastard to walk through that door and ask it?”

“Maybe he was nicer about it than you were.”

“He wasn’t.” Arthur’s scowl tickled you—like a pouting child. You pointed to his drink.

“Finish that, and let’s go.” He raised an eyebrow at you. “Unless you want the big bad marshal to come knocking.”

He scoffed and threw his drink back, slamming it on the bar top. “Thanks,” he offered the bartender, tossing him another coin for his discretion and his advice before ushering you out. You could only smile at how disgruntled Arthur remained, letting him lead you on.

~

Frances. Goddamn Frances.

Arthur lead you back to the hotel, too spooked to go anywhere else despite the early afternoon hour. He hadn’t had his head on straight in that saloon—shouldn’t have taken you there in the first place. But he had to admit, you had a way of making him forget his logic. It had even been fun for a while. Until it wasn’t. Now he had the attention of one of the most powerful men in town which never lead to anything good. He was suddenly considering that putting an end to this little stay wasn’t such a bad idea. It had been nice while it lasted, even if it had only lasted two days.

After locking you both inside the hotel room, Arthur dug through his satchel for a cigarette, finding he only had one left. He would need to get to a store soon. Maybe in the next town.

“So,” you said, that playful lilt still in your voice despite what had gone down back in that saloon. “Mr. Callahan, was it?”

He shook his head as he lit a match. “Fake name.” You laughed lowly, and it drew his attention. As did the way you settled on the bed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He let you drop it, still too jittery to pick a fight with you.

“I didn’t know any better, and I’d say you’re jealous.”

He didn’t take the bait. “Am I?”

“You must be if that’s how you react to me giving my name out.”

He eyed you, taking a long drag. “I ain’t jealous.”

“No?”

“No.” Then, because he couldn’t resist, “It just don’t make much sense. You, protecting your precious name from me all this time only to-” He caught your eye and the grin underneath them. And simultaneously realized himself a fool. “That ain’t your name, is it?”

You smiled wide, and he scoffed.

You laughed loudly, the sound so pure it made his chest tighten. “No, Mr. Callahan, it’s not.”

“Well, you don’t get to know my name, then. How’s that?”

You shrugged. “Fine. Arthur’s all I need.”

“You’re something else,” he said, ears burning for the way you kept outsmarting him.

With this, you just smiled and shed your hat, lying back on the bed. He wanted to join you on it. Knew he wasn’t strong enough not to. But if he was going to keep any gentlemanly manner about him, he couldn’t do it now. He couldn’t lay beside you while that alcohol ran through his blood so thick and that laugh of yours made him want to take your mouth to his. If he did, the night would end in a way he was torn between wanting desperately and knowing he would regret the moment it happened. There would be no happy ending for you and him. Just as there hadn’t been with Mary. Just as there hadn’t been with Eliza and the boy…

He couldn’t dwell on that now. Not while he still had you—someone kind enough to brave the world for him, as you had tonight in that shit hole of a saloon. It meant more to him than he could say. You were right that he never took time for himself. Mainly because when he did, it always ended badly, and there wasn’t anyone with him now with enough knowhow to get him out of a tight like that. In fact, the thought of you just trying put a smile on his face. Smart or no, you were no outlaw. He was willing to bet your experience with the law ran nigh on none, good or bad. But his experience wasn’t exactly something to be proud of, so he went back to looking out the window and trying to empty his head with that lone cigarette, passing the time in hopes you would fall asleep and his blood would cool. After a while, both came like a caring respite, and he crawled into that bed a second time with you, repeating to himself that it was only for comfort. And only for a little while longer.

_________

End Notes: My apologies if your name happens to be Frances Smith 😂 just pretend she said some other name that isn’t yours if so!

Chapter fifteen is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

[dagondelrio]

So I have been thinking about the Wisdom Saga, obviously. I had some thoughts that I wanted to share. Sorry for the angst. Spoilers for the Wisdom Saga.

So we all know that Hermes is going to be the one to get Odysseus off of Calypso's Island while Athena is recovering? dead?. After having begged Athena to help him at the end of Love in Paradise.

Odysseus must have some complex feelings towards that. No doubt, he is relieved to finally get the chance to go home or die trying after seven years of being trapped there, stuck with his own guilt and grief. On the other hand, he knows that Hermes is there only for his own amusement really. Yes, he helped with Circe, but he straight up told Odysseus that this might fail and he would die and made it clear he really couldn't care less. Not to mention, Hermes is a trickster god archetype. Odysseus likely will listen to Hermes despite all that because any chance, no matter how slim, is worth listening to Hermes. Also, he knows better than to piss off another god.

