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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

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The Lions Claws

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When a Lannister visits King's Landing, he ends up finding entertainment in the King's eldest son.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, toxic/manipulative behavior, Lannisters being Lannisters, mentions of bruises, cersei would be proud, aegon might feel a lil ooc

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For a capital meant to represent the Crown, King's Landing was incredibly underwhelming. Even the towering Red Keep sitting atop Aegon's Hill proved lacking with its dull red stone and drum towers casting shadows. He'd expected something akin to Highgarden's serene beauty or the formidable and untouchable Storm's End but the Red Keep was dreary at best. The air felt thick and suffocating as if it were eager to be rid of guests with clouds loomed overhead in varying shades of grey, leaving one wondering if there'd be a drizzle or downpour awaiting them the moment they stepped outside.

"A smile wouldn't kill you," Erwin muttered across from him, yet the grimace on his face spoke for his own thoughts. Homesick was one word to describe the heaviness in their chests. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if she heard you left a sour impression on Her Majesty and the Hand."

"Oh, please." (Y/N) spared his cousin a glance before his eyes returned to peering up at the Red Keep from the window of the carriage. Chilling air flowed inside, opposite of the warm breezes that so often clung to the westerlands he knew well. "All she cares to know is if Tyland's made a fool of himself yet, the poor idiot. She may not say it but I know she fears the dragons will eat him alive."

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened. He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains.

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies. But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak. Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers.

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children. She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more. Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower.

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were. He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason. "I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty." It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle." Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful. An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet. Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's. His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon. Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days. It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway. (Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance. A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay. His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch. "I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock."

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls. Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do. His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them.

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe. Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight. If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything.

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks. Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child.

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh. He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord.

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness. Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute. Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss.

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind. The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time.

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh. His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children. He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him.

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut. (Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout.

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger.

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek. The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist. "I wished to see if you were alright."

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe. His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

"Bring us some sweets." (Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek. She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand. "Thank you, darling." She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipped bashfully.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace." (Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists.

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes. He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to. "It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls. He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy.

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door. "You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?" The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups. "That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left.

"I hope you ate before you indulged." (Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head. He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

He learned with age that his words rang true.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence. You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger. The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him. The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining.

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed. Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it.

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up.

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest. Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly. "You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation.

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw. They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly.

"I-"

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch. Such easy prey. "We have plenty of time to catch up."

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cyborgghost · 1 month ago

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How I think the Funger Characters would smell!!

Obviously im not a perfumist, I'm just currently hyperfixated on browsing Fragantica lol.

Don't try to look these up, they're not real fragrances (unfortunately).

CAHARA:

Warm spicy and woody. I like to imagine one of the first things he stole as a kid was a small bottle of perfume.

He'd smell like his full leather armor and the incense they burn inside the brothel where Celeste works. He'd enjoy the spicy notes of it, reminds him of the markets back in Jettaiah.

(Ik i said these are not real but I based this one on Absolu Hugo Boss)

D'ARCE:

She'd wear a floral and slightly fruity perfume, which does a pretty good job on masking the smell of wearing her armor all day. Shes a noble woman so she can afford high quality fragrances.

I made it rose heavy because I associate roses with the girl knight trope (said the guy with a RGU pfp). I think she'd also smell a bit like church candles.

The blueberries are there bc the first time I unlocked the blueberry pie recipe in game I was playing as her (I headcanon it's her favorite dessert!)

RAGNVALDR:

It'd be an overall musky and woody scent, with subtle marine and floral hints.

The conifer is a reference to the pinecone pig. The sea notes and ambergris (ingredient that comes from spermwhale intestines) were added because he is a viking and probably has hunted a whale before.

Finally the moss and violet come from the Thicket and the Brain Flower.

ENKI:

Smoky and citrusy, with an underlying putrid sweetness that the bugs love.

Fun fact! Cherries actually have a similar smell to that of dead bodies because they share similar chemical compounds (benzaldehyde and formaldehyde).

I considered adding lemongrass bc I like citrus for Enki (because hes zesty and sour, ha!) but I didn't bc citronella is a bug repelant.

He smells like the inside of a church and also stinks of drugs :3

#tell me if you want more funger fragrance #fungerces(? lol #enki ankarian #cahara #darce cataliss #Ragnvaldr #fear and hunger

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novaursa · 7 months ago

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Crown of Fire

- Summary: Aegon didn't conquer Westeros because of the prophecy. He did it because of you. And it started as a child’s game.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: Events that transpired in this short story happened before The Broken Crown.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

The sun was high in the sky, casting warm, golden light over the cliffs of Dragonstone. The air was filled with the sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, mingling with the calls of seabirds that circled overhead. The children of House Targaryen played in the castle’s courtyard, their laughter bright and free as only youth could be. Visenya, the eldest, was a blur of silver hair and dark armor as she sparred with one of the guards, her movements fluid and fierce. At fifteen, she was already a formidable warrior, wielding Dark Sister as if the Valyrian steel blade were an extension of herself.

Aegon, at fourteen, watched her with his usual calm intensity, a faint smile on his lips. He was tall for his age, his face still carrying the soft lines of boyhood, though his violet eyes spoke of a seriousness beyond his years. Rhaenys, all of thirteen and full of boundless energy, had draped herself dramatically over the carved stone bench nearby, pretending to swoon at the sight of Visenya’s prowess.

But it was you, the youngest at ten, who caught Aegon’s gaze more often than not. You, with your bright laughter and infectious spirit, darting around the courtyard like a flame that couldn’t be contained. Your silvery hair whipped around your face as you twirled, a makeshift crown of wildflowers slipping down to rest lopsided on your brow. You had always been their little sunbeam, the one who could draw a smile even from Visenya’s stern lips and make Rhaenys’ endless schemes seem tame in comparison.

“Aegon, come play!” you called, running up to him and tugging at his sleeve. He looked down at you, a rare, soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he set aside the practice sword he’d been holding.

“And what game would you have us play today, little sister?” he asked, his voice gentle in a way that he used for no one else.

You grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s play kings and queens!” you declared, hopping from one foot to the other. “I’ll be the queen, of course. And you all have to be my subjects.”

Rhaenys laughed, clapping her hands. “I shall be your loyal knight, Your Grace,” she said with a mock bow, her face alight with amusement.

Visenya, pausing in her training, raised an eyebrow. “And who do you imagine will be your king, then?” she asked, her tone teasing.

You pursed your lips, pretending to think deeply. “Hmm… I suppose I’ll have to marry one of the kings of Westeros.” you said, a playful glint in your eye.

Rhaenys burst out laughing, and even Visenya cracked a smile. “Which one, little sister?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes dancing with amusement. “The fat one in the Riverlands, or the one in the North who always looks like he swallowed something sour?”

You thought for a moment, then raised your chin, mimicking the haughty tone of the court ladies you’d seen at Dragonstone. “Maybe the King of the North! They say Starks are very handsome.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the air change. It was subtle, but you noticed. Aegon’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. You were too young to understand the depth of his feelings then, but you knew how to get a rise out of him, and his reaction made your heart beat a little faster.

“Why would you want to marry a Stark?” he asked, his voice a touch too steady. “The North is cold and bleak. You wouldn’t like it there.”

You shrugged, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But if I’m to be a queen, I must marry someone important, no?” you said, your tone light and teasing. “Unless… unless you mean to conquer the kingdoms yourself, brother. Then I would have no need to marry anyone else. I could be queen, and you could be… king.”

There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to still around you. Aegon’s gaze locked onto yours, something fierce and unspoken flickering in his eyes. He reached out, almost unconsciously, and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

“Maybe I will, then,” he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear. “Maybe I will conquer them all. So that you’ll never have to leave.”

You blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. It was a game, wasn’t it? A child’s dream, nothing more. But something in the way he looked at you made your heart flutter strangely, a feeling you didn’t yet have a name for.

“Don’t be silly, Aegon,” you said, trying to laugh it off. “You can’t conquer the whole world just for me.”

But the look he gave you then was one you would remember long after, a look that promised he would do exactly that, and more, if you asked it of him.

“I would conquer it all,” he said, his voice steady, “just to see you smile.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your blush as you spun away, your laughter echoing around the courtyard. “Then I’ll be waiting, King Aegon,” you called over your shoulder, skipping away to join Rhaenys in her dramatics.

But even as you played, your words had already taken root in Aegon’s mind, planting a seed that would one day grow into a fire that would consume the Seven Kingdoms.

He watched you, his little sister, his beloved Y/N, and knew, even then, that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. He would break any betrothal, defy any tradition, and, if necessary, lay waste to the entire continent, just to make sure you were his and his alone.

The game might have ended that day, but Aegon’s resolve had only begun to form. And though you couldn’t know it then, your innocent words had set in motion a chain of events that would shape the history of Westeros forever.

Aegon I Targaryen, the first of his name, stood atop the hill, surveying the devastation below. The smell of smoke and blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the cries of the wounded and the dying. His armor, blackened and scorched, bore the marks of battle, but he felt no pain, no weariness. Only a cold, relentless purpose.

He had begun this conquest with fire and blood, and he would end it the same way.

The Seven Kingdoms had once seemed so distant, disparate lands ruled by petty kings and warlords, their power fractured and fleeting. Yet now, as he gazed across the smoking ruins of Harrenhal, the shattered stronghold of House Hoare, he felt the inevitable weight of destiny settle upon his shoulders. This was his, all of it, as he had always known it would be. And he would bind it together under one rule—his rule.

But even as he claimed victory after victory, his mind kept drifting back to a single thought, a promise made long ago in the carefree days of childhood.

You.

He had known since that day, when you had teased him with talk of kings and queens, that he would never let you go. He had watched you grow from the lively, carefree child who danced through Dragonstone’s halls, to a fierce young woman whose spirit shone brighter than any flame. You were his joy, his anchor, the one thing in this world that made him feel truly alive. And he would not let you be taken from him—not by anyone, not even by duty.

The other kings of Westeros had fallen one by one before him. The Reach and the Riverlands had bent the knee. The Ironborn were broken. Dorne remained stubbornly defiant, but they would come to heel in time. Yet the North… the North was different. Stark men were proud, unyielding. Torrhen Stark had sent word of his intent to negotiate, to discuss terms, and with it, a reminder of the betrothal promised long ago—a political arrangement meant to solidify alliances.

Aegon’s grip tightened on Blackfyre’s hilt at the thought, his knuckles white beneath the leather. Torrhen Stark, King in the North, dared to speak as if the arrangement still held weight, as if he could claim you as his own. The very idea made something fierce and possessive rise within him, a dark flame that burned hotter than dragonfire.

He remembered your face the day your father had first mentioned the match, the way you had looked at Aegon, eyes wide and uncertain, seeking his reaction. He had said nothing then, merely turned and left the hall, his silence a mask for the storm raging within him. He had known even then that he would never allow it, but he had let the betrothal stand for a time, waiting, biding his moment.

That moment was now.

Aegon closed his eyes, the din of battle fading to a distant hum as he focused inward. He saw your face, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of dreams and adventures. He remembered the softness in your voice when you spoke of the future, how you had confided in him your fears and hopes. You were not meant to be some lord’s prize, bartered and traded for power. You were meant to rule, to stand beside him as his equal, as his queen.

His resolve hardened. The North would bend, just like the rest. Torrhen Stark would come before him, crown in hand, and he would kneel. But not as a suitor. As a subject. He would relinquish any claim he thought he had to you, or he would face the wrath of Balerion’s flames. There was no compromise, no room for negotiation.

The betrothal would be broken. You would not be sent away, not to the frozen wasteland of the North, not anywhere. You would be here, with him, where you belonged.

And then, when the last of the kings had bent the knee, when the Seven Kingdoms were his and his alone, he would turn to you. He would take your hand and look into your eyes, and you would see that this—all of this—had been for you.

He could already imagine the scene, the way you would look at him, the disbelief that would give way to understanding, to the same fierce love that burned in his own heart. You had resisted him for so long, pushing him away, keeping him at arm’s length even as you had grown closer to his sisters. He knew it was because of that broken promise, the shattered dream of freedom that he had taken from you. But he would show you that this was the only way, the only path that would ever make sense.

The thought of you—of your stubborn defiance, your laughter, the fire in your eyes—gave him strength as he turned back to his men. The conquest was not yet finished. There were still battles to be fought, crowns to be claimed, and a future to secure.

But soon, soon he would return to Dragonstone, to you. And when he did, he would take you in his arms and tell you the truth of it all. That every kingdom he had claimed, every battle he had fought, had been for you. That he would burn the world itself if it meant keeping you by his side.

