#:cursed: thaaaaanks

[eviesaurusrex]

“ᴍʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ.” | ᴅ. ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

GIF by @fireandbloodsource

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (OC)

summary: Being the oldest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma was a blessing and a curse at once. But Visenya– as cunning, intelligent, and brave she was– prepared her very own path with the help of the one man who held her heart in his hands and kept her back at all time.

word count: 10.5k i don’t know what happened here.

warnings: canon typical incest (i’m sorry okay?), cursing, fluff, violence, mentions of blood, injuries, and a sword fight, threats, canon typical misogyny, more fluff, dragons, High Valyrian presented you by an online translator, conversations about death and stillborn babies, a bit of angst, slight HotD s1 spoiler

author’s note: I love Rhaenyra with all my heart, but I need to indulge in this one, sorry! This is my first time writing something GoT related and my first time writing for Daemon, so be gentle with me, thaaaaanks <3 This one got longer than intended. My Vhagar is inspired by the design for Rhaegal in GoT byyyyye

A decade ago.

With wide, curious eyes, the firstborn of Prince Viserys and Princess Aemma entered the smoke and fire-filled halls underneath Dragonstone, taking in the sight of the ancient mural paintings similar to those in the caves further down the beach. They depicted the history of old; showing how Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys conquered Westeros with their dragons and built what her family ruled over now.

Her fingertips softly stroked over the uneven wall of solid stone, reminding her of the strength laying within her family. They would rule as long as Dragonstone existed; she was sure of it.

“Visenya.”

Her father’s voice called her over, beckoning her back into reality and out of her dreaming mind. She turned, the edges of her charcoal cloak softly flaring, and the sound of her boots echoed through the grand halls filled with dragon eggs as she headed over to him and her waiting mother. The prince smiled down at her as she regained her place next to him, one of his large hands softly put on her shoulder.

“Your mother and I went her while she had bear you. It is a holy moment in our family to claim a dragon egg, and she knew which one to choose for you– because you chose Rhaegar,” Viserys explained to his daughter while her eyes settled upon her mother, who now stood in front of the bared eggs who would be ready to hatch in a handful of weeks. “How did I know which one to choose, father?” Her voice was filled with curiosity and wonder, not understanding how someone, who wasn’t even born, could make those life-altering decisions. Her father shrugged softly and smiled down at her. “No man knows.”

Visenya scoffed under her breath, not quite satisfied with her father’s answer but a movement behind one of the many pillars scattered through the grand halls distracted her. A flash of familiar silver hair and the last remnants of a smirk lingered in the air, and after Viserys had turned his attention back to Aemma, who now held an egg in her hands, Visenya slipped away to find the spectator of this moment.

With slow steps, she rounded the pillar at which she had seen him but was greeted by emptiness. Furrowing her brows, the princess walked around the next one, and frustration started to bubble up within her delicate body as she was greeted by an empty space again. Shaking her head slowly, the silver-haired girl opened her mouth in order to speak up and call him out, but as she turned, her breath hitched in her throat.

Daemon Targaryen stood awfully close to her, and Visenya had to take a step back not to have to look up to him at this horrendous angle. Sometimes she despised how tall the prince loomed over her and how her neck protested if she granted him one look too many.

“Daemon,” she greeted him, and the Targaryen prince smirked down at her. “Visenya,” he returned and bowed mockingly. She cocked a brow, not surprised at all at his display of… what? Mockery? Hatred? Envy? She wasn’t sure which one it was today, except for the hatred. She could ignore that thought because they never hated each other. They may quarrel and insult one another on a daily occasion. Still, she knew the meaning behind those lingering glances because she wasn’t stupid and felt how her heart started to race every time she felt those violet eyes lingering on her.

She may be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She had handmaidens and listened to their hushedly whispered confessions to one another when they thought the princess was still asleep in the early morning light. She knew about love and physical lust, about desire and heartache. With her six and ten name day on the horizon, she even was considered suitable for marriage by her uncle and his Small Council, but her father held objections against it.

And she was thankful for that; it saved her from a marriage with an old lord from who-knows-where ultimately– and she could spend more time with Daemon.

Who just had gotten a hold of her hand and gently– it surprised even him how tender he could be– the older Targaryen pulled her back into reality, to him. He always wished to have her undivided attention so that those eyes with the soft but sometimes mischievous glimmer lay on him and him alone. He hated the feeling always creeping up on him as soon as one of those lordlings tried to steal her away from him. Gladly, she never stayed long with them and always returned into Daemon’s line of sight, granting him the vision of the smile reserved explicitly for him.

He was a lucky man indeed.

“Come with me,” was all Daemon mumbled before pulling her further with him, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. The familiar feeling of it calmed them both, and Visenya followed him without objection, straight out of the sacred halls of their family and into the open of a partially clouded summer’s day. Compared to the capital, the summer at Dragonstone was bearable; the salty breeze was always present, and clouds hid the unforgiving sun. The volcano behind Dragonstone probably was the cause of it.

The breeze swept through her silver hair, and the few rays of sun kissed her skin. With closed eyes, Visenya enjoyed it while walking close to Daemon, who would never let her fall. She knew he observed her doing, as he always did, especially when they were alone, but she didn’t mind. It never had bothered her because she watched him as well but mostly without his knowledge.

It was a fun game.

But she knew that it would always stay precisely this: a game.

The heavy sensation of heartache settled within her chest, and the princess tried to shake it off, scolding herself silently for letting it happen again. Visenya knew that the Small Council– or her father– would never allow such a union, not until all Seven Hells were frozen. She had to keep her mind and heart realistically instead of pursuing a childish hope she would chase her entire life.

“Daemon, it is probably not wise to-…” But he hushed her while his long finger reverently caressed the hand still situated on his arm. “I know with shocking clarity that you were not able to ride Rhaegar all week long, so I thought I would accompany you. Steal you away from all the duties and lordlings to finally have you all to myself for only a handful of hours.” She couldn’t deny him if he continued to speak in that voice that always let her resolve crumble like mere stone walls in the face of the force of a dragon.

Visenya sighed deeply and glanced up at him, her brows still furrowed, and her heart still ached. “That is very thoughtful and kind of you, but I still don’t think it is a wise thing to do, uncle.” She had to make him understand from where she was coming, what her mind had to work through. But Daemon only chuckled and stopped to turn his body to her. He took her hand from his arm while also grasping for the other at her side and brought both to his face. He bent his head, silver threads tickling her skin, and kissed her knuckles as gentle as a butterfly’s touch. “I think it is the wisest thing we could do, niece,” he returned without a second or third thought, pressing another set of kisses on the skin of her hands.

Her heart ached so bitterly but beautifully at the sight of the Rogue Prince’s soft side, and a small smile began to tuck at her full lips. “Fine,” the princess spoke in a soft whisper, ignoring his victorious smirk, and drew back both hands out of his still lingering grasp. She turned again to continue their path, a full smile settling on her face at the sound of his following steps and the warm, heavy feeling of his hand at the small of her back.