Odysseus also doesn't know that Athena got extremely hurt? killed? to free him as she didn't speak to him or any indication that she had heard and was going to respond to his prayer and help free him. Hermes might mention it to Odysseus, but based on what little I know about Dangerous so far, Hermes won't, and ultimately, it makes sense as Hermes has met Odysseus This isn't Apollo coming to help with a throw away line like "Oh, I wanted to see the mortal that Athena risked her life to help" that would at least clue Odysseus in on Athena being responsible for his freedom. Odysseus wouldn't even ask about Athena as, for as far as he knows, Athena is still pissed at him and ignoring him.

If Hermes did tell Odysseus, imagine his reaction. First, it will depend on how much he knows. Does he know that she went against Zeus for him or that she was just responsible. If he knew that she went against Zeus and suffered greatly? died? imagine what that would do to his survivors guilt. He has already caused so much pain to those he cared about. His son had to grow up without a father. His wife is running a kingdom and likely filled with grief. His mother died waiting for him to get home. He got his entire crew killed either directly or indirectly. Then his mentor, the one who scorned his friendship, put herself in danger for him and suffered/died for him. If Odysseus only knows that she was the reason but not what Athena did, he'll likely be both glad and hurt. He'd be glad that she had heard his prayers and that she chose to aid him. Hurt that she was too proud to face him and didn't come to him herself. I think this one would be the easiest version for their relationship to repair.

Now, if he doesn't know, he'll probably be mad at Athena for abandoning him when he truly needed her. Her would be resigned as he knows he screwed up by not listening to her and likely thinks that there is no repairing their relationship. There is also anger at himself for allowing himself to believe that Athena would come to his aid after she made it clear in My Goodbye that she didn't really care about Odysseus and wanted nothing more to do with him.

Now, in the Odyssey, Athena disguised Odysseus as a beggar so that he could kill the suitors. Epic of course, is its own work, and this moving forward part depends if Athena is dead. (I know Calypso says goddesses can't die but remember she is talking to a mortal who has no divine abilities or divine aid vs the king of the gods fighting hisi daughter) Hermes really could fit this role as he is a trickster god. If Athena helps well, that is where it gets interesting.

Odysseus wouldn't refuse her help. As he knows not to piss of the gods and he at least kind of knows Athena's intentions. I don't see Athena mentioning the risk that she put herself in for Odysseus. She is prideful. I doubt that she would be willing to admit that she had been beaten by Zeus for Odysseus. I don't see either of them bringing it up. I imagine that Odysseus would be bitter now that she is helping when he had previously begged her for her help, and as far as he knows got nothing from it. However, he won't have any allies, and Ithaca has changed since he has left, so he won't refuse her aid. I doubt their relationship would ever truly recover.

Now imagine when Odysseus finds out that Telemachus made friends with Athena. On one hand he would be relieved. He would be glad that at least someone was looking out for his son when he couldn't (also a little bitter that he couldn't be the one protecting Telemachus). On the other hand, imagine how it must feel to have his friendship with Athena dismissed, where as far as he knows, she only saw him as her student, not a friend. That his son got to have that relationship with her. That she was so quick to replace him with someone else. Imagine Odysseus wondering where he went wrong to not get that same relationship from her that he had wanted.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Now You See 'Em, Now You Don't (18+)

Part 1 of Ghosts and Mirages

Warning: Heavy mentions of blood, gore, violence, and smut. Choking, finger fucking, mirror sex, voice kink. Plenty of smut.

!Please beware!

Summary: After a dangerous encounter leading towards your own capture and torture, you; Codename "Mirage", went from one of the best snipers on the task force with a bubbly sense of humor and strong wit, to a stone-cold demeanor woman who let her vendetta get the better of her, almost costing her the lives of her teammates.

Ghost wasn't too happy about this, and based off experience, he refuses to let your mind head down that path any further.

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A Mirage can be many things: A body of water in the middle of a desert, an assassin in the dead dark of the night on a rooftop, a glimmer of light reflecting off hot pavement before the sun set, all disappearing from the eye the moment you get too close.

People could say that the words ghost and mirage have pretty similar meanings, but not towards those who took the names to identify themselves by.

You wished you could say you worked hard to earn that name, which you slightly did. Once the name was put to the wind, it permanently stuck to you ever since.

Your top specialty was your excellent aim, always volunteering yourself to take the liberty of helping the squads you were assigned to. If there was a group of snipers, you would take the lead and give orders. If you had to work alone, you gladly did so.