He mounted Balerion with a fluid grace, feeling the great beast’s muscles coil beneath him, the heat of the dragon’s breath warming his legs through the scales of his armor. The conquest would go on, and he would crush any who stood in his way. But his heart, his mind, his very soul, were already set on the moment he would return to you, victorious.

He would place the crown upon your head, not as a gesture of power, but of devotion. He would marry you, not because of duty or tradition, but because you were his, and he was yours, bound together by a fire that could never be quenched.

And if anyone tried to take you from him—be it Stark, Lannister, or even the gods themselves—he would unleash hell upon them all. Because you were his queen, his beloved Y/N, and he would let the world burn before he let you go.

#fire and blood #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf #aegon the conqueror #aegon i x you #aegon i x reader #aegon i x y/n #aegon i targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you

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hufflefluff-stuff · 2 years ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if you could write how HL characters would act when they are jealous

Yes! Also, I'll add how these characters wind up confessing to their crush! 👍

Characters: Sebastian, Garreth, Ominis, Poppy, & Leander

......

Sebastian Sallow

Let's be fr..this guy gets jealous INSANELY easily in canon, even when platonically speaking.

It's hard to pinpoint where he exactly started catching feelings for you, but he certainly fell for you fast after your adventure into the library's restricted section.

Unfortunately, because of your growing reputation as a "hero" around Hogwarts, Hogsmede, and other hamlets...you've have strangers and students alike often come up to you and interrupt your conversations with Sebastian.

They mean well, only showing up to compliment you or thank you for some favor you've done for them.

But still it puts him in an sour mood, especially if he's unable to do anything about it without coming off as a prissy Slytherin.

During classes, he feels 10x worse if he's not partnered with you and instead sees you with classmates he views as "competition"...like Garreth, Leander, or even Amit, scowling at them in envy and unable to focus unless the professor specifically calls him out on it.

The only exception is Ominis, since he's a trusted friend and damn well knew his crush on you (he has certainly used this as blackmail to stop him from doing stupid stuff) but Sebastian will still huff about how "close" you two are growing.

Sometimes his jealousy gets so bad he needs to go blow off some steam in the Undercroft, casting damage spells on whatever poor dummy, pillar, or knight armor happened to be in his way.

It's nothing that Repairo couldn't fix.

While your assistance in his quest to find a cure for Anne was extremely important to him, that's not the only reason he brings you along for the ride.

He genuinely enjoys your company, and it's his chance to actually be alone with you and talk without any rude interruptions.

Well...there's trolls, rankrok's loyalists, spiders, ashwinders, Inferi, etc....but none of them are annoying students who try to hog all your attention just to spite him.

Aside from Ominis, Anne keeps encouraging her twin brother to make some move if he's that jealous (which Sebastian repeatedly denies).

Sooner or later...he may lose that chance, and he fears this. But he never knew when the moment would come..

Then one night, you were both fighting poachers and their leader, an Animagus, insulted him so horribly that it made his confident expression drop for a moment--as did his Protego shield.

You didn't hear what she said exactly, but his devastated face told you enough and you were pissed.

So you rained down a torrent of ancient magic lightning before she can even think of transforming.

Sebastian could only watch as you smite her like some furious god unleashing your wrath on the world, finding you both badass and ethereal.

When it's all over, you rushed to his side and ask if he's okay--but he just kisses you right there and then, silencing you.

He's so sick of waiting.

Garreth Weasley

His jealousy is nowhere near as bad as Sebastian's...but it's still there. Just subtle.

He pouts a lot when somebody steals your attention away, and he tries way too hard to impress you with whatever brilliant potion concept he drafted up (and definitely didn't have approval to brew in class under any circumstances).

Speaking of which, you're his usual partner in potions class, so he'll be highly disappointed if Professor Sharp decides to pair you with somebody else that day.

Garreth feels this sting in his heart if he overhears you praising them for their perfect brew, while he stares into his bubbling cauldron and sulks, wondering what he could've done differently.

He didn't know how you truly felt about him, so he got the genius idea to cook up a love potion the day you had a substitute for class (he sat at the furthest station and had secretly gathered the ingredients beforehand).

Just as you were about to try it for yourself, he accidentally knocked an incompatible ingredient into the pot and caused its contents to explode, staining both of your robes in pink.

While everybody laughed, the sub made the stains vanish with some magic and decided to dismiss class early, making you two stay behind to clean up the mess.

Luckily only house points were deducted due to your actions, so you won't be getting detention for this.

Still...Garreth was quite upset and you could tell.

You reassure him you're not mad in the slightest, and that you knew exactly what he was trying to do (followed by a small wink before continuing your cleanup).

His face turned as red as a maxima potion, and when he returns to the Gryffindor common room for the night, he gets confused stares from his fellow housemates as they wonder what's gotten into him.

But he can't stop thinking about you.

Maybe you ingested droplets of the love potion after it exploded, since you did seem particularly flirtatious with him in that moment and knew his intentions.

Looks like he got his wish after all.

Now to ask you out properly..

Ominis Gaunt

He's not an easily jealous guy. He'll never get angry at other people for simply wanting to spend time with you or if you're partners with them in class.

You've made a name for yourself at Hogwarts, and while he doesn't always agree with the dangerous stuff you get involved with, he only expects people to look up to you and pull your attention away from him.

Though deep down, it kinda hurts...especially since quite a handful of students from other houses perceive him as someone you shouldn't be around (some Gryffindors with "holier than thou" personalities even had the guts to say you're better off without him when he's standing right there).

Being a Gaunt + a Slytherin had that effect, unfortunately...

But he's sick of hearing that all the time.

Anyone else would've snapped at whoever criticized them based on blood status or rudely interrupted a conversation they're clearly having with you.

Yet when he does it..suddenly he's the bad guy?

It never made sense.

So any jealous feelings Ominis has stem from his own insecurities, and they grow even worse the more he realizes he's in love with you..

Like Sebastian, he'd probably storm off to the Undercroft to calm down if he's feeling heavily upset.

Fortunately, you're quick to defend him and decline other people's advances, saying you'd much rather hang out with him.

When you nearly got into a wand duel/fistfight over something insulting they said about him, that's when he realizes you cared about him as more than a friend...

Though he wanted to test the waters, so to speak, before hyping himself up to confess to you.

So throughout the week, Ominis expressed subtle desires to be in closer proximity to you (which you were fine with despite being initially confused at his sudden change in behavior)

These are, but not limited to, linking arms while walking in the hallways, napping beside you while you were reading or petting a random cat, "accidentally" falling asleep on your shoulder in History of Magic, and letting you guide him through assignments in herbology and potions class so he took the correct measurements (his grades improved, which is always a plus).

It takes a little bit of encouragement from Sebastian, but by the week's end, he courts you in one of his favorite spots outside the castle, gathering flowers, candles, and everything.

You truly made him feel loved..and he was going to do his best to reciprocate that.

How he wishes he could see the looks on those Gryffindor preps' faces when they realize the "hero of Hogwarts" is his date.

Poppy Sweeting

Considering how little she spoke to other students, even ones from her own house, this Hufflepuff found it difficult to get close to you at first.

You being hailed as a "hero" made it especially challenging, as you seemed constantly busy and people were bugging you for attention/advice/help....all while Poppy was standing in the background, forcing a smile.

Of course, you always made time to help her rescue beasts. It became your passion, and she was happy about that. Your adventures together allowed you to connect on an emotional level.

The moment she knew she was in love was the night when you both observed a Mooncalf dance, trying to make sense of the pattern those sweet big-eyed creatures left behind.

No matter how many times you've seen them, their dances are spectacular--ever captivating.

But when Poppy asked for your opinion on the pattern she drew out, she stops after seeing your breathtaking smile, eyes practically sparkling in the glow of the moonlight..

And suddenly that's all she could focus on.

Suddenly that was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Since then, her jealousy around other students has increased tenfold...especially when one jerk who disrespected beasts bragged about their poacher parents and invited you to visit their camp.

You've never seen a girl Depulso another student so fast in your life, but Poppy acts like nothing ever happened.

Similar to Sebastian, her jealousy manifests in the form of glares and general scorn towards anyone trying to ask you out on a date (which you, fortunately, decline).

She 100% rambles to the beasts about you.

If Highwing and Lord of the Shore could talk, they'd tell her to just stfu and confess to you already bc the tension is killing them.

It only (finally) happens when you invite her to the Vivarium for the first time, and they both nudge you two together, not backing down until you finally kiss.

If any of yall know that scene in Pokémon Scarlet/Violet where the box legendary pushes Arven towards his friends...that's this exact situation.

Leander Prewett

There's not doubt that this Gryffindor was going to grow jealous of your rising popularity in Summoner's Court and Crossed Wands.

He's a sore loser, while you have generally good sportsmanship..but he secretly appreciates you encouraging him to keep practicing. He only keeps going because of your words alone.

Outside of classes and competitions, he tries to hang out with you but oftentimes your attention goes to other people--whether it's professors keeping you after class to go over extra assignments or a friend sending you an owl with an urgent request.

You don't mean to keep ditching him, but to him it feels like you're always "too busy" for him.

Leander just scowls at the owls while they stare back at him like "hey, don't shoot the messenger".

Yet even when you do manage to spend time together, he only ever asks about your recent escapades....and then refuses to believe them despite you explaining them in great detail.

To this day, he still isn't convinced you possess ancient magic.

But the truth is that he wants to believe you. He admires your bravery and is insanely in love with that aspect of you....though he doesn't know how to express that.

He wishes he can relate and have cool stories to tell, but when people bring up his name they only ever talk about his constant failures.

He doesn't feel any better when others rush to defend your acts of heroism, thinking he's being a jerk.

The truth is you actually loved him and his company despite your frequent banter, but believed him to be way out of your league.

At least until the day Professor Kogawa assigned you to help him after flying class, citing the lack of respect he's been showing to his broom and your good influence on classmates.

He saw this as his chance to impress you...and failed miserably as he was unable to focus and snapped at his broom in frustration, causing it to whack him in the face just as a group of Slytherins passed by.

They laughed and teased him relentlessly, but after scaring them off with a chomping cabbage...you realized Leander had disappeared.

But he didn't go far as you discover him sulking near the lake, hiding himself with the Disillusionment charm (which you cancelled with Revelio).

It's there he finally talks about his true feelings towards you, and you see a more vulnerable side to the typically uptight Gryffindor.

In the end, you decide to give him a chance.

#it's fair to say seb and leander are the most jealous lads ever #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy x mc #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #poppy sweeting #poppy sweeting x reader #leander prewett #leander prewett x reader #jealousy hcs #headcanons

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cutieeva · 7 months ago

Text

Worth of a terror

Female reader

Warnings : Murder. Deaths. Attempt of sexual assaults.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

Married to the man one loves is magical even fairytale however if the man turns out to be a obsessed King is it really alright ? Or it is because there's much more truth in it.

Words spread ear to ear to nation to another nations of how in the country of Imperia the ruler is obsessed with his wife, the most wisest woman to be known (Y/N).

It is said that at the first sight princess (Y/N) of neighboring kingdom of Tharagon saw the soon to be King one day and fell fast and hard. Deciding he will be the one to hold her hand and lift her white veil of marriage so she begged her father who succumbed to his daughter's wishes arranged an meeting between the pair, a pair brought by the deities themselves because the moment the prince saw once glimpse of her visages cerulean pupils transform into heart and boldly bowed his knee to have her hand for eternal, soon the vows of love were exchange as well as the bloodshed didn't remain in the battlefield rather inside the walls of royalty too after the love climb into of akin madness, obsession and desire because the prince wore the crown and sat at the throne of his country ruled with benevolent smile yet iron fist for those who glance little to his wife. The fairytale love story commoners love begin to sour a lesson of the reasons why not to marry elites.

The new maid of the castle heard the passing whispers, tales and rumors time to time, none escaped her even when in front it's spoken loudly at all times the moment the royals are out sight by blue ribbon maids yet she notice one bit of how no golden ribbon maids gossip at all rather their lips are seal with sectary oh— golden maid are known for the private maids who serve the royals directly and handle their schedule and the reason of their name is for the noticeable difference between the hair bow color, the colors are important in the castle to identify one's position and the golden are the supreme and the new maids are the whites— oddly to define their purity and naïvity too, one older female maid with blue ribbon commented. Blue applys for the upper level after blooming their training.

In passing few times of sewing clothes and watering gardens did she caught glances of the wise queen she come to admire even respect deeply after an occurrence she would to this day have shivers in her spine. At dinner she was hosted to be one of the many maids to serve the royalty and when she went to gracefully fill the red wine like blood to the queen's glass god forbid again her weight on her hand slipped pouring few drops on the luxurious white dress. Paled her face was and fast her heart with darting eyes to the furious king who stood from his seat, marching to his wife with burning her though his glare to (Y/N) who rather of getting mad, yelling harshly and posing punishment worse, a laugh fell out of her rudy hue lips.