She was lost; she knew it at this very moment as Rhaegar and Caraxes landed in front of their riders. The girl watched as Daemon softly greeted her dragon, who usually never let another soul near him except for his rider, but the prince was the one extraordinary exception. Caraxes eyed her intently as she stepped to Rhaegar and let her hand affectionately stroke over Daemon’s back; she was too weak, and everyone around her would soon realize it.

The hated prince looked down at the loved princess as she pressed her forehead against her dragon’s scales with closed eyes, her hand still resting on his back. He bent down to press a lingering kiss on the crown of her head; he was too weak, and everyone around him would soon realize it because he did not have the intention to let this jewel be married off to a different man than him.

She was his, and he was hers.

;

Seven years ago.

“Where is Prince Daemon?”

The princess’s voice echoed through the hallway, and in surprise, Ser Harrold turned around to bow before the eldest of House Targaryen. “My princess,” he greeted her and waited until she reached him. Her eyes observed his face intently before asking the same question again. “Where is Prince Daemon?”

He had promised her an hour of his time on this day, but he was nowhere to be found, not even in his most preferred places in the Red Keep she knew of. But she had a feeling that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could know about the man's current location, and she couldn't shake off the certainty of her supposition. And she had been right because, at the sight of the barely visible twitch in Ser Harrold's brow, Visenya knew it had been the right call to find him and ask him first before heading to her father.

"Yes?"

She waited until the Kingsguard cleared his throat. "I was told not to interfere, my princess, and this would entail not telling you his current location." Ser Harrold knew her too well, but he must know too that she would never let go of it until she had heard a satisfying answer to her question. So all she did was cocking a brow and stand her ground, waiting for the older man to spill it out for her to chase after him. Visenya may have promised herself to stop chasing after Daemon Targaryen because it would only bring her heartache and a potential break of said organ, but she just couldn't keep her distance.

It was like a curse cast upon her.

"I won't leave until you are telling me what you know, Ser Harrold," she announced in case the knight lost his memories of all the moments of persistence from her side they had lived through over the years, and he sighed deeply at the realization of her perseverance. She would make a fine queen, was all he thought before sharing his knowledge with the princess he grew rather fond of ever since she had been born and lived under his protective watch. "He left after the first lights of day, riding into the Kingswood to conduct a duel between him and Ser Gwayne Hightower."

Closing her eyes, Visenya sent a quick, silent prayer to the gods because she knew what had led to this very duel which would cause more trouble than it would cause a truce. The memory of a drunken Ser Gwayne at the feast the night before sneaked back into her mind, remembering his warm, disgusting breath fanning over her cheek as he had leaned closer and closer, his hand resting too low to be still proper on her hip. He had pushed her into a dark corner of the hall, the sounds of the lavish feast still surrounding them but too far away at the same moment. He had trapped her there, and she had been frozen, which was so unlike her that it had scared her even more. Never before had a man dared to touch her this way, especially not without her consent of coming as close as he had done, invading her much preferred personal space, and the shock had settled into the princess's bones. She didn't dare to think about the possibilities of outcomes if Daemon hadn't found her in that dire situation.

She knew with shocking clarity that he did this for her– for her honor.

Staring up to her favorite Kingsguard, the princess decided her course of action.

She wasn't a scared little thing. She was the firstborn princess of House Targaryen. She was a dragon rider. She was not a mere silly girl who would fear the presence of a single man. And Ser Harrold seemingly caught up to her intentions because he was right behind her as Visenya spun around and left the Red Keep to ride to the Dragonpit.

—

Rhaegar raised his charcoal head as he sensed the presence of his rider, his gleaming eyes watching the silver-haired young woman coming closer with long strides, ignoring the words of the dragon guards.

"But, my princess, he doesn't carry his saddle!" One of them shouted over the rumbling of Rhaegar, who didn't like the sight of how close the guard stepped to her. "I do not need one," was all Visenya answered as her dragon had left the cave and stretched his wings before sinking down to the ground so she could climb on top of him. Ser Harrold watched the princess with worried eyes, not looking forward to her flying without the support of the saddle and reins, but he knew he couldn't stop her.

The charcoal beast, almost as giant as Caraxes himself, shook his massive head and bared his teeth while Visenya claimed her spot between his wings and held onto his scales. She didn't need to give him the command; instead, Rhaegar took off into the sky without a single uttered word from his rider because their souls were connected through the strongest bond a rider could acquire to his dragon.

—

The sounds of steel crashing against steel echoed through the Kingswood. Labored breathing was heard in the clearing between high rising trees and the grand river dividing the woods like a blue open wound. Nervously dancing horses with their equally nervous riders were scattered around the field of duel, their eyes watching the ongoing fight with worried expressions. Not because they feared the prince and their Commander could get hurt, but because of the repercussions following this act for either of the two sides.

Daemon gritted his teeth as Gwayne almost struck him with the tip of his laughable sword. He let the knight dance around him, Dark Sister securely in his hands, while his lilac eyes followed every move of his opponent before attacking him again. He roared as the memories of Visenya and him flashed before his eyes, and Dark Sister attacked the Hightower man with such force that he had to stumble backward, almost falling to the soft wooden ground.

“You deserve to be beheaded for what you did,” the Rogue Prince seethed, and the other man scrambled back up to counter the next attack. “Putting your hands on her is considered one of the worst crimes in the fucking Seven Kingdoms.” Maybe Daemon exaggerated because he felt sick to the core at the flashes of memory in his mind, but he didn’t care.

He touched her so he would get punished for it.

Gwayne scoffed before spitting out blood after the handle of Dark Sister had made contact with his jaw. “Don’t fool me, my prince, you only regret that it wasn’t you who had the idea before me.” His anger reached a newfound intensity. “Every bloody fool in King’s Landing knows about your preferences; that you’re lusting after pretty, silver-haired maidens,” the knight continued with an evil smile which soon disappeared as Daemon attacked him anew– a cry for blood leaving his mouth.

Dark Sister almost sang in his hands as the blade, made out of Valyrian Steel, tasted fresh blood, and he reveled in the sight of the crimson red liquid spilling out of a wound at his arm. He despised the events which ultimately led him to this point, but oh, how he loved to see the blood spill out of a man’s body.

“Utter a single word, and I will not leave it at a mere duel,” Daemon threatened the Hightower son, already imagining how he sent his head to Otto. It was a delightful thought. The blade of his sword was held high and pointing straight against the man’s throat, his intentions clear as day, but the sound of mighty wings and a looming shadow above them let Gwayne look up. Even Daemon seemed surprised, instantly thinking that Caraxes had somehow escaped the Dragonpit to find his rider, but instead, he watched how Rhaegar flew slow circles over the clearing before landing in the middle of it.