Your actions didn’t go unnoticed, gaining the attention of those who took an interest in your talents. You couldn’t fully admit publicly that you were proud of your skills, believing that karma could come back and bite you in the ass one day, but you definitely felt a swell of pride with every compliment that flooded your earpiece.

You couldn’t exactly remember when you found yourself working alongside the men of Task Force 141, eventually fully assimilating yourself into the team. While being unaware if any of the higher ups had officially approved it, you doubt they were going to say anything against it now.

Price definitely wasn’t complaining, that was all you really cared for.

After a short while during a mission, an interesting game of name picking occurred after completing your objective to eliminate any enemy snipers. While the option of using a suppressed rifle was possible, there were only five camouflaged snipers along the cliffs, allowing you to sneak up on them one by one and jam a knife into their necks, severing vocal cords before they could even scream.

Soap had taken the liberty of giving you the name “She-Ghost,” which caught you off guard as you hid in the dry grass, a few feet away from your recent victim. Why She-Ghost? None of your enemies saw you coming.

You’re pretty sure Ghost had his own name and reasoning trademarked. You were alright with the man, but you never saw anything between the two of you that you shared in common, let alone enough to share a code name. Price shut down any future commentary on the topic before reminding everyone to focus on the mission at hand.

“She-Ghost sounds kind of sexist, by the way.” You couldn’t help but pitch into the silence that followed after.

“It does not.” Soap retorted.

“It does.”

“Enough,” The gruffy voice of Ghost spoke up. “Calling her She-Ghost makes her sound like she’s my sister.”

“You’re right. I just remembered yer’ old enough to be her dad.” Soap retorted, making you bite your lip to suppress a laugh.

“Thanks for making me feel young, Johnny.”

You wish that night ended much easier than it sounded, but it wasn’t.

Somehow, you missed a sniper to kill, who then alerted his comrades of the lone assassin hiding up on the cliffs. The loud struggles and muffles were heard by everyone through your earpiece before connections were cut, your attackers knocking you out with the butt of a rifle to your right temple.

Where you were dragged off to was a mystery. Where you had woken up was also a mystery, but not the enemies who surrounded you when you were woken up via water being poured over your head, bound and gagged to a chair. You were stripped of all your equipment, leaving you in your simple garments. The room smelled dank, the air heavy with expensive, putrid cigar smoke. The only source of light hanging from a bulb over your head, your vision too blurred to fully make out the faces of the men standing in front of you.

Their were four people in the room: one of them you recognized straight away as your crew’s target. He grabbed ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him, speaking to you in a language you didn’t really care to learn all that well just yet. He stepped to the side, directing your head towards a camera stand a few feet away pointing straight towards you. A tiny red light confirmed that whatever was to happen was all being recorded.

Saying you were scared was a ridiculous understatement. You were at mercy to the men inside this room inside a building in the middle of god knows where, who planned to torture and kill you before sending the video off to your team. Hell, it might even be broadcasted live to those who fought for the enemy, setting an example to what happens to enemy soldiers, especially women such as yourself, for fighting against them.

You were tortured inside that small, dimly lit room for hours, maybe even longer. There was no way you could tell the time, your hands kept tightly bound behind the backrest of the wooden chair. You were pretty sure they even took your watch away.

After constant punches to your face and body, the leader began speaking to you again in his common language. When you didn’t answer any of his questions, you were beaten even more until he tried again. This process went on for a good while, not a single word leaving your lips.

Then, he got smart enough to speak to you in broken English, but the only response he got from you was a wheezy laugh. He wasn’t satisfied with the response, extending his hand, being gifted a knife by his comrade. After asking you one more time and receiving nothing in return, he dug the blade down the side of your face. The sharp sting of the knife scraping your right cheekbone down to your bottom lip made you cry out.

What made it worse was their unique creativity, forcing you to talk once more while slicing the tips off Cuban cigars before igniting them. When you didn’t, their leader proceeded to blow smoke in your face before deciding to cauterize your fresh wound with the burning end of the cigar, laughing at your screams when they twisted it deep into your cheek.

“Hurts, no? You talk now?” He questioned you, gripping ahold of your chin.

“Go... to fucking hell!” You gritted out before spitting blood to his face, making him wince and retort. You laughed at his reaction, seeing him wipe it off with visible disgust before grabbing ahold of your neck, squeezing hard and tilting your attention upwards. He held the end of the blade right in front of your right eye before pulling it back, preparing to kill you right then and there.

Seeing you weren’t afraid, or he was just as chickenshit as he looked, He lowered his hand, clicking his tongue before handing the knife back to his partner, who carelessly left it on a table near the door. Gesturing towards the two others, they yanked you off the chair and dragged you out of the room, leading you to god knows where in this building.

You would think that their expensive taste in cigars meant that they could afford better quality tape. The water they had thrown on you prior had weakened the adhesive just enough for you to allow your wrists some wiggle room.

Releasing one of your hands, you yanked yourself from the men's grips, pulling the tape over the closest man’s neck to act as a last-minute choker. You tugged hard, hearing him choke while his partner quickly pulled out his gun. The bullets he fired naturally hit your new man-shield, quickly pushing the slumping body towards his partner before wrestling for the gun, headbutting the man before firing half the mag into his skull.

Faint bursts of bombs echoed from the outside, letting you know that you were close to an exit, and something was definitely happening outside. The exit was reasonably tempting, but with you now being in possession of a gun, you proceeded to stumble back the way you came from.

A man quickly stepped out of the room when he got notified of the commotion, immediately getting shot in the head before he could draw his own weapon.

You fired the last two bullets towards the only remaining man in the room, sending him to the ground in agony as the bullets punctured the back of his knees. Throwing the weapon aside, you reached for the knife from the table, getting down on the ground to turn the man over to his back.

It wasn’t the leader, you quickly realized that. It was just some goddamn man dressed in a similar uniform. The man you were after had gotten away after you were dragged off.

He pulled a gun from his belt, pistol-whipping you to throw you off guard. He fired, the bullet barely grazing the shell of your ear, making a piercing ring rattle your throbbing head.

You jammed the knife into the man’s neck before he could shoot you again, shouting in his face while you pushed his arm away. Refusing to stop there, you pulled out the knife to embed it straight into his chest, puncturing his left lung. You repeated the action over and over, watching his mouth fill with blood as major arteries were struck. The substance stained your hands and blade, splashing onto your face every single time you retracted. You screamed out your rage with every stab, feeling the knife repeatedly scrape against rib bones and puncture his heart.

The camera had fallen over from the chaos, the cracked lenses capturing an angle of your body sitting over his, witnessing the bloodshed that stained the ground.

A sudden rush of footsteps came running down the hallway towards the room you were in. Those who entered first witnessed firsthand when you jammed the blade into the man's right eye, your throat raw from screaming.

You looked up, seeing familiar looking clad soldiers entering the room, led by an all too familiar man scoring a black mask with a white painted skull standing beside another familiar mohawk wearing man.

“What... took you so damn long Lieutenant?” You panted while raising yourself from the corpse, tasting blood on your tongue from the throbbing gash on your bottom lip, bleeding even more after your consistent screaming.

“Been here for a while actually, I was just enjoying the show.” Ghost set aside his rifle, watching you finally release the knife, wiping your stained hands on your ruined shirt before tugging the remnants of tape dangling off your wrist.

“Sorry it ended so soon,” You muttered, bringing a hand over to your chest while catching your breath, feeling it grow difficult as a tight, painful sensation started under your ribs. You stood slowly, stumbling onto your feet as your relief diluted your adrenaline rush, reminding you of the pain your body was experiencing prior.

“Woah, woah... easy.” Soap brought you into his arms after you took a couple steps forward, allowing you to lean on him for support. “Easy there, lass.” Soap gently held onto your sides, feeling your sharp wince and immediately relaxing his grip. You trembled a bit, your breathing growing raspier than a few moments prior.

“I think they broke one of her ribs Lt.”

“If they did, she’d still be screaming. Punctured lung sounds more like it, go easy on her.”

“I didn’t think.. I just didn’t think you guys would come for me.” You admitted with bated breath, feeling Soap hoist your arm over his shoulders to provide additional support while you stood.

Ghost picked up the abandoned camera from the floor, pulling it off of its stand. It had still been recording this entire time, wondering what kind of footage this thing had received: Important discussions between the enemies next hideout location or our torture. Most likely both. The time he saw in the far corner of the screen showed just how long you were left victim to these men, finding it a miracle you were still alive before it could’ve gotten worse.

He wasn’t a fool to how these men treated women, especially female prisoners.

He dreaded having to watch every single minute of the footage later.

“And lose the best sniper we got on my watch? Don't think so little of yourself, (Y/n).” Ghost came closer, black painted eyes staring at the state of your face. Despite the bruises hidden underneath your ruined clothes and along your jaw and left eye, the intense gash across your face looked nasty, darkened with dirt and ashes as it continued to seep thin ripples of blood, trailing down to the bottom of your jaw.

“Let’s get you out of here, kid.”

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