"Fear not. We are all prone to error, and from those mistakes, we shall glean valuable wisdom. Be at peace". Smiling ear to ear, her fingers touch the maid's white ribbon and gifted another comforting pat before wrapping a hand around her dear husband. Calming the beast that threat to spill out the maid could see and tremble her heart out.

"Compose yourself, my dear husband. Do not let your passions get the better of you, lest you succumb to apoplexy. She is but a mere child, prone to errors and innocent of malice." Wittly (Y/N) spin her wrist around for the servant to whisk away and she did excusing the pair where from the closed doors she could hear the muffled passionate kisses. Tips of ear burned when body flinched meeting the royal knight's gaze who stood blending in the shadows, he is known to be the queen's shining armor and the man the King failed to assassinate multiple times due to his skill experience and queen's help. The reason behind murdering the man is of jealous of course, no man alive should be closer to her heart then the king himself. What a hassel the maid believes running out ever grateful for the madam's kindness.

That at any command or meeting upon sights of queen never does she forget to get on both knees for the kind woman deserve all respect and it only increase when she was appointed from white ribbon to blue— one step closer to see more of her elder sister figure, every dress the queen wore becomes the maid's favorite too, never forgets to sing songs of praises with other blue ribbon maids who too tune to her child like nature unlike the golden ones whom seems to be as tight lips she recalls. Never forgets to mask a smell of expression nor word like perfect dolls they work with sealed lips.

Also there is another person who comes to see the queen more is the ruler and as the rumors believes he is a very much touchful person, never his hands left her body whether in public or behind closed doors as he boldly even kisses her startling the poor maid's heart yet a beyond level of understanding is come from her when each time the queen smile into the kiss and any touch and attention, never shy away however also not returning the same enthusiasm making pity stem in the maid's heart seeing the queen being a beauty to the beast for him to be a proper prince in this case the king.

"The royal family of neighboring kingdom is coming to Imperia nation". Is a pure chaos, the notice was late and the servants were barely able to match the rhythm of orders properly unlike each time. The dinner, the decoration everything expected to be perfect. Not a single mishap panicking the attendants even more.

Thankfully it was arrange hasty and beautifully. "Perfect". The queen utter, her chest swell in pride when her husband entered with all the servants bowing with their eyes on the floor. His arms find on her body along lips on her bare skin of side nape.

"Perfect indeed". His eyes half lidded, only for his utter heavenly wife.

"Not me, my dearest. The castle". Mellow chuckle escape her lips. Meeting his eyes.

"Still the most beautiful I can see is you". Truly (Y/N) sometimes believes her love of life could had been better off as an poet than an king. As a hopeless romantic is sweet it's quite endangering she is afraid.

"Thank you, love". Gratitude fill her heart with butterflies in her stomach. Staring right at the infuriating reflection of herself in his eyes just like the first time is nostalgic.

"Your Majesties, the carriages are few feets away". The royal adviser reminded the pair and intruded their session.

"Indeed I know". Frown brows cast his face, marred with annoyance the queen finds endearing. Her finger pads gently ease the wrinkled skin and brows even pressing as gentle as feather a kiss. Stealing his breath and heart altogether.

"It's alright, love. Better for the kingdom". Smile wide so much it crinkles her corners of eyes. "The more the merrier isn't it ?" She jested pulling a smile out of the stoic man, feared even.

"However, my queen, you are well aware that the neighboring kingdom is not particularly indispensable to our affairs?" King Vincent uttered, caressing strands of her hair.

"I do". Press a hand on his shoulder she left to prepare for their welcoming and it was easy would be a blunt lie by the palpable tension is visible to any naked eye.

The neighboring king is not what a proper nobleman should be behaving more like a scoundrel with Queen (Y/N), kissing her hand more than needed, staring more than appropriate and not shy away to brush touches and the servants quiver from the dreadful consequences of such actions because each could see the twitch in the king's eyes and the beast hidden too well inside those smile.

And the tension only stretched more at the supper when the daughter of the neighboring king urged to be sit next to King Vincent wantonly seduce the married man by brushing skins and serving dishes. Such a wretched and filthy woman the maid curse freely in her mind. How dare his daughter without blinking an eye snatch the husband of the woman her father is so desperately steal virtue of ? Such women are shame to be grown out from mother's womb the maid thought, glancing in awe how no hint of outbust is seen from (Y/N), she even tender with the maiden she doesn't deserve to get all while handling the aged man's greedy hands.

Truly a woman worth to love and respect and the maid is out of words to describe. Gratefully the supper came to an end and the pair of King and his daughter went to spend their night in their castle for tomorrow's farewell.

The moon hanged exquisitely among the stars covet by the darkness the maid stare from her window when a sudden thirst come to her. Sitting up in her bed her fingers went to the jar only to feel lighter—empty she realize. Groaning she held a lamplight in one hand and went to wonder for the kitchen, her steps precise and careful to reach the lengthy walls to the kitchen and at last drench the thrist she wake from her slumber.

Chop ! Her nerves freeze. Chop ! Blood drain from her veins. CHOP ! Shudder her body to the core. The sounds are clearly of slicing something— or someone. Despite the warnings in her brain advising to ran away her feet drag her to the creator of the noises, solely relying on the noises her eyes blind in darkness went near the open door with golden light peeking though. Prying eyes meet sorrow's sight. A saying she knows yet not heed.

Chop ! Her eyes flinch close before opening to peek and met a sight that shatter her entire faith, beliefs and trust.

Chop ! Because in front is the body of neighboring princess laying on the ground, her widen eyes stare directly to the maid's that lost the life in it, blood bled endlessly like spilled juices out from her cut— chopped parts. The sliver sword soaked in crimson color and smell drip little by little held by the culprit of her murder. Queen (Y/N) herself, the same woman who utters gentle words, sweet voice, pretty smiles. A beauty to her husband chop and dice and slice the parts of the woman like an carcass of pig. Droplets of blood scattered across her face, dress and hand.

Near is the neighboring king's body only sliced throat once. (Y/N) bore special hatred for the daughter to still torture her.

Footsteps towards the otherside sucked the maid's pulse, still her eyes watched as the owner revealed to be none other than King Vincent. A helpless sigh and defeated look carved out of him. "(Y/N), my losana what have you done this time ?"

"Oh, my love, I fear you are correct regarding their unnecessary pursuit of power to foster our nation's growth. Alas, I have taken drastic measures and eradicated the impurities." A feverish blush paint her majesty's face as she gaze at her husband. Grinning like a mischief goddess.

And without sparing glance her sword stab the daughter's detached head to stick before walking to Vincent. "You know I love you ? Hence I had to do this. She was a whore who should not live". Slight shiver hands cup his chin, connecting their foreheads. "You know you are mine and mine only ?"

"Indeed I do". Feebly lift his lips to smile and lean more. What could he do, she is a woman who loves fast and hard.

Suddenly her (E/C) eyes slide to the maid's direction who buried her head behind the wall with palm tight clasped on her lips even forbid breathing in fear of getting caught. Her chest up and fell and pupils changing. Because missed dots came connecting all round.

The real obsessed one was nd is not the king. It was the queen (Y/N) all along.

The missing and murders people were her fault, the queen kill them in rush of envy and jealous of rivalry. The rumors were reversed and the reason the golden ribbon servants seal their lips because they had been the ones cleaning the mess of her majesty, they were unspoken witness to the madness of her obsession not his.

She was always jealous thus the murder was commented. She was simply good at hiding, behind that naïve smile. Same one the maid was bestowed. No wonder the king is tamed.

Quickly hers feets disspeared to the darkness to her quarter to not be discovered and be beheaded or worse fate.

The next rise of sun came faster than she wanted and she had to do her duty with empty mind is difficult with too many mistakes. When she notice the lines of servants behind the queen is appearing. The images invaded her thoughts again, gripping her in fear. Her knees bowed on her own.

The smell of lavender suffocated her and the sight of the queen's grown came to view. She could feel her leaning closer, closer and closer until her lips were near her ear. "Remember to have water on your jar before the bed". She knows. She knows. She knows.

With that her heels turn to see her husband. A husband who should have been a poet not a leader as he was not a man of bloodshed. How twist of fate.

A strangled grasp left the maid's lips meeting the back of the queen and her close knight. She is truly a worth of a terror.

FIN

Notice : ⌜ I will soon focus and complete the lost series ⌟

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howlingday · 13 days ago

Text

At the request of @itsupermanti in the discord...

Nora: (Sighs) Why is it so hard to find a husband...?

Jaune: AHA! I've finally found one of you barbarians who killed my brother! Vengeance will be mine!

Nora: (Picks Jaune up) Hm... You look spicy enough... Yup! You'll do~!

Jaune: I'm not spicy! I'm a huntsman!

Jaune: (In a tux, Getting married) Wait, what just happened?

..................................................................................

Jaune: H-Hold on a sec! We can't get married!

Nora: Hm...? (Nat 20 Intimidation) WHY?

Jaune: (Gulps) W-We barely know each other! This is moving way too fast!

Nora: Mm... Okay. That makes sense.

Jaune: I thought so...

Nora: Okay! Then we'll start off by dating then~!

Jaune: Yeah, that- WAIT, NO!

..................................................................................

Ren: Hm? Oh, Jaune. I didn't expect to see you here.

Jaune: REN?! You're alive! But how?

Ren: I never died. These barbarian women simply held me captive and I've been here ever since.

Jaune: Wait, if you've been captive all this time, then why didn't you escape?

Ren: Escape?

Yang: (Hugs Ren)

Ren: (Takes baby from her hands) Why would I ever want to do that?

Jaune: ...

..................................................................................

Nora: Ngh! Stop squirming, Sour!

Jaune: Why don't you date one of the guy barbarians?

Ren: Because there are no male barbarians.

Jaune: None?

Ren: Other clans despised Valkyrie the Warlord, so she killed them all herself.

Nora: It was an accident!

Jaune: You killed every male barbarian by accident?

Nora: It's not my fault I'm too powerful!

..................................................................................

Jaune: Well, what about the officiate for our wedding? He's a barbarian, isn't he?

Hazel: I am a man of the gods. Temptation of the flesh shall not sway me.

Jaune: (Sighs) Finally, a man of culture around here!

Hazel: Besides, what could a 3D woman offer me that my waifu could not?

Jaune: ...

..................................................................................

Ren: You're safest with Nora. She's the most powerful warrior of the Thunder Thighs clan.

Jaune: Safest with a woman who wiped out half her population?

Nora: (Pets wedding dress) One day...

Ren: Why don't you prove his safety by showing him your finishing technique; THUNDER CRACKER?

Nora: (Locks legs around Jaune's head)

Jaune: Wha- (CRUNCH!)

Ren: A deadly yet satisfying end to an enemy.

Jaune: I... see...

Nora: (Nursing his wounded body) You okay~?

..................................................................................

Ren: It would be best for you to stay with Nora from now on. It would make for a good relationship between the barbarians and the other kingdoms.

Jaune: I dunno if I could handle her...

Ren: Sure, she's rough around the edges, but in your company, she could become a fine lady.

Jaune: Hm... Not a bad idea... (Nods) Alright, I'll do it! For you, and the Kingdom!

Ren: Attaboy. And remember; NEVER use protection. But you might want to keep your armor on.

Jaune: Er... Thanks, Ren.

..................................................................................

Nora: Alright, Sweet, let's go.

Jaune: Hang on. Let's get the whole name thing settled once and for all. My name is Sir Jaune Luna Arc, the first of my name, Sworn Huntsman Knight of the Kingdom of Vale.

Nora: Ugh! That is way too long, Bitter! Pick something shorter!

Jaune: Okay, then how about Sir Jaune Luna Arc, the first of my name?

Nora: NO.

Jaune: Fine. Then we'll settle this with a test of strength!

Nora: (Sitting on him) Mm... I think I'll stick with Bland for now.

Jaune: O... Okay... I'm Bland... Ow...

..................................................................................

Nora: Hey, Bland? I've been wondering what you look like under your armor.

Jaune: I would rather keep it on for safety reasons.

Nora: (Grabs his chest-plate) C'mon! I'm your future wife! Lemme see!

Jaune: H-Hey! Let go!

Nora: (Yanks it off) Aha! Now I can see... more armor?

Jaune: You can never be too safe these days!

..................................................................................

Nora: I like your knife, Bland~!

Jaune: Knife?! This is Crocea Mors, a legendary sword! It's said to have been forged by the first huntsman, blessed by the miracles of an ancient wizard, and finally dipped in the blood of the last demons to keep its blade pure and holy! Crocea Mors, First of the Last!

Jaune: What about your weapon?

Nora: This one? I just kinda found it laying around. I call it Magnhild the Thud.

Jaune: Magnhild the- (THUD!)

Jaune: (Bit his tongue) Ah... Magnhild...

Nora: Yeah. Magnhild.

..................................................................................

Jaune: So, uh, what are we gonna do?

Nora: We could go hunting and head back to my place~.

Jaune: A hunt! Ha! Sure! Getting my head smashed repeatedly has made me hungry! Let's go!

Nora: (Carrying him like an umbrella)

..................................................................................

Jaune: So, uh, what are we hunting? I'm not much for shooting, but I can at least lay a trap.

Nora: We're hunting Batusk Boars. Lotta them around here!

Jaune: That one looks pretty big...

Nora: Nah, that's just a yearling. Barely weaned. I'm more interested in Big Mama over there~!

Jaune: (Gulps at gargantuan black hog) I'm gonna need a bigger trap...

..................................................................................

Jaune: Time to call in the big guns... (Tapping on his scroll)

Nora: What are you doing?

Jaune: Just calling in some help from the kingdom. (Crate lands nearby)

Nora: What's in it?

Jaune: Special delivery for my hardest missions!

Jaune: BEHOLD... THE RUSTED KNIGHT...

Nora: ...

Jaune: So, uh, where did the boar go? It's a little hard to see through this thing...

Nora: (Points) That way.

..................................................................................

Jaune: Alright, Hog Head! Time to chop your rinds into-

Boarbatusk: (Charges)

Jaune: Mother...

Jaune: (Knocked into the air, Armor strewn)

Nora: YOOHOO~! (Smashes its head in) YAHOO~! One shot~! We make a great team~!

Jaune: (Crawling towards her)

Nora: Ooh~! Can't you wait until we're home before you start taking your clothes off~?

Jaune: Ow...

..................................................................................

Nora: (Lifts boar easily) C'mon, Bland!

Jaune: I... can barely... move...

Nora: (Tucks him under arm like umbrella)

Jaune: How are you doing that with both arms above your head?

Nora: Uh-uh. Things just work around me.

..................................................................................

Jaune: Whoa... That's a nice scar you've got there...

Nora: Huh? Oh, I got that from one of the Barbarians they called Chief Thunder Paw. Do you have any badges of honor?

Jaune: Yup! Check this out! (Takes off glove)

Nora: Uh... I kinda see it... How'd you get it?

Jaune: I was stung by a bee. Y'see, ever since I was but a young boy, I'd never cared for those of the stinging swarms...

Nora: Uh-huh...

..................................................................................

Jaune: Here you go, Nora. I made these for you.

Nora: (Opens box) What is this?

Jaune: It's chocolate. See, in my kingdom, it's a tradition to give these to someone special to you.

Nora: OOH! Us barbarians have something like that, too! Wait here!

Nora: (Returns, Covered in blood) Here you go, Bland~! The heart of a Goliath~!

Jaune: (Stares at heart bigger than him) Uh... Th-Thanks... What do I do with it?

Nora: Eat it~!

Jaune: I'll... just put this in the freezer for now. Suddenly I've lost my appetite. Oh gods, it's still pumping!

..................................................................................

Nora: Mm~! Our boar stew is coming along nicely~! Go ahead and take that armor so you have room for more~!

Jaune: Nah, I'm good. Especially since I've perfected both this armor and my body for just such an occasion...

Jaune: (Tongue stretches out of mouth, Crosses over to pot) Mm... Needs more salt.

Nora: Ooh~! That tongue~! Me likey, me likey~!

Nora: (INSTANTLY SENT TO HORNY JAIL)

..................................................................................

Nora: (Sighs) I can't believe I was sent to jail by my own boyfriend... And for what crime? Being horny? How could I not be after what I saw?

Nora: I need to see it again. And I cannot be stopped.

Jaune: (Sighs) I hope she's doing okay... (CRASH!) N-Nora?! Hi! H-How have you been?

Nora: TONGUE.

Jaune: P-Pardon?

Nora: TONGUE. SHOW ME NOW.

Jaune: (Spills tongue into her hand)

Nora: (Rubs against her face) Mm... Lovely tongue...

Jaune: DISH ISH GEHTEEHN OUH AH HAHN!

..................................................................................

Jaune: (Napping)

Nora: (Sneaking up to him) Time to see what's under that armor... (Lifts plate)

Jaune: (Horror snaps from his chest)

Nora: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIE! (Smashes with bare hands) KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!

Nora: Oh no... I killed my weird monster boyfriend!

Jaune: What's going on over here?

Nora: BLAND~! I just killed a weird monster thing that looks like you!

Jaune: Huh? Oh, that looks like a mimic. They usually try to snatch people using different forms.

Neo: (Thinking) All I've ever wanted was to be loved by a barbarian woman... BUT GETTING MY ASS PUMMELED BY ONE IS A CLOSE SECOND~!

..................................................................................

Jaune: (Sighs) What a lovely day for fishing...

Nora: I don't get it. And why are you wearing all that stuff?

Jaune: These are my family lucky fishing charms! The more luck, the bigger the fish~!

Nora: Looks like it's working since you've already got something!

Jaune: (Razor-tooth merman glares down) Uh... I'm not sure if I should feel lucky or unlucky...

Jaune: Hey, man... Could you pretend to be caught? I really need to look cool in front of my girlfriend...

Jaune: (Sent flying) WAAAAAGH!

Nora: HEY! Hands off my future baby's daddy, gill brain! (Punches through) Hey, Bland! I just learned that fishing is a lot more fun when you punch them!

Jaune: Can I have at least one hobby that doesn't involve violence?

..................................................................................

Jaune: (Posing) How's the painting coming along~?

Nora: Almost done~! And... ta-da~! (Shows)

Jaune: (Looks at stick figure) Um... Yeah... You really caught my... Hm...

Nora: Sh-Shut up! I'm just not that good at traditional art! That does it; I'm pulling out my VXT drawing tablet just to show you!

Nora: (Same result, Crying) And I still suck...

Jaune: Aw, Nora... It actually looks a lot better! You just need to keep practicing and people won't be able to tell me from the art.

..................................................................................

Nora: (Wearing flowing black dress) Are you ready? I don't wanna be late to Elm the Sturdy's birthday party!

Jaune: Almost done~!

Nora: What... are you wearing?

Jaune: (Wearing a pin-stripe suit) What? I look totally hip AND happening!

Nora: Is this... what they wear in the kingdoms? Can't you wear anything normal?

Jaune: Why be normal when you can have STYLE~?

Nora: (Sighs) Alright, let's just go...

Jaune: It'll be a big party. I doubt anyone will even...

Jaune: ...notice. (Stared at)

Yang: Nora, what is your man wearing?

Nora: I asked the same thing.

Jaune: Hello, ladies~!

Yang: I mean, that is one stylish looking man~!

Harriet: Damn~!

Winter: This little sugar cube can jump in my coffee any day~.

Goodwitch: Lookin' good~!

Jaune: Sorry, girls, but I'm afraid I'm spoken for~.

Nora: HEY! That's MY sugar cube, Winter! Get your own!

Winter: Hmph! And here I thought sharing was something we believed in here.

Jaune: (Sighs) It ain't easy bein' this dapper...

..................................................................................

Jaune: Wow, Nora! Lookin' good!

Nora: You ready to sweat, Bland?

Jaune: It's been a while since I've worked out. Not to brag, but I did get featured in Huntsman Monthly calendar three years in a row~.

Nora: Ooh~! Show what you got then~!

Jaune: (Barely lifts 10 pounds off the floor) O-ONE...

Nora: Go, man! Go! Go! Go~!

..................................................................................

Jaune: Are your abs as hard as they look?

Nora: Give 'em a try~!

Jaune: (Cracks knuckles, Reels back)

Nora: (Folds arms, Confidently closes eyes)

Jaune: (Dives forward, Drags tongue up)

Nora: EEK~?!

Jaune: Heh heh... Did I find your weakspot~?

#rwby #nora valkyrie #jaune arc #nora's arc #marko raassina #lie ren #yang xiao long #rwbabies #sunflowyr #winter schnee #glynda goodwitch #neopolitan #harriet bree #hazel rainart

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writing-intheundercroft · 8 months ago

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Ser Freckles // S. Sallow

Rating: T

WC: 2,743

Summary: As heir to the throne, the princess takes appointing her sworn protector very seriously.

A/N: Submitted as part of a writing challenge because I'm a glutton for starting AU projects. inspired heavily by HOTD (I've been looking for an excuse to use the name Gawayne). Much love to the pals who keep Knight!Seb living in my brain <3

“Now that you are of age, and officially the heir to the throne, it’s time you appoint your first sworn sword.”

She looked up to Fig as they walked down the stone stairs, the excited chatter from the courtyard echoing off the walls. Fig had been her tutor all her life, and only now did she realize her lessons with him had a greater purpose. She was the only daughter of the king’s dearly departed brother, a king who lacked any heirs of his own. And now that she’d turned eighteen, with no hopes for a male cousin in sight, she had been formally invested as the heir apparent.

Fig was no lowly court tutor, she realized. He’d been placed with her from her youth, preparing her for what had seemed like a distant possibility that she might one day become queen. Lord Eleazar Fig, a member of the King’s Counsel, had been priming her to take power all along.

”I’m not sure why I can’t keep Lady Singer,” she mumbled, kicking her skirts as they continued their descent. “She’s been my guardian for as long as I can remember.”

”Lady Singer is a governess,” Fig reminded her. “And in no way capable of being your sworn protector. The young man you choose today will become a knight, sworn to your king's guard. Can you remind me what the function of your king's guard is?”

”My queen’s guard,” she snipped, emphasizing the word, “will protect my counsel and me from harm, as well as my future heirs.”

“Precisely, Princess.” Fig smiled. “It’s largely a symbolic role considering the relative peace our realm has seen this past one hundred years, even more so with the city watch taking guard of the castle. But the king—er, queen’s guard is a deep rooted tradition each house takes very seriously. The gentlemen we’ve assembled today for your selection come from some of the great houses of the realm. Others have been lauded for their bravery and skill in the battlefield.”

The princess and Lord Fig walked to the balcony, the crowd below falling into silence. There were six men (boys, she observed, especially considering she’d grown up with four of them around court) standing in the courtyard below. They all wore gleaming armor, save for the last, wearing a dull set without embellishments. Each had a pennant with their house sigil, members of their families standing behind them. The animals on each pennant were embroidered with gleaming metallic thread–lions, eagles, badgers, and snakes taking center, representing the great houses each family bowed to.

Lord Fig took her hand, helping her stand on a stool to catch a better glimpse of her future knight.

”The first proposed candidate is Ser Leander Prewett,” Fig stated loudly. “Ser Leander is the second son of Lord Lyonel Prewett. He is a fine duelist, trained by one of the land’s most notable swordsmen.”

She cocked her brow, observing the redhead below. Tall, lithe, with a glorious mane of red hair.

”And rather shit on a horse,” she muttered under her breath. “Did you see him in the last tourney?”

”Horsemanship is not a requirement of a knight, Princess.” Fig muttered.

”He truly had no idea if he was facing the front, or the back.” She joked.

Lord Fig concealed his laugh in a cough. He waved his arm, and Leander’s gleaming smile vanished into a rather sour expression as the next option stepped forward.

”Ser Garreth Weasley,” Fig announced. “The third son of Lord Gwayne Weasley.”

”I know Ser Garreth well,” she smiled demurely. “Is it not one of the oaths as my queen’s guard to take no wife, have no children, and to be sworn to uphold the duties of the crown until death or dismissal?”

”It is, Princess.”

She clicked her tongue. “I know very well my dear friend Lady Natsai would be quite upset if I took her beloved to my service. I’d rather see the two of them happily married than split apart by duty.” She waved him backwards, knowing Natty would be pleased. Garreth stepped back, cheeks red, but a relieved look on his face.

“The next option is Ser Amit Thakkar,” Fig looked down at his notes. “Son of the Dowager Lady Tara Thakkar. No notable tourney experience, he’s been—“

”Away for his studies in the new world,” the princess interjected. “I know Ser Amit quite well. Tell me, Ser, how was your research on the skies? Anything new to report?”

“I’ve identified at least twelve constellations once lost to our maesters,” Amit announced excitedly. “And I do look forward to finding more.”

She tilted her head to Fig, eyebrows raised. “I do believe Ser Amit’s talents are better used with the college of maesters, rather than as a member of my queen’s guard.”

”Moving on,” Fig tutted. “Ser Duncan Hobhouse, son of—“

”No.”

”Okay, on to the next.” Fig winced, letting the young Duncan Hobhouse step back with a sigh. “Next is Ser Isaac Cooper. Son of Ser Tristan Cooper, the Lord Commander of the city watch. Strong, steady, and good with a lance. Ser Isaac has topped the tourney lists, specifically winning the tourney of Aranshire this past spring. ”

The princess chewed her lower lip as she appraised Ser Isaac. He stood tall, black hair cropped closely to his head. His parents stood behind him proudly bearing the badger on their sigil. Isaac gave her a beaming smile, followed by a rather obvious wink.

“I look forward to serving you, my princess, in all ways you see fit.” Isaac said loudly, followed by a showy bow. A gaggle of young ladies on the upper balcony giggled audibly, Ser Isaac blowing a kiss to his admirers.

The princess gagged, wrinkling her nose as she turned back to her tutor.

”A tourney knight,” she huffed. “Tell me, Lord Fig, do any of these knights have real combat experience?”

Fig sighed deeply, beckoning forward the sixth option. It was the knight in plain armor; unlike the others, he did not have a large gathering of family members behind him. A thin, peaky girl stood by his side, wobbling on her feet as their sigil shook in her hands. The green velvet of the flag looked worn, but a silver snake had been embroidered into the fabric with metallic thread, red beads for eyes. Behind them was a stern looking man, beard peppered with silver hairs.

The boy paid them no attention, standing forward with his head bowed to her.

“Ser Sebastian Sallow,” Fig cleared his throat. “The nephew of Ser Solomon Sallow, a former knight of the city watch. He was dismissed from his post after the death of his brother, taking on the stewardship of his young niece and nephew. Ser Solomon and his nephew Sebastian have taken the responsibility of patrolling the lower highlands, protecting their hamlets from ashwinders and poachers.”

She leaned forward over the railing, interest piqued by the humble knight below. “Tell me, Ser Sebastian, of your experience fighting against the ashwinder rebellion.”

He lifted his head, big brown eyes framed by an explosion of freckles. He had a round, boyish face for eighteen, thick brown hair descending in waves. A blush took over his cheeks as he dipped his head once more.

”I have fought against the ashwinders for the past five years, Princess. For as long as my uncle has allowed me.” He said, tipping his head back towards the stern man. “The lower hamlets rarely see reinforcements from the city watch, so it is up to the residents themselves to gather arms.”

“And when did you become a knight, Ser Sebastian?”

Sebastian turned briefly to look at his uncle, who merely nodded. “The Lord Commander of the city watch was passing through our hamlet when he witnessed me apprehending a cohort of ashwinder assassins.” He adjusted his grip on the helmet in his hands, metal clanking as he shifted. Unlike the others, there were no grand decorations, no feathery plumes attached to the helmet. It was practical, well-worn steel that had seen battle many times before. “He knighted me on the field, after the battle.”

”One boy against twenty ashwinders,” Fig whispered in her ear. “Quite a feat.”

She braced her palms against the stone ledge, hair falling over her shoulders. He looked up at her intently now, eyes wide. even with his armor on, she could see his throat bobbing, swallowing down his nerves.

“That settles it for me. I choose Ser Sebastian Sallow.”

The hall descended into loud whispers; the girl holding his sigil gasped with delight, while the man behind her dropped his mouth open in shock. Sebastian knelt, but kept his gaze fixated upon her. It was as if the chocolate brown orbs were burning into her, somewhere between admiration and curiosity.

Fig gave her a knowing look. “Ser Sebastian it is.”

”I’ll leave the details to Ser Sebastian’s investiture to you, Lord Fig.” the princess said, stepping down from the stool. Her heels clattered against the floor, hands folded behind her back. “And measure him for new armor. Something befitting my sworn protector.”

”The customary armor, of course, with your sigil on the pauldron.” Fig noted.

She paused, turning one last time towards her counsel.

”Don’t forget his snakes.” She reminded him. “Silver with ruby eyes.”

Fig tried to conceal his smile. “Yes, princess.”

“You know we’re not allowed in the armory,” Poppy hissed, trying to tug on her skirt. “Lady Singer–”

“Lady Singer can kiss my arse,” the princess declared, enjoying the way her lady in waiting’s cheeks flushed. “I would like to supervise the fitting. Will you join me?”

“I think not,” Poppy lifted her nose. “I’ll be off to the library to meet with Imelda. You should stay out of trouble.” the brunette warned.

The princess pulled open the heavy door of the armory, grinning at her friend. “Trouble is my middle name,” she sang, waving goodbye as she entered the room. The normally bustling armory was quiet at midday, with most of the knights standing guard. She stepped past the rows of white cloaks, all hung under their corresponding owner’s name. Weapons were stacked against the wall on wooden racks; she wouldn’t dare go near the spears, swords, and morningstars for fear of tipping them over. Her slippers pattered against the flagstone floors as she walked deeper into the chamber in search of her new knight.

“There you are,” she declared, seeing him standing on the pedestal. Ser Sebastian Sallow stood in his freshly tailored white breeches and shirt, half dressed in his new gilded armor.

“Princess,” the armorer bowed his head quickly, stepping away from Sebastian. “I did not realize you were coming in to supervise the fitting.”

“Is it not tradition?” she asked, circling the pedestal with an approving nod.

“It is,” the armor rubbed his hands together anxiously. “For the king. But you are a young lady, it’s hardly appropriate for you to be in the armory with a knight in a state of undress–”

“Ser Sebastian is my choice,” she pointed out. “So I will supervise the fitting of his armor and his sword selection, just as my uncle did for his sworn swords.”

“As you wish, princess.” The armor nodded. “I’ll fetch his sword at once.” He bowed, walking backwards out of the room.

“Are you always so commanding?” Ser Sebastian asked, a hand on his hip.

“Only when they’re so formal.” she grinned, crossing her arms. “The armor looks good on you.”

Sebastian’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.” he stammered. “And thank you for honoring my house.” he gestured to his pauldron, decorated with the Sallow family sigil. Instead of the crudely carved

The armorer returned, holding a glimmering sword with a checked handle. “His sword, your grace.” he handed it to her for inspection. “I shall return shortly with his cloak; the seamstress was just finishing the hem.” He backed out of the room once more, leaving the pair alone.

The princess bobbed her head as she held the sword in her hand, testing its weight. “Good balance,” she mused, tossing it from one hand to the other.

“You’re trained with a sword?” Sebastian asked, eyebrow cocked.

She gave him a toothy grin, swinging the sword from side to side. “My uncle thought it best that I was taught the same as any other prince of the realm.”

“I certainly agree,” Sebastian offered. “I trained my sister as best as I could before coming to the capitol.”

“Well then, should we practice for your investiture?” She asked. “On your knees, then.”

Sebastian sank to the floor, beaming up at her obediently. He tipped his chin upwards, right hand resting over his heart.

“Do you swear to uphold the code of the kingsguard?” she asked, trying her best to remember the vows Lord Fig had tasked her with memorizing.

“I do,” Sebastian echoed.

“Do you swear to guard the king with all your might, and give your blood for him and his heirs?” She recited the words slowly and thoughtfully. The sword was beginning to feel heavy in her hands, but Sebastian didn’t budge. He stayed, knelt below her on the ground, closed fist bound to his chest.

“I do.”

“Do you swear to take no wife, father no children, hold no lands? Do you swear to guard your king’s secrets, obey his commands, defend his name and honor?”

The princess blinked down at her chosen knight, hovering the blade over his shoulder. His big, brown eyes stared back at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She hadn’t noticed the freckles on his lips; then again, she’d never been so close to him before. He looked both like a knight and a boy all at once–his armor was unfinished, missing the pauldron on his left shoulder that would bear her sigil. Sebastian’s messy hair stuck up in the back, and the princess felt the strong urge to pat it down.

She instead remained steady, blade in hand.

“Do you swear, Ser Sebastian?” she asked.

“I swear to take no wife, father no children, nor hold any lands. I swear to guard my queen’s secrets, obey her commands, defend her name and honor. For as long as I breathe, my life is my queen’s.” Sebastian gave her a coy look, eyes glittering with mischief; he aimed to flatter her, charming the princess with his change in verbiage.

Two could play that game, she thought. The princess lifted her sword, tapping it on both of his shoulders. “By the grace of the future queen, I name you Ser Kiss Arse.” she declared dramatically.

Sebastian choked, and the princess laughed. Her whole body shook with her giggles, and Sebastian pouted.

“No fair,” he complained. “Pick a better name.”

“Fine,” she wiped a tear from her eye. Feigning composure, she straightened her posture and gave him her best queenly glare. “By the grace of the future queen, I name you Ser Freckles.”

“You’re making a mockery of it,” Sebastian whined.

“We’re practicing, remember?” She snorted. “I promise, I’ll be much more official during the actual ceremony.”

Sebastian huffed. “Fine then. But if I get a nickname, then you get one too.” he warned. “Princess Picky is what I’ll call you.”

The princess scoffed, backing away. “Who called me picky?”

Sebastian gave her a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck. “Everyone at court, actually. They thought you were too picky with your requirements of the kingsguard. The public is fairly certain you’re making a mistake in picking me as your sworn sword.” his smile faltered, a wave of doubt crashing over his face. “My family has no riches, no influence at court. I have nothing else to offer you.”

The princess chewed her lower lip, dragging the sword behind her as she leaned down to face her knight. “It is no mistake,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “You are the most deserving of the title. I chose you. And if that makes me picky, so be it.”

Sebastian touched her wrist; the gesture shocked her, eyelashes fluttering from the surprise embrace. But she did not move her hand–the princess kept it on his uncovered shoulder, her hair falling in her face as she looked down at her sworn protector.

“Princess Picky and Ser Freckles,” Sebastian joked. “An eclectic pair.”

She gave him an earnest smile. “I’d have it no other way.”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow AU #knight!Sebastian Sallow #honestly I can't even begin to tell you guys how we got here #I blame my lady jane and criston cole #and fight me on it but criston cole was hot before he became a stage five clinger

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mediterraneanmenace · 2 years ago

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Whoever made that edit of Raphael with salt and pepper hair: I can't get it out of my head so I will be implementing it in this illustration I'm working on

Fun own lore fact: *part* of Raph's attraction for Azarel comes from her having some personality traits similar to his. Other than being a lvl. 20 Paladin captain before he tricked her into signing his contract. Back to lvl. 1 you go In the story (pre-BG3) her downfall is brought by her own arrogance. Now who else thinks that he will be able to rule the Hells after getting a certain crown...

And yes, they sing together.

Update:

The death stare she gives him while he kisses her 👀 This illustration is based on a song I've been listening on repeat non stop in the past days.

"Come, my love Rule with me for eternity Drown all dreams so mercilessly And leave their souls to me" *** "Wild and strong you can't be contained Never bound nor ever chained Wounds you caused will never mend And you will never end"

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wip #Azarel The Hell-touched #i have so many headcanons for these two dum dums #Azarel is basically the knight in sour armor / tragic hero trope #maybe with a mix of Colonel Kilgore when it comes fighting demons...#Raphael pls not you literally wanting the holy knight???#he 100% asks her to roleplay as the proud devil slayer paladin in the boudoir...#she refuses to call him her husband. He calls her his spouse #hes like AT LEAST 2 heads taller than her in cambion form and she's still the top...

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futurefind · 2 years ago

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//Sasume as Chaldea's Master is so funny like yes shes the source of as much antics n bullshit n self endagering like a gudaguda event just by herself (NO sasume technically viable or not you are NOT pinning the nigh undefeatable enemy in place by LETTING THEM STAB YOU so ur servants can nuke them while pinned via gore) but like

Because she epitomizes the spirit of FGO MC: while not an everyman like them, sure, she's just as insistently and stubbornly determined and compassionate and determinedly compassionate no matter what the world throws at her

YES this shit sucks YES she doesn't want to do it YES she never wanted to do it but also fuck you humanity is going to survive she's going to make sure it does no matter how much she hates the process and how much it hates her you are not going to stop her

(And also make 'anonymous' vday chocolates for the entirety of the Chaldean staff + servants every year while she does)

#mun babbles //#yeah based on her AngstTM n isms n knight in sour armor bs etc shes more of the shounen Lancer than the mc but like #still Very Much a Shounen ProtagTM all the same yk ??????#best analogue ive seen is unironically vash the stampede trigun iykyk yk?#about // sasume

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rush-the-stars · 9 days ago

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the beginning and end (and what binds them together)

part iv: tender

✦—⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆—✦

18+ minors dni

pairing: vashwood x afab!reader

wc: 2.7k these keep getting longer :/

cw: omegaverse au, beta!vash that can switch sexes, alpha!wolfwood, omega!reader pretending to be an alpha, reader referred to as "kid" and "kit" by wolfwood and vash, mention of attempted assault, choking (non sexual), canon accurate violence, fighting, hurt/comfort, not beta read/reviewed at all

a/n: okay i know i said smut this time. this is actually just hurt/comfort. but i swear next time....next time there will be smut. regardless i hope you enjoy this!! lmk what you think....i love to talk about this au it is consuming me tbh!!

part iii: heat -> masterlist

✦—⋆𓆩✧𓆪⋆—✦

|| AFTER THE TRUTH ||

At a bar on the edge of the world, with the night humming restless, and the wind seeping in from outside, you nurse your last drink of the night. Wolfwood and Vash are getting their last round at the bar. For a moment, you're alone, tucked into a table in the back of this little hole in the wall. It's rowdy and your head is aching, but the drink is cold, and burns sweet going down.

The wind shifts outside, banging the shutters.

Your hackles rise, instincts sharp. Someone behind you.

They scruff you—you don't know him. He's all Alpha, you can tell by the sour burst of musk that invades your senses as he does so. Big hand coming down hard on the back of your neck. His fingers squeeze into your scent glands and pain lances through your system in a sudden spark. He's being rough because he thinks you're an Alpha, downright cruel if he knew you were an Omega.

(Glands are more sensitive on an Omega. Tender, throbbing things. Something delicate stitched to the outside of you, an unguarded bruise, a soft wound.)

You bark out a sound of pain, trying to struggle away, but he bares down. He yanks you back into the chair.

You snarl, turning over your shoulder to see him and—

You know him. Ice slips into your veins, heart roaring.

"Yeah, you remember me, don't you?" His grin a split in his face, mean and menacing.

You had freed the Omega he'd been harassing, he'd been ready to force himself—

(She'd been so—grateful afterwards. And sweet. And she had been in Heat still and she'd offered and you'd denied, of course. Of course.

You'd never take advantage of her. And you're not actually an Alpha.

You'd thought about her, during your next Heat, though. And saving her, how she'd clung to you. Being her little knight in shining armor. You would've helped her, maybe, if the night hadn't been so awful. But in your fantasies, she offers, and you take care of her, noble and good.)

"Can't ever forget an ugly mug like yours." You bite out, thrashing again to get out of his hold. You dislodge yourself, standing to face him. Square off.

It doesn't wipe the smile off his face.

"And I'd never forget a little Alpha like you—not that scent you carry. Strange, that."

You bristle. You use a blend of elements; leather and bitters, coffee beans and smoky coal to create a tonic that darkens your own scent to match an Alpha's. You put it on your glands daily. Your own scent mixes with it fine, or fine enough to pass. If one were to pay attention to it, though, study it, it might seem like a strange scent.

"What do you want?" You snap.

"Lookin' to settle a score. You took something of mine."

"She wasn't yours!" The anger bursts from you, vicious and raw and more personal than you're anticipating.

"Had her in my arms, didn't I?" He asks coldly, "seems mine enough."

"She was fighting you—"

His temper snaps, lurching for you, and he gets his hands around your throat first, bears down into your scent glands enough that you bleat. You choke.

But you regain your senses, snarl in his face like a wild thing, and shove your knee so hard into his stomach that he drops you. He wheezes.

The people around you have noticed the fight, backing away, murmuring and fearful.

"Mongrel bitch—" He spits at you, lumbering back to his full height, and this time, as he squares back up, you catch the scent of tobacco. Amber and whiskey, now simmering on the edges, furious. Petrichor that goes metallic with stress and bitter with anger.

This time, when he lunges for you, Wolfwood meets him halfway. Vash shoves you behind him.

When you rush to help Wolfwood, Vash grabs you by the back of the shirt—

"Nuh uh—come on, kit, let Wolfwood handle it!"

(Kit still, always, from them. Especially in public. In public, you are still their little troublesome Alpha. In private, sometimes, they soften you to Omega, just more careful with you. A little more doting until you snap at them and they fall back into line.)

The growl that reverberates from Wolfwood's chest is nothing like you've ever heard before. And distantly, you realize he is not actually an aggressive Alpha, not with you or Vash or anyone else. You don't ever see this display of aggression from him, not even when he was scrapping with you, not even when you pushed all his buttons.

He grapples with this other Alpha, but Wolfwood is a better fighter by far. It only takes two hits—punishing and to the jaw, for this man to sway and go down in a heap.

When he doesn't get back up, Wolfwood whirls around, back to you and Vash, whose got you around the middle now to keep you from the fight.

"Are you hurt?" Wolfwood asks sharply, his tone still fueled from the fight, and his hands come up to your face, your neck. You wince away when his fingers skim over your scent glands.

You shake your head, "I'm fine—" But he knows better. He looks at Vash and they share a silent conversation over your head.

"Let's go." Wolfwood says, finally softening. "Lets get out of here."

Vash's arms finally slacken enough. You almost bare teeth and fight them—treating you like this, like something that needs protecting, but Wolfwood ruffles your hair before throwing his arm around you. His scent is still spiced with aggression and fear.

"Way to hold down the fight, kid."

***

Back at the little ramshackle motel you're staying at in this town, the boys are fussing.

"Get a washcloth." Wolfwood tells Vash. "Make it cool—their glands are real swollen."

"I'm fine!" You snap, reaching up to gingerly touch them, only to realize that they are quite enlarged. And they ache.

You hear the water running for a moment, before Vash emerges. He hands the cloth to Wolfwood.

"Come here, troublemaker." Wolfwood says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Vash hovers nearby. "Let me see."

Tentatively, you edge towards him and stop just between his legs. Ordinarily, you might fight him on this, or snap at Vash as he wanders nearer, peering at your throat. But their scents are still heightened and bitter. They're worried and upset. You imagine you're in no better state and—

You'd be lying if you hadn't started bonding to them in some way. They're your Pack, you think. And now is the time to soothe each other—to take care of each other, heal each other. Their scents affect you worse than you care to admit, instruct your instincts, your urges.

Wolfwood gingerly sets his fingers to your jaw and chin. He tilts your head away from him a little and you swallow.

It's a terribly intimate thing for an Alpha to do to an Omega.

Your heartbeat goes hummingbird fast.

Vash, perhaps sensing your caution, murmurs, "poor kit. Looks like it hurts bad."

Kit. The nickname is a balm to your fear, still being referred to as an Alpha feels better than acknowledging this moment as an Omega.

With as much care as he can, Wolfwood brings the cool cloth up to your neck, delicately swiping at your scent glands. A noise of irritation and pain slips out and you jerk away from him. He doesn't grab for you, lets you go for a moment. You look at each other.

"Okay?" He asks.

You let go of a breath. "Yeah."

Then, you step towards him again and he brings the cloth back up. You wince, but stay put this time, as the coolness washes over you.

"Looks like you're gonna bruise pretty bad." Vash says with a frown. "What the hell was his problem?"

"I knew him." You manage to say.

As Wolfwood presses the cloth to one of your glands, the chill of it soothing the heat and swelling beneath your skin, your natural scent is revealed beneath the tonic you wear. It's sweeter, warmer. Not so musky. The boys are used to it by now and the only indication they give that it effects them at all is a small inhale. The flutter of their lashes. An exhale.

"I take it you pissed him off?" Wolfwood asks softly, still focused on your glands.

"He was—" You feel something catch inside you, tug on the fragile parts of you, snagging an emotion you hadn't been prepared for. You swallow around it. Wolfwood must watch your throat move. "He was forcing himself on an Omega in Heat. And I—I stopped him."

Wolfwood's hand falls away from your throat.

Vash says your name, careful and quiet.

"I'm fine." You snap, "It's fine. I stopped him last time and I could've—I could've handled him again."

"No one thinks you couldn't." Vash says, "just—"

"I am sorry." Wolfwood says frankly and hangs his head a little. "I just—snapped. Didn't mean to make you feel helpless." He inhales. Exhales. "I saw my little kit alone, up against this asshole and some instinct kicked in." He jokes weakly, nudging your jaw with his knuckles. He's trying to make you feel normal again, maybe trying to soften the depth of his instincts. The depth of his feelings for you.

You don't know why tears well up in your eyes but suddenly there's this ache inside of you—this pain in your chest, that blooms and spreads all of your body. There's a ball of emotion in your throat. A swelling behind your eyes.

My little kit.

(Has anyone claimed you before? The way these two have? Has anyone accepted you—all of you—the way these two have?)

Something inside you, fragile and tender, splinters.

Vash notices first—perceptive. Empathetic.

"Hey, it's alright—" He says softly, just as you lose the battle with your emotions. You hiccup a little, keeping back a sob, and the first tear escapes your eyes.

You want to hide. You want to run. The urge beats inside of you with your quickening heart. You cover your face and you shudder, biting down on your bottom lip to try and keep it all in. You can feel the tears spilling beneath your hands, all over your face.

Vash says your name again.

"You don't have to hold it in." Wolfwood says gently. "We'll still think you're tough if you cry, kid."

You break—you fracture.

And you throw yourself at Wolfwood, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding in his chest. You knock into him so hard that he almost tumbles back with the force of you, his arms coming up in surprise. You think he looks at Vash over your shoulder, you think they have a silent conversation, before his arms come down around you. Huge and warm and comforting.

He adjusts, curls you into his chest, tucking you into his lap. "It's alright, hey—I've got ya. It's okay, sweetheart."

You try and keep in the sob that's been building, but it escapes into his chest. You try to hide in him, fingers tightening into the front of his shirt desperately. And you feel so—small. And ridiculous. You feel as if your emotions are wobbly and terrifying, too grand to grasp and control. You can't even fully say why you're crying, just that you suddenly can't stop.

(You suspect, though, that it has something to do with their unfaltering acceptance of you. Their—care.)

Wolfwood's hand, big and rough, calmly pets over your shoulders, your back. He hushes you a little, gently, like a mother might.

His scent surrounds you; warm and spiced, comforting in the way that the hearth of a home is. But, by instinct, you think, something is missing and—

You turn in Wolfwood's arm without thinking, get out, "Vash—"

And you reach for him like a child.

At any other time, you might be embarrassed. But Vash is only momentarily surprised, before he goes to you—goes to you quick, goes to you easy—and you get the impression that if you called, he'd come. He'd always come, no matter what. He kneels in front of Wolfwood, just between his legs, and crowds you against Wolfwood's chest.

You peak at him with wet, glittering eyes.

"I'm right here." Vash says softly and his eyes are a falling star, sweeping and bright and hopeful. It's like he's holding his breath, scared to startle you, but his scent is milkier, sweeter. And he reaches out with his hand, fingers seeking, and curls it around the bend of your wet cheek. You realize his other hand is braced on Wolfwood's knee. You realize how close you all are.

(Are Packs like this? You wonder. Perhaps close, but perhaps not this close—)

"Why're you crying?" Vash murmurs, gathering your tears with his thumb to sweep away, "huh? What's wrong, kit?"

"I don't know," You get out, but you do know and you can't really voice it. Not without risk of dissolving into tears again, not without the terror of naming it—of speaking it aloud, and then making it real. This feeling you have inside you, this growing tenderness, this rooting trust in them that has begun to bury itself inside you. It feels fragile—as fragile as a bird's fluttering wing.

"Are you sure?" Vash asks gently, as if he knows already. So keen. So quick.

On instinct, you nuzzle into Vash's hand, turn towards his open palm. Your nose settles just above his inner wrist, where a scent gland of his rests.

You're just shy of scenting him.

He holds perfectly still for you; an offering. You freeze, too.

His breath catches. You can feel Wolfwood's gaze. It'd be natural of you, as an Omega, to do it. To rub your cheek to his inner wrist, to nose there. But you stop yourself, tamper down the instinct and force yourself to remain still in his hands. In Wolfwood's arms.

"Just—" You try to find the words, any words at all.

"Overwhelmed." You settle on.

"That's alright," Wolfwood says and he does what you can't. He nudges his stubbly cheek against your temple. Not really scenting but it's overly affectionate, bends down enough to do it against your other cheek, enough to make you fuss and squirm in his arms. "We'll take care of you. Right, blondie?"

"Of course." Vash says, even as you begin to protest, and a fond smile begins to grace his lips. So horribly fond.

Despite calming down and finally untangling yourself from them, they hover quite a bit that night. They alternate turns pressing a cool cloth to your scent glands, getting you water—running the shower for you. Making your bed while you're in that shower.

And when you emerge and clamber into one of the beds (the other Vash has been reluctantly pushed into, while Wolfwood has stretched on the couch that is certainly too small for him), you discover each of them has left something of theirs inside the sheets of the bed. They've also fluffed the pillows, built them in a small mountain around the edges—they've attempted to prepare a nest for you. And you'd be prickly about it, if it didn't make you strangely emotional again.

If it didn't appeal to you so greatly.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to nest?

You swallow hard and clamber into it. You pretend you don't notice that a clean undershirt of Wolfwood's and one of Vash's spare turtlenecks has been tucked into the nest. In the morning, you'll throw them at both men and chew them out for their presumptions, and it'll be back to normal by afternoon as you hit the road again.

But for now, you pretend.

You pretend until the lights go out, in the dark, when they can no longer see you. And you gather the shirts into your arms and curl around them, tuck your face into the fabric and carefully inhale. Thistle and rain. Amber and tobacco. Home, out here at the edge of the world.

And the fragile part of you, as tender as a bird's wing, beats in time with your heart.

(Takes to flight, in the soft, unguarded parts of you, as you sigh and turn into the burrow of blankets and pillows—into the love they give you.)

#vash the stampede x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #vash x reader #trigun x reader #vashwood x reader #cw omegaverse #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!

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delightfulhidingnook · 2 months ago

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His Best Knight, The Queen

(Dark Cacao Cookie x Reader)

Chapter 5

The night was cold, even the palace was chilly, but you and your new friends did not feel an inkling of the biting winds, all having been warmed up by the drunken sugar high of at least 5 mugs worth of redberry juice. Golden Cheese was passed out on the table, White Lily was sobbing in a corner with Pure Vanilla trying to offer comfort as best as he could, and Hollyberry, with only a buzz, was cheering you on as you were engaged in a drunken battle with Dark Cacao. Armed with a sword from one of the armor stands, it was impressive how you held your own against him and the very sword he used to fight the dragons.

“Give up hiccup you stand no ch-chance hiccup against me.” You said as you unsteadily pointed your sword at him.

“N-never, you’ll have to hiccup kill me!” He replied, rushing towards you once more for another attack.

You stood your ground, swords colliding, but even with your feet planted firmly on the palace floors, he managed to corner you back against a pillar.

“Who hassss hiccup no chance now?” Even when Dark Cacao was smug, he couldn’t even work up a snarky grin.

You were struggling, but then you looked into those amethyst eyes of his, like staring into an abyss with a single shining star marked by the light reflecting in his gaze. You felt your breath become steady, your strength restoring itself, and even just a little bit sober, the second he relaxed from all of his pushing, you took your chance. Over and over your swords collided, such elegant technique, you fought almost as if you were dancing. You became offensive, pushing him backwards the way he did to you, sparks flying from your swords with each scratch and clang. But with one big, swift and solid swing, you knock back his sword and kick his wrist before he can rebalance himself, causing him to drop his weapon. He’s stunned, both of you sweating and breathing heavily as you hold your blade up to his throat, he’s sour from his loss, but raises his hands in surrender.

“That’s my girl!!” Hollyberry cheered as you lowered your blade, dropping it on the ground and laughing.

“You’re hiccup really fun to ssssspar with hiccup.” You laughed, walking up to Dark Cacao and giving him a hug.

You sigh, “You’re so warm.”

Your grip on him tightens as you pull him in closer, rubbing your cheek onto his robes, they were so soft. He was in a bit of shock, unsure what to do in the situation, but slowly he eventually returned your hug, a small smile forming on his lips, you could have sworn you also heard a quiet laugh.

“How sweet, you two look absolutely adorable together.” Hollyberry smiled, looking at the two of you as if she were looking at a small puppy.

“We’re only fffffriends.” Dark Cacao said, the both of you swaying side to side, unable to keep yourselves steady.

“Best friends hiccup.” You drunkenly corrected.

Hollyberry convinced everyone to stay for the night, you all could return to your kingdoms in the morning. However, in the dead of night, as all were asleep in their rooms, you found yourself lying awake and staring up at the ceiling. You weren’t really used to sleeping somewhere so foreign, despite the warm blankets and the scent of lavender in the air, you felt overwhelmed. You felt tears well up in your eyes, how pathetic, you’re a warrior, you shouldn’t be crying just because you miss home, you sat up and eventually set out to ask the guards where you could get a glass of water. How odd, the halls were empty and dark, there was a chill in the air much like the winter winds of the great icing ridge.

“Hello?” You called out, but there was no answer.

“Is anyone there?” You were met with more silence as you stepped out into the hall, the door slamming behind you on its own.

“Dark Cacao? Hollyberry?” You wandered the halls, you could see your breath it was so cold, you left your coat and hood in the dining room.

You turn into the next hall, and see a large towering figure ahead, the darkness didn’t let you get a good view of the shadowy silhouette. It started getting closer, startled you turn to run, but there was another shadow almost identical to the first, did this thing have some sort of duplication magic? Suddenly everything stops, you look down, strawberry jam spilling from your torso, you look back up, everything is going dark, before you lose consciousness you finally hear a voice.

“Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Sweetie!!” You scream in distress as you wake up back in bed, your heart was racing, you couldn’t control your shaky legs, you felt dizzy and nauseous.

In mere seconds, your wolf companion can be heard causing a ruckus through the halls before breaking down your door to come to your aid, he growled, scanning the room for the threat.

“Sweetie, here.” You cry as you pat the bed, he lowers his guard, seeming to understand the situation as he walks to your bedside, laying his head in your lap as you sob into his fur, never have you had a nightmare as terrifying as crumbling.

“Y/N COOKIE ARE YOU ALRIGHT!!” You heard Dark Cacao shouting.

“WE’RE COMING!!” Called Hollyberry.

“The guards are unconscious and her doors are completely gone!” Yelled Golden Cheese.

Everyone soon after came running in ready to attack, panic stricken at the state of your door and assuming the worst, you did your best to hide your face, but you couldn’t hide your cries.

“Please, please spare my dignity and turn away, I can’t bare the thought of all of you seeing me in such a state.” You cried before hiding your face once more.

“Y/n, you’re trembling.” Hollyberry approached, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s okay, whatever it is, we’re here for you, you’re our friend now, we would like to help if it’s alright with you.” Said Pure Vanilla.

You took a deep breath to gather your thoughts, “I fear you will all think less of me if I tell you.”

“Maybe.” Said Golden Cheese before getting punched in the shoulder by Hollyberry.

“Look at the state you’re in Y/n, we could never judge you over something that has brought you such an overwhelming amount of distress.” Pure Vanilla Cookie reassured.

You take another deep breath before explaining your night terror, the cold, dark halls, the shadowy figures, and then your own crumbling. The recollection making you upset and feel sick again, the others did their best to console you, Hollyberry even had a servant bring in some water to help you rehydrate yourself. After taking a few drinks, the dizziness and nausea subside, Dark Cacao Cookie gently places a hand on top of yours.

“You will not crumble by the blade of another, your skills alone are unmatched and if the situation ever were to call for it, I would fight for you and all who dwell in the new kingdom to keep you from harm.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, looking up at him with your tear-stained face, as always, Dark Cacao held a cold expression, but it was always his eyes that revealed his hidden emotion, he truly meant what he had said, every single word.

“You should be king.” Your said in a quiet voice.

He stayed quiet for a bit, gently squeezing your hand in return, “On the condition that you be my personal knight, I will accept the title and all responsibility that comes with it.”

“Deal.”

After you had come down from your panic attack, everyone said their well wishes and goodbyes, you had redressed into your coat and hood. When you hopped onto Sweeties back, you felt your dizziness return, along with some fatigue, Dark Cacao noticed this and offered to steer Sweetie, which you agreed to. Dark Cacao, pulls you close to him, not trusting that you wouldn’t fall off if you sat behind him, you could hear his calm heartbeat and the way it sped up a bit when you nestled yourself inside of his caped hood.

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bump1nthen1ght · 1 year ago

Text

Lovers in Arms (Living Armor x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Knight x Living Armor (He/Him)

Genre:Fantasy, Established Relationship, Slight Exhibitionism

Warnings: None

Word Count:1507 words

Summary: As a famous knight, you’re quite used to receiving unwanted attention from others, romantic or not. Your partner, however, has found another way of coping with it.

Request: Hear me out a female knight x living Armor. Outside is very protective plate armor but the inside is a sticky, slimy mass of tendrils. When she is out fighting everything is normal but when she is talking with people and doing errands is when it starts to become hard to ignore. Doesn't help that the armor dirty talks and praises her while its fondling and screwing her. They both have a great relationship.

“I don’t like this man.”

“I’m aware.” You mumble under your breath, feeling the way Rust squirms and wriggles against your skin, a tell-tale sign of his annoyance. It’s a far cry from his usual movements, which have a way of syncing perfectly to your limbs, slipping right into the natural crevices. “But he’s willing to pay for this next campaign, so we gotta suck up a bit.”

You’d normally not speak so freely with Rust like this, but the man of discussion, some lord or something, is talking about himself so loudly you doubt he notices.

“I’ve heard much about your past battles, good knight! When I saw you would be leading this battalion, I knew I had to come and meet you.” You nod along, used to the simple back and forths of these sorts of conversations. You play the part, stroke their egos, and your knights and squires have full bellies and well-maintained equipment for the rest of their next mission. It’s embarrassing, but worth it. “I must say too, you are much more…beautiful than I expected, captain.”

You internalize a groan, your armor shuddering as Rust’s tentacles tense up.

This happens a lot too.

“I mean not to offend but when I first heard of your epic tales, I thought ‘surely someone so accomplished can’t also be attractive.’ And yet you-” The lord bites his lip in what he mist thinks is charming, “-have enchanted me.”

You muster your best flattered grin, despite the way your stomach sours.

“Thank you, my lord. I assure you the feeling is mu- hngh!” Blood nearly draws from thr forceful bite against your lip, a moan nearly clawing its way out of you mouth. The lord’s eyebrows shoot up. “E-excuse me. I think some of my old battle scars are-” another breathy sigh, your cheeks growing hot, “-acting up. I apologize.”

You don’t stay to hear the lord's worried questions and sympathies, instead running to your tent. You pass by drinking soldiers and courtiers, all celebrating your last victory. None spare a look at their serious captain, knowing how often you retreat your quarters. Surely to look over battle strategies and war routes, always the hard worker.

“F-fuck, Rust.” You pant, nearly collapsing once you reach your bed. The appendage currently circling your clit stops, your cunt aching from the lack of stimulation. “You have to stop doing that.”

“And why should I?” Rust's smug voice echoes in your helm. “Not like that buffon would’ve noticed. Pigheaded, ignorant fool, flirting with you-”

This was a common occurrence as well. Something about military success and captain’s armor has a way of drawing people’s attention, several nobles looking to leech off of the prestige of courting you. While you’ve perfected a method of deflection, seeming humble yet appreciative, Rust can’t help but seeth whenever they start sweet talking. His jealousy comes to a head, all the sass and the passion all bursting out like a broken dam. You’re usually able go escape somewhere private before it becomes too overwhelming, but there have been times you struggle to finish your sentence because of the tentacles fucking you like a piston, his low voice whispering laviscious that echoe in your ears.

“You’re an immaculate treasure, captain. They don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know when you look more beautiful, on the battlefield or cumming on my tentacles.”

“Cum for me, Captain.”

You learn to give a grated smile, utter an excuse about your old injuries, and hobble away while cum runs down your legs in rivulets.

It can get a little frustrating, but in this moment, you can't say you hate the effect jealousy has on him.

“Forget about him.” You collapsed onto your bed, all thoughts of reprimanding Rust fading from mind. The only need at the forefront of your mind is lust, your body craving the taste of pleasure. “It’s just us now.”

If he could, Rust would surely be smirking.

“That's right. As it should be.” Rust’s voice rumbles all across your body, accompanied by the familiar slipping of his tentacles, all slotting into place. One slides right between your pussy lips, now slick, and resumes circling your clit. “Just you and I, together.”

Your head is thrown back in a moan, helm falling off and letting your hair lie loose. Rust’s inner body only extends to your chestplate, his voice now echoing off your collar and into your ear.

“Yes, pretty girl. Such pretty noises.” Two tentacles encircle your breasts, squeezing and fondling. “My gorgeous captain” The metal shakes with Rust’s purrs, plate joints rubbing against each other as all the tentacles move. “Hmm, I love the way this pussy tastes after a long battle.”

“Rust.” You whine, hand thrown over your face as a hot blush spreads up your neck.

“What? Its true.” A tip of a tentacle prods at your entrance, dancing around it like a tease. “The sweat that drips down between your thighs, your sweet juices…” That tapered tip slowly enters your whole, tabtalizinignly slow, “It’s addictive.”

A shaky sigh is muffled by your palm, your legs instinctively spreading wide as the tentacle stretches you open. Lines of ridges along the side scrape against your walls, sending shocking bolts across your stomach. Your free hand digs into your blankets.

“Divine.” Rust moans, two limbs pressing your breasts together as another slots in between them. The tentacle inside burns as it reaches its girthiest part, the tip now curled against your g-spot. “If those fools ever saw you like this, captain, they’d know how out of their league you are.”

“Aah!” Your hand becomes a fist and you bite down on your knuckles, Rust finally starting to thrust inside of you. In private he likes to take his sweet time setting the pace, unraveling you like a gift.

“I want you to sing for me, general.”

“Oh, fu-uck.” You draw out your vowels, back arching as the tentacles around your nipples twist even tighter. The ones deep in your pussy go frustratingly slow, drawing out to the tip before pressing you open again. “Rust.”

If your enemies could see you now; The fierce Captain of the Crimson Brigade, whose command brought countless victories for the crown, who never rested until the fight was one, begging like a common whore. Your voice all high and needy, so different from the gruff persona you put on when shouting orders.

On the battlefield, you and Rust are all business. Everything clicks, your two bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, throwing javelins and wielding a greatsword with ease. You’re the perfect pair; You bring the technique, he brings the strength, and together you can bring down titans. A force to be reckoned with, that bows to no one.

But it can be exhausting. All those decisions, life-changing decisions, are in your hands. You are the face of this operation, after all, and any missteps reflect on your leadership, no one else's.

So what's wrong with handing the reins over, every once in a while? Let someone set the pace, move your body for you. Let you be the obedient soldier, following the lead.

“Good girl.” Rust purse, and all those troubles from before melting away.

Your thighs fight to clench together as he begins fucking you faster, vision blurring as he hits your g-spot with precision. The merriment of celebration and drunken victory outside are loud enough to drown your wanton noises. Let them have their image of their general, let them have the person you pretend to be on the battlefield. These noises are for Rust, and only Rust.

“I’m getting close.” Your lips quiver, the skin nearly worn thin from your incessant biting. “Please, Rust.”

“How could I ever say no to you, Captain?” A second tentacle slips inside you, joining its twin and thrusting in you like a well-oiled machine. A gaso claws its way out of your throat, hips jumping from the burning stretch. “Especially when you ask so nicely.”

The tentacles twist together, writing against your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head as a buzzing sensation travels up from your core to your face, like you're starting to go numb.

“Oh, gods!” You cry out as the crescendo finally hits, pussy clenching the tentacles in a vice. All of Rust’s appendages shudder, a sultry groan echoing out of your collar.

The armor feels hot, almost too hot as you lay in the end, the high of climaxing slowly fading. Sweat drips down your entire body, loving tentacles lapping them up eagerly. Words still escape you, your thoughts a jumbled mess of sensations and emotions. You should really take a shower, shed Rust and clean him as well, but everything is sore, and your brain calls for sleep.

“Rest, my captain. We can bathe in the morning.”

Rust whispers, low tone only pulling you further into unconsciousness.

In the soft embrace of your lover, you can fall asleep peacefully. No thoughts of battles, or blood, or death. Just the two of you, as always.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert

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ddollfface · 2 months ago

Note

Love the knight. I gotta wonder how he’d deal with a very willing reader who is more than happy to have children with him? Also how did the nobility handle having a commoner become future king/emperor? Could you please elaborate a bit on what his rise to power was like?

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫—𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤!𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Honestly, I think a willing reader will make everyone’s lives all the more pleasant. Really, all LoveSick!Knight wants stability, someone that he can protect, and this is just exacerbated by the fact that reader was an easy thing to cling to, seeing as he was taught from an early age that his role in life was to serve and die for the future queen, i.e. you. These emotions of hatred toward nobility and the rich are still harbored deep within, but they slowly disappear, realizing that, yes, nobility is bad, but not you. You’re different. You treat him like a human and not just some shield meant to separate you from danger. You are his queen, and he will be your king.

But yeah, I think a willing reader will make the relationship far more healthy, and a stubborn and golden heart type of reader will likely be able to set LoveSick!Knight straight (teaching him a softness he’s never known, showing him that there’s more than violence and that there are healthy coping skills, blah, blah). Overall, this will breed for a better kingdom and support for the royal family.

Now, when it comes to the actual world-building. It’s not all set and stone, and please don’t @ me if it doesn’t make sense. Honestly, LoveSick!Knight was just created because I wanted a fucked up knight-in-shining armor lol.

But nonetheless, my idea was that LoveSick!Knight, although a peasant, is seen as a war hero to the masses, and most importantly, the king. He’s not just some peasant who learned the way of the sword. No, no, no, don’t you understand? He helped protect the honor of the Nation’s Beaut! He defended the nation’s honor! He won many battles for reader’s country and brought back more victories in the span of a three-year siege than most have in a lifetime.

So although there’s of course some nobility who are being bitchy about how LoveSick!Knight will stain the bloodline, especially as reader is seen to be one of the most valuable ladies in the land and such, but because LoveSick!Knight has won the favorability of the king, the emperor, but it falls on deaf ears.

Also, I would like to add that reader, in the og timeline, doesn’t necessarily hate LoveSick!Knight in the beginning, no. They were friends, best buds, seeing as they were around one another 24/7. She had no choice but to enjoy his presence. The two had grown quite close, an example of this is in this oneshot. Things only turned sour once they were wed, when the isolation began.

Because of this original support, reader was likely to defend LoveSick!Knight from stingy nobles, creating a even better public persona with the people. If the Nation’s Beaut thought this guy was so great and the King, then he must be amazing! So, yeah, that’s kind of the gist of things.

And I think I’ve already gone over this, but LoveSick!Knight was given the throne as a gift of sorts. I never disclaimed if reader had brothers or not, and I don’t really feel the need to specify ‘cause I don’t think it matters, but LoveSick!Knight was passed on the throne as the King thought of him as a son. Also, the King wanted to wed the war hero to his beloved daughter, reader. So yeah, that’s the idea of the whole thing. Thanks for listening to my TED talk (´ε｀ )♡

#𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 #𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 #lovesick #x reader #obsessive love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #bad writing #yandere oc #yandere oc x you #yandere male #medieval love #medieval yandere

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inonibird · 5 days ago

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Sahuldeem Spin-off Snippet #4

Hey, remember how I posted three previous snippets because writing has been hard this year and I felt like sharing excerpts from the various unfinished Sahuldeem spin-off stories I've poked at over the past few years? (I am STILL working on the newest chapter of Sahuldeem; it has just been ludicrously hard to get into it) This next spin-off fic can best be described as: "A story centered around Qymaen’s Force-sensitive granddaughter, set after the Original Trilogy." Treated as a sequel to Sahuldeem, but Force-related shenanigans mean it is less grounded in canon/reality. A bit of a self-indulgent, adventurous romp with some family drama mixed in. (Ludari herself is a re-imagined version of an old ttrpg character)

This short snippet is set near the beginning, as Ludari learns more about the elder-father no one seems to want to talk about. Enjoy~

A few days later, Ludari’s father came into her room, and, instead of wishing her good night and departing as usual, he settled on the edge of her bed, heaving a weighty sigh.

“There’s little I can tell you about your elder-father that I know outside of stories, myself. I never met him. He left Kalee before I was birthed.”

“But elder-mother told you stories,” Ludari said, sitting up straight in bed, every fiber of her body hungry for whatever scraps her father might spare. “She knew him.”

Ludari’s father was quiet for a moment. “Why do you want to hear about him, Ludari?”

“The other children told me he wasn’t always like that.”

“Wasn’t always like…”

“A monster.”

Her father’s face stilled, his slitted eyes falling out of focus, as if picturing something he barely remembered. “You don’t know what he looked like, do you?”

Ludari shook her head. “They just told me he was barely even Kaleesh anymore. More like a droid.”

“Hold on.” Her father rose from her bed and slipped out of the room for a minute. When he returned, he held a portable holoscreen in hand, a cracked, outdated piece of technology that was the norm for backwater Kalee. Settling back into position, he passed the screen to his daughter. “These are old recordings from the HoloNet. They would have aired during the time of the Clone Wars. I was far too young to know anything about it, then. Mother showed these to me years later.”

Ludari squinted at the flickering screen, watching the decades-old HoloNet News broadcasts. Reporters spoke in urgent staccato of the “Knight Slayer” that had come to the attention of the Galactic Republic in recent weeks, and who had, at the time of the newsreel, finally been recorded in action. The footage was grainy and blurred, but amid the white armored figures of clone troopers, a skeletal shape rampaged, a storm of blue-and-green lights that snapped and sliced and severed. The footage paused, highlighting a frame of frozen fury: more metal than flesh, poised mid-assault, what passed for a face pointing up to glare at some unseen aerial intrusion.

The quality of the recording was too low to see much detail, but Ludari merely had to close her eyes to know what every fuzzy pixel had failed to display. She could see her elder-father like he stood right before her, hunched yet looming, taller than any Kaleesh she’d ever met; she could hear the strain of metallic joints and wheezing, labored breaths; she could smell the residue of blaster fire on scorched armorplast, the stink of old blood of felled enemies, and something sour and rancid buried beneath it all. Livid eyes glared back, glinting gold from deep, orbital sockets

“Ludari?” Her father placed a concerned hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

Ludari peeled her eyes open. “He has a kakmusme,” she observed, and even as she blurted this, she wasn’t sure why that had caught her notice and demanded mention, of all things.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shown this to you before bed.”

“I’m not scared.” But she was shaking. She couldn’t seem to stop, even when her father moved both hands to her shoulders for a comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I should have known better. Everyone calls him a monster for a reason. The galaxy feared him for a reason.” Her father peered into her eyes, worried. “Do you know what he looked like when he was still Kaleesh? When he was still whole?”

Ludari shook her head again, but her brow creased as something occurred to her. “Like you?”

Her father blinked, then offered a small smile. “Yes, in fact. Your elder-mother has always said so. The village used to have a statue of him in the square, but it was torn down after the stories of the Clone Wars reached Kalee. I barely remember seeing it. He probably even looked a little like you, too, at your age. Wouldn’t have gotten his chin tusks, yet.”

“What was he like at my age?” Ludari asked, desperate for something to distract her from the possibility that, when she closed her eyes for the night, she would dream of a hulking, metallic skeleton cutting off limbs and crushing skulls with powerful claws—or, worse, that the almost palpable vision that had creaked and wheezed and glared at her from behind her eyelids would stand by her bed and watch her sleep.

“Hm. Well, my mother didn’t know him when he was your age, so what she told me was based on stories. But she said he knew how to use an Outland rifle when he was eight years old. Just two years younger than you.”

Ludari gaped. “Eight? You won’t even let me look at your rifle!”

He received a wry, arched eyebrow at that. “And you will learn when you are twelve. No weapons until then. That is tradition. Your elder-father lived in a time of planetary war; the children then needed to learn early, to grow up too quickly. But it’s said that because of him our family teaches all of our children how to shoot and hunt, no matter how many tusks they have.”

Ludari tried to picture herself, at her size, holding a slugthrower rifle. It was difficult. “He fought in a war when he was only eight years old?”

“The Huk War,” his father clarified. “Around 70 years ago. The Huk invaded and tore families apart—slaughtering our warriors, taking our women and children away to sell as slaves. When your elder-father was your age, it was said he protected Irikuum with his rifle. He would destroy entire raiding parties of more than a dozen Huk by himself, he was such a skilled shot.”

Ludari hung onto his every word. The tangle in her chest, which had wound painfully tight at the sight of the old newsreel and the frightening vision of what her elder-father had become, started to unravel and relax. “He sounds brave.”

“I’m sure he was, back then.” Ludari’s father put a hand in his daughter’s hair, giving her curls a gentle tousle. “Feeling better?”

“Will you tell me another story about him tomorrow night? About when he was still honorable?”

His father’s breath caught in his throat a moment, sucked in and held during a brief, silently painful contemplation. “Yes, little Ludari. I’ll tell you more.”

When her father left the room, taking the holoscreen and turning out the light, Ludari sat up in bed, closed herself off from the outer world, and meditated. The Feeling returned to her and seemed to revel in her success, feeding into her a warm, lulling peace that pervaded her body from her core to her fingertips and toes. All she had to do was think about a boy with his slugthrower, lying in the grass under a hot sun, holding his breath as he aimed at a wooden target a hundred meters away.

#Inoni Writes #Sahuldeem #Star Wars #Ludari jai Namtarra #Jai Clan #Kaleesh #General Grievous #Qymaen jai Sheelal #fanfic #definitely a longer story #but a nifty one #and I've been poking at it for the longest #fun fact: Ludari was originally a male/older teenager #but when writing I realized it felt like rehashing Qy's stuff #so I made the swap and it feels much more interesting

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