His fiery eyes settled upon the spectacle in front of him, growling loudly and scaring the horses– and Gwayne. The knight scrambled over the ground to get as far away as possible from the beast, but Rhaegar followed him, his head lowered to have better access to him if his rider spoke the words.

Daemon took one step back and looked up to Visenya, sitting on bare scales, hair despite the many braids out of perfect order, cheeks reddened from the flight, and eyes taking in the scene in front of her.

“Skoros istan ao otāpagon?” (What were you thinking?) She may speak High Valyrian with her entire family and even some people at court, but for him, it was entirely reserved for her. Visenya raised a brow at his words. “Nyke gaomagon daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma,” (I do not know what you mean.) she returned, remaining on Rhaegar because she didn’t trust the Hightower knight anymore, not even with Daemon and some of his City Watch men at her protection. Rhaegar was her most trusted companion, after all, and nobody would dare to try anything with him at her side. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳ naejot lua ao konīr. Skoros gaomagon ao gaomagon kesīr, Visenya?” (I told them to keep you there. What do you do here, Visenya?)

The princess locked eyes with the prince before turning her gaze to Gwayne Hightower, distaste and hatred clearly visible in her gleaming eyes. “Nyke jeldan naejot ūndegon ziry nykēla.” (I wanted to see it myself.) But then she looked back at Daemon. “Nyke jeldan naejot mīsagon ao hen aōla,” (I wanted to protect you from yourself.) Visenya continued, and now it was for the silver-haired prince to watch back to the knight, but returning his gaze soon back to the woman he desired more than anything else. He smiled a small smile now. “Ao gaomagon daor emagon naejot gaomagon ziry. Nyke kostagon mīsagon issa hen nykēla,” (You do not have to do it. I can protect me from myself.) he spoke in the softest of tones before a shouting groan escaped Daemon at the feeling of steel piercing through the back of his thigh.

“Daemon!”

Gwayne Hightower couldn’t react fast enough as Rhaegar roared as if he was struck himself. He moved forward, eyes fixed on the knight, but Visenya didn’t care what would happen to this fool of a man because she slid off Rhaegar’s back and landed on both hands and knees. But she was quick to get up to her feet again, rushing over to where Daemon knelt now, the sword stuck in his leg. She fell back to her knees, not caring for her breeches, and her hands cupped his face, looking him over for other injuries, while his City Watch cornered the knight with a furious Rhaegar at their disposal.

“Skorkydoso kostagon nyke dohaeragon?” (How can I help?) Daemon laughed choppily between groans. “Nyke glaesagon rȳ tolī kempa ōdria,” (I lived through more severe wounds.) he promised, a smirk tucking at his lips. Visenya had to smile despite the situation. “Am I allowed to burn him now?” Now, Daemon laughed wholeheartedly but stopped as the sword moved in his leg. “If I were the one asking you this question, you would tell me I have to think with my mind and what it would bring over this bloody kingdom,” the prince reminded her, and Visenya sighed. Sometimes she hated that she most often was the more responsible one in their dynamic. “At least let me throw him into the Black Cells,” she tried again to distract him from the pain until two of his guards came and held him in order to remove the sword from his thigh.

Daemon groaned deep in his chest, and Visenya softly caressed his cheek while one of the men wrapped a clean cloth around the wound so that the maesters could see to it back at the Red Keep. “You have an evil mind, dear,” the Rogue Prince whispered as she helped him stand up and supported him with an arm around his back. She smiled devilishly up at him. “I have to match a certain someone if I want to keep up with him.”

Walking over to Rhaegar, who held his gaze fixed upon the knight, already preparing to kill him, Daemon chuckled. “You do not have to. I would want you anyway.” Those words were entirely meant for her ears only, and she almost blushed but kept her composure.

The dragon continued to growl, his fiery breath almost scorching the man in his armor and letting the sweat run over his face. “You can consider yourself lucky for the time being, Ser Gwayne,” the princess spoke, eyeing him with vivid disgust. “But do not start to believe it will be a lasting state. The king will decide upon your punishment after you arrive back in King’s Landing. Good luck, Hightower.” Ignoring his starting pleads, Visenya looked up to her dragon. “Rhaegar,” she called his name gently and with deep affection evident in her voice. The Shadow of King’s Landing, as her father liked to call him, moved his head and lowered himself back to the ground, so Daemon could slowly climb up. “No reins?” The princess shrugged and grinned widely. “I do not need them.” She followed after him, but Daemon pulled her in front of him, wrapping an arm close around her slender body and letting her bring them home.

;

Six years ago.

The battle was brutal, and Daemon defended himself with the utmost grace of a skilled swordsman. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was screaming; a voice telling him that something horrible would happen no matter how hard he would fight.

It was something inevitable.

He didn’t know what it could be because, so far, his troops fought bravely and loyally, even though the enemy was strong and had more men. But he had dragons. Caraxes roamed the skies above his rider’s head, killed enemies with the force of his flames, and pushed their troops to retreat for the time being. But the bright red dragon was not the only creature aiding the Targaryen fighters. The deafening sound of Rhaegar’s roar echoed over the battlefield of flames, and the charcoal beast with specks of gold and red broke through the thick wall of smoke and ash, his rider securely on his strong back.

The sight of a furious Visenya was a vision to behold, and his chest swelled with pride. He knew she would get to hear something after their return to King’s Landing because Viserys had explicitly forbidden that she would follow Daemon into battle, but they would push through and overcome this little obstacle.

Rhaegar spat another wall of fire and roared as loud as the first dragons, circling over the battlefield with Caraxes. The prince paused for a split moment to watch the girl who had become a woman practically overnight, a skilled warrior in the light of gods. But an approaching knight interrupted him, and Daemon killed the man with a few swift motions with Dark Sister in his hand.

The prince couldn’t revel in this next small victory because the distressed shriek of Rhaegar let him move his eyes back into the sky to watch helplessly as he lost altitude. His wings weren’t widely stretched anymore. Instead, they flattered useless in the air, not carrying the heavy body safely to the ground.

“Visenya!”

His shouting voice was filled with fear and uncertainty, and suddenly, the awful feeling from before crept back into his bones, the voice again whispering in his mind. His legs started to carry him in her direction, killing every single man who dared to get into his path.

The Dark Shadow, as the commoners had started to call Rhaegar, crashed into the ground, and Caraxes emitted a roar while slowly gliding to his dying companion. His massive flaming head searched the ground for the female rider and protected these two with a storm of flames while observing the area for his own rider.

Visenya coughed as she slowly and unsteadily emerged in the cloud of sand and smoke, her hand raised to shield her face from the bright flames surrounding her. Crawling, the princess reached her dragon’s head, and tears formed rivers on her dirty cheeks. She had felt it at the moment the spear had hit her companion, and she tumbled from the sky. It was almost physical; as if the spear had pierced her very own body instead of Rhaegar’s.

“Rhaegar,” she whispered underneath the escaping sobs, her hands caressing his dark and shining scales. She could feel his shallow breaths while his golden eyes were trained on the woman kneeling in front of his head. Pure agony filled her at the sight of the lack of life creeping in on them, and she pressed her forehead against his still warm body as his last breath escaped him.

A scream pierced through the thick atmosphere of battle and let several fighters halt their movements before the first few brave men dared to sneak up on the princess.

Killing her would be the greatest achievement of their entire life.

But she heard them, and with a cry for battle, Visenya rose from the ground, drew her sword, and killed the three men within a blink of an eye. Daemon stopped in his tracks at the sight of his niece, took in her tear-stained face, and didn’t have to know more. She raised her eyes from the dead bodies in front of her, her bloody sword dangling between the tips of her fingers, and looked straight into his own eyes. He could see her lips moving, and he knew she had called him.

Daemon reached her trembling form at the moment her legs gave up and couldn’t carry her any longer. His arms wrapped the young woman in the most protective embrace ever witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms and held her close while the sounds of dying men surrounded them.

—

The Red Keep was in turmoil at the news of the vanished princess and even more so as the red dragon returned to the pit with both his rider and their princess on his back. Viserys searched the sky for Rhaegar, but at the sight of his daughter’s distress, he knew what had happened. Aemma was quicker than him in her path to their eldest child and wrapped her in her motherly love after Daemon softly had brought Visenya to the ground. His eyes settled on his brother, and the Rogue Prince shook his head to confirm his thoughts.

“He is dead,” the King heard his daughter sob, and Aemma glanced over to him, dreadful worry etched into her beautiful face. “He is dead, and it is my fault!” Now, the sobs shook her body again, let her tremble in her mother’s embrace, and Viserys was quick to cradle her in his arms to carry her into the safety of their home. Daemon watched him with envy in his eyes but followed the procession nonetheless after bringing Caraxes back into the now empty den.

Even the blood-red beast mourned his long companion in the upcoming night, and Daemon situated himself in the corridor in which the princess had her chambers to keep watch over her.

—

Days passed within a blink of an eye.

The maesters had suggested giving the princess milk of the poppy in order to soothe her grieving and self-destructing mind and to offer her at least some hours of peace and rest. Aemma had sat by her side through each and every night, not daring to leave her, not even as Viserys almost begged her to watch after herself. Young Rhaenyra had sneaked into her older sister's room on the second night of her return; she had pressed her body against her side, just as she usually did when the older Targaryen princess told her stories each and every night. The queen did not object to her daughter's behavior. Instead, she started to sing softly for hours on end, always the same old melody and lyrics of an old Valyrian song about the ancient gods and goddesses of the lost civilization, which had been the only words to soothe young Visenya in her cradle right after she had been born. During the third night, even the king had accepted how things were now and had himself situated in his eldest's chambers, holding a watchful eye on her sleeping form. Only Daemon stayed out of her rooms, preferred his lonely watch in the dark shadows of the hallway, ignoring the hushed whispers of the servants and handmaidens seeing him every day and night sitting unmoving in his chosen spot, eyes closely settled upon the door of her chambers.

The tenth night was the night in which Visenya finally opened her eyes.

Uncountable candles softly lighted her room; the sound of their small flames let the agony within her heart appear again. Silent tears left her eyes and rolled over her cheeks, vanishing in her unruly locks of matted hair. A barely audible snore pushed her to move her head to the source of the sound - the movement alone was almost too much for her to bear - and the picture of a sleeping Daemon Targaryen greeted her still tired eyes. He had his head tucked away between his arms which lay on top of the soft blankets covering her frame, his face relaxed and bare of every deception and malicious thought.

It was a rare sight, and even though her soul screamed in agonizing pain, Visenya enjoyed seeing him more relaxed than ever. He was here, right at her side, and that was almost enough to soothe some of the dread constantly spreading inside her.

Slowly, the woman turned onto her side and stretched an arm to brush through his soft silver hair, but at the mere touch of her fingertips, Daemon opened his eyes and raised his head. His lilac eyes found her face immediately, and utter relief filled his handsome features.

“Visenya,” was all he whispered as his hand cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb caressed her distinct cheekbone, and his eyes moved over her face to reassure himself that she was indeed awake and alright as much as she could be after everything that had happened. Her cold fingers closed around his wrist, and with a deep, long sigh, she let her eyes fall shut again. “It is my fault, is it not?”

Her question pulled him out of his almost frozen state, and Daemon shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “No, it was not,” he assured her with certainty, and she opened her watery eyes again. “But why does it feel like it is?” A sad smile etched onto the prince’s face, and he continued to caress her cheek. “Because you, my love, always believe to be the epitome of wrongdoings. It is a horrendous habit of yours.” Daemon felt pride rising in his chest at the sight of the twitch of her lips. The smile didn’t want to show, but that was more than alright. It would take time.

Visenya scooted closer to the edge of her bed to be closer to him and sighed again as their foreheads found one another, and she felt his skin against hers. Their eyes locked into the respective pair and a pleading expression sneaked into hers. Daemon would give her everything she desired; they both knew it.

“I want to go home,” the princess whispered, and the prince knew which place she meant.

Dragonstone.

He nodded softly, propped his chin atop the soft blanket, and dared to steal a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “I will bring you home, issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) he promised.

And Visenya knew that he would hold his word.

;

Three years ago.

“Brother.”

Daemon forced himself to bow in front of the king and his Small Council, throwing Otto a glaring look but ignoring him after that. He had much more important matters to discuss.

Viserys raised both brows in wonder at his younger brother’s rare presence during one of the meetings. “How can I help you, Daemon?” He must want something from him– the Rogue Prince never bothered himself with unpleasantries if he couldn’t gain something. The older man knew that something certainly was coming.

And he was right.

Daemon’s piercing stare settled entirely on him, and the world most definitely had stopped at his following words the council would never have expected to leave his mouth willingly. “I intend to marry.” Grand Maestor Mellos almost choked on his own spit. Lyonel Strong’s eyes seemingly popped out of his skull. Corlys Velaryon cocked a brow and eyed him. “Which pitiful soul do you have in mind, your highness?” The master of ships asked curiously, with a hint of malice in his tone. Daemon couldn’t hide the slight smirk appearing on his face before looking over at his brother again. “I am asking you, dear brother, for Visenya’s hand in marriage. Technically, I do not need your blessing because I do not care if you approve of this or not and because Visenya already answered the apparent question. But in any case you decide to name her your official successor and heir to the Iron Throne instead of me or a possible male heir you still have to produce, I will not lessen her status by a union you do not know of. And-…” The prince stopped for a moment, remembering the way he had left the princess still tucked away in her blankets, before continuing. “-and she wishes for your blessing, brother.” And how was he to deny her such a request?

At least he would try to gain what she desired in this particular situation, and if Viserys was too stubborn or simple-minded, he couldn't change that. But no one could call him a coward after this meeting, and even these old bastards knew that with shocking certainty.

Yet...

"Are you out of your mind?"

Daemon slowly closed his eyes. He took one deep breath, followed by another one. He had to stay calm because Visenya almost begged the older Targaryen not to lose his temper. But his dear brother just made it too easy to forget about the given promise.

"Seven Hells, Daemon. I can't let you marry my eldest, let alone your niece!" The king’s voice roared through the Small Council's rooms. Everyone at the table flinched at the outburst, but the prince stood taller than ever. "It is custom in our family, brother, or do I maybe have to freshen up your knowledge about the marriage history of Targaryens?" Viserys scoffed, and his balled fist suddenly crashed against the massive table. His eyes almost spat fire in his direction. "You. Will. Not. Marry. My. Daughter. Don't try to fool me, Daemon. She would be the heir to the Iron Throne and maybe the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but you would move the pieces on this chessboard!"

The younger Targaryen now cocked an eyebrow. "You have a very low esteem of your daughter, my King. She has the strongest mind in all of Westeros, and if you think for even a second she will dance to another man's tunes, then you do not know her at all." It was quiet in the room; only the crashing sea was heard underneath the Red Keep.

But Daemon had one last card to play.

"She asked me," he announced and couldn't hide the pride-swelled chest of his. Visenya was an utter wonder in his eyes; a wonder he sometimes couldn't grasp with his mind. She was braver than anyone before her, and every other woman– the ones he had and the ones he only had considered– faded in his mind until nothing of their memories was left.

Viserys obviously forgot how to breathe in the short moments since Daemon's revelation. He wasn't sure if the king thought about his words or thought nothing at all due to the shock evident in his paling face, but whatever it was, Daemon didn't really care. The Small Council could go to all Seven Hells and let him marry the woman he loved more than his life and let her rule if the time comes. Yes, he would prefer it to be named heir to the Throne, but he could live with Visenya on that forsaken thing very easily. It would mean that he could continue his killing of enemies while always finding time to watch his queen in her doings.

It sounded like the perfect life.

Viserys furrowed his brows and observed him, acknowledged his presence finally with a seriousness he had never shown before. "She asked you? You did not pressure her to sa-..."

"No man nor god could pressure Visenya Targaryen to anything, brother."

Viserys slowly nodded, fingertips resting against one another, his eyes settled on his younger brother as to try to decipher him and his intentions. But he couldn’t utter another word because suddenly, hurried steps were heard outside the doors of the Small Council until they got opened for the eldest princess of House Targaryen. Visenya stopped at the three steps leading down to the council’s table, her eyes trained on her uncle and a brow slowly raising.

Daemon had turned to watch how this storm of a woman entered and almost helplessly shrugged at her disapproving look thrown in his direction. “I thought we agreed upon speaking to them together,” she spoke while stepping down the few steps and stopping next to him. He couldn’t stop his wandering hand from wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her closer. “You were still asleep, so I thought, why waste another meeting and day?” The princess rolled her eyes at him and shook her head before looking over to her father and the rest of the council.

“Is it true? Did you ask him for his hand in marriage, your highness?” Maester Mellos spoke up, and Visenya cocked her brow again. “You sound like it is so surprising for a woman to make her own decisions and not wait upon a man to finally find his courage, Maestor,” she countered, and the old man cleared his throat awkwardly. “It was not my intention to assume anything, my princess. My apologies.” She nodded shortly before turning her attention back to Viserys, who now focused his entire mind on his daughter.

His utmost joy.

The Realm’s Pride.

Upon these thoughts, the king decided to give her what she desired because he could never deny her anything – not since the day of her dramatic birth.

“Is it your truest desire to marry him?” After all, Viserys still couldn’t believe this, not with all the fitting suitors his daughter had trailing behind her ever since her ten and second name day. She nodded without hesitation. “It is, father. I would have never asked him if I were not sure of it,” she told him, voice full of sincerity and… he didn’t like to admit it, but certainty. Viserys sighed deeply and slowly shook his head. “With all those good men asking for your company and hand, displayed for your pleasure in front of you, and you chose him.”

Visenya knew that she had won, and softly shrugging, the princess started to smile. “They were after me for the possibility of a crown– not me as a person.” Otto scoffed loudly and didn’t hide his displeasure. “As if he would think differently,” the Hand of the king mocked before turning to the king, an urgent expression settling on his face. “You do not seriously consider letting them have their way, do you, your majesty?”

Daemon couldn’t react fast enough to beat Visenya next to him. She took the last steps to the table, the sound of her boots echoing through the room, and propped her flat hands on top of the massive wooden table, her violet eyes gleaming like a dragon’s breath.

“Do not dare and talk as if I am not in this very room, Lord Hightower. I am not a child anymore; I am your princess, so respect my rank and address me accordingly if you please to talk about something involving my very person,” she seethed, and the Hand had to swallow dryly at the sight of the furious princess. Everyone in this palace knew that she never recoiled from a battle– it was insignificant if that battle was fought by blades or words.

Corlys Velaryon grinned behind his cup of water– he never drank wine during the Small Council meetings– and watched the scene unfold while eying the Rogue Prince out of the corner of his eye. He may have misjudged the prince; he had to admit that at the sight of a sincere display of emotions on the Targaryen’s face as he observed the princess’s doings.

Otto Hightower bowed his head after a long exchange of unbudging stares. “Yes, my princess,” he mumbled but didn’t dare to speak another word. Humming approvingly, Visenya pushed herself back up, straightening her posture, and threw her father a questioning look. “So, this is settled, then?”

And Viserys nodded.

“For now, yes. We have to prepare everything accordingly, so it will give you more time to think about it.” Eye rolling, the silver-haired princess sighed. “If it makes you happy, father,” was her only verbal reply to it before spinning on the spot, charcoal coat flaring softly behind her, braided silver hair swaying over the proud scaled shoulder section, and leaving the room with Daemon right at her side.

Just where he belonged.

—

“If the situation occurs and the Queen and I will not produce a male heir, I want Visenya as my successor and heir to the Iron Throne.”

The Small Council almost roared in protest. Especially the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong, held objections against it, directly followed by the Hand himself.

“Your majesty, first this outrageous proposal, and now this?” Otto dared to express his thoughts as first in the round, but Viserys raised a hand to silence them all. He didn’t know when this thought had occurred for the first time, but ever since that ominous day in the past, the king knew that the realm would be in good hands with her as their queen. “My mind is settled upon it,” he declared and rose from his chair at the head of the table.

“If the time comes and I will not have produced a male heir by then, I will name my firstborn daughter Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, as my official successor and heir to the Iron Throne. She is what the realm needs.”

;

One year ago.

The raven arriving at King’s Landing brought distress and turmoil into the Red Keep.

“What does it mean, she is gone?” Rhaenyra asked her mother after hearing her father reading the letter in question out loud. She knew the meaning of said words, but it didn’t make any sense. Her sister would never run away, especially not without her husband, who had just arrived after flying from Dragonstone back to the capital.

Her mother rubbed over her shoulders and sighed. “Maybe your uncle can tell us more,” the queen mumbled as Daemon entered the private chambers of the king, who now started to roar in frustration and anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” The Targaryen prince stopped and glared at his brother. “Do you think I witnessed her wandering off without holding her back?!” Viserys threw the paper scroll onto his table. “Well, it seems like it, does it not? What in the Seven Hells happened?!”

Daemon sighed deeply and let himself fall into an unoccupied chair, not giving a single thought to how he looked now. He didn’t care if he looked defeated.

“I do not know, brother. We ate dinner last night, as we usually do, and everything seemed fine…” Daemon recalled the past night, remembering her smile and her soft touches at the table before they ignored the food entirely, so he could carry her into their chambers and their bed. He felt as if he could feel her searing kisses still on his lips. “In the morning, she was gone without any trace.”

Aemma looked from one man to another. “Do you think she left you?” The prince’s head jerked up to watch the queen with an icy expression. “And why would she do that?” The entire realm knew that the newlywed couple was probably happier than any other in the Seven Kingdoms– a love match indeed. They had witnessed it first hand at the grand royal wedding in the Sept of Baelor, even though they had a secret ceremony in the Gods Woods weeks before the spectacle of the year. The queen sighed again and shook her head. “Where could she have gone? Did you receive any ravens? Viserys?” The question was asked for both men to acknowledge, but both shook their heads in unison.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra looked up after being deep in thought in the past moments. “She told me something about her dreams,” she spoke up, and everyone stared at the young princess. “Dreams?” Viserys asked and took place on the seat opposite his second daughter. The girl nodded. “Visenya told me about a reoccurring dream she had in the past two years. It never changes, only the intervals change. She said it would be more frequent the closer the days gets to the day Rhaegar died.”

Now, Daemon furrowed his brows, remembering how he sometimes woke up to an empty bed and found his now wife leaning next to the widely opened windows overlooking the city or the bay of Dragonstone, mind always sunken deep in thought. She always had told him that she just couldn’t find sleep and didn’t want to wake him with her tossing and turning because he sometimes tended to be a light sleeper. He never objected to it, never thought it seemed off, and now he wished he had.

“Did she ever tell you what those dreams contain?” Daemon asked the young princess, and Rhaenyra slowly nodded. “She once told me that she sees a dragon. Not Rhaegar, a different one. But she never gets close enough to see him or her clearly. It’s always only a looming shadow in the blue sky,” the girl ended and looked from one adult to another. “Maybe she is looking for it. Maybe it is her dragon that is calling for her.”

The queen wasn’t sure if it could be. “Rhaegar had been her dragon, Rhaenyra, just as Syrax is yours. But maybe you are right, and she is following her path.” She eyed Daemon and how he now clung to this new hope and Viserys, who had folded his hands. “We will see what the days will bring. Ser Harrold.” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stepped from his place at the entrance and bowed. “My king.” Viserys raised from his chair. “Let the guards patrol the walls at Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea. If there is any sign of Visenya, let the bells ring.” The Lord Commander bowed again before retreating out of the chambers and preparing the order.

“We will know when she returns home,” the king promised with a wary look outside the opened windows.

–

It took exactly two days full of worry and a gloomy cloud hanging over the Red Keep until something happened.

Daemon and Viserys had just left a Small Council meeting addressing the princess's disappearance– the meeting had ended in a quarrel between the Hand and the Rogue Prince– and walked over the palace’s wall facing the Narrow Sea. It wasn’t an often sight to see the two brothers side by side in almost something resembling harmony. But desperate times required desperate measures, and not knowing where his wife was, was most definitely a desperate moment in his life.

“She will come back,” Viserys spoke up, and Daemon almost flinched at the feeling of his older brother’s hand on his shoulder. “She fought bravely for your union, and that is why I am most certain that she will come back to you. Visenya could never abandon you, as strangely as I still find it.” Now, the prince had to chuckle under his breath because this sounded more like his brother. But then, he turned serious again. “I hope so, brother.”

His words only had left his lips as commotion caught the guards on the lower wall, and the change in winds signaled something coming. As a dragon rider, Daemon knew that feeling of anticipation lingering in the air, and his eyes traveled over the horizon to find the source of said feeling. Viserys felt it as well and rested both hands on the warmed stone of the Keep’s walls, face turned to the Narrow Sea.

There, at the horizon, loomed a dark shadow between white clouds and the blue sky. A shadow that grew larger and larger with every passing moment. The bells started to ring, just as ordered by the king, and Viserys shortly looked up to see Ser Harrold nod in his direction, holding a binoculars in his hand.

The mighty roar, shaking King’s Landing in its very foundations, echoed over the Narrow Sea and traveled even further into the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon grew even bigger, and Daemon shielded his eyes with a hand against the unyielding sun, staring up into the sky with a baffled expression.

The shadow soon morphed into the sight of the largest dragon this world probably has ever seen: sea green scales, peppered by red and blue, wings as far-reaching as seemingly half of King’s Landing, and Daemon knew that the creature’s eyes would be of the clearest green a man could ever witness.

The dragon soon reached the shore and roamed over the sky of the capital, another roar escaping it. The prince instinctively felt that Visenya was atop its back, securely tucked away between the mighty wings, holding onto the scales. And he was right.

Viserys stood in awe at the sight of the flying dragon– the last of the old ones. “Vhagar,” he spoke in wonder, eyes wide and not believing what they were seeing just now.

Vhagar closed her circle over the city and continued her flight to the massive building of the Dragonpit, to which Viserys and Daemon followed straight away.

—

The horses danced around nervously as they approached the landed dragon, but Vhagar didn’t move a single powerful muscle as the king and the prince landed on their feet and stared up at the beast’s head. The oldest of all living dragons– too big for the pit, so it had landed on the outskirts of it– looked down at them, unimpressed, but moved her head as a voice on her back talked gently to her.

“Ziry iksos ry paktot, Vhagar,” (It is all right, Vhagar) the princess calmed her, could she feel her tensing muscles underneath her body after all. Raising her head, it poked up behind the she-dragon’s shoulder, and Daemon hadn’t seen his wife this radiant in a very long time. She sure was radiant every day, but she held a different light to her after flying with her dragon. And ever since Rhaegar died, Visenya had stayed on the ground.

“Dōrī gaomagon bona arlī. Gaomagon ao rȳbagon issa?,” (Never do that again. Do you hear me?) Daemon shook his wife at her shoulders after she had climbed off the dragon and stood in front of him. Visenya softly cradled his face in the palms of her hands and pulled his forehead down against hers. “I am sorry, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) The woman whispered against his lips and let Daemon capture her in his strong arms to lift her off the ground. She circled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes as the Rogue Prince buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with the old but new smell of smoke and fire. “This was what was absent,” Daemon mumbled against her skin, and Visenya pushed silver strands out of his face and behind his ears after he had put her back on the ground. “Am I whole again, then?” Her words betrayed her smile, but Daemon nudged the tip of her nose with his and soothed her rising doubts.

“Do you feel whole again?”

Visenya looked into his eyes, shortly turning her head to watch Vhagar, who growled at everyone coming too close to her new rider, before turning back to Daemon.

“I believe I do.”

;

Present Day.

She missed the days when she was able to wear her perfectly fitting coats and breeches, laced boots up to her knees, and gloves covering her fingers as soon as she left the Red Keep. Well, those times may only be over for the next couple of days, but it was enough to put her already stressed mind into an even more anxious state.

Watching her reflection in the full-length mirror occupying the spot right next to the opening to the balcony in their shared chambers, Visenya let her hands brush over the soft fabric of the dark red dress one of her handmaidens had put her in and smoothed the flaring fabric over her lower body half, revealing the small curve which had made its appearance a few weeks ago. It had been hard ever since because even though she had been thrilled to be able to give her husband their first child finally, it scared her. She knew what had happened to her mother; Visenya had heard her screams echoing through the hallways of the Keep after the maesters and her father had pushed her out of her room without so much as a teary-eyed whispered Goodbye.

And now, she could be in the same position as her beloved mother, who was now dead– and her beautiful boy had followed right after. Daemon could have to choose between her and the babe, and Visenya never wanted to put him through this torture. She currently saw what it had done to her father.

Swallowing dryly, her eyes were settled unmoving on the curve of her stomach where a life had started to grow and she didn’t realizes the arrival of the prince. He entered their rooms slowly and silently, his eyes instantly resting on his wife. His fingers opened the sword belt to put Dark Sister on the top of their bed covers, and his feet carried him over to her still form. Daemon circled his arms around Visenya’s waist, propping his chin atop her right shoulder, and his ring-clad hand softly stroked the growing belly of the love of his life.

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jawline, and pulled her back against his strong chest. Visenya looked at him through the mirror, a loving expression on her face, the fear gone for the moment. “How are the dragons?” She smiled at his chuckle; the smell of fire and smoke wafted through the air around them. “I think Vhagar misses you, but I am not entirely sure because she still is not my friend.” The princess now grinned and leaned her temple against the side of his head. “She will someday come around,” she mumbled and closed the lilac eyes as Daemon continued to stroke her stomach over the fabric. “And how is my prince or princess?”

Visenya swallowed again but softly shrugged. “Apart from the pestering sickness in the morning?” Daemon nodded, his eyes transfixed on her body, still wondering how he had achieved this miracle of turning his life into something resembling this bliss. “The maester said everything is how it is supposed to be,” she whispered, not daring to look into his eyes as the prince raised his gaze. “I did not ask what this old sucker with his wandering hands told you, issa jorrāelagon.” (my love) Visenya sighed and felt the fear rising again within her body. “I am scared.” The confession left her lips in a hushed mumble, almost too ashamed to confess. As if she didn’t appreciate and love the baby they had created together– the perfect combination of Daemon and her. But she just couldn’t shake off the feeling lingering since the day of her mother’s death and the discovery of her very own pregnancy mere weeks later.

Daemon now softly turned her around in his embrace and guided her to one of the two grand chairs facing each other in front of the balcony, the soft fur of a glorious stag on the stone floor in front of them. The prince coaxed the princess to sit down, even though she started to protest. “It is nothing, really. Only a silly thought. We must go anyway; we cannot let them wait on this particular day.” His stone-hard stare silenced her as he kneeled in front of her, and Visenya looked down at her tangled fingers, watched how the morning light let the stone of the ring Daemon gifted her on their wedding night shine. “I do not care a single fuck of what those bloody bastards think,” he murmured and let her play with the ring for a second. He knew that soothed her.

But then his strong pointer finger underneath her chin moved her gaze back up to him. “It is because of your mother, is it?” Visenya nodded, barely palpable, and Daemon sighed. He had suspected something, especially because the court still didn’t know about the happy news, but the prince didn’t dare to ask her when they would announce it. He knew she had to process everything– the grief over her mother, the fright over the traumatic birth he knew she had witnessed in parts, the knowledge that something so life-affirming could turn into something so dreadful.

But he could take one of her fears right here, right now.

“Issa jorrāelagon,” (my love) Daemon called her gently, his voice bringing her back into reality, back to him. Visenya lost the distant expression in her eyes and focused her entire being on the man on his knee in front of her. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon ziry,” (Do not fear it) he continued, and something very peaceful settled within her chest as he talked in Valyrian to her. It had always been their way of communicating. “Nyke jāhor daor iderēbagon se rūs toliot ao.” (I will not choose the baby over you) The princess swallowed thickly and leaned her cheek more into his palm as Daemon cupped it as soft as a breeze on her skin in summer. “Ao issi se sȳrje mirre isse issa glaeson. Daorun jāhor arlinnon bona. Daorys jāhor arlinnon bona.” (You are the most important/the best thing in my life. Nothing will change that. No one will change that.) She could see the heartache in his eyes; the fear of losing her to something he could never control because it was one of the few things the gods reserved entirely for themselves.

Visenya cupped Daemon’s cheek, her thumb caressing the skin over his cheekbone. “Yn ao jaelagon ziry. Ao jaelagon nykeā prince,” (But you want it. You want an heir.) she whispered, and Daemon smiled the smile entirely reserved for her eyes to witness; a smile so small but containing so much love, it always amazed her. “Nyke jaelagon ao tolī. Nyke jorrāelagon ao tolī,” (I want you more. I need you more.) he returned with a certainty she could live with. “Se īlon kostagon va moriot sylugon arlī. Nyke gaomagon daor mind se mirre.” (And we can always try again. I do not mind the work) His suggestively raised eyebrows made the princess laugh, and Daemon smirked.

“But I mean it,” he now changed back into the common tongue. He pulled Visenya closer to him at her waist, closer to the edge of the chair, so she had to spread her legs in order to make room for him. The princess settled her hands around his neck, carded her fingers through his silver strands, and played with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. “I will not make the same choice– and mistake– my brother, did all those weeks ago. I will not sacrifice you in order to get a potential heir because we can try uncountable times– but I only have one Visenya.” Blinking, Visenya tried to hide the tears and prevent them from falling, but Daemon knew her all too well. “I may cannot take the fear over the birth and the upcoming weeks, but I will promise you that I will be by your side, protect you whatever might come– especially protect you from those wandering hands. It is as if I still can see them on you.” With that, Daemon gripped her hips tighter and pulled her face to him to finally kiss her.

But a knock at their chamber’s door let Visenya hold back. “Yes?” Daemon grumbled, and one of the servants opened the door. “Your highnesses.” He bowed shortly. “The court is gathered in the Great Hall and awaits your arrival, princess.” She sighed and nodded. “You can tell them their future queen will be there when she is ready.” Daemon stood tall in the room and strode over to the door to close it with much more force than was really necessary. The poor servant had to stumble back into the corridor with a baffled expression.

“Daemon,” Visenya scolded him and pushed herself off the chair. She softly rolled her eyes as the prince gathered her back in his arms and leaned his head down. “As I said: They can wait for their queen.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, and the princess closed her eyes as his lips made contact with her forehead, slowly wandering down over her temple to her lips. “My Queen,” he rasped before kissing her like a starved man.

;

I really don’t know where all these words came from, and I’m sorry for this shitty work, but I had to write it down to get it out of my head :x The next Daemon work will be much better hopefully!

But thanks for reading! As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon daemon targaryen #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #oc!targaryen #hotd s1 #hotd spoilers

[goddammitstacey]

LAST MINUTE XMAS COMMISSION SLOTS ARE OPEN!

Hello and welcome to me being horrifically unorganised (again). I'm opening up some last-minute Pet Portrait commissions to help me recoup some of the $$ sucked out of my bank account by my recent surgery.

So if you'd like to gift a loved one a custom vector illustration of their favourite animal companion for the curse- I mean blessed holiday season, now's your chance!

You can see some examples of previous works here*.

Or email me at [email protected] with a few photos of the pet in question if you're ready to get the ball rolling.

Thaaaaanks!

*please ignore any website jankiness as I get it back up and running 😅

#art commissions open #art commisions #pet portrait #Christmas gift ideas #Christmas

[bytedykes]

nyaaaaa :3 xD youve been tagged by the furry police!! x3 send this to 6 other furries u know to tag them by the furry police too! uwu :3 nyaaa xD! if u get this sent back 10 times you're a furry criminal xDD, if you get this sent back 5 times u are a furry thief owo who stole furry hearts, if u got this 3 times thn u are a furry PIRATE O_O ! once means u are just a Furry ;3

hi thanks for this ask bestie i hate it deeply <3

@juiicebox and also im tagging apollo but idr the url </3

#asks #ftag #:cursed: thaaaaanks #im not even a furry adskksk 😭

[ladyshandioftheendless]

\m/

#nothing like seeing a house labeled contingent #but this time it's because of you~ #I shouldn't be talking so much about this cause I'm still afraid of jinxing it #but I'm excited!! #do me a solid and don't curse us plz universe thaaaaanks

[heartburstings]

whenever the Cursed One rbs one of my posts i lose three years off my life

#choro speaks #vague - #TBH if i've ever talked to u it's not u #the Cursed One is someone i will never talk to bc i hate them #if u've never faked ur death it's not u #the Cursed One is someone who's faked their death before because what the fuck! #^ v^) i love u guys !! stay good <3 #and @ Cursed One if u kno who u are: don't talk to me ever thaaaaanks ~ #nothing personal! you didn't do anything wrong to me personally but you did hurt my friend and to me that's unforgivable #<3

[popopretty]

Hi ! I have a question, there is a new cover for volume 22, and there is a God eye in it ( arahabaki) that is connected to sheep skull ( king of sheeps - Chuuya) on Fyodor side the skull is cracked- it might means that he is just a card to use by Fyodor, but on Dazai side it is covered in red camilias ( soukoku red camilias )

Overall what do you think it means ? Do you think that Chuuya or Dazai will die ?

Or do you believe that these events take place in book ( on this side that is being written), and like people who died didn't really dies etc

I'm panicking so much because im so scared of Dazai and Chuuyas life rn

Thaaaaank u so much for all your hard work on this blog, I still have tumbler because of you and your great blog ! Love u so much, i want you to know that we are all so thankful !

Hi there,

Thank you for the questions and for the lovely words.

About the cover this time, I think there can be many interpretation to it. I’m not sure about the eye, my first impression is that it reminds me of the Millenium Eye in Yugi-oh (lol), that has the power to read peope’s mind and tamper with their soul. It sounds exactly like what Dazai and Fyodor is doing in this arc though, so I just decided to go with it.

The ram skull does remind me of Chuuya, especially when it is covered in camellia (which is Chuuya’s flower). Camellia in Japanese’s flower language represents “modest splendor, unpretentious grace, humble virtue.” You may also find camellia printed in some mourning cards in Japan, because, according to some sources I have read, ancient people found that the way camellia drops from the branch when it dies looks like someone’s head falling, so sometimes it is associated with death, a beautiful death as camellia falls from the root and stays as a whole beautiful flower till the end. That being said, I think the camellia in the cover just simply hints the appearance of Chuuya in the arc, because it would become spoilery if he is drawn explicitly.

I don’t think Chuuya or Dazai will die. Chuuya, even when turned into a vampire, is not dead yet. Bram’s ability is somewhat similar to Q’s, so when the vampire curse is stopped, everyone should go back to normal I believe. I’m more worried about Akutagawa who has already been dead before he was turned.

#bsd #ask #spoilers #bsd spoilers

[minuitdanslalune]

Hello! On the off chance no one's mentioned lately, I am here to remind you that you are a wonderful person and a talented artist, and I still look forward to your Flower Curse AU whenever more of it appears!

!!!!!!!!! No words how howww???? Too nice thaaaaank youu( soon it willbebacksoooon)

[timeoutforthee]

Trick or Treat-Spooky Month

Summary: Even more Child!Roman and Deceit and Big Brother!Virgil and Logan, complete with more feelings than anticipated, and some minor Analogical.

TWs: sympathetic deceit, let me know if I need to add anything else

Words: 1,790

@sanderssidesspook

“No.”

Virgil is darkness. Virgil is bitterness. Virgil is not going to break under the puppy eyes of a seven year old.

Roman sticks his lip out, and holds out the costume more insistently.

“Pleeeeeease, big brother?” And, oh, he’s pulling that card.

“Ro,” Virgil says, looking at his ceiling, because he’s rolling his eyes and not because he’s avoiding that pouty look, shut up, “I have helped you find your costume. I have made your tail. I have given you scales-”

“The best scales in all the land!”

“Sure. I think I’ve fulfilled my big brotherly duties.”

“Nooooo,” Roman whined. “You have to come with me.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Fine then. You want to.”

“I beg to differ.”

“...is that a yes? I don’t know what that means.”

“No, Roman. