#the wind our steed

[queen-helaenas-pet-spider]

"Denied any part of the incomes of Fair Isle by her brother Lord Franklyn, Elissa asked the Dowager Queen for gold sufficient to build a new ship in the shipyards of Driftmark, a large, swift vessel meant to sail the Sunset Sea. Rhaena denied her request. “I could not bear for you to leave me,” she said, but Lady Elissa heard only, “No.”

--

{Jodie Comer as Queen Rhaena Targaryen and Keira Knightley as Lady Elissa Farman}

[azsazz]

With Me

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I know your request are closed but still writing. In the future could you do something with Eris x rhys sister?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of canon violence

Word Count: 1,520

_________________________________________

It had been on a wisp of an autumn breeze that Eris found out.

Found out about the plans of the High Lord of Spring, how he and his sons planned an ambush on the wife and daughter of the High Lord of Night on their travels to the Illyrian mountains for a visit with her son.

He had been on his horse, red as the leaves on the trees, scouting the borders between Autumn and Spring. The wind ruffled his hair and tickled his pointed ears with the whispers of scheming sons. Eris had stilled the mare beneath him and urged the current with a touch of magic to enhance the conversation.

That High Lord will pay for everything he’s tried to do to ours.

He won’t even know what’s coming. And neither will those little bitches.

Dibs on the older one.

It had eaten Eris throughout the day. Across the rest of his round on the border, during battle strategy, between sword fighting with his younger brothers. Lucien was learning quickly how to play his brothers against each other, and even scored a hit on Eris while his mind had been run through with worry.

He is a smart male but the thought of going to his father with this news didn’t feel right, but keeping it to himself felt even worse. So, after a family dinner that he loathed, Eris put on his emerald robes and marched into the Night Court territory.

He was too late. 

Eris caught the scent of your blood on a tornado of wind that carried the harrowing cries of you and your mothers downfall. You had been brutally attacked by the Spring Court sons and their father, and as Eris crept closer he saw blood coated flowers sprouting from the ground. The High Lord’s magic, a love note to the High Lord of Night.

A soft gurgle caught his attention as he stepped into the clearing washed in moonlight. The sight before him was harrowing; your carriage door ripped off its hinges, the windows blown out. Even the large, black steeds that had been pulling the wagon had been slaughtered, their entrails long lines in the white snow.

A wet cough, one with the whisper of death accompanying it drew his attention. Eris didn’t hesitate to locate you, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you curled beneath your slain mother, her arms still wrapped around you protectively. 

Your eyes were wide with fear, mouth gaping like a fish. Blood of both yours and your mothers surrounded you, leaking from your lips, from between the hands you had pressed weakly to your stomach.

Falling to his knees, Eris reached a hand out but halted when your eyes met his. His mind was reeling, a young warrior with little battlefield experience before a female struggling through her thinning breaths.

Something stirred deeply within him, something he knew but couldn’t say, wouldn’t admit out loud until years later. 

You had enough strength to shift your hand in the snow, reaching towards him, eyes screaming a plea for help from the handsome son of Autumn. 

And he did. He held your organs in his hands as he winnowed you from Night into his own territory, right into the hands of his mother. 

Amaretto stood with a start, the book in her hands falling loudly to the floor. There were no sounds in the room, not even the crackling of the fires raging in the hearths. She kept it this way so she could hear the sounds of her husband's footsteps when he walked down the marble halls of the Woodland House, each echo a shot to her confidence.

“Eris,” she gasps at her son, who looks over at her with wide, pleading, auburn eyes. She halts in her tracks, that look in his eyes, the sheer terror on his face. Her own eyes softened with a knowing look, and she uttered, “Oh, Eris.”

He and his mother worked in tandem all through the night. And when Beron’s footsteps began to sound down the hall Eris had been the one to distract him, goad him. He didn’t care about the bruises and pain inflicted by his father’s hand because it was nothing to the pain he could feel from you, through the thread of the bond that had appeared at the sight of you. 

His mother saved your life with the little trickle of healing magic she had left. Always hidden from Beron, but would use it to save her son’s mate’s life. Two gentle souls that deserved much better hands that you had been dealt in the world.

Eris stayed by your side when you had been moved to a guest room. You hadn’t woken for days and he couldn’t figure out a way to hide you from his father who would surely use you against the Night Court, who were mourning the news of their felled female family members.

Word had come of the slaying of the Spring Court High Lord and the two eldest sons, leaving young Tamlin to take his place. In the fray, the High Lord of Night had been murdered as well, with Rhysand taking the chair of rule.

It was all very confusing times. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Eris,” you plead, tears staining your eyes. He can feel the cracking in your chest even though you’re trying to hide it from him. You’ve never been good at blocking your feelings from your loving mate, but the thought of returning home was all too much. Eris wasn’t understanding your fear, your need to go home to the Night Court after so long away, after Amarantha’s reign of terror has finally ended. “I need to see my brother.”

Eris had hidden you from the wretched female while he and all of the other citizens of the Autumn Court had been forced beneath the mountain. It had been a long, lonely fifty years of trying to find a way to get back to Velaris, to get inside of the barriers that had been protected with an extra boost of Rhysand’s power before he became trapped.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, hugging you closely. The both of you are laid up in his bed, days of reacquainting each other with the other’s body after so long away. Your mate had all but fallen apart in your arms, and you in his, the loneliness of your years spent wondering how your mate fared against the powerful female set to ruin your world. 

“Come with me,” you beg wetly, clutching to his clothes. He had winnowed right back into your arms as soon as he was able, and he hasn’t let you go since. You hadn’t wanted him to. “Let’s run away from Autumn, together.” 

Just like Lucien had done, chased away from the Court he knew as home while their awful brothers hunted him down. It had been another harrowing night for Eris, one you held him through. 

Only the knowledge that his brother was safe in the Spring Court had kept him from completely falling apart.

“I can’t just leave like this, fawn,” he answers wetly, stroking your hair back from your face. You’re as beautiful as the day you woke up, when your eyes landed on his and the bond made itself known to you. He has spent every day since thanking the Mother for this time with you, for sparing you that winter night, for keeping you safe when he was trapped under the mountain with no way out. “Not yet.”

Your voice breaks and hot tears stream down your face, throat tightening to the point where no words could break if you tried. You want Eris to come with you, you need Eris to come with you. You’ve only just gotten him back and it cannot be time to give him up already.

“It’s okay, fawn,” Eris consoles sadly. He will keep you in his arms tonight and tomorrow, up until he escorts you to your brother’s land and makes sure that you are safe with them. He has been a selfish male for so many years, falling headfirst into the mating bond. He’d fallen into you completely and without any remorse, the same way you had found yourself falling into him. “You need to do this. And I will be here, fighting for a better life for us until we can be together, freely.”

Eris and Amaretto had come up with an elaborate plan to tell the rest of the family. That Eris would hide you until you healed, and found his mate at the Autumnal Equinox balls. It would ensure your safety, being classed as a High Fae, but also being Eris’ mate. You had learned to deal with Beron and Eris’ insufferable brothers for years.

You love Eris with every fiber of your being, and the thought of parting with him so soon after getting him back tears your heart to shreds, but you need to go, especially after everything Eris had told you happened down there. 

“I love you, Eris.” 

“I love you too, fawn.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 3: OF TRUE AND FALSE MEMORIES

synopsis: you hitch a ride to the heartlands. hopefully your driver doesn't mind you leeching for just a while longer.

word count: 3.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: hey ummm merry christmas eve here's an early present. also zion as a concept of faith is mentioned but i am not a zionist trust it's just that joshua graham is unfortunately a mormon 🙏

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @fathermarama , @its-yummi (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

You know the trail to Dead Horse Point well by now. Something is a bit different – but still, Joshua and Daniel and the Dead Horses and Sorrows welcome you and your mules, Rook and Bishop, all the same.

Follows-Chalk, Drumming-Storm, and a few other Dead Horses crowd the mules, offloading everything you had on them: books, kettles, blankets, guns (and accompanying black powder), tobacco, and alcohol. They mostly crowd Rook, as she’s the heavyweight of the two and carries more – Bishop’s more of a riding mule. The Dead Horses wander off soon after, arms full, taking everything to its respective place. 

Joshua approaches you, adjusting the bandages near his eyes to see you better. “You’ve got on well.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “Happy Trails treats me well. I’m their employee, but I’m also their friend.”

“Yes, but this?” Joshua gestures at the people putting up what you’ve brought. “All this product? They must have put a lot of trust in you.”

“They put more trust in my steeds,” you say. “Both got some burro in them. And they can kick as hard as them, too – especially Bishop.”

“That, I don’t doubt,” Joshua says. 

You watch as Rook shakes her coat out, causing her carrying gear to jingle. Bishop wanders closer to Joshua, nudging at his shoulder and nipping at the bandages that cover Joshua’s arm. Joshua lifts his arm (slowly – again, he’s bandaged all over) and pats the side of Bishop’s face.

“They like it here,” you say. “Maybe it’s something about the canyon. Or maybe they just like you.”

“Zion is a godly place,” Joshua says. His voice, though deep and abrasive, carries a heavy tone of affection. “Wherever man may be, he always dreams of Zion. These creatures may share our same dreams.”

“That’d be nice,” you hum softly. You reach out and place your hand under Rook’s jaw, and she leans forward into your touch. Her big, brown eyes blink slowly as she looks at you, then around the campsite, like she’s appreciating the sight.

“We should probably get going,” you say. You look over at Joshua. “I need to load up on daturana and datura hide. That’s what Happy Trails wants in exchange, anyway.”

“Go talk to Winding-Path,” Joshua says. “She knows what you’re owed.”

When you look to your right, Follows-Chalk is hurrying over, a hand raised and a smile on his face. The painted markings on his face crease and stretch with his smile – rather than spider legs creeping up his cheeks, they look like laugh lines.

“Hoye!” He greets. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too,” you say. You reach out to grasp his hand, and as soon as you brush it – 

A bump in the road jolts you awake. You let out a small, confused sound, then settle. 

You’re in the back of a wagon, crammed between folded-up lodgings and kitchen supplies. Your knees are drawn to your chest, and your back is to the wooden side of the wagon. 

Before packing up and making yourself fit into the space left on the wagon, you weren’t really told much of anything. From what you’ve gathered, the men (“men” being the young-ish, able-bodied ones) robbed a train, and now you and the gang have to flee. It seems like you fit right in, because they have a penchant for pissing off the wrong people, just like you.

“Hey, you’re finally awake!” Hosea calls from the front, where he sits next to Arthur.

“Yeah.” You shift and take a quick, deep breath as you rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, I’m up.”

“We’re nearly to the Heartlands,” Hosea says. He turns so that he’s facing you with his arm resting on the back of the seat. “You ever been there before?”

“No,” you say. You sway with the trail in the dirt road and the way Arthur drives. 

“We’re settling up in Horseshoe Overlook,” Hosea says. “It’s near a livestock town called Valentine – all mud and morons, if I remember right.”

“Huh,” you hum. You look away from Hosea and around you. 

It’s different from when you were up in Colter. It’s warmer, for one. The trees aren’t dredged in snow – instead, their branches are covered in leaves, each one green and upturned. Grasses and flowers sprout from the dirt ground, which is now soft and malleable instead of frozen and cold to the touch. Everything is just nicer. 

For a minute, you just listen to the sounds around you. It’s calm. Birdsong fills the air, and you can see animals bounding through the trees of the forest and grasses of the valleys (for the first time in a while, honestly – cities don’t lend themselves well to wildlife). 

What was that dream about? You wonder silently. I was… in the Dead Horses’ camp. But that place is completely fictional, even in this… timeline? Coma-fever-something dream? I don’t even know at this point.

You hear the sound of moving water and look to the front. Arthur is guiding the horses into a stream, which the rest of the caravan has cleared without a problem. 

In the middle of the water, you feel a shock and hear something break. You clutch to the side of the wagon and feel that the driving is a little… off.

“Get us out the stream,” Hosea says. “You gotta keep us moving, but calm.”

Did you just ask Arthur to be calm? You shout in your head. Arthur is the epitome of everything that isn’t calm! He barely feels things, and when he does, he’s meaner than a gas station tweaker – and he’s not even on anything!

Arthur (yes, carefully, you’ll admit) pulls the wagon out of the stream. Just as he does, you feel another shock and a shift. You scramble to hold onto a canister as it nearly falls out of the back of the wagon. 

“Ah, shit!” Arthur curses. He draws the wagon to a stop.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” Hosea says. 

You move and shift the items so that they’re pushed further up the wagon, where you were sitting just before. You hop off the back of the wagon. Sure enough, the wheel has just popped itself right off. 

“You alright back there?” Bill calls from up ahead. 

“Does everything look alright?” Arthur snaps as he hops off the driver’s seat. 

You can see Javier shift in his seat in the wagon ahead of yours, trying to get a better look. “Well, what’s going on?”

Arthur walks closer to you, accessing the damage. He throws a hand up in the air and groans. “I broke the goddamn wheel!”

“Alright!” Hosea chimes. “Let’s get it fixed.” 

“You need help?” Javier calls. 

Hosea waves him off with a hand. “I reckon we can handle it.”

You quickly step back as he and Charles make their way to the back of the wagon. Arthur hoists up the wheel so he can roll it towards the wagon. Hosea and Charles pick up the back, and Arthur forces the wheel back into place. 

You hurry over and pick up a crate, putting it in the wagon. You hop up into the bed of the wagon and take a small chest from Charles, placing it where it belongs.

“Hey, look at you.” Arthur says as he checks the back of the wagon. “You ain’t so useless after all.”

“O-oh,” you say after a second. “You’re talking to me?”

“I am.” He looks up at you. The brim of his hat casts a harsh shadow that partly obscures his eyes. “Did I… offend you, somehow?”

“No, no!” You laugh nervously and take another crate from Charles. “I just wasn’t sure. Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur hums. 

“Hold on,” Hosea almost hisses. 

You look over at him, and he’s looking to the side. You follow his eyes and see three figures on the ridge of a cliff, each perched on a horse. You can barely make out their facial features, but they look like Native Americans.

“What you think?” Arthur says lowly. 

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen them,” Charles says. 

“Poor bastards…” Hosea raises his arm and waves, but doesn’t call out to them. “We really screwed them over down here.”

Yeah… You think to yourself, still looking at the figures on horseback. It’s not much better in the future, either. I’d tell you all the details, but then I’d be put in an asylum.

“Come on,” Hosea says. “Let’s not push our luck.”

You take your eyes away from the figures. Instead, you help Charles pack up the last of what’s meant to go in the back of the wagon. 

As Arthur and Hosea hop on the front of the wagon, you make yourself comfortable on top of a trunk. Charles sits across from you on a rectangular crate. 

“Not too far now. Stay on this trail,” Hosea instructs Arthur. “We’ll follow the river, then cut left inland.”

You look around as Hosea starts telling Arthur about how the poor the natives were treated in this area. “Stolen clean away from them it was, every blade of grass,” he says. Even though it’s wrong (reprehensible, even), you understand why white men wanted this country. It’s breathtakingly beautiful – or maybe it just looks that way because it’s not what you’re used to. It’s not asphalt and smog and a concrete jungle in place of real land that lives and breathes.

“I heard some of the army out here was particularly, uh…” Hosea thinks for a second. “Unpleasant about it.”

“Unpleasant?” Charles echoes. “How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?”

“You… say please?” You try to joke. “And thank you?”

“Something like that!” Hosea laughs. “That’s the perfect way to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here.” 

You cringe a little. You don’t really want to be roped in while Hosea’s insulting Arthur so freely and carelessly. 

“Hey, don’t blame nothin’ on me,” Arthur says. “Never forget, y’all – this here’s a conman, born and bred. Just ‘cause it sounds fancy don’t mean he knows a damn thing ‘bout what he’s talkin’ ‘bout.”

A nice pseudo-quiet settles over all four of you. (Pseudo because while it’s true that none of you are talking, the noise of the forest around you fills that silence well.)

“So…” Arthur starts. “Charles. What happened to your tribe?”

“I don’t even know if I have one. Least, not that I can remember,” Charles says. “My father was a colored man. They told me he lived with our people for a while – a number of free men did – but… when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much.” 

His expression hardens a little. “All my life I’ve been on the run.”

You feel your face twist a bit and a pang of empathy. Empathy – not sympathy. You don’t feel pity for Charles. You know a feeling familiar to his. Maybe you weren’t literally pushed from your land, but you sure as hell know how it feels – skipping from shelter to warming center to temporary housing to shelter.

Addicts, even child addicts and children of addicts, are liabilities. You were a liability.

Charles’ voice brings you from your thoughts. “A couple years later, some soldiers captured my mother. Took her somewhere. We never saw her again. We drifted around. My father was a very sad man, and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around thirteen… I just took off on my own.”

His eyes flit over to meet yours. “What’s that look for?”

“Sorry.” You duck your head and look off to the side. “It’s just… I understand.”

You leave it hanging at that. Then, you look at Charles out of the corner of your eye. He’s waiting for you to continue. You glance at Hosea and Arthur. Neither have turned around to look at you, but you can tell they’re waiting, too. 

“My dad wasn’t around. Like, at all,” you say. “And my mom liked to go to trap houses to get stoned out of her goddamn mind.”

“Trap houses?” Hosea echoes. “What d’you mean by that?”

A cold shock shoots down your spine as you remember that, yeah – this is 1899! And you’re from the future! And you can’t let slip that you’re from the 21st century!

“A trap house is a house where people go to buy and sell drugs,” you say as you think of a lie. “Sorry – it’s slang from the Frontier, I guess. Hasn’t made its way eastward yet.”

“Huh,” Hosea hums. “And what did you do before you found yourself here? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The dream! The dream! Your mind screams at you. Remember the dream!

“I worked for a company called Happy Trails Caravan,” you lie. “Had two mules – Rook and Bishop. I spent most of my time travelling alone, and delivering to the tribes in the Mojave.”

“And how was that?” Hosea asks. “I can’t imagine travelling all the time leaving a lot of room for friends.”

“Oh, yeah. It was nice, but still a little lonely,” you say. “I started doing more local runs across the north of the Mojave around six or seven years ago. Made friends with some of the tribes in Zion Canyon. I started working that job when I was maybe… fourteen? And spent around a decade going cross-country before I did more local deliveries.”

“That was about the age we found young Arthur here – maybe a little older,” Hosea says. “A wilder delinquent you never did see! But he learned fast.”

Arthur scoffs. “Not as fast as Marston, apparently.”

You and Charles exchange a look and he speaks up. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem between you two?”

“Eh…” Arthur shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

You cup a hand by your mouth and half-whisper to Charles. “Marston’s the wolf guy, right?”

He just nods in response. You drop your hand and lean back, looking around at the scenery again. Arthur leads the wagon right by the wall of a sheer cliff drop. You look up at the ridge and the trees silhouetted there. 

“We still headed the right way?” Arthur says. 

“That depends,” Hosea says. “Are we still heading west, in search of fortune and repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law, eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”

You smile to yourself a little. You don’t really know him all that well, but so far, Hosea’s shaping up to be one of the people you can trust. If not, he’s a nice storyteller, at least. You guess that counts for something.

“You know this area?” Charles asks. 

“A little. I’ve been through a couple of times. There’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine.” Hosea hooks his thumb over his shoulder at you. “Was telling them and Arthur about it earlier. Cowboys, outlaws, working girls. Our kinda place.”

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur asks. 

“Probably them too,” Hosea says.

“Pinkertons?”

“Let’s hope not.” 

“And this place we’re going…” Arthur shifts, giving the reins a light snap. “Wait, what’s it called again?”

You turn and watch the riverbed pass by as they continue to talk. The place is called Horseshoe Overlook, like Hosea told you earlier. They talk about the Blackwater job and about Dutch doing things that weren’t like him. (That confuses you a bit. He’s a nice guy, as far as you can tell. But everyone has their limit, and from what you can infer, the ferry was Dutch’s limit.) A few more sentences later, you get the distinct feeling you shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation. Instead, you turn to Charles. 

“Are you doing okay?” You ask. 

“I’m fine,” Charles says. “Do I… not look okay?”

You laugh awkwardly and scratch your cheek. “No, no. I’m just… asking to be polite.”

His eyebrows draw together a little and he frowns a bit. “Okay.”

You inhale deeply and draw your lips into a thin line, then nod, then look away. 1899 is such a weird year to be alive. Or… to be in a coma in? Like, you’re in a coma and your coma dream is set in 1899. This is so confusing.

Javier’s voice from up ahead breaks your thoughts (and keeps you from going into a spiral, really). 

“There you are, brother!” He points further down the trail. “Head in there and follow the track for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Arthur says. 

“Hey, slow up,” Javier calls. “I’ll jump on.”

Javier catches up as Arthur slows down. He hops up onto the tailgate step, holding onto the side of the wagon for extra support. You give him a smile and he nods in return. 

“Any trouble getting in here, Javier?” Hosea asks from up front. 

“No, it went well,” Javier says. “This is a good spot.”

“Excellent!” Hosea says. “I think this’ll work for us. For now, anyway.”

You lean to the side and watch as Horseshoe Overlook comes into view. It’s a nice spot, like Javier said. Some of the grass has already been worn down from all the recent moving around the people and the horses have been doing. A few tents have already been set up, but not all of them.

“Here we are, folks,” Hosea says. “Home, sweet home.”

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea!” Dutch calls from inside the camp. “This place… is perfect.”

Hosea climbs off, and you take that as a hint to get off and start unloading. Charles looks inside the trunk you were sitting on before and tells you that it’s bedding. You take it from him and head over to the tents. 

Most of the rest of the day passes like that. Everything needs to be unpacked and worked on. There was a small interruption when Dutch got up on his soapbox and gave a quick speech about everyone pitching in. He told the gang their fake backstory – that you and the rest of them are a group of itinerant workers whose factory got shut down up north. 

Evening comes quietly and quickly, and night follows it. The sheer drop on the outskirts of camp serves as a nice place to sit and think. 

The stars are so much more bright than they are back in your time. (Your time? Or is it real life? Waking life? Who knows? And, at this point, who cares?) They twinkle and blink and almost seem to dance. They group together and look like they’re spilling from one center source. The moon is nice and full on the horizon. You can see the craters and indents in her surface. It’s like you’re looking up at millions of silver nails driven into dark blue velvet, with the white head of a spike serving as the moon. It’s beautiful, for lack of better words. 

“Hey.”

You gasp and tense, glancing over your shoulder. It’s Arthur. 

You return to looking up at the sky. “Jesus… What do you want?”

“Charles told me to ask you if you’ve eaten,” Arthur says. “Well? Have you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

Even though you think the conversation is over, you can still feel Arthur behind you. It seems that these people either don’t know how to end a conversation or it’s just different in 1899. 

“The stars.” You glance over your shoulder at Arthur, then away again. “I’m… I’m looking at the stars. If you were curious.”

“Uh huh?” Arthur hums. “And what’s so fascinating about them stars?”

“It’s just that, uh… I couldn’t see them as well out west,” you say. “Where I’m from. Here, I can see them so clearly. They look so real.”

Like I could just reach out and touch them… I mean, this is a coma or something like that. Maybe I could. Maybe I can. 

“I mean, I know they’re real,” you say, your voice laced with laughter. “I’m not – I’m not stupid. They’re just pretty. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur says. 

He steps forward into your peripheral vision. You glance at him, then away, like a child after they’ve been scolded for staring. You push down the instinct to shrink away and look at him.

He takes out a hand-rolled cigarette and puts it between his lips. He strikes a match with the bottom of his boot and lights it. The cherry of the cigarette lights up his face, casting warm light and soft shadows. 

“You want one?” Arthur asks. 

“Huh?” You blink, then look away. “No. No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“If you say so,” he says. 

You can see Arthur look up at the stars out of the corner of your eye. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then exhales the smoke through his nose. The cherry of the cigarette flickers, then resumes glowing softly. 

You join him in looking up. Sure enough, the stars are still there, and the stars are still real. All seem to spill from a single source. The moon is a little higher above the horizon – no longer touching it, but hovering in the sky. 

 Usually, you’d never get moments like this. You’d usually work from sunrise until sunset and pick up extra shifts and overtime where you could. It’s nice to see the world like this. Natural. Raw. Even if you have to ignore Arthur’s presence extra-hard, you still manage to enjoy the moment. 

Everything’s just so slow back… then? Back now? Back now. Everything’s so slow back now. It’s like a break. A break from the jackrabbit-style, too-quick, so-fast-it’ll-give-you-a-heart-attack type of living you’re used to. A forced break, but a break nonetheless.

Breaks are nice. You watch a star flicker, twinkle, then blink into darkness. 

Maybe you should take breaks more often. 

[misswynters]

Wings of Camaraderie

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader x Addam of Hull

[warning: none

[word count: 2.3k

[note | was supposed to be a drabble…got carried away also you are the betrothed of our beloved jace. you have a platonic relationship with addam

[a/n: aero makes an appearance again!!! also this a peaceful version, no usurping or anything.

[requested: by anon

A golden hue by the morning sunrise was casted over Dragonstone, painting the castle in a majestic light. The sea waves crashed rhythmically against the cliffs, their whispers blending with the morning breeze. You, Lady ___ of House Lannister, stood at the balcony overlooking the beautiful sea, your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon a bond that promised strength and unity between your houses.

"Good morning," Jacaerys' voice broke through the tranquil morning, his warm presence filling the space beside you. He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, his dark curls brushing against your skin. "Couldn't sleep?"

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "Just admiring the view. It's beautiful here."

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Not as beautiful as you."

A playful scoff escaped your lips. "You say that now. Wait until you see me after a long day of riding."

He smirked and let out a chuckle, his laughter a deep rumble that resonated in your chest. "Riding what, exactly?” He asked, the smirk still painted on his lips.

You wanted to act oblivious to his response however you couldn’t keep a straight face. You began to chuckle to yourself, turning away from his face due to your immaturity. Jace cleared his throat, trying to relieve the sudden awkwardness, “Well even then, you'd outshine the sun."

Your eyes met again, a silent understanding passing between you. Despite the political nature of your union, there was genuine affection and respect growing between you. Jacaerys was kind, thoughtful, and brave—everything you had hoped for in a husband.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment. You turned to see Addam Velaryon, Jacaerys' cousin and your close friend, standing at the entrance. His smile was bright and infectious, a contrast to the serious demeanor he often wore during training.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Addam said, stepping inside. "I thought I'd join you for breakfast."

"You're always welcome," Jacaerys replied, gesturing for Addam to join you on the balcony. "The more, the merrier."

The three of you settled at the table, the morning sun casting a warm glow over your faces. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. Addam recounted a particularly amusing incident from his childhood, making you and Jacaerys laugh heartily.

"Do you remember when we tried to fly Seasmoke without permission?" Addam grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We were nearly caught by the dragonkeepers."

Jacaerys laughed, shaking his head. "How could I forget? We barely made it back without being scorched."

You smiled, enjoying the camaraderie between the two cousins. Their bond was evident, forged through shared experiences and mutual respect. You felt fortunate to be welcomed into this close-knit family, your own bonds with them growing stronger each day.

As breakfast came to an end, Addam suggested a ride along the beach. "It's a perfect day for it. What do you say?"

You and Jacaerys exchanged a glance, both nodding in agreement. "Let's do it," Jacaerys said, his eyes shining with excitement.

The three of you made your way to the stables, the scent of hay and horses filling the air. You chose your steeds, each one a magnificent example of the Velaryon stables' prowess. Your horse, a beautiful chestnut mare named Sunfire, nickered softly as you approached.

Mounting your horses, you rode down to the beach, the wind whipping through your hair and the sound of hooves thundering against the sand. The freedom and exhilaration of the ride filled your senses, the world narrowing down to just the three of you and the endless horizon.

As you slowed your pace, Jacaerys and Addam rode up beside you, their expressions mirroring your own joy. "This is what life should be," Addam said, his voice filled with contentment. "Moments like these."

Jacaerys nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Agreed. It's easy to forget what's truly important with all the responsibilities we bear."

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of belonging. "And what's that?" you asked, curious.

"Family, friends, love," Jacaerys replied, his eyes meeting yours. "Those are the things that matter most."

Addam nodded in agreement, his expression sincere. "And loyalty. Standing by each other, no matter what."

The three of you continued your ride, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach, you knew that this was only the beginning of a lifelong journey filled with love, friendship, and loyalty.

Back at the castle, you found yourselves gathered in the Great Hall, a roaring fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. The day's ride had left you exhilarated and more connected than ever.

"Let's make a toast," Jacaerys said, raising his goblet. "To new beginnings and unbreakable bonds."

"To friendship and loyalty," Addam added, his goblet joining Jacaerys'.

"And to love," you finished, your heart swelling with affection for the two men beside you.

The goblets clinked together, the sound ringing out like a promise. As you sipped the rich wine, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. The bonds you were forging here, with Jacaerys and Addam, were as strong as dragonfire and as enduring as the tides.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the love of your new family, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. And together, you would be unstoppable.

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself settling into life at Dragonstone with ease. The castle's ancient halls and vast libraries became your sanctuary, and the island's rugged beauty a constant source of inspiration. Each day brought new adventures and deeper connections with Jacaerys and Addam.

One particularly bright morning, you awoke to find a note slipped under your door. Unfolding the parchment, you read Jacaerys' familiar handwriting: Meet us at the training grounds after breakfast. We have a surprise for you.

Intrigued, you quickly dressed and made your way to the Great Hall. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread and spiced honey filled the air as you joined Jacaerys and Addam at the breakfast table.

"Good morning," you greeted them, your curiosity piqued. "What's this about a surprise?"

Jacaerys exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Addam. "You'll see soon enough. Eat up—we have a big day ahead."

After a hearty breakfast, the three of you walked to the training grounds. The crisp morning air was filled with the sounds of clashing swords and the grunts of soldiers in training. As you approached, you noticed a group of dragonkeepers gathered around a familiar figure.

"Surprise!" Jacaerys announced, gesturing toward the dragon. "We thought it was time for you to bond with a dragon of your own."

Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you. The dragon was a magnificent creature, its scales shimmering with hues of crimson. You recognized it as Aero, one of the untamed dragons of dragonstone. Which you once met on a previous day, the dragon was kinda fond of you. However he left abruptly before hours can claim him.

"He’s beautiful," you whispered, awe-struck.

Addam stepped forward, a reassuring smile on his face. "Go on. Approach him slowly and confidently."

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, you walked toward Aero. The dragon's eyes, intelligent and ancient, watched you closely. As you extended a hand, Aero lowered his head, allowing you to touch his warm scales.

A sense of wonder and connection washed over you as you felt the dragon's breath against your skin. It was as if you could feel his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that mirrored your own.

"He’s accepted you," Jacaerys said, his voice filled with pride. "You are now his rider."

Tears of joy welled up in your eyes as you looked at Jacaerys and Addam. "Thank you. This means more to me than you can imagine."

Over the following weeks, you spent countless hours with Aero, learning to communicate with him and strengthen your bond. Jacaerys and Addam often joined you, their own dragons a constant presence. The three of you became inseparable, your friendship deep ening with each shared experience.

One day, as you were practicing aerial maneuvers with Aero, Jacaerys and his dragon Vermax flew alongside you. Addam, riding Seasmoke, joined shortly after. The three dragons moved in perfect harmony, a testament to the bond their riders shared.

"We make a formidable team," Jacaerys shouted over the wind, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Indeed we do," Addam agreed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Imagine what we could accomplish together."

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over Dragonstone, you and your companions descended to the beach. The day's practice had left you exhilarated and invigorated. The dragons landed gracefully, their mighty wings creating gusts of wind that sent the sand swirling.

Sitting around a campfire, you shared stories and laughter. Jacaerys, ever the storyteller, regaled you with tales of his ancestors and their legendary deeds. Addam, with his quick wit, kept you entertained with amusing anecdotes and clever remarks.

The night was filled with warmth, the bond between you three growing stronger with each passing moment. As the fire crackled and the stars twinkled above, you felt a deep sense of contentment.

"To our friendship," Jacaerys said, raising a goblet of wine. "May it endure through all trials and tribulations."

"To loyalty," Addam added, clinking his goblet against Jacaerys'. "May we always stand by each other."

"And to love," you finished, your heart swelling with affection for the two men beside you. "May it guide us and keep us strong."

The goblets clinked together, the sound ringing out like a promise. As you sipped the rich wine, you felt a profound sense of gratitude. The bonds you were forging with Jacaerys and Addam were as strong as dragonfire and as enduring as the tides.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the love of your friends, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

The months passed in a blur of training, laughter, and shared adventures. Your bond with Jacaerys and Addam deepened with each passing day. The castle of Dragonstone became your home, its ancient walls a sanctuary of love and camaraderie.

One day, as you practiced your swordsmanship with Addam, a messenger arrived with a scroll bearing the Lannister sigil. You unrolled the parchment and read the message from your father, Lord Tyland Lannister.

My dear ___,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Your mother and I are eager to hear news of your life at Dragonstone and the progress of your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys.

I have received word of an upcoming tournament in King's Landing to celebrate the birth of Prince Aegon Targaryen, Rhaenyra's son. It would be a splendid opportunity for you to showcase your dragonriding skills and for us to reunite as a family. Your mother and I look forward to seeing you soon.

With love, Father

You shared the news with Jacaerys and Addam, excitement bubbling within you. The prospect of the tournament and reuniting with your family filled you with anticipation.

"A tournament in King's Landing sounds like a perfect opportunity," Jacaerys said, a smile spreading across his face. "We can showcase our dragons."

Addam nodded, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "And it will be a chance to demonstrate the strength of House Velaryon and House Lannister.”

As the days passed, you prepared for the journey to King's Landing, your excitement growing with each passing moment. The thought of showcasing your bond with Aero and reuniting with your family filled you with a sense of purpose and pride.

The journey to King's Landing was filled with breathtaking vistas. As you approached the capital, the sight of the Red Keep towering above the city filled you with awe.

The tournament grounds were abuzz with activity, knights and nobles from across the realm gathering to celebrate and compete. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clashing of swords.

On the day of the tournament, you donned your finest armor, a striking combination of Lannister crimson and Velaryon silver. Jacaerys and Addam were equally resplendent, their presence commanding attention as they rode alongside you.

As the tournament commenced, you watched in awe as knights jousted and fought with unmatched skill and valor. When it was time for the dragonriding event, you felt a surge of excitement and nerves.

Mounting Aero, you soared into the sky, the wind rushing past you as you performed daring maneuvers and breathtaking aerial displays. The crowd below erupted in cheers and applause, their admiration fueling your determination.

Jacaerys and Addam joined you in the sky, their dragons moving in perfect harmony with Sunfyre. The three of you performed a mesmerizing display of dragonriding prowess, showcasing the strength and unity of your bond.

As you landed, the crowd's applause was deafening, their cheers a testament to the success of your performance. Your father and mother, beaming with pride, rushed to embrace you.

"We are so proud of you," your father said, his voice filled with emotion. "You have brought great honor to House Lannister."

Your mother nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "And you have found a true family in House Velaryon."

The days that followed were filled with celebrations and festivities, the bonds between your houses growing even stronger. As you danced and laughed with Jacaerys and Addam, you felt a deep sense of fulfillment and happiness.

Your journey had led you to forge bonds that were unbreakable, and your future was filled with promise and hope. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that with Jacaerys and Addam by your side, you could face anything.

As the sun set over King's Landing, casting a warm, golden glow over the city, you felt a profound sense of gratitude. The bonds you had forged with Jacaerys and Addam were as strong as dragonfire and as enduring as the tides.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @beebeechaos @spn-obession

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[minsyal]

She Was His

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Summary: Sad-ish.. Written fast and slowly at the same time. It’s been in my wip for… a few years now. Enjoy 💕 not mega edited, apologies for any grammatical thingies.

Word count: 2800

An overwhelming race of the steadfast beating in her chest exploded as soon as the fields were flooded with a haze of crimson. Flags waved proudly in the wretched wind of the summer day, creating a sea of blood upon the grassy plains. The first harvests of the summer crept in from the false spring of years past, providing the first taste of freshness in two years.

She could hear the heralds heralding from the gates of King’s Landing where forces encroached on the sky scraping walls. With enough focus, she could spot him riding in front. Rising gallantly from a white steed, the Lannister patriarch sat with a stiff back and cold resolve. Pleated drapery cascaded down from his broad shoulders to attach to his narrowed hips. Everything about him bled with an unwavering confidence, the same confidence that had stolen her heart from her intended many years previous.

“Princess.” The Master of Whispers was always lurking around corners and concealing himself within the shadows spoke. His hand was cold and plush against her shoulder as he delicately reached out to guide the princess away. “You should be in the Holdfast where it is safest.”

“There is no threat.” Her tone was resolute and her shoulders squared as she shook loose from his light hold. The Grand Maester was also nearby, listening as the two conversed. “Lord Tywin is here for our protection.” Her defense was as strong as the impenetrable stones holding the earth down. Beliefs cemented in centuries of faith grounded her as she, for the first time in years, felt a wave of calm wash over her body.

“A precious assumption from a naive heart.” He, Varys, paced the small space of the stone tower. “Have you considered-”

His words meant nothing to her for he spoke in an ill favor of her beloved lord. She would have none of his lies. Fleeing his presence, she joined the Grand Maester at the window’s ledge. Her fingers were warm against the cold stone that separated her from the open air. “It is anything but an assumption, my Lord.”

“Lord Tywin has not taken a stance during the Rebellion.” Varys tucked his chin to his chest as he eyed the silken fabrics that hung from his wrists. “Greeting the city with thousands of armed men often is not a welcoming sight. Should Lord Tywin decide that his faith with the crown has run thin, it will not end well for the Targaryen dynasty.”

“It will turn in our favor.” Pycelle insisted, pressing his shaking fingers to the heavy chains that hunched his back. “Lord Tywin has served the Targaryen dynasty valiantly and faithfully since the day he became Lord of Casterly Rock upon his father’s death. His heir serves in the King’s Guard and his daughter was set to wed Rhaegar.”

“The crowned-prince was slain on the Trident and Prince Rhaegar was wed to Elia Martell.” Varys reminded the room, though his words were not warm.

The mention of his name made her suddenly uncomfortable. “Rhaegar is dead, but that does not mean that Cercei’s love for him has ceased. She would have married him if not for my father’s decisions.” She pressed her hand firmly down on her stomach to quell the fluttering butterflies that bounced from its walls as she looked into the blinding glint of his crimson armor. “Let him in.”

“My princess,” Varys tone had become concerningly low, “do not allow your love for him to shroud your rational thought. There is a reason that Lord Tywin had not chosen a side in this war. At the death of your brother, he joins the battle. Does that not leave a bitter taste upon your tongue?”

“He will not allow us to crumble.” She defended, a sweat breaking out on her forehead. “He was my intended for many years. This is a way for him to finally have my father accept the betrothal. The Lannister army will assist us in quelling this rebellion once and for all.”

A hush fell over the room as the uneven footsteps of the king echoed up the stairwell. His were followed closely by another, a younger man covered in heavy armor. All eyes were focused directly on the painted wooden door that separated the overlook from the rest of the Keep.

Hobbling into the room, thin and frail, Aerys used any railing he could to maintain his balance. A wild look clouded his lilac eyes, fluctuating from pinpricks to full dilation. Nobody present was truly sure if he was aware of his surroundings. Behind him stood Jaime Lannister, a dashing young knight with hearts to spare. Though popular among the crowds of maidens, she wondered who he was truly interested in.

Pycelle and Varys plead their cases to the lone judge who seemed to go in and out of listening. His fingers shook as they gripped at the golden crown of tangled wings placed heavily atop his brittle hair. For a moment he pressed his thinning lips together and contemplated deeply in a way that she had not seen him do in decades. Deep in the cavernous depths of his mental prison, he listened to the voices that instructed him in his daily life. “Lord Tywin cannot be trusted, my king.” One voice, foreign and shrill, urged while the other, mature and shaken, suggested differently. “Lord Tywin will protect this city. He will end the rebellion.”

Aerys did not ponder on his options for an extended period of time. His decision was made in the filling of a lung as he muttered the few words aside from garbled madness he had in the past few months.

“Let him in.”

Those words seemed to mean nothing to Aerys as his eyes glazed back over from his position in the room. He did not look to his daughter nor his council who all dispersed throughout the throne room. Pycelle began his short jaunt to the front gates where he instructed a footsoldier to deliver word from the King that the gates should be opened to Lord Tywin.

“Come, princess.” Varys began to pull the princess’s arm, but found a stone wall beneath his fingertips. “We must get you somewhere safe.”

She was unmoving and uncaring of what the Master of Whispers had to say. Any words that came from his mouth were null in her mind.

“Princess, you must go now.” Varys pulled forcefully at the princess’s arm, so much so that the sleeve of her gown tore in his fingertips. Any other instance as such would leave a man without his head but an urgentness in his chest compelled him to act with ferocity. “Lord Tywin and his men are not here to ensure your safety.”

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it.

All the years Tywin spent as Hand of the King he had vied for her hand. He had, on multiple occasions, taken her to spend the summer months in Casterly Rock where she could live freely and happily. He had planted seeds of safety in her core that had only cemented her trust in him, and hindered Varys’s attempts to guide the girl away.

None of it mattered, though. Tywin would get what he wanted in the end even if his desires had to adjust to the circumstances.

~~*~~

“What of the girl?” The path to King’s Landing had been an easy one, one that Lord Tywin had made many in the past.

Red velvet cloth draped thickly over the encampment that laid near the forking of Blackwater Rush. The room was occupied by a select few. The men within were to carry out the most heinous of crimes. Though reports conflict, it is generally accepted that the sinister deeds were ordered by the Lannister lord. In the distance laid their destiny, one that would alter timelines that had been set in stone for centuries.

Lord Tywin adjusted his jaw from where it had been clenched harshly to the right of center, keeping his lips pressed into a thin scornful line. “Leave her to me.”

~~*~~

Her feet could not carry her fast enough away from Varys. Echos of his pitchy voice rang through the walls and into her eardrums, beating away like sticks upon clashing cymbals. Heavy material glided across the floor, sweeping every bit of dirt and debris into its train as she ran desperately for the throne room. At the very least, she knew that Ser Jaime and her father would be there, waiting for their fates.

It was an odd moment of willful ignorance on the princess’s part. Deep in her heart she knew that she was running to her death. She was painfully aware of the chaos that ensued in and outside of the walls that had protected her for her entire life. The screaming in the streets were not joyous. No bells rang for celebration. Scarlet embers flecked with honeyed gold were not that of the evening sunset.

The screams were pained, filled and overflowing with an extinguishment of life. Sounds of bells were morphed from crumbling walls and pounding doors as foot soldiers stormed through the cobblestone streets. The evening sunset was not due for hours. Fires were set across the city, illuminating the rising smoke and ash that clouded the sky in a display of power.

She should have left.

Within the throne room, she was met with a sight that brought bile rising to the top of her throat. Churning upset her stomach and she heaved on a dry tongue. Though his skin had paled throughout the years, he looked particularly gaunt lying on the floor with ichor trickling from his neck. His fingers were curled into fists that bruised purple down to his wrists. Thin and stringy hair that once glittered in the vibrancy of the midday sun was now filled and bland, painted a shade of garnet similar to that of Lord Tywin’s armor.

If it weren’t for the circumstance, she could have said that Jaime looked particularly regal upon the Iron Throne. Downcast eyes focused on the glint of steel in his lap, concentrated rivet directed at the dense pressure that moved his shoulders downward.

“Ser Jaime?”

She could see the turmoil in his eyes as he looked up from his seat. The princess should have fled for Dragonstone, Jaime thought as she took heavy steps in his direction. He refused to listen to the nagging voice in his head telling him to do what was honorable. Her fate was already sealed.

“Ser Jaime?” She repeated, steps growing faster in speed and more uneven as she clutched at her chest and neared her father’s corpse.

“Ser Jaime? Please!” Anguished sorrow bled from her lips as she placed a hand gently over her father’s heart. It had not beat a single time in nearly ten minutes.

Footsteps fell in large groups from the Throne Room’s main entrance. The doors were left open from when she had come through them, allowing Tywin and his small garrison east entry.

Tywin Lannister stood there before her, his crimson armor dulled from bloodshed. Whose blood stained his chest, she did not know, but given his stature and ease of movement one could presume that he was relatively unharmed. A simple halting of his hand had the remaining infantrymen stalled in the doorway, the majority turning their backs to the room as they surveyed the hall outside. Tywin began his approach.

Faint screams bounced off the walls and into the rafters of the room, rising upward like plumes of heavy black smoke until they disappeared into the air. The princess was beside herself, her hands now red with her father’s ichor matching the front of her dress where he had bled as she groomed his hair out of his face. For all that he had put her through, he was still her father.

Tywin was upon her now, his face hardened as he watched her shoulders relaxing as the weight of her situation fully dawned on her. She turned to him then, eyes filled with tears that streamed down the contours of her face.

He had always thought of her to be particularly beautiful. In the warm summer months, he had spent many hours courting her in the privacy of his own home. There was a hope in him back then that they could wed and from their union would come heirs that he could marry off to solidify his power. Whether there was true love for her in there was questionable.

There was nothing about the princess he disliked. She was agreeable, fairly intelligent, and held onto his word like it had been written by the gods. Although, she did not worship him. A clear admiration for the man was displayed on her features, especially so when he was leading council meetings or sitting the throne in the place of her father. She had told him on many occasions that she wished to be able to hold the room the same way he did. In fact, there were many things he found he did like. Her company was comfortable, always melding into his presence as if she had always been there. No one would argue her beauty either. Similar in looks to that of her mother, the princess was soft and ethereal in appearance. She dressed in beautiful gowns and always smelled slightly of rose and mint. Even now in the chaos of the sacking, she held that same look.

“What does this mean for me?” The words fell like a feather from her lips, floating softly downward to the floor where her gaze was focused.

When no answer came from Tywin she turned and looked upward at him. “My lord?”

There were truthfully only two possibilities for her future and Tywin knew that.

He extended a hand down to her and stiffened when she accepted it and rose to meet his gaze. Trembling fingers wrapped around his. The entirety of her body was shaking. He took the opportunity to pull her into his chest despite the hardness of his armor. A gentle hand smoothed down the back of her hair and rested on the nape of her neck.

“What will come of me now?” She repeated, enjoying the way he embraced her. Calming to his touch, she deepened her hold on him.

“The war is over, princess.” Tywin hushed her tearful sobs, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head as her crying intensified. “The house of the dragon has fallen.”

The princess only looked into his emerald eyes when his gloved finger guided her vision upward. He knew he should not have allowed himself to indulge in the moment. Robert Baratheon would not let a Targaryen, especially the sister of Rhaegar, live peacefully. He personally saw to the death of the prince and Tywin did not intend to let him see to the princess’s end.

Knowing that no guard dared to turn their heads in their direction, Tywin drew the princess near and placed a light kiss to her lips. Their personalities in that moment were completely opposite. She was ravenous, starved of his touch and seeking validation in his arms. Her hands found the dimples of his waist, barely detectable through the armor, and rested there. If it were not for the metal, she would have dug crescents into his skin.

On the other hand, he was calm. A storm brewed in the pit of his stomach, but he did not show it.

She let out a soft breath when the cold metal sunk itself into her chest. Tywin held her still, not allowing her legs to give out. One hand held the blade firmly by his side, soaked in her blood. The other was cradling her body, holding her to his chest. An uncomfortable warmth oozed from the bodice of her dress. It added depth to the blood that already stained his breastplate.

Her lips parted to speak but nothing could come from her lungs for no air remained. Pleading questioning eyes met ones that would display sorrow and remorse if they could. It would be a cold day in hell before Tywin would admit what he had done was wrong. Every fiber of his being scolded him, but his own selfishness was not enough to start a war with a man who had just won his own.

Tywin knew that the only end for her that he would accept was the embrace of death. If not for his blade, Robert Baratheon would either have the princess killed or marry her to claim the throne. Selfishly, Tywin could not bear to see her wed to another.

She was his.

Her love, her body, her heart, and her death was his.

That was how it was supposed to be.

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Nine

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Driftmark happens, Aegon takes a stance and the divide only grows bigger.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

118 AC Pentos

"Aunt y/n!" Baela and Rhaena ran towards you, wide smiles on their faces. You grinned seeing the twin girls and their parents.

"It is so good to see you sweet girls. How much you've grown! You'll be taller than your father soon." You jested ruffling the locks of their silver hair.

Laena and Daemon approached you arm in arm, their benefactor some Pentoshi lord greeted you as well offering you sanctuary in his home. 

"Laena my sweet cousin." You whispered kissing the cheek of the curly haired woman. "Brother."

"Sister." Daemon replied pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you against his chest. 

Laughs and jokes were shared during the dinner held by the prince of the city. You smiled as you joined your family after such a long time apart.

...

You and Aegon mounted your dragons and flew to Driftmark. Tears escaped your eyes, the wind blew them away. Your bonded dragon screeched sensing your pain.

"Dracarys Vermithor!" You shouted letting your emotions get the best of you. Your steed expelled a breath of gold fire flying right through it. The heat of his flames brought you necessary comfort. 

"Cousin." You whispered hugging Rhaenys, her black veil covered her tear stained cheeks. She has lost her only daughter after years of being apart. Her grandchildren Rhaena and Baela obediently stood behind her, you kneeled next to the two girls. 

"I'm so sorry." You whispered hugging the two of them, your fingers tangled in their silver hair. Rhaena sniffled as she hugged your body.

Laena's casket has been placed on the edge of a cliff overlooking the salty sea. The Velaryon soldiers tied the knots to ensure it's safe passing. 

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come." Vaemond recited the funeral speech. You watched Laena's casket with tears in your eyes. Baela hugged your side, your arm protectively wrapped around the young girl.

"As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughter on the shore." Your brows furrowed as Vaemond stared at Daemon who seemingly did not care that his wife has just passed. "Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will remain bound together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood." His gaze turned to Rhaenyra and her sons. "Our runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin." Daemon chuckled.

He chuckled

Anger coursed through your veins. The people present stared with disdain at him.

"My gentle niece. May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, as your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return." Laenor's eyes were empty as he started as his sister's casket was lowered onto the depths of the sea. Dragons circled drift mark as a royal funeral was held. 

You sat next to Helaena as she played with a spider, her wavy silver locks blew freely in the wind.

"Hands turns loom, spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." She said those words as if in a trance, you smiled in sympathy. No one noticed her gift, the gift that saved house Targaryen from the doom. 

"You have a gift sweet girl." You whispered caressing her hair, her brother watched as you comforted their "lunatic" sister.

"Aemond." You said greeting your nephew. "You have grown." 

"Hello aunt." Aemond answered ever the proper boy.

"Are you excited for your engagement?" You asked curiously, remembering the news that Aemond and Helaena will marry once they turn sixteen.

"I would rather have a dragon." He responded gruffly "Everyone else has one but I don't."

"Rhaena also doesn't have a dragon... Did you know that Gaemon the glorious didn't have a dragon until the age of two and twenty? So by my count you still have some time." You tried to console your nephew.

"You claimed a dragon at eight! One of the greatest beasts!" He raised his voice.

"Some things take time, Aemond. Dragons are not like horses, you cannot just jump onto it's back and ride. The bond we share with dragons is deep and magical, it's as if our souls are connected." You explained, trying to lit the teenagers sour mood.

"Does that mean I will be dragon less?" Aemond asked voice breaking slightly.

"You are a Targaryen, Aemond. It is your birthright to bond with a dragon, and you will do that. There are no dragons to be claimed but there are eggs."

"I don't want an egg! I want a dragon! A full grown dragon!." He shouted and stomped away.

Everything was tense and awkward, the little boy you one played with was gone. Viserys was under the influence of his wife and her father, he was restored as hand after Lords Lyonel tragic passing that you knew was no accident. 

"Sister" Daemon whispered approaching you as you stared at the endless salty sea stretching before you.

"Brother" You answered not looking at him, the stunt he pulled before still itched you. "Have you no shame?" You asked not bearing to look at the man.

"I have protected our niece's honour." He answered simply.

"You are impossible, your wife has just died." You accused.

"She has died along time ago, the moment I have taken her from Westeros." He whispered "I should have listened to her, returned to Drimftmark before it was too late." He said bitterly. You sighed deeply.

"It is painful, isn't it?." You whispered placing your palm on his his back. 

"I could never be in more pain then she was." Daemon muttered, taking your palm in his large hand. 

"The God's are cruel, even ours." Bitter truth left your lips "You should tend to your daughters." You said leaving Daemon alone. 

...

Your chambers were prepared by the maids of house Velaryon. Dried tears stained your cheeks. 

"Aunt y/n?" A small voice whispered from the other side of your chambers. 

"Yes?" You answered the door, Baela and Rhaena stood together. "What is it?" 

"We... Could we stay with you?" Baela the braver of the twins asked, you nodded silently and let them into your chambers. The girls climbed into your bed as you laid between them.

"Could you tell us stories of our mother?" Rhaena asked leaning on your lap. 

"Since the beginning your mother was a fiery young girl. She had inherited the beauty of your grandmother without the dark hair and the bold, adventurous spirit from your grandfather. She was brave and kind. I saw as she became one with her giant beast as if it were nothing, a true dragon rider. " You smiled at the memory of you two flying together over King's Landing. "One time, Lord Jason Lannister tried to 'impress' her by listing the amount of gold he could offer her as his wife. It was rather stupid since the Velaryon's were richer than the Lannisters, she said and I remember it clear as day. Are you willing to make the same bribe to Vhagar to reside on the giant rock you call home, Lord Jason? The man paled with fear and didn't bother your mother ever again."

The girls chuckled.

"Do you think that Vhagar will accept me?" Rhaena asked.

"Vhagar is old and tired, when Balerion was her age he laid in his cavern all day, eating what was given him. I do not think that Vhagar will be able to match your delicate nature." You mumbled a bit un-sure.

"Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I am excepted to claim her." Rhaena muttered leaning on your shoulder, Baela nodded.

"Who excepts that?" You questioned curious.

"Father." Baela answered for her sister, you chuckled at the irony.

"If your father followed this rule he would be the one to claim Vhagar or Meleys. They were his parent's dragons and yet he claimed Caraxes our uncles mount, your grandfathers."

"Really?" Baela and Rhaena exclaimed at the same time.

"I think that Silverwing would be better suited for you, Rhaena. If you wish I can take you back to Dorne with me so you can claim her."

The Velaryon girl visibly brightened up, she nodded furiously.

"Please, aunt y/n!" She exclaimed.

"If your father or grandmother agrees I see no reason not to."

"But what of Vhagar?" Baela murmured.

"She will spend the rest of her days, without bothersome humans." You jested and the twins lightly chuckled. "Now my little dragons go back to your chambers." 

The two girls scurried to their own chambers, you saw that their mood has been improved slightly. 

...

You were restless and could not sleep, you deciding that visiting Vermithor was the best course of action. Castle Driftmark was a dull thing, even more than Dragonstone.

The beach however was empty, only the sound of waves delicately crashing against the cliffs was heard. You wondered if Vermithor has ever been to Driftmark before. The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced in the direction of the noise, the familiar straight silver hair made you sigh.

"Aemond!" You called startling the boy, he slowly turned around, you beconed him over and he obliged. "You were sneaking off to claim Vhagar." You stated and he paled slightly. "No need to lie to me."

"Yes, aunt." He admitted and lowered his head "But I only did it because I have no other choice!"

"No choice? Do you know how dangerous it is to approach Vhagar?" You sighed deeply, not wishing to startle your nephew.

"I-..." He started but the words died down in his throat "Without a dragon I'm worthless."

"Aemond, you are not worthless." You kneeled infant of the boy, taking his face into your hands. "Who makes you think that?" You demanded.

"Father... He never pays attention to me, I doubt he even knows my name." Tears threatened to spill from his violet orbs. "And he only paid attention to Helaena after she claimed Dreamfyre. What kind of a Targaryen am I without a dragon?!"

"Your father should be the last person the speak of claiming dragons." You stated and Aemond looked up at you.

"He rode Balerion."

"Once." You added "He rode Balerion once, and then he died. He never formed a bond with him, he couldn't have. Therefore he has no right to talk."

A small smile made it's way onto Aemond's thin lips.

"I think that there is a dragon waiting for you." You mumbled caressing his straight silver hair.

"What dragon?"

"Perhaps you should go with Rhaenyra to dragonstone, there is Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer. But I think Grey Ghost is most like you."

"Most like me?"

"Timid, hidden in the shadows, observing from afar. You know I was a lot like you when I was your age... Nobody cared for me after Grandfather died, I had no parents and Rhaenyra was the only thing on Viserys's mind. When my brother was in King's Landing which was not often he made an effort to be there for me, but it is not the same as a parents love is suppose." You got carried away slightly, burdening a child with your problems. "I'm sorry Aemond, I shouldn't have said that."

"I- It is all right... thank you, aunt."

"Talk to Rhaenyra of returning with her to Dragonstone."

"Could you... Could you come with me? I know you are well aquainted with dragons, and perhaps if you wished, you could help me."

You smiled fondly at his unsure rambling.

"I would be delighted, Aemond. We can even go tomorrow." You offered and he nodded his head. "Now go back to your chambers, it is late and you need all the strength you can muster."

The thin boy nodded and ran off to the castle, you felt as if a great heaviness was lifted from your chest allowing you to breathe.

...

You missed your children. You thought while eating breakfast alone. Aegon was probably in his temporary chambers sleeping or reminiscing with his siblings.

"y/n" You heard your name, you raised your gaze from the mutton pie, and fruit that were placed on your plate.

"Daemon." You mumbled continuing eating, he took a seat in front of you and ordered a servant to bring him breakfast. They placed a steaming bowl of porridge with fruit, different hams and cheeses and a slice of the same pie you ate.

"You do not seem sad... Did you love her, or married her to spite our brother?" You asked glancing at the hardened features of your brother.

"...I did love her." He whispered avoiding your gaze and digging into the food on his plate. "Is this what you felt when you lost Qoren?" His question surprised you, not once has he addressed your husband by name.

"I was miserable when he died." You admitted "But I had to stay strong, for my children for the kingdom." Daemon hummed drinking the honey mead. "...I was happy with him, he loved me and our children with ever fibre of his being. How can a man seem so strong only to wither slowly at the hands of a disease?" You questioned rhetorically.

Tears began to form in your eyes as you remembered the years you spent with Qoren. The wet tears dropped on your dress, but you quickly wiped them and took a swing of the watered down wine.

"I'm sorry your happiness was taken from you." Your brother said tenderly, which was unlikely for him. "If I could give you the happiness you long for I would." Daemon muttered, placing his palm over yours.

"My children are the source of my happiness now." You declared "As should your daughters be, they are mourning the death of their mother, Daemon. You should be there for them, the other day they came crying to me, asking me to tell stories of their mother. Then Rhaena said that you told her to claim Vhagar, she is but a child!" You raised your voice "I offered to take her with me to Dorne so she could claim Silverwing."

"Silverwing, yes..." He questioned, passively accepting your anger.

"Yes, Daemon. With your permission of course." You added, the anger simmering in your insides.

"You took great care of them."

"Someone has to." You snipped, narrowing eyes at Daemon "I don't think that the good father characteristic passed onto you or Viserys."

Daemon chuckled and nodded.

"Im afraid not, no. But you dear sister... if I worshiped the seven I would say you are the embodiment of the mother." His backhanded flattery made the anger slowly die out. "Baela and Rhaena spoke of your talk, I already agreed. You helped them greatly... They need a mother."

"Daemon..." You sighed knowing where he was heading. "Laena's body is barely cold and you talk of marrying again?!"

"Not immediately!" He countered "I just... you lost your husband, I lost my wife and-"

"And what? You'll take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house?"

"If you'll agree." He stated.

You held affection for Daemon, despite the horrid things he did throughout his life. He was still the only person who saw you, for you. Actively trying throughout your upbringing, whenever he was present.

"I promise you will be happy. We will fly on dragon back like we used to so many years ago..." Your brother pleaded.

"If Viserys gives his blessings I will become your wife.." You answered, Daemon stared at your features. Silent agreement and happiness etched on his sharp features.

...

"Aemond?" You questioned entering his chambers, he sat by the window consumed by a book that rested atop his lap. He tore his gaze away from the pages and glanced in your direction. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and the two of you walked to where Vermithor was resting, you fixed the black leather gloves on your fingers. The bronze fury bellowed as he saw you approaching.

"This is my nephew, Aemond. We will help him claim a dragon." You said nuzzling your face in his warm scales. You helped Aemond climb onto the saddle, and then strapped him in. You patted Vermithor's scales and without a command he leaped into the air, his claws dipping into the salty water before climbing into the sky, high above the clouds.

"How does it feel?" You asked Aemond, that sat in front of you.

"It feels... like I belong." He answered.

Vermithor landed near the hills of dragonmont, startling the dragon keepers there. You slid off of his bronze wing and helped your nephew do the same.

"Can you smell any dragons, old boy?" You questioned placing your palm on his horns. He chirped and let out a screech, turning towards the misty mountains. You left your dragon and headed in the direction the bronze fury pointed in.

"It is very on brand for him to hide in the mist." You said to Aemond as he walked next to you. "Hiding from the small folk... or Cannibal."

He stayed silent as if deep in thought. You observed his reactions.

"Can you feel him Aemond?"

"Her." He stated and moved ahead, slowly disappearing into the mist. You stayed behind letting Aemond do what he thought was right, and by the looks of it he might claim a dragon today.

A chirp and then a screech, orange light spread among the mist. And yet you didn't feel worried. You could hear Aemond's faint voice, High Valyrian rolling off his tongue. At the speed of lightning, Grey Ghost flew right out of the mist, leaving a trail behind him. Aemond's green cloak flowing in the wind, as he soared in the sky.

...

Moons passed after Laena's death, Daemon stayed with his daughters at Driftmark. You on the other hand returned to Dorne with Aegon much earlier, you missed your children and longed to see them.

Daemon stood before the doors to his daughters room. Despite being dressed in leather armor, Dark Sister strapped at his side he felt nervous. Nervous to face his nine year old daughters. He knocked on the door and entered.

"Father." Baela noticed and bowed her head slightly, Rhaena ran and hug his legs.

"Father can I please go to aunt y/n?" She asked, her violet eyes brimming with tears.

"Soon Rhaena, I promise." He answered caressing her long silver hair. "I- I" He stuttered "What do you think of your aunt?"

"She is nice." Rhaena muttered.

"Aunt y/n gives the greatest gifts. The dresses she makes are beautiful." Baela added.

"She was great friends with your mother." The Targaryen Prince said. "Would you be opposed if you saw her more often?"

"No, I don't think so." Baela the braver of the twins answered for her sister.

"I know you are young, and there are thing you need to know. Despite being a princess your aunt has lost protection when her husband died. I offered that I would protect her from now on." He tried to explain.

"Protect how?" Rhaena meekly asked.

"...By marrying her." Baela answered for him, understanding the situation better.

"Yes." He confirmed. "You are young, you need a mother figure. And you would get to meet your cousins better."

"Whatever you wish father." The twins answered.

"I know this is difficult and I do not except you to understand, but just know I love you two deeply. And wish what is best for you."

They nodded and leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arms around them.

...

"Prince Daemon, Your Grace." Ser Harrold announced opening the doors to the king's chambers. Viserys laid in his bed covered in blankets.

"Brother." Daemon said bowing his head and approaching his grace.

"Daemon..." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "I am so glad too see you, it has been too long."

"We have seen each other a few moons back, is your memory so bad you do not remember?." Daemon jested. "Viserys I have a favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" Viserys asked curiously "Whatever do you need?"

"I wish to marry y/n." He admitted, a pregnant silence fell upon the room. Only the crackling of the fire was heard.

"And what does y/n say of this union?" The elder brother asked, thinking of the girl he though of as a daughter.

"She has agreed on the condition that you agree and bless our marriage." Daemon responded.

"She is too good for you, Daemon." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "But if it is her wish to marry you I shall give you my blessing."

"Thank you, your grace."

...

A raven arrived from King's Landing, the grand maester of Sunspear handed you the letter. You saw the royal seal of your brother and broke it curiously.

My dear sister,

Word has reached my ears that you wish to marry Daemon. I know how distraught you were when your first husband passed away, if you deem Daemon worthy of becoming your second husband I give you my blessing. I know you make no mistakes in your judgment so I trust your decision and hope that your marriage with our brother will be as happy as your first one.

In return for your endless support and upholding our traditions. I shall give Daemon and you land so your future children will have an inheritance. The Stepstones have been won by Daemon, and are now a part of the seven Kingdoms. But without a strong presence to command the island they have fallen into disarray. If you wish it the Stepstones will become your land you may do as you wish with them. Your children will inherit the seat after you pass and as a royal decree, they will be titled as princes and princesses of the realm. The sacrifices you have made helped the realm greatly, you have brought Dorne into the seven kingdoms, secured wards from the lords of Westeros and aided the royal coffers. I will be forever in debt to you my dear sister.

You read the letter, tears flowed from your green irises staining the parchment. It felt as if he was saying goodbye to you.

"Mother?" Nymor asked seeing the tears that flowed freely.

"Yes my sweet?" You asked

"Why are you sad?" He asked and you smiled, picking him up and placing him in your lap. He was now five and very bright.

"I am happy my dear child." Your sons silver hair shined in the sun.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Sometimes when we're happy we cry." You explained "Your uncle and I will marry."

"Uncle Daemon?" He asked curiously and you nodded.

"He will become my husband." You said caressing your sons silver locks.

"Like father was?"

"Just like father was..."

"Will I have more siblings? I do not want to be the youngest Darren, Ivor and Tyla treat me like a baby!" Nymor complained and you chuckled.

"You will always be my baby." You said kissing his chubby cheek, he giggled.

...

"Maron!" You stopped your brother in law as he strolled with his wife through the gardens your late husband built for you.

"y/n, what is it that you need?" He asked walking up to you with his wife the Lady Qyria.

"I will need your help governing Dorne in my son's steed." You announced.

"I am honoured y/n but what has happened?" He asked confused.

"Daemon and I will marry, His Grace the King gave us Stepstones to govern. I will not be able to be in two places at once, that is why I need your help." You explained

"Will you be leaving Dorne?" Qyria asked.

"I do not want to, but my attention will be divided between Dorne and the Stepstones. For the time being Daemon will stay on Driftmark." You answered strolling with the couple through the water gardens.

"Let us know if you ever need help taming the Stepstones, it is a disputed land. Keeping peace will be difficult." Maron offered, you thanked your brother in law.

"Bloodstone will become to heart of the islands. I believe it will be quite expensive to raise castles there but the payoff will be large. The islands are very strategically placed, any voyages will have to pass through the Stepstones." It was true, that is why your brother and the Velaryons fought in the Stepstones for so long. But now instead of war, the islands will be conquered through alliances.

"What of Darren and Nymor?" You brother in law asked.

"I will take them whenever it is possible, but Sunspear is their home. They will be raised here, as is befitting for Dornish Princes."

"As you wish princess." The slender man answered.

...

Dragonstone

Half of the court of KIng's Landing sailed for Dragonstone to witness the wedding of Prince Daemon and Princess y/n. You were happy to see your family during a happier occasion. Aegon was less thrilled to see his father and mother.

"Aegon." You approached your nephew as he sulked in his chambers.

"Oh, aunt." The boy muttered raising his thin eyebrows at you.

"Sunfyre has been snippy all week." You answered sitting next to Aegon on his bed. He shrugged his shoulders. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Oh sweet boy, you're not as good at hiding emotions as you think you are. What is bothering you?" The prince sighed and sit up on the bed leaning against your shoulder.

"Nothing escapes you does it?" He whispered, you caressed his long wavy hair.

"I have known you since you were born, Aegon. I have raised you for over eight years. I know when something is bothering you."

"Why is it so easy for you to act like my mother when Alicent can't be bothered?" You were surprised to hear Aegon call his mother by her name. Tears welled up in his violet eyes.

"I don't know sweet boy." You muttered.

"You are more of a mother to me than she could ever be." He cried clinging to you.

"Shh..." You comforted him.

"And father doesn't care for me! He only cares for Rhaenyra! She is his golden child while I am cast into the shadows!"

"My brother is not a good father, that is true." You muttered "It is not fair to you or your siblings."

"I only ever wished for him to be proud of me, but that will never happen will it?" He asked, his violet eyes reddened by tears.

"I will always be proud of you. I have seen you grow to a fine prince, a great dragon rider and cousin and I love you like I love my own children."

"I love you too, mom." Aegon whispered, you kissed the crown of his head.

...

"Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time of darkness and light." Viserys recited as he stood at the foot of Dragonmont.

You stood in front of Daemon dressed in Valyrian robes, holding a dragon glass knife as did your brother. You pressed the blade against your palm, causing blood to trickle. You pressed your finger in the blood and drew the symbol of fire on your brothers forehead. He drew the symbol of blood on your own.

"In the eyes of fourteen flames we are now joined, one soul, one body one heart." You and Daemon recited, two goblets of heated wine mixed with blood were handed to you. You took a swing of the drink and passed the cup to the servants.

Daemon pressed his palm against your cheek and pressed his lips against yours, you leaned into him and deepened the kiss. Vermithor and Caraxes roared circling the ceremony and breathed dragon fire.

...

The maids helped you take off the heavy headpiece that rested atop your brow. Annora unlaced the beige and red robes sliding it off your body. Soon you were left only in your linen nightgown, you hair free of any braids.

Once the maids left your brother entered our chambers, his body covered by a dark red robe.

"y/n" He approached you.

"Daemon." You answered, leaning into his embrace. "It seems you have finally gotten what you wanted after all those years."

"It appears that the god's have blessed me in some sort of way." He answered running his fingers through your hair. "Tell me you did not wish for this."

"At some point where I was young, after grandsire told me of his and grandmothers love story."

Silence befallen the chamber, shallow breaths occasionally broke the silence. Daemon kissed your neck and slowly made it's way to your lips. A breathy moan escaped you as his hands trailed down your body.

"My sweet wife." He murmured untying the nightgown and letting it drop to the floor leaving you naked.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your lips against his silencing him. He groaned and let you guide him to the bed, you laid on the comfortable mattress and Daemon crawled atop you. You could feel his cock press against your leg, you moved your hand down to wrap your fingers around him. Squeezing and pumping a few times.

"Enough teasing." Daemon groaned throwing his head back, he pressed his warm palm over yours and moved his dick so the head pressed against your entrance.

"Daemon..." You moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. His dick felt different than your husband's, maybe a bit shorter but thicker.

"Soon, sweet girl." He whispered above your ear pressing a kiss against your temple, and slowly pushed in. Inch by inch until his pelvis pressed against your clit.

"Ah..!" You moaned breathily as he bottomed out, he slowly pulled out and pressed himself in one go.

"Will you give me a child?" Daemonn groaned above you "You looked so alluring pregnant."

"Daemon..." You moaned in response "Please!"

Your body moved with his hard thrusts, his chest pressed against your breasts squeezing them with his weight.

"Yes? I'll breed you well, then." Your husband moaned, as you squeezed around him.

You squeezed Daemon's shoulder, bringing his attention to your face.

"Hmm?" He murmured

"I wanna... on top." Daemon smirked and obeyed, pulling out laying comfortably on the bed awaiting your next move.

You straddled his hips, his cock pressed between your thighs. You sheathed his cock in your warm walls.

"Move, please." The rogue prince moaned under you, pressing his hips upwards for some friction.

"I didn't take my husband for a beggar." You teased refusing to move your hips. "I quite like it."

"Careful, sister." He groaned menacingly, putting his hands on your waist.

"It's fun to see you like this, moaning under me."

Daemon muttered something under his breath, and jutted his hips upwards. You chuckled and began to move your hips, bringing the coil in your belly closer to snapping.

"Close!" You squeaked, pressing your palms against Daemon's toned abdomen.

After a few hard thrusts your husband spilled inside, his warm seed brought your over the edge. Panting you clutched onto his shoulder, collapsing on his chest. Daemon chuckled, and wrapped his arms around your naked back.

"You did good, my love." He whispered pressing a kiss to your silver hair.

The funureal of Laena Velaryon and the conflict that arose on Driftmark only separated the Greens and Blacks. After a year Princess y/n and Daemon married and begun construction of castle Blackfyre. During the builidng of the castle many villages arose on the shore of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows. Now that the island was free of pirates trade erupted. The Ports build there rivalled Oldtown and Lannisport. Princess y/n used dragonfire to make the fort impenetrable and quick to build. After three years most of the castle Blackfyre was build. At the foot of the Volcano Dragonbone a dragonpit was built. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 6

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,514 of 15,526

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The carriage is at least twice as tall as the team of the six horses that pull it. It is flanked on both sides by four riders each that sit astride sleek black light horses. The carriage horses are spotted in such a way that the dapples trail in long and winding lines that create a dizzying effect when all eight of the steeds lock footsteps as they pull up to the palace. The parade of the highly ornamented blue and gold carriage and horses catches my eye from the sideboard that overlooks the main turnaround as I pour myself another cup of coffee. I bring my cup and saucer back to the oversized table where the Wizard and Humak Tigelaar sit, figuring that it must be some expected dignitary of the day.

"What?" The Wizard says, eyes still on his newspaper. "No coffee for me?"

I smile politely, trying to set the cup down with as little clinking as possible – he'd told me a few nights ago that I made far too much noise and was more like an animal at the table than a lady. "I didn't know you wanted more."

"Well... I could use a little bit of sugar," he says. He's looking at me over the tops of his golden-wired readers and somehow I think he's not talking about coffee anymore.

I feel aware of Humak’s eyes on the Wizard’s attempt to embarrass me and I push the coffee away, busying myself with the last bit of sausage that I was ignoring. "I saw a carriage pull up in the driveway," I say, cutting the piece of meat into smaller and smaller bites. Anything to change the subject.

"What?" the Wizard says. He noisily folds the newspaper into quarters, and soon he's out of his seat headed for the window. Despite his unnerved demeanor, I take a moment to admire how nice the white sleeves of his shirt look against his fitted deep green waistcoat. I'm pulled back to the table by Ambassador Tigelaar.

"Did you see who was in it?" Humak says timidly.

"No. Just some blue and gold carriage with some funny looking horses," I say. This causes Humak to push out of his chair and waddle after the Wizard toward the window. I take a bite of sausage, watching the two of them press against the sideboard to get a good look at the turnaround.

The Wizard soon hurries back over to the table, a panicked look on his face, and grabs his jacket from the back of the chair where it had been hanging on one of the wooden spindles. He lowers his voice and tells me, "You... uh, come with me." He's waving his hand frantically in a motion that is urging me to hurry up with my plate. I set my fork and knife down, placing my napkin on top. The Wizard directs his attention to Glafly, who had been standing by the door, waiting for Humak to finish his breakfast. "Uh... Glafly, take our ambassador back to his room. I have to inform our Wizard of some business."

Glafly nods and approaches the quickly deflating Humak Tigelaar as I am being pulled out of the room by the Wizard.

We wind our way through the Emerald hallways, taking passages I have never seen or noticed before. When we reach the throne room, I am out of breath. He pulls me through the many ropes of different shades of green that are obscuring a face made of many sheets of metal. I have never formally had an audience with Oz, but when I was elevated to working with the Wizard himself, Esmet had explained to us that the Wizard we worked for was not the reality for most people and that we were sworn to this secret under penalty of death. This metal giant must be that reality, I think.

"What's going on?" I ask, still winded. He drags us up a small metal staircase until we're standing on some kind of golden scaffolding that has a control panel and wires and warm lights illuminating the whole contraption.

"You, doll... just- just stay here and be quiet, okay? I gotta..." He doesn't say anything else, rather dashing back down the staircase.

The control panel glows with temptation. There are all sorts of buttons and wheels, levers and knobs, and they are all just itching to be pressed. I reach for them, but think better, snatching my hand back at the thought of what punishment might come from playing with them. Ever since the trip to the children's home with Bruno, I had been more mindful of the things that I said and did, worried that they might come for Fileah because of my words and actions.

I don't have to withstand the temptation for long as the Wizard quickly scrambles up the stairs again. "You didn't touch anything, did you?" he asks.

I shake my head, trying to hold fast to his quiet rule.

"Good girl," he says. He points to a corner of the scaffolding away from the control panel. "Just sit tight over there. This will be over soon."

There's the sound of the great doors opening and then shutting, what sounds like several footsteps, and then he flies into action. It's impressive how quickly he moves about the levers and wheels and the rest of the equipment as if he were still a spritely man of 20. He raises a microphone to his lips and a terrifying booming fills the throne room.

"I am Oz... the Great and Terrible." I can see the Wizard's lips moving, but it is not his voice. The voice breathes as if it were some nightmarish pipe organ, echoing in the confines of the throne room.

There is a pause, and then a voice that is light and somehow handsome speaks up. "I am Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of Winkie Country, heir to the Arjiki throne."

The Wizard is moving with ferocity again, and the ghastly voice booms once more. "Why have you come to the Emerald City?" This time, the ending is punctuated with an explosion. I jump and grip the spindles of the scaffolding, feeling a gust of heat that blows through the soft green vines.

"I received a letter. Is that not invitation enough?" Fiyero says.

"No. You must leave and do not come back," the booming voice says. Several blasts of heat punctuate that sentence.

I'm tempted to crawl from the spot I've been told to stay in, just long enough to get a glimpse of this Prince Fiyero, but think better of it. I need to remember not only to be on my best behavior for Fileah's sake, but also so that I can go visit her before Lurlinemas like I promised.

"I'm not leaving here without my cousin," Fiyero says. "You’ll find you'll be very sorry if you do not let him go."

I slowly creep up, steadying myself against the back railing, and through the eyes of Oz the Great and Terrible, I can see not just one, but at least a dozen or more men, surrounded by the Wizard's own elite Emerald Guard.

"NO ONE THREATENS OZ THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE!" The voice cracks like thunder and the explosion from the heat – which I can now see is from canons that breathe fire all around the room – knocks me back to my seated position in the corner. Once my legs stop shaking, I rise again to see the entourage that Prince Fiyero has brought with him is not standing quite so tall and sure either.

"Then let's not threaten," Fiyero says. "We can talk this out as friends."

The Wizard doesn't dignify that with a response besides another blast of hot air.

"We can just talk it out then," Fiyero says.

"There is nothing to talk about," the voice booms. “You must leave.”

"Your Ozness," Fiyero says, "Let's be honest: You want your firewood for your city, I want my cousin back. Even if you turn us away, nothing is to stop us from staying in your city until you let him go-"

"You will be removed," the voice says.

"You could," Fiyero says, "but you won't. It would make too much of a mess. Then you would have no wood and a mess on your hands."

The Wizard seems to be considering this, realizing what I am also realizing: it is too late. Whoever has let this smooth talker into the gates will probably disappear by tomorrow, never to be seen again, because Prince Fiyero is right: there is no way to end this mess-free besides negotiation.

A light blinks on the panel, and the Wizard curses under his breath. His hands move lightly across the panel, not putting as much force behind his movements as earlier. He speaks into the microphone again.

"We will negotiate, but until then you will be my guests," the voice says.

"A lot of good that did my cousin," Fiyero says. "Our guards will also be your guests."

"Yes, yes," the voice says, practically cutting him off. I can see a panicked look on the Wizard's face. "Guards, please find room for Prince Fiyero and his company. We will resume negotiations tomorrow. Tonight you will be our guests of honor."

I can hear a grunt from one of the Emerald Guards. Footsteps fill the room once more, and the Wizard keeps his hands on the control panel until there is the echo of the large doors closing once more. He slumps to the floor, back against the control panel, trying to catch his breath. An exhausted hand feels around at the top of the control panel and slaps a red button that creates a whirring sound that leaves us in complete darkness except for a few emergency lights.

I try to make sense of all that just happened, looking at him for any sort of answer. A weak but genuine smile spreads across his face.

"So what'd you think?" he asks me.

I try to find the words to express my awe of it all: the fact that I've witnessed what an audience with the Wizard of Oz looks like, even from the inside, the way he could bring a group of the finest soldiers in Oz to their knees. After a pause, I manage, "It was... incredible."

"Well you know..." he laughs sheepishly, "I am Oz the Great and Terrible."

"So how does it all work?" I ask.

"What? The..." he gestures in the darkness of the control platform. "All this?"

I pull myself up by the back railing and go to the now darkened control panel. The light that was once blinking has turned a solid red. Above it, there is a gauge labeled as "Fuel". I can't make out much of the buttons and levers in the dim light, but many of them have had bits and pieces of their labels worn away, some fully disappeared. Even if someone wanted to operate this machine, it would only truly ever serve one master. I look down at the Wizard, a smile on my face. "Can you show me?" I ask.

He's looking at me with an excited glint in his eyes and a genuine smile as he picks himself off the floor. The room is still toasty from the heat of the several fire blasts, but he steps behind me and I feel warmed anew as my back presses against his chest. His hands ghost over mine, and I can feel old scars that have healed with time as they guide my hands to unseen buttons and levers.

"It's out of gas," he says gently, "but if it had the juice..." Our right hands touch a group of buttons. "Here are the eyes. You can open and close them using the up and down buttons. Left and right are for brightness... It's a little fanciness I added." I press the buttons, even though they don't do anything, and I can hear their quiet clicking in the silence, followed by a snort from him.

"You said they'd be your honored guests tonight," I say.

"Mmm yes, " he says, guiding our right hands back to a wheel. "I'm having a Lurlinemas party tonight. Ironically, they couldn't have picked a better time to come busting down my doors – this is how the fuel is fed into the machine." Our hands spin the lifeless wheel. Nothing happens on account of the power being shut off. "I suppose he could have picked a better time when we weren't short on wood."

"I didn't know you were having a Lurlinemas party tonight," I say.

"I wanted to surprise you," he replies. The starched cotton of his sleeve presses against the bare skin of my arm as he guides our hands to a stout lever. "Here's where the fire comes from." We pull the lever and it springs back by itself. Nothing happens.

"What are you going to do about negotiating with him?" I ask.

He laughs and I can feel it fully – even if it is half-hearted – through the way his chest rumbles, his gentle breath that ruffles my hair, the way his guiding hand unsteadies. "You know, you ask a lot of questions..."

I had never considered it before, but his answer makes me think that even he doesn't know what he’s going to do. I'm pushing my luck with the topic of Fiyero and his guards, so I turn to look at him. His face has been completely shrouded in darkness, the glow of the emergency lights only touching the back of his head and shoulders. "How do you move the mouth?"

His breath catches, and for a second, I think that he's forgotten. "The lever here," he says, clearing his throat as he guides our hands to a well-worn wooden handle that is near the bottom of the control panel. "To speak you just..." Our right hands grab the microphone and bring it to my lips. I hold it there, unable to think of anything to say. Should I pretend to be him? What could I possibly say that would be worth hearing?

His right hand leaves mine and I can feel his thumb drag along my jaw until it touches my bottom lip. "Speak," he says lowly.

There goes my stupid heart again, pounding as if it had beats to spare. I know he's toying with me, but I can't help but shut down. My hand shakes as it sets the microphone down and I slip out from between him and the control panel. "I need to get ready for tonight."

I don't even wait to hear his reply before I fly down the scaffolding stairs, away from the rush that could lure any girl: the rush that comes with the touch of a lover in the privacy of a darkened corner. I run back up the flights and flights of stairs into my cold and not-so-fancy cell, where I'm greeted by Emily and a green velvet dress, already picked out.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Yan! Alucard post season 4 with a targaryen reader and has dragons like daenerys from game of thrones or house of the dragon, how would they meet and interact? Would the first meet when the trio see the dragons flying over the village and think it is a threat or a attack, sorry if I'm ranting I just think the idea has so much potential and I can't write to save my life so I'm passing it to you❤️❤️

A/N: Okay so full disclosure, I’m not the hugest Game of Thrones fan, but I did watch a fair amount of the series (mainly for Khalessi lol, they did her so dirty in the finale!). And sorry for being MIA, just lots of real-life crap I’ve been dealing with. 

Yandere Alucard (Post S4) w/ a Targaryen Reader

When our Targaryen reader first hears of a village founded under a famous monster hunter's name, yet supposedly run by the Alucard operated out of Dracula’s castle, she decides she has to see it for herself. 

Much like Trevor Belmont, she is the last of her kind, the bloodline ends with her, and as such, the dragon(s) in her possession are her utmost responsibility. If she cannot find someone worthy of continuing the Targaryen line, then she will have to settle for her family’s legacy existing solely as one more relic in the Belmont hold. Without any remaining relatives to marry to keep her lineage pure, she sets atop her noble dragon steed and sets out for Village Belmont, determined to find a worthy successor, and if not, then at the very least, a worthy grave. 

When she first flies over the village, it is a cloudy day; her dragon’s looming shadow initially goes unnoticed. But soon enough her dragon’s large wingspan wafts the gray skies away, leaving her and her majestic beast very little coverage. 

At first sight of the beast, villagers cry and scream out, as they mistake her dragon companion for yet another wandering night creature, hellbent on eating their children and pillaging their livestock. 

They alert Greta, who arrives on the scene at the same time as Alucard, his heightened vampiric senses having heard the loud thwap, thwap of the dragon’s wingspan long before the villagers could see it. 

Greta organizes her troops to gather their weapons- pitchforks, swords, scythes- those sorts of things and stand ready at the entrance to the castle while at the same time, the less athletically inclined villagers are ushered inside to safety. 

As the Targaryen descends with her dragon, she gives clear instructions not to harm the humans gathered before her, even though the mob before them has their weapons drawn and ready. 

Descending from the sky, our Targaryen reader looks like a goddess, some sort of mythical queen, the elements of both wind and flame at her command. Alucard is immediately drawn to her, her presence, and her power. Although, he is weary of her as well. Too many have come to claim the power vacuum left by his father’s death, and he will not tolerate any vampires or supernatural beings staking a claim on his childhood home, his new village. Even if they are both insanely beautiful and a dragon rider. 

Sypha and Trevor make it outside by the time the young woman dismounts. As she does, she raises her hands in surrender. 

“I am not here to cause anyone harm. I am here to ask a great favor of the keepers of this Village Belmont.”

The trio approaches her, Greta staying behind, her army of villagers at the ready. 

She explains who she is, how special her bloodline is, and how she, the current mother of dragons, is the last of her kind. She speaks mainly to Trevor, as he is the last of the famed Belmonts which angers Alucad greatly, although he doesn't understand why. All he knows is a rather impudent voice inside his head insists that she should be talking to him! Not that stupid Trevor! After all, it’s his castle and his hold, Belmont gifted it to him for safekeeping! 

The young Targaryen asks Trevor if he would accept the privilege and the honor of keeping her dragon eggs safe deep within his hold until the time is right for them to be called upon. Of course, Alucard interrupts, saying that while dragon eggs would certainly be a first for the Belmont hold, he should like to examine them, as well as her and her dragon before making any commitments. 

There’s a tense moment. Behind her, her dragon’s nostrils flare as it heavily breathes out. It seems she doesn't like to be questioned, and neither does her rider. 

Alucard must be careful here. Yes, he’s smart and manipulative as a yandere but we are talking about a Targaryen here. Make no mistake, if he steps out of line enough, or causes her enough harm, he and his whole town will get barbequed. (Despite the threat, this incredible amount of power is one of the things about her Alucard finds the most sexy lol.)

I imagine the group forms a fragile allyship at first. The Targaryen teaches the villagers about her people and dragons. The orphaned children of course fall in love with her dragon, who to their credit, is very patient with them, but also lets them know when to back off with a shake of their large head or a deep growl from within their belly. She wants them to experience some bonding with the creature but she also doesn’t want them to grow too friendly and become complacent when encountering wild beasts outside of the village. Dragons are not to be trifled with, and should they encounter any one of them in the wild they are to react with wisdom, but more importantly fear. 

Alucard, of course, watches all of this very interestingly, in awe of the Targaryen reader's fortitude and dedication to her companion and her role as mother of dragons. In watching her interact with the children, he can’t help but feel a swell of pride, and a longing in his heart loins for her to perhaps bear his children so that they can become keepers of dragons too. 

He can't stop fantasizing about it, how perfect it would be, how incredible she would look housing their combined legacies. Their offspring would be unstoppable. With his vampiric abilities and her draconic bloodline… Not to mention his mother’s medicinal knowledge and Belmont’s collection knowledge within the Hold… By god, they could form an empire! One for creatures and humans alike, all who wish to live in peace and choose knowledge over ignorance. If only his mother and father could see him now…

Alucard knows though he must tread lightly. The Targaryen reader is smart and cunning. She did not come to be the last of her kind by being naive, no. She’s hardened, and she’s been through a great deal. She will need time to adjust to his affections. 

Alucard doesn’t mind though. He has all the time in the world. 

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906 @coruscanti-travelguide

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

[coupsiedaisee]

jump then fall | issue 01 | c.sc

when trying to unearth hogwarts' resident Golden Boy™ choi seungcheol's secret girlfriend, leads to the proposition of a lifetime

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: hogwarts au, fake dating au, fluff, angst wordcount: 1.9k masterlist

EXTRA EXTRA! IS LOVE BREWING FOR OUR RESIDENT HOGWARTS HUNK?

“Wallflower! Do you have the prints from the choir tryouts?” Soonyoung Kwon’s perched on a piano bench in the back of the newsroom, a green and black necktie tied around his head, flapping like a flag in the wind every time he moves. “I want Beth Cloddington vomming front and center of this week’s issue,” he says, sticking his hands out in two Ls and looking through them like a camera. 

In front of him, a rolling chalkboard littered with half-finished articles on one side, the other covered in pieces of ripped parchment. Tips, from fellow students. In the center, sits a mock front page of the paper, the words The Whomping Whistler in all caps across the top.

Soonyoung throws his head behind his shoulder. “Wallflower!” he yells, the tie whipping him in the face.

“Hold your thestrals Hoshi!” You pop around the corner, tossing a tray of photos down next to him. “You want to see her vom,” you ask, rifling through the stack of photos, “or her just about to? I’ve got a few good ones.”

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose, “Do you have one that cuts out right before?” You find the one you were looking for with a small aha! before handing it over. “Perfect. This is going to be perfect,” he mumbles, tacking the photo with a quick spell right under this week’s headline, ‘Daylight Sabatoge or Deadly School Lunch?’

“We gonna be ready for print soon?” you say, sticking your wand in your haphazardly twisted bun. Soonyoung may be the Editor-in-Chief, but the print deadline was hard approaching and it made you anxious. Hot gossip only stayed hot for so long.   

Soonyoung purses his lips, “It’ll be a close call. Still waiting on the rest of the quidditch leaks-oi, Pudding! Eta on the quidditch rosters?” 

There’s a loud noise in the corner of the room as 4th year Raveena Patil appears out from underneath a pile of old The Daily Prophet issues. A mane of curly black hair frames her face and a pair of black coke bottle glasses sit crooked on her nose. 

She silently shrugs, adjusting her glasses, as if to say your guess is as good as mine.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, huffing, “The Gryffindor team is really where the news is anyways and Dino brought us that today.” He gestures at Chan Lee, a wisp of a boy who’s scrubbing furiously at some spilled ink on the floor.

 “Something about losing one of their beaters this year. We should get it printed tomorrow.” He ruffles his fried beach blonde hair, adding, “Hopefully?” when you send him a questioning look. Although, if anyone could meet a deadline, it would be Raveena.

Raveena Patil is a headstrong, highly ambitious, and downright terrifying, 4th year Ravenclaw. During her first year, her crucial tip led to the start of the publication, after which she’d proven herself to be the Whistler’s most prized possession, and strongest assest. The eyes and ears of Hogwarts they call her. Not a single secret gets past the likes of her. 

Raveena is also next year’s shoo-in for Editor-in-Chief. 

With both you and Soonyoung in your 7th year, slated to leave after your N.E.W.T.s, Raveena is the perfect person to keep the show running in your steed.

“You know what I think it’s time for?” says Soonyoung with a slightly crazed look on his face. You shake your head, worry creasing your forehead. “My dear Wallflower, it is time for,” He pauses for dramatic effect and you pray to Merlin he doesn’t say speech— “a speech!” He exclaims, throwing up jazz hands.

You groan. It was nearly 2 am, and not even 4 cups of Nocturna Brewery’s double-caffeinated coffee was enough to get you through one of Soonyoung’s sleep-deprived, and simply erratic, pump-up speeches.

Soonyoung shoves the photo tray over and you barely catch it before it clangs to the floor. 

“Alrighty team!” He bellows, jumping up on the bench, “Gather ‘round and listen up!”  Raveena crawls out from under her pile of newpapers and the rest of your small rag-tag team ambles on over. 

“It’s the first week, and I want us to start strong.” Soonyoung throws his fists out, pumping them with vigour. “The first issue will be good, but I know that we can do great! Remember what they say,” he points at the team, “it is not men who do things! But doing it that makes them great!” You wince, that was not at all how the saying goes. He had the right energy though, as everyone around him cheers.

”You cannot manufacture men any more than you can manufacture gold!” He roars. There are hollers from the team and you think it’s about time to reel him in. You grab his arm and hoist yourself onto the bench, earning more hollers.

“When we first started this publication three years ago, we had no idea how big it would become. None of that was possible without you all!” There were jeers and whistles, and a few Let’s go Wallflower! “ Great work tonight! But I think we’ve earned some sleep. Hands in!” Everyone rushes forward, trying to get closer as you and Soonyoung stick your hands out. 

“To greatness!” 

They all cheer, “To greatness!” You clamber off the bench, holding a hand out for Soonyoung. He hops off with a stumble, tucking the tie that fell in his face behind his ear.

“Can you hang back for a bit, Wallflower?” You nod, confused, as Soonyoung waits for everyone else to pack up and leave.

Once the newsroom is empty, sans the two of you, Soonyoung swings towards you with a devilish grin on his face. “I have a special mission for you, Wallflower,” he says in a sing-song voice.

You groan for the second time that night. “Please don’t tell me you still think they’re growing cannabis in the greenhouses. I swear on my camera they’re not.” The smile slips off his face.

“What? No? Wallflower, that was so last year,” he says, exasperated.

(It was not. He’d asked you to look into it literally on the first day of school.) 

Soonyoung looks around the room, making sure there were truly no one else left, before dropping his voice down to a whisper yell, “I have it on good intel, very good intel–,” Code for Raveena, “–that Seungcheol Choi has a girlfriend.”

There’s a fire in Soonyoung’s eyes and a smirk grazes his lips.

You blink, and Soonyoung blinks back before his smirk starts to slowly slip off his face. The silence is deafening.

You clear your throat, “Okay . . . and?”

There was another pause.

“Okay AND?!” Soonyoung shrieks. You wince, throwing your hands up to cover your ears. 

“The Seungcheol Choi has a girlfriend. We have to be the first to break the news and,” He boops your nose, “you, my dear Wallflower, are going to figure out who the lucky girl is. Then, you’re gonna get a picture of them snogging.” He starts to back up before you can protest, picking up his messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Wallflower, this is going to be our biggest story yet, I can just feel it.” You shake your head, a whiny no begging to slip past your pout. “One picture love, that’s all I need,” He says, sticking a finger up, before switching to a finger heart. 

“Get some sleep, you’re gonna need it!” And with that, he was out the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. With a sigh, you start gathering your things, sorting photos and parchment into separate piles. 

Seungcheol Choi’s girlfriend. You weren’t sure where to even start with that one. However, Soonyoung was (unfortunately) right. It would be huge if you snapped a picture of Hogwarts’ resident Golden Boy with a partner. 

But how? Were you supposed to just follow him around everywhere? You shake your head, grabbing your camera off the table and checking the room one last time before turning out the lights with a swift Lumos. 

It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. 

Last year, Raveena had been tipped off that Trixie Fawcett was fooling around with Keerthy Ramaswamy. No one would’ve batted an eye if it weren’t for the fact that, after multiple years of being on the receiving end of each other’s curses in Dueling Club, they were ‘sworn enemies’ and ‘rivals to the death.’ 

You’d followed Trixie everywhere, trying to catch her in the act. It wasn’t too difficult with her also being a 6th year Ravenclaw, but it did make your free time nearly non-existent for a whole week. How were you supposed to do that with a Gryffindor boy?

It was also going to be harder to do during a N.E.W.T.s year, especially on top of manning most of the photography for the Whistler.  

Maybe you should’ve started Dino on photo duty earlier. 

“It’s obviously Azkaban, A-Z-K-A-B-A-N, Azkaban!”

“Hoshi, how the fuck is a 4-across clue Azkaban.” 

Today’s morning issue of the Daily Prophet is spread out on the table, opened to the crossword page. 

“Oh, uh, okay. Let’s try a different one?” Soonyoung says, shovelling a forkful of pancakes in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

You look at him with disgust before going back to the crossword, “7-diagonal, scarlet leather ball?” 

Soonyoung swallows before answering, “Easy, Basilisk, B-A-S-I–”

“Merlin, that is not how you do these.” You wanted to bash your head against the table. Or maybe Soonyoung’s. 

Last night hadn’t resulted in very much sleep after heading back to your dorm, lying awake most of the night, head churning with thoughts of a certain Gryffindor. 

You stare across the Great Hall, eyes landing on said boy. Seungcheol Choi. 

He’s flanked on either side by his two best friends, fellow Gryffindors Jeonghan Yoon and Joshua Hong. Seungcheol leans over Jeonghan’s shoulder, as the latter furiously scribbles something down. Meanwhile Joshua sits quietly reading a book, only moving to steal grapes off of Seungcheol’s plate.

“So, do you have a plan for Operation Golden Boy?” Soonyoung whispers in your ear.

You yelp, jumping nearly three feet in the air. “Bloody hell, what the fuck Hosh,” you hiss, smacking him back with your quill and rubbing your ear. “For your information, no, I don’t have a plan. I’ll just, I dunno, make like a dragon and wing it.” 

Hoshi grins, “That’s my Wallflower!” You try grinning back, but it comes out more like a grimace.

The truth is, you don’t know much about Seungcheol. At least, not much more than anyone would after spending the past 6 years together at a boarding school. But you were in different houses and ran in a completely different circle of friends. Outside of class, your paths didn’t cross much.

Not sure if you could call him your resident it boy, but Seungcheol sure was the everything boy of Hogwarts. 

He became a prefect in year 5, Quidditch Captain in year 6, and now, he’s Head Boy. On top of that, he’s class topper in nearly all his classes while also tutoring 5th years gearing up for their O.W.L.s. He started the big buddy little buddy system for an easier transition for the first years, led the Save-the Flobberworms campaign for five years in a row at Hogwarts, and, whenever you’ve spoken to him, he’s always been super nice. 

Problem was, if you asked anyone else at Hogwarts, they’d tell you some iteration of the same thing.

You sigh before folding up the Prophet and shoving it into your bag. You’ll figure it out. After all, how hard could it be to get a photo of a 17-year-old boy sucking face with his girlfriend?

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR OTHER OTHER WEBSITES

[hyperactively-me]

Heyyy!!! It’s me again, DogHandler!Graves anon 😁😁 just for the heck of it, what if our dear Princess is riding her trusty steed out in the fields close to the forest’s edge. The whole time, she feels eyes on her as if she’s being watched. Right before she is attacked by a wild creature, Graves and his pack of dogs chase the beast away and now they both have to explain to King!Simon what they were doing with each other…. Out where no one could see what was going on? I love drama 😊😊😊😊😊

i really liked this prompt and the whole doghandler!graves character! i had a bit of a hard time conveying my ideas/thoughts for this prompt, and i've tried rewriting it, but this is the best i can do! hopefully you like it 🙏

king!ghost x reader -- forest's edge

You sit atop your majestic horse, her hooves rhythmically pounding against the soft earth beneath. The golden fields stretch out before you, the tall grass a sea of undulating waves, bathed in the warm hues of the sun. You revel in the freedom of the open air, the wind tousling your hair as you ride close to the forest’s edge.

Simon had been reluctant to let you venture too far, his concerns and protests echoing in your ears. He was not keen on the idea of you going out by yourself, especially since the attack, but you were adamant in your request. You reassured him that a simple ride by yourself posed no danger. Besides, you had his knife with you, and the knights and guards were not too far away. “I just need some alone time,” you had said gently. With a tender smile and a promise to return promptly, you convinced him of your safety.

Despite Simon’s initial reservations, you felt an overwhelming sense of liberation. The scent of blooming wildflowers and the earthy aroma of the field filled the air, permeating you with a deep connection to the land you ruled.

This is just what you needed after being cooped up in the palace for the past month and a half. As you ride closer to the forest, the scent of pine mingled with the fragrant wildflowers, invigorating your senses. You finally approach the edge, a canopy of ancient trees looming overhead, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The air grew slightly cooler, and a subtle sense of unease creeps over you. 

You shake off the feeling, trying to push it away, just thinking that it was residual anxiety from being attacked. Still, you can’t help but glance around, unable to shake the feeling that eyes were watching your every move. Undeterred, you urge your horse forward, the clopping of hooves accompanying the rustle of leaves underfoot. The forest’s edge murmurs with the distant call of woodland creatures.

Then, without warning, a chill runs down your spine. A primal instinct warns you of imminent danger, and your breath catches in your throat. Your horse, sensing your unease, snorts and paws at the ground.

A glance around reveals only the stillness of the woods, yet the sensation persists, an unsettling undercurrent in the air. Your hand instinctively tightens around the knife at your waist. The horse beneath you fidgeted, its ears flicking nervously as it senses the shift in atmosphere. Despite your attempts to dismiss the feeling, a quiet voice within you urged caution. The recent attack had left scars that weren’t quite healed. 

With a frustrated huff, you decide to turn around and head back to the castle, hands shaking slightly with adrenaline and fear. Your horse seems eager to move away, its muscles tense beneath you. 

Then, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. A guttural growl echoed through the ambiance, and your heart skips a beat. Your vision goes slightly blurry from fear, hands pulling at the reins of your horse. The wild creature, or another of its kin, emerges from the shadows, eyes narrowed and taking slow steps towards you. Panic tightens your chest as the beast lunges towards your horse, teeth bared in a predatory snarl. A strangled scream rips from your throat, and time seems to slow as the wild creature closes the distance between you and the safety of the open fields. Your horse rears back, and you lean forward to keep your balance in the saddle. 

Before the beast could lay siege on your horse, a chorus of ferocious barks and snarls erupts. Graves appears with his pack of loyal hounds, galloping on his own horse with full speed in your direction. The dogs, trained for moments like these, leap into action, a blur of fur and teeth tearing into the beast. The wild creature, caught off guard by the unexpected counterattack, recoils under their relentless attack. The snarls and growls of the beast counters the disciplined barks of the royal dogs. The pack, fueled by their loyalty and training, forms a barrier between you and the impending threat. Graves swoops in, steering the skirmish away from you, ensuring your safety. 

You back your horse away from the epicenter of the struggle, leading her away whilst you stroke her mane reassuringly, whispering praises in her ear. The dogs finally drive the wild creature back into the shadows of the forest, and you watch it retreat with a defeated growl, disappearing into the depths of the forest. 

Breathing heavily, you watch as Graves and his pack secure the perimeter, ensuring that the danger has passed. The royal dogs, panting but triumphant, return to Graves’ side, their loyalty unwavering. Graves approaches you on his steed, concern etched on his face. 

“Your Majesty, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Graves asks, his eyes scanning you for any signs of injury, his voice calm yet carrying an unsettling edge.

You shake your head, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “No, no, I’m fine.” 

You look at him, a surge of exasperation and frustration now washing over you. “I really don’t know how I keep finding myself in these situations,” you laugh humorlessly. 

Graves offers you a reassuring look, his gaze locked onto you. “It’s the unpredictability of the wild, your majesty. A one-off occurrence, I’m sure.” 

You sigh, guiding your horse farther away from the forest. The dogs circle around your feet, as if pushing you back home. 

“I’m going to escort you back to the castle now,” Graves says, leading his horse closer to yours. The royal dogs fall in line, swarming around the feet of Graves. 

“Thank you for chasing the creature away,” you say quietly, eyes fixed on the grass ahead of you. 

Graves leans close over his saddle, as if trying to get a little closer to you. “It’s always my pleasure to serve, especially when it involves ensuring the safety of such a... precious ruler. And besides, it’s what the dogs are trained to do.” 

You can’t help but feel grateful for the distance between you and Graves right now, as the last time you met him he was a bit too friendly with you. Although, he had now just saved your life. Oh god, what was Simon going to think? 

“We don’t have to tell—”

“I must.” 

You’re silent. You roll the thought over in your head once more. 

You sigh, realizing that Graves is right. “You're right. It’s just... Ghost has been worried enough, and I don’t want to add to his concerns.”

“Worried or not, your safety is of utmost importance. The King wouldn’t want his wife to be hurt under the watch of a member of the guard? It’s my duty to report these kinds of ordeals.” 

You glance at him, and his gaze is intense, almost unnerving. You tighten your grip on the reins, just desperately wanting to arrive home quicker, all thoughts of having a little bit of alone time vanishing. You’re grateful he stepped in; after all, he did save your life, but you don’t really want that to be held over your head. 

As you ride alongside Graves and the loyal pack of dogs, the journey back is quieter than before. The golden fields seem less inviting, and the forest holds an air of caution. The sun dips lower on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretch across the landscape.

Simon is going to lose his shit. 

. . .

The moment you both arrive at the castle, some stablehands take care of your horses. Immediately, you and Graves are off to Simon’s study to report what happened in the fields. You walk slowly on purpose, trying to delay the inevitable of Simon potentially blowing a fuse. 

You happen to catch Soap’s eyes as you make your way down the hall. He flashes you a look of confusion, motioning to Graves beside you. You shrug, indicating that you’ll explain later. Soap pauses for a moment as if deciding whether or not to intervene, but he nods in understanding as you flash him a reassuring look and continues on his way.

The study door looms ahead, and you exchange a fleeting glance with Graves. His expression is unreadable, but you can sense a trace of tension. Taking a deep breath, you knock twice on the mahogany doors of Simon’s study, gently, as if already trying to calm his impending anger. Graves adjusts his clothes, tugging at his collar. 

The low timber of his voice rumbles through the door, Come in. 

Simon, in all his regal attire, stands up the moment you both enter. His eyes narrow at the sight of you accompanied by Graves. He sighs, moving from behind his desk to stand in front of you both. 

“What happened?” Simon’s voice is stern, his worry evident beneath the hard surface.

Graves steps forward, his posture rigid yet composed, and begins recounting the encounter in the forest. Simon listens attentively, his face growing darker with each passing moment.

“It was an unexpected threat, but the dogs managed the creature. Her majesty is unharmed. I made sure of it.”

When Graves finishes his report, a heavy silence descends upon the room. Simon’s gaze shifts from Graves to you, his jaw clenched as the concern deepens in his gaze. The air is thick with tension, and you brace yourself for the storm. 

“Is this true? Are you unharmed?” he asks, his voice hard.

You nod, giving him a reassuring look. “Yes, Simon. Graves and the dogs intervened in time. I’m fine.”

He nods, taking a moment to collect himself before speaking. He shifts his attention back to Graves, clearing his throat. 

“I appreciate your, uh quick judgment, Graves. Thank you for ensuring the safety of my wife.”

Graves has a smug expression on his face, knowing that Simon has no other choice than to be grateful that he stepped in. Deep down, you knew Graves was only this giddy because Simon couldn’t be upset with him, and if it were any other situation, Simon would’ve reprimanded him.

You think that’s the end of that, but Simon continues speaking. 

“However, I can’t help but wonder why she was with you alone in the first place, especially after what happened a few months ago.”

Graves clears his throat, seemingly caught off guard by the directness of Simon’s scrutiny. You shift uncomfortably, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Simon’s gaze is still dead set on Graves. Graves begins to explain, carefully choosing his words.

“Your majesty, I was merely nearby with the dogs. I just happened to be training them, as the royal dog handler does. I spotted her majesty quite a while away, and alone, so I felt the obligation to ensure her safety. I couldn’t stand by and let harm come to her.”

Simon's eyes narrow, skepticism etched on his face. “Training the dogs, you say? Alone near the forest? Graves, you know the queen's safety is a top priority, but it seems you went beyond your duties. I thought I made myself clear.”

Graves scoffs, and you immediately tense beside him. “Would you rather me watch the queen be attacked and possibly killed?”

Simon’s jaw ticks, and even he knows that he’s being slightly unreasonable. He can’t exactly be mad at Graves. How silly would it be, being mad that he potentially saved the life of the queen? His stern expression deepens, and for a moment, it feels as if the air in the room has thickened. The tension between the king and Graves could be cut by a knife. Simon takes a step closer, his gaze unwavering.

“Okay, um, listen,” you begin, and both men turn to look at you with expectant eyes. Your voice breaks the silence that had settled in the room, and their eyes bore into you. 

“I appreciate Graves’ quick response, Simon, really, I do. Things could’ve gone really bad if he wasn’t there. But, I’m also not sorry for wanting to have alone time. And before you can tell me that it was a bad idea to begin with, I am honestly willing to take that risk again. I understand that there’s always going to be risks of going alone, but at the end of the day, I need those moments for myself. I can’t be confined to the palace all the time because of fear. I trust myself to be cautious. This incident doesn’t change that, and I will not let fear dictate my every move.”

Simon’s gaze softens as he listens to your impassioned plea, but the furrow in his brow remains. Graves remains silent, a tense expression still etched on his face. Simon opens his mouth as if to say something, but he shuts it instead, saving the thought until after Graves leaves. 

“Again, I appreciate your dedication to the safety of the queen, Graves, but there are protocols for a reason,” Simon responds, his tone measured but firm. 

Graves remains composed, though a flicker of irritation shows in his expression. “Your majesty, I understand the concerns. I assure you, it was a matter of coincidence that I was in the vicinity. The safety of the queen is of chief importance to me and the rest of the kingdom.”

“Right. Of course. Thank you. But know, I won't tolerate any deviation that compromises my wife’s well-being,” Simon asserts, his eyes narrowing at Graves.

You pick at your fingernails absentmindedly, trying to ignore the way they’re talking about you as  if you weren’t standing right there. 

Graves nods stiffly, a curt acknowledgment of the king’s directive. “Understood, your majesty. My only concern was with the queen’s safety.” 

With a final, scrutinizing look, Simon dismisses Graves from the study. 

“Thank you again for your timely response. We’ll discuss this further later. I need a moment alone with my wife.”

Graves bows slightly and leaves, flashing you a look, the tension lingering in the air even after the door closes behind him.

Simon turns his attention back to you, his expression softening as he crosses the room to stand in front of you. There’s a mixture of relief and worry in his eyes.

“Are you really alright?” he asks, his voice gentle now.

You nod, grateful for the chance to speak with Simon alone. “Yes, Simon, I’m fine, I swear. Graves got there in time, and besides, it was really the dogs that handled the situation. I’m completely unharmed.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I worry about you,” he admits, his voice softer now. “I can't help but worry, especially after what happened before. With Graves, and with the attack.” 

You approach him, running your hand up and down his arm soothingly. 

“And it was just you and Graves?”

You wince at that, registering his pointed look. “Yes, it was. But he didn’t do anything. I would’ve told you the moment I saw you if he did.” 

He grumbles quietly, pacing back and forth a few times before stopping and turning to you. 

“It’s time you should have a personal knight. I should’ve done this months ago.”  

You raise an eyebrow at Simon’s suggestion. “A personal knight? Really? I appreciate the concern, but isn’t that a bit excessive?”

Simon looks at you with a stern expression. “After what just happened, I think it’s necessary. I can’t have you wandering off alone, especially after the attack and now this. We need to take extra precautions.” 

You sigh, realizing that arguing with Simon on this matter might be futile. “Fine, if it makes you feel better, but I don’t want a knight glued to my side every moment. Only when deemed absolutely necessary, from the both of us. And only when I’m outside the castle walls. Is that alright with you?” You question, standing your ground whilst stating your boundaries. 

Simon nods in agreement with your boundaries. “It will only be necessary when you’re outside of the castle walls, alone. Of course, they’ll keep a respectful distance according to your desires, but they will still be there.”

“Okay, but, I don't want to feel like I’m under constant surveillance. I feel like it could get stifling real fast, Si.” 

Simon sighs, understanding that finding the right balance is crucial. He comes closer and takes your hands in his.

“I understand, love. We’ll find a way to make this work without making you feel suffocated. I don’t want you to feel like you’re losing your freedom, but I also want you to see this situation from my perspective,” Simon reassures you.

You give him a small smile, appreciating his willingness to compromise, being the stubborn man he usually is. “Thank you, Simon. I know you’re just worried, and I appreciate that. We can figure this out together.” 

Simon looks down at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. He takes a breath. 

“I know you’re strong, and I respect that. It’s just that... time and time again, there’s always something happening that involves your wellbeing, and it’s… it’s difficult to deal with.” 

You nod, knowing full well that he’s trying not to relive his past. He lost his whole family, blaming himself for their untimely deaths. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You lean in, pressing up onto your toes to place a gentle kiss on Simon’s cheek. “I completely understand, Simon. We’re a team. I promise to be cautious, but I also need moments to myself. It doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for you thoughtfulness and protection; it’s just about finding a balance and trust.” 

Simon looks at you with gratitude, his eyes reflecting a mixture of love and concern. “I trust you with every fiber of my being. I just want you safe, and sometimes my worries get the best of me. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” you assure him, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4]

A/N: It’s Christmas time! Well, at least over her. Mom’s arriving any minute now and I’ve done a shift at the library today as well. Tomorrow the first Christmas celebration will go off and I’m super excited - stressed, yes, very much, but excited 😂👍 I hope you’re having an amazing Friday (or whatever day it is you’re reading this) and that you’re ready for some more Brandon love! 😍👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Not really any tags or warnings for this fic, I’m not sure how to tag it but there’s some angst, some mentions of the previous panic attack, some miscommunication (not between MCs) and a wild blurting of feelings 😅

Word Count: 1.4k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Wrongful Perceptions

“Are you certain I shall not ready the carriage?” Christopher asked as I adorned a heavy cloak smelling of him. “Marrygold will take me home. I am fond of riding.” “Then I shall ride with you.” “You will?” He nodded at my words and a butler stepped up with his coat and top-hat in hand. “Thank you, Peter.” “Master,” the butler replied as Christopher dressed for the cold. “I shall delay lunch,” the butler continued and Christopher nodded.

As the doors opened, a gust of icy wind whipped across my face. Two stable boys stood at the end of the stairs holding each of our horses. I glanced at Christopher, he had already planned to come with me it seemed. “Do not look at me with such judgement, Calliope.” “You ought to practice on your perception of my, what did you call it, expressive features?” “Is that so?” he asked with a smile as we walked down the stairs. “I am not judging, I am thankful to you…”

We fell into silence after that. The winds howling and Marrygold’s pleased snort took over as I grabbed her reins. A saddle had been strapped to her, not that I needed one, but it was proper. “Which way?” I asked as Delaford had been an unknown location to me before the turn of events that led me here. “North-east,” Christopher said. “North if we take the forest route, which is quicker.” “North it is then.”

The wind dragged my hair loose, my gloved fingers chilled while gripping the reins as we galloped between trees — Christopher and his steed close behind me. He called directions now and then, yet my mind lay not with our destination but the estate we were leaving. It would become my home should father agree to our hasty marriage.

I pulled on the reins while leaning back, halting Marrygold to a standstill with a neighing, and Christopher came to a stop beside me. I panted, my mind raced and that dreadful feeling of panic surfaced.

“Dear, are you fairing?” His words went passed me as hasty as the wind. “Calliope?” he asked, and came up right next to me, laying a hand atop my trembling one. “This is wrong,” I whispered. Shame marring my thoughts as I realised we had no dowry to offer, soon not an estate or coin to our name and it would drag my heart’s treasure down in the eyes of society.

“Summer sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “The only thing wrong is your lack of enthusiasm at the moment. Have you… Are you regretful of accepting me?” “No! Christopher, lord no,” I said, guilt building within me. “But I am no match worthy of you.” “My heart has spoken, even if you had been a maid I would have asked for your hand. I am too old to trifle with my own heart, too gone in years and too seasoned to give society or propriety any thought in matters they have no say in.” “Oh, Christopher…” “As it is, you are from an esteemed family, with a grand legacy and a name worth something in the eyes of society. None of it matters, but your heart.” “Grand legacy… It will soon be gone.” “No, my dear. It will soon be entwined with mine and you shall want for nothing.”

⁛•⁛

The doors swung open before my feet hit the ground. “Calliope!” Father shouted while running down the stairs. “Where have you been?!” he continued and swept me into his arms. The gaping hole of the open doors held my gaze as I remembered the horrible sensation I had experienced of them wanting to swallow me and the grand room beyond expanding around me before plummeting toward me. A trick of the mind, of course, but no less terrifying.

“Father, I’m alright,” I said as he squeezed me tightly. “Where have you been? Why would you leave in such abandon?” he asked as he stepped back and took hold of my upper arms. His eyes lingered on the golden rope keeping the heavy cloak tied around my neck. Then he seemed to find himself, and propriety. along with etiquette in one swoop as Christopher dismounted his horse with a thud.

“Father, I have great news.” Father looked to my right where Christopher now stood. “Colonel Brandon?” he asked. “Indeed, sir. I had the good fortune of finding your daughter on my estate.” “At Delaford? My Calli, what—” I smiled, wishing to soothe the wrinkles of worry from his forehead. “It is a long story, but we have news, Father. Shall we take up the parlour?” I asked, and Father nodded while muttering a string of agreeing words and inviting Christopher in.

After disrobing, we entered the west parlour on the second floor. Christopher had walked close by my side while Father had led the way two steps ahead. I had paled during the ascent of the stairs. Only yesterday had I bolted down them in a rush of panic. Things were different now, yet the remnants remained.

We were served tea by Miss Abel, then Christopher and I found ourselves seated on the sofa while Father sat in one of the three chairs. “So, news you say?” he asked. I nodded, glancing at the man beside me for a second. “Good news. You will have a wed daughter.” Father spluttered into his teacup. “A marriage? What— When— Who have managed to capture you, my Calli?” he asked; as if the man sitting next to me was not evidence enough. “You have a nephew, Colonel Brandon?” he continued, his eyes going between us both — utterly confused it seemed.

Christopher chuckled. “No, sir.” “Then, I am at a loss.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Father, I shall marry the colonel,” I declared and Father shot out of the chair as if it had burned his behind. “The what?” “The colonel, Colonel Brandon,” I clarified while laying a gentle hand on his strong thigh, not sure what to make of Father’s reaction. Should he not be jubilant?

Father dropped his teacup. It shattered atop the thin rug. “Father!” I called out, instantly on my feet. “What have I forced you to do,” he murmured, looking at me with an ache in his usually happy eyes. “You are my beautiful Calliope, your mother’s spitting image, a soulful being of joy and poetry. What have I forced you to—” “Father,” I interrupted harshly as the man he spoke so off-puttingly about had risen next to me.

I turned, laying my hands on Christopher’s chest — his heart pounded beneath my right palm. Looking up, I found eyes of sorrow once more looking down at me. “I shall find a solution to your dire situation,” he murmured, his voice held taut by pain. “I am not agreeable, it seems…” He smiled most softly, a half smile, a sad smile, a painful ordering of his handsome features. “No, please,” I whispered. “I shall find a solution for you.” He turned toward Father while grabbing my wrists to lower my hands before he fully twisted himself to slightly bow his head toward the wide-eyed, shocked man. “Lord Haymnick, thank you for your time. I return your daughter in a better state than I found her.”

That was it.

Father blinked, I tried to grab Christopher's arm but he moved out of the room swiftly in harsh strides. “Father!” I shouted, rounding the table and snagging myself on my own dress. “How could you?!” He blinked, seeming dazed. “What? My Calli, you cannot marry a man so—” “So what? Caring? Gentle? Kind? What?! He’s the best man I have ever met and I cannot hide a single thought from him! I cannot lie to him, I cannot stop myself from thinking about him!” “He could be my brother, for goodness sake.” “So? That has never stopped any marriage before. And he could not be your brother, he’s—” “Calliope, please, I have several good suitors for you on hand, you don’t need to—”

I snarled, frustration leaking out of me while I fought myself not to run after Christopher. “I want to marry him! I— Father, my heart is screaming for the man you just spoke so terribly about. You—! I was told to marry before the end of the year, and marry I shall, but I will marry none other than Christopher!” “But, but Calli, he’s—” “Wonderful!” I shouted, stomping toward the door after having lost the battle to run after him. “He saved me, in every way possible and I will marry him. Not because it is necessary, or because of the fraud you’ve spun. I will marry him because I… I am falling in love with him.” I grabbed my dress, and heaved a frustrated breath that had my nostrils flaring, as I glared at my gaping father before readying myself to run after the man I could not lose. Again...

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: GAAAAAH - Father, what have you done you nincompoop?! Thank goodness we get the next part of this already tomorrow - hehehe 😘

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[tanoraqui]

You know, <em>Wind and Truth<em> took our horse girl novels to the horsegirliest mid-conclusion of all. Syl rode Kaladin to the farm upstate. Dalinar moved on from riding his ornery high horse to saddling the skittish steed of God himself. And immediately pile drove it in the spine, to his current horse's approval. Hopefully someday teaching said steed to trample the baron of the local glue factory. God I love Stormlight

You're SO right. And of course, the prize for Ultimate Horse Girl goes to Adolin, for Power of Friendshipping like 3 dozen whole tired old horses out of the manger and back onto the race track! AND armor!

(Real talk I'm so insane specifically about how Adolin's armor calls him "sir", like the spren are all eager army recruits. It's such a good balance with how his relationship with Maya is, like, two gym bros. Maya and the armor are both being people again, with him, but in a way that brings out how Adolin is at his best when he's both a friend and a leader.)

[bonemarrowrites]

To Rule The Roost

Contains:  M / M, Feral/monster x humanoid, dubcon, masturbation, voyeurism, fisting, bound, oviposition.

Explicit short story. A young fae wants to become a Gryphon rider, finding himself hired by a veteran flight master.

-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-

“Never expected to see an ash fae here. You’re kind rarely wanders away from your home isle. Yet, here you are, applying to be the gryphon aide under me. You do realize what that job entails, right?” Asked the flight master Trall as I sprouted back into the present, hearing griffins screeches outside the tall building had distracted me from the conversation.

Trall’s bulky human frame made his belly look like a large sack of flour as he sat on his chair and went through my papers. The Gryphon riders' colorful attire complimented his dark skin and made him look formal.

“Yes,” I answered and nodded enthusiastically to drive my point home, “I’ve always wanted to be a rider and someone told me this is a great way to learn the basics, before applying to the academy.” Before coming here, I had memorized a long list of useful lies to make myself the perfect candidate.

“I see…” Trall muttered back to me with a curious expression on his plump face. 

“Skinny boys like you can’t withstand the wind,” he blurted like he was trying to see my reaction.

“I don’t need to withstand it, I’m delicate enough to go through the wind wall without feeling a thing,” I rebutted, attempting to sound confident. My answer made the flight master snort, but he still looked unsure.

“Why not just go straight to the academy? They teach all you need to know and without. Assigning here might look good on your application, but it will only prolong your graduation if you’re even worth the effort. Taking the exam is the best way to get it,”  Trall’s tone sounded dismissive like he was talking to a young child who didn’t know any better. He didn't know I had taken the exam, thrice, and had failed each time. I knew I could cheat when I took it the next time, but I had to make sure my record showed that I had been somewhere where I might have learned the ropes. This was my only chance.

I composed myself, before telling him another one of my lies, “I believe if I want to be good at something I should learn as much as I can from those who actually work in the field. Teachers at the academy might teach me theory, but the real learning happens here.”

“You’re not going to learn how to fly without the academy’s approval,” Trall declared as if I didn’t already know that.

“I know, but I’m going to do other work, right? The Gryphon riders must also know how to take care of their steed.” The flight master's unwillingness had surprised me. The amount of promised payment had been significant, especially considering how little experience was required, but I was sure his aides' job wasn’t too hard to handle. After all, I had gotten this far, my letter must have made some sort of impression. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have wanted to see me and made me go through an extensive healer’s inspection.”

“I see,” he muttered again, giving one last glance at my papers. “You’ve been an adult for three summers now and your letter was very passionate, consider yourself hired.” The flight master stood up and held his hand out to shake mine. Quickly, I gave him a firm handshake and looked directly into his deep brown eyes.

“Thank you, sire. I’ll make sure you will not regret this!” I stated. The flight master slightly lift his right brown. My enthusiasm must have been a little bit too much. Yet, I actually was ecstatic. The second part of my plan had worked and I was on my way to becoming a Gryphon rider!

Trall waved his hand .“Follow me, better get to work now than later. The last aide’s death has delayed our annual schedule and we’re in a hurry.”

I did not know that. The poster I saw never mentioned why they needed help, only that it was urgent.

“W-what happened to the last aid?” I asked with a concern in my voice.

“One of the griffins kicked him down from the flight pen. He had forgotten to change his clothes after tending another tiercel. They’re very territorial, you can’t put two males together without them getting aggressive with each other. Skilled riders must be dominant and assertive when flying in formations, we can’t have fights within the group.” Trall’s explanation sounded reasonable to me. I made sure to remember that.

As we ascended the long flight of stairs, I took in the view. Even though we were in the mountains, the air here was hot. The warm desert wind blew right into the mountainside and the sun scorched the black rock paving it, making the air dry and sweltering. Had we stayed in the open a little bit longer, I’d surely been burned. My light grey skin was not meant to be under the sun.

“The health of these beasts is very important to me and it is your job to help me keep them healthy and happy. You could say your job is almost as important as mine.” Trall glanced behind as he said it and waited for my reaction.

“As it is to me, sire! A healthy force is a strong force,” I said smiling and the flight master shot a small smile back at me. I was getting through to him.

Trall led me into one of the keep’s many spires and to a wide, round room.

There was a large opening on the wall, which was decorated with a carved stone arch with a small bell hung next to it. It was meant for the griffons, they’d fly in one by one when the bell rang for… Some reason. I honestly didn’t know why.

Various tools were hanging on the wall and there was a chair placed next to them. In the middle of the large room, there was also a tall sawhorse with a simple, but weirdly shaped, saddle with a long seat. It was facing away from the opening of the room. Long leather straps dangled from the saddle as the warm breeze made them sway slowly.

“I want you to clean and polish that saddle,” the flight master commanded, “Taking care of it is a significant part of your job.”

As Trall sat on the chair I grabbed a few items from the wall and climbed the sawhorse to reach the saddle. With a clean rag, I began to wipe the saddle. My mother used to be a well-known leatherworker and she took me with her when she worked in her workshop. The skills I learned had become handy.

Trall watched me work from behind, leaning into the backrest as I focused on my work. Secretly, I tried to take a peek to see, if he was pleased with my performance and I saw him rub his crotch with his hand.

My cheeks flashed red and in my shock, I turned away acting like I hadn’t seen anything, still talking about how important each step was when it came to working with good leather. I heard him mumble in agreement and out of my curiosity took another peek.

The flight master’s clothed member was getting hard and he let out quiet moans while caressing his balls with his other hand. Unsure where he was looking I saw him lick his fat lips in arousal. I began my next step when I heard him get up and walk towards me.

“You’re very good,” Trall said and put his other hand on my shoulder. I was too embarrassed to turn to look at him, “It usually takes a long time for aides to learn the proper leather care.” With me standing leaning on the sawhorse, we were about the same length. I could hear him still rubbing himself as he stood behind me.

“That’s good. Hand me the tools and climb on top. You need to learn how to sit properly.” The flight master said and I handed him the items I had in my hands without looking at him. I mounted the saddle and was now slightly higher than him, feeling kinda relieved that he could reach me. Trall returned each tool to its rightful place and walked back to face me. He had stopped pleasuring himself and took one of the leather straps into his hands. Through his pants, I could see still his half-erect member.

“Lean forward,” he commanded and I did as he said, fearing what he might do to me.

Quickly, he pulled the strap over my head and buckled it tightly around my neck.

“Sire! What is this?” I yelped alarmed.

“I’m showing you the ropes. Your job is to tend my beasts and the only way to learn it is by doing.”

The flight master walked around me, tying me firmly to the sawhorse as I tried to resist. 

“Please, let me go! I will take care of the griffons, I swear! I will do my job!” my pleads fell on deaf ears, as Trall’s straight face turned to a smirk.

“My boy, that you will. This is the job,” he replied and patted me to make sure every strap was holding me down. The flight master then tore my clothes off with a knife, leaving me prone. I was bent over the saddle seat, legs wide apart.

“I knew immediately you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when I met you, but as I said, our situation here is urgent and you were so ardent about this job.” with glee in his voice he added, “... And the best part is, according to your health report, you’re perfect for the job.”

I struggled against my bonds, the saddle seat rubbed against my naked shaft and nipples, slick from the musky polish I had applied mere moments ago. The leather felt slightly coarse and every move made me grind against it. Struggling made me pant from the heat and sweat ran down my back. I was fatigued, and as I stopped, realized that if I didn’t move too much, my posture felt rather good. The seat was long enough to support me without putting strain on my body.

The flight master had retrieved more tools from the wall.

“This will be much easier if you relax, but I warn you, the first time is always the worst,” he snarked and walked behind me, before I could ask any questions he slathered my hole with thick oil and pushed three fingers inside of me. I yelped in surprise and thrust forward, my body stroked my nipples and cock against the coarse surface of the seat making them hard. Trall stretched my hole wider and wider, adding more fingers each time he assaulted me and each time I thrusted forward involuntarily, stimulating my body even more. My cries turned into whimpers.

“The beasts won’t be as careful as I am, you need to learn to loosen up quickly, otherwise it will be painful,” The flight master attested. Soon he managed to push his whole fist into me, making my hole wider than ever before. While vigorously moving his fist, ramming it against the end of my tunnel, Trall began to pleasure himself again.

I sucked in a breath as the constant strain on my cock made me shoot cum between my body and the saddle. The flight master seemed pleased and pulled his fist out, leaving my gaping hole open. He walked towards the stone arch and rang the bell.

“You better get ready, your true test is just about to begin,” Trall laughed and walked back to sit on his chair. He dropped his pants, pulled his cock out and kept massaging his balls as a sudden whoosh of wind flew over me. I heard a loud screech and turned to look. 

There it was. A large male griffin, folding its huge wings as it stomped toward me, looking curiously at its new servant. Long talons scratched the wooden floor with each long step. The oil Trall spread on my ass must have had something in it, the griffon’s large phallus flopped out of its pouch when it sniffed me. The cone-shaped thing almost touched the floor, already glistening with wetness. The beast shrieked loudly as it lifted its feline front paws on the sides of the sawhorse. The griffon bit my neck with its beak, the thick leather strap around my neck protected me from the damage, but the clutch made breathing harder.

“Oh, and don’t worry!” I heard Trall’s voice from across the room, “They might have feline legs, but their cocks are not barbed”

I whimpered as the creature began brutally pumping its member between my cheeks. The saddle was crafted so it slightly lifted my lower body up, it was meant to make anyone laying on it easier to enter, but the beast trying to mount me kept rubbing its cock on me. I whimpered beneath the monster as Trall watched my attempted breeding with exhilaration.

The tip of the griffin’s rod hit my entrance making me gasp in surprise. The next thrust missed it until finally, it impaled me deep within, the whole length of it disappeared in me until its knot pressured my opening. My tied body rose slightly as the shaft made my belly bulge from its girth. I screamed loudly until the beast bit my neck harder, making my voice fade.

Griffin re-adjusted its back paws before it pulled out and hilted its cock back in within me. The sawhorse below us tilted back and forth with each push. The agitation stimulated my whole body, building pleasure inside of me. Like a rutting animal, the monster showed no mercy towards my abused body. I spasmed from the frantic pumping, bending my tied legs as much as I could, making them numb. My opening milked the beast's shaft as its engorged balls smacked against my thighs.

The flight master admired the scene in front of him, pleasing himself while he watched me being broken in. His balls twitched as his throbbing cock shot string after string of white cum into the air. His chest heaved from the bliss, making his whole fat body shake. As he regained control over his body, he walked to me, his limp rod hanging free.

My mind had blanked as I limply laid beneath the monster, moving like a ragdoll on a string, when the beast drilled deep into me. With one last forceful thrust, it secured itself inside of me and let out a loud roar. The flight master laughed and cupped my face into his hand.

“Now you get to experience the best part,” he said, puzzling me with his words momentarily, “The Males of this breed carry eggs to be fertilized by the females. He’s going to fill you up.”

My eyes widened as I felt the first bulbous shape pressing against my hole. As it passed through, a scorching sensation filled me when the egg was pushed deep within my gut, assisted by flowing hot goo. Another one entered me, making my eyes roll back from the pleasure. I teared up when the beast kept me tightly in its grasp, laying eggs into me one by one. My bulging belly expanded pushing me further away from the saddle, only stopped by the leather straps holding my body down. 

Trall pushed his face against mine and forced his tongue in. Kissing me passionately. 

The griffin must have put at least six eggs inside me, before pulling out, the tip still leaking goo. Satisfied, it flew away, leaving me alone with Trall. I was tired as he carefully removed my bindings and lifted me from the saddle to the floor.

“Don’t worry, my boy” he said, there was care in his voice, “We will take them out after you’ve rested and then sell them to another breeder. You’ve done good.” Trall gently petted my enlarged belly, holding me in his arms, “Tomorrow, you know what to expect and will be prepared for the next breeding,” he whispered tenderly. 

I thought about the academy and about my dream of becoming a Gryphon rider. Now, I had another goal.

I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

"Okay," Zelda said, smacking her fist into her palm. "This one is going to be it."

Silently, her companion added a scratch mark to some parchment he'd been carrying.

Zelda glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "Are you keeping tabs?"

"Only when you say this one is going to be it or some variation of it," Link replied smoothly.

Zelda huffed, ready to argue, when out of curiosity she asked, "Where are we at?"

"Eight."

"Ha! I expected more! This is good, then."

Link sighed. "What's the story with this one?"

"Hear me out," Zelda started excitedly, spreading her hands like she was opening a large book. "A thousand years ago our land was encased in shadow."

Link stopped his horse, staring at her. "Is this another one of Beedle's stories? The last one nearly got us killed."

"No, no, no!" Zelda grumbled, rolling her eyes. "This one is from my family. History may have turned to hearsay and legend for the common folk of Hyrule, but it's sacred to my family. This one actually happened!"

Link raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but urged his steed to start moving nonetheless.

"So," Zelda continued. "A thousand years ago, shadows came to our land and cursed our people. My ancestor joined up with royalty from a distant land and together, they summoned the Hero of Light, who destroyed the shadows. That very Hero lived in the village we're going to!"

Link had to admit... he was still dubious, but he was a little curious. "An actual Hero? There's relics of one of the acutal Heroes? What royalty from a distant land? The only neighboring land I know of fell to ruin a hundred years ago."

"I don't know where it was, honestly," Zelda answered sincerely. "They were always really vague about it and I don't know why. But apparently the person died, so they honored her sacrifice."

Link hummed, tossing his braid back over his shoulder. After going through multiple villages, towns, and even a city, the fact that they were going somewhere that might have housed an actual Hero at some point in history was almost promising. Perhaps Zelda would find who she was looking for and Link could return to his quiet home and avoid all this mess.

It seemed too good to be true, though. Heroes were relegated to myths. The only reason he knew those myths were real was because of his parents. But still... they were ancient.

Surely no such catastrophe could strike the land now. The princess was just naive, right?

"Ah! We're here!" Zelda announced happily, bringing her horse's steady stroll to an end. Link watched her climb off before following suit.

"Where is here?" he asked as they passed a spring.

"Ordon Village," the princess replied, popping her hands on her hips and smiling with pride.

Link stood there beside her, staring a moment and sniffing tentatively. "It smells like manure."

Zelda scrunched her nose. "It does not! What if that smell is something else entirely?"

"It's definitely manure, Highness."

"Well your town smelled like it too!"

"My town is a trading hub!"

"I can't even smell any--" Zelda stopped in mid-sentence as the wind changed directions, scrunching her nose. "Oh."

Link turned to her, now completely affronted. "What did you smell before that made you think of my town?"

Zelda waived a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter - we have to find the Hero!"

Link sighed, following the princess into the village. "Your Highness, your story is from a thousand years ago. That Hero is long gone."

"Of course he is," Zelda replied with a roll of her eyes. "But there's word of someone named Link who lives here!"

One royal pronouncement and excited welcome later, the pair found themselves standin gover a crib.

"Well," Link quipped. "I suppose he could cry the enemy to death."

Zelda's sour look was response enough.

"Is there a Rattle that Seals the Darkness?"

"Just shut up."

The princess could only be upset for so long before she started cooing at the baby and laughing as the little bundle giggled in reply. Even Link had to smile fondly at it. The two congratulated the happy couple and gave them their well wishes before dining with the village and setting out once more.

"I think your story was a bit off," Link remarked as they walked their horses to the edge of the village.

"Just because the lead was false doesn't mean that a Hero didn't once live here," the princess said a little stiffly. "My family's history speaks of it."

He didn't argue. His own father spoke often of the royal family's role in helping Hyrule remember its history. He just... well, he had to admit he was a little disappointed. While he wasn't nearly as excited by history as his father, the promise of seeing traces of the Hero had been simultaneously intriguing and unnerving.

Either way, it was back to the road for them.

The masseur paused as the princess continued, glancing over at the spring as something sparkly caught his eye. Was that... was that a fairy? He hadn't seen one of those since he was a child, and that had only been once! Distracted, he hovered back a hair as Zelda plodded ahead, but the princess noticed his stillness.

"What is it?" she asked, coming back to him, before she saw it too. With an excited gasp, she rushed ahead, and Link tripped over himself to follow her.

The fairy flitted away quickly, but the pair stopped nonetheless.

They were back at the spring, but behind the waterfalls that fed into it, they could make out a small engraving. The two slinked around the edge of the spring (Link nearly face planted on the smooth, slick stone) until they managed to get behind the roaring water. Link shivered as they both got soaked in the misty spray, but the princess seemed completely unbothered.

Zelda's hand snaked around his upper arm, eyes fixed on a point, and she whispered, "It's him."

Link was about to question what she meant, wondering how a stone could mean anything, when he squinted at engraved words that were below a half worn symbol of the Triforce.

-ink

-elove- --ther and husba--

H-ro of L--t & Sh-d-w

"There's no grave here," Link noted softly.

"A monument to him, then," Zelda noted, though a little confusedly. "Why wouldn't they bury him here, or somewhere with honor?"

Link stared at the stone, eyes trailing down to see fresh flowers placed there. The villagers know and didn't tell the princess. A soft smile pulled at his lips. "He comes from a pretty humble place. I think... I think he wanted to keep it that way."

The princess hummed, still perplexed but trying to understand. Eventually, though, she knelt, folding her hands in prayer. Link sank to his knees, sitting on his legs rather than kneeling, eyes looking beyond the words half lost to time. He thought of the history behind his name, and behind his people, and he wished for a moment that he could claim to be part of such a heroic lineage. If the Heroes of Hyrule were truly like this...

He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head in honor.

[maemae2998]

Part 3! We @witchplease44 decided to make this into a series.

Lesson 3: Quick with Love and Language

You twist up your nose as the wind blows the horrid stench of dwarves who have not had the chance to bathe in nearly a week towards you again. The ponies were in a much more spacious formation while Bilbo and Gandalf had opted for wearing their tunics up around their noses. Even Thorin was not above drawing his coat up farther to help.

You watch Bifur slump forward in his saddle until he is hugging his pony’s neck. “‘Uthrat! (greatest fatigue)” he groans. Was that a word?

“Rukhis, tada takhagi!” Dori cries from the back of the trail. (Yuck, that stinks!)

“What is that?” You call to the speakers. “What are you saying?”

“My apologies lass. Had forgotten not all among the company were dwarven learned.”

“That is what the language of Dwarf’s sounds like?” You had assumed they must have their own language, but you had never heard anything of it before now. “You’ll have to teach me some of it along our journey, if I may be so lucky.”

“There!” Ori cried suddenly. Looking ahead you all saw a decent sized stream. Thank the gods!

“Mahd!” came a chorus from the other dwarves as everyone directed their steeds into a gallop towards the running water. (Blessing)

Camp was made just out of sight from the stream and it was a hilarious spectacle to watch the majority of the party scramble to unload their things and rush to the water. Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and you were soon the only ones left to get a fire started. “So,” you call, “What can you teach me of the language and ways of Dwarves? Where should we begin?”

Thorin grunts. “We should begin with the fact that Dwarfs are fiercely protective of our culture, we do not share it with just anyone.”

“I should hope dear Thorin that you do not mean to say I am merely anyone, especially after saving your hides from trolls and boredom upon this journey thus far.”

Dwalin grumbled and Balin chuckled at the look of shock on Thorin’s face. “I- I suppose you, may have earned an introduction into Dwarfish culture,” he relented almost sheepishly. You smile at him and bow playfully, receiving an eye roll.

“Don’t worry lass,” Balin laughs, “he shall come around. Let’s begin with a crash course on language and perhaps,” he whispers the last word, “courting.”

Dwalin and Thorin make their way to the stream when Gandalf returns to camp and makes himself busy reading and blowing smoke rings. You are so enthralled in Balin’s teachings that you don’t hear Kili and Fili walking back to camp. “So you have Ones, which are much like man’s concept of soulmates?”

“Yes,” he smiles, noticing the boys, but allowing them to pretend to hide, “our Ones are very very special to us. They are our other half.”

You think for a moment. “Has it ever been known… no forget me, it is a foolish question.”

“Ask it dear, only fools do not ask questions. Besides, I think I have an idea of the question you have.”

“Has it ever been known for two dwarves to share a One?” you ask quietly. You swore he could hear your heart beating inside of your chest. I couldn’t bear to have to choose between them.

Balin reaches to hold one of your hands in his to stop your fidgeting with your shirt. “No, I cannot say that it has ever been known for two dwarfs to share a One.” Your heart drops and so do Kili and Fili’s. The elder brother turns to stomp off, but pauses as Balin resumes talking. “I also cannot say that it has ever been known for wizards to have nieces, Dwarfs to use Elven blades, or a company of thirteen Dwarfs, a hobbit, and a witchling to defeat a dragon. But look at us!”

You let out a nervous chuckle and lightly shove his shoulder. “You mustn’t do such things Balin, you nearly made me faint. I should’ve known if anyone would piece it together it would be you.” He laughs as you recover from your fright. “Do any of the others know?”

“If they have suspicions they hold them close to their chest.” He studies my worried face. “You have nothing to fear, dearie. Dwarfs take Ones very seriously. If the princes agree you are both their One there will not be a soul to question it.”

“What about Thorin? Not only are they his nephews, they are his heirs to the throne, the princes of Erebor, and I,” you pause for a moment, “I am not a Dwarf. The kings of Men and Elves are very particular about who may be allowed into the royal families and besides I am not the kind of person he would want for either of them to court, much less the both of them.”

Balin walks to you and places a hand upon your shoulder. “You will find that Dwarfs are much different than the races of Man and Elf. And as I said, he will come around. He worries, perhaps too much, but his heart is in the right place. He cares for those boys as though they were his own.” He looks out into the woods. “Now it would appear the others are returning from their spa time, should be able to find some decent privacy, lass.”

You nod and smile. “Thank you, Balin, for everything thus far.” You place a friendly kiss to his forehead and head to the stream with your things.

You walk a minute or two upstream from camp and unload your clothes and weapons to begin disrobing. The water was a touch chilly, but nothing you couldn’t quickly acclimate to. How refreshing, we needed this. Your peaceful floating is cut short by movement from the tree line.

“Who goes there?!” You call as you wade over to your things and pick up your bow and notch an arrow.

“Only me, gaihith,” Fili calls back as he raises his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “I wished to spend some time with you if that is acceptable.” (Little dove)

“Of course,” you drop the bow back onto the pile of supplies. “I shall finish up quickly and we can talk.”

“No hurry, dove,” he smirks as he takes in what of your body he can see through the water, “In fact, please, take your time.”

You laugh at him and splash him slightly. “You, you…you boy!”

“It is nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing I haven’t touched before, or kissed before.” These princes and their silver tongues would be the death of you, you decided.

You giggle and take your bar of soap to wash yourself. “What was that you called me? Gay-hithe?”

“Gaihith,” he corrects as he sits on the bank of the stream. “It means ‘little dove’. It seemed an appropriate pet name.” Your heart melts.

The two of you spend the next few minutes talking before the conversation turns flirty and suggestive. He reaches out a hand to trace down your side, making you shiver. Fili reaches down to cup the side of your face in his hand. “While I am enamored by every word that passes your lips, what say we put them to a better use?”

You gasp quietly and smirk at him. “And what better use do you have in mind, my prince?” He smiles sharply and looks down to the obvious tent in his trousers. “I could be cruel and make you beg,” you giggle.

“You could,” he whispers darkly, “But I think you are too excited to make either of us wait, gaihith. I can see it in those gleaming eyes of yours.” You bite your lip and begin undoing his trousers as his hand travels into your hair. “There’s my keen girl. You did say you were always eager for more knowledge,” he recalls from your first time together. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head. “Only last time with Kili a little, but I admit I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, if anything specific.”

His eyes darken. “So this would be our first solo lesson? How fun.” He lifts his hips to help you move his trousers down and release him. This feels much different to the other times you had been intimate with the princes. The other times they had directed you on what to do, now Fili just stared down at you with a sharp grin and dark eyes. “Go ahead, dove, don’t be shy.”

You blink up at him and quickly nod your head. Reaching out your hand to grasp him, you can’t break your gaze away from his. His breath hitches as your hand makes contact and begins to caress up and down. “Beautiful,” he growls, “You can be a bit more firm love.” You follow his advice and blush as his breath quickens.

“Such a quick learner.” You finally manage to tear your eyes from his and as soon as you do his hand is quick in directing your gaze back to him. “Ah, ah,” he tuts, “Eyes on me, princess. You are doing so well for me. Maybe you could use that pretty mouth of yours now? Hmm?”

It feels as though he has you under a spell, perhaps that is what love is after all, as you take him into your mouth. You take notes of what motions pull what sounds from your prince above you and try to repeat those more. You swirl your tongue over the head and his eyes drift shut. You give his balls a tug and pull off for only a moment. “That isn't fair, I had to keep my eyes on you.”

He curses and grips your hair, tilting your head back in the process. He chuckles darkly, “I will try to keep mine open, but you make me weak at the knees.”

You smile and get back to work. You might be under his spell, but it made you bold to know you had power over him. Fili groaned and rocked his hips in time with your bobs. You grip his hips, digging your nails in as he trembles from pleasure. His breaths came out in shaky pants, clearly at his limit.

You pull off but stroke with your hand, “Are you gonna cum for me, my prince?”

“Y-yes. Yes! Please don’t stop.”

He was such a pretty mess, and you loved it. You took as much of his length into your mouth as you could and hollowed your cheeks to suck. Fili bit down on his fist to keep from screaming as he spilled into your mouth. His seed was hot and made your tongue feel sticky, and you gladly drank him down.

“I swear, gaihith, you might be the death of me.”

“I’ll add that to my list of accomplishments,” you tease back as you climb to your feet. Fili pulls you into a kiss, skin hot against yours. “Let's get back before the others worry I’ve drowned. You can make it up to me later during your watch.”

Fili’s eyes flash with excitement, “But of course. It would only be fair if I got a taste as well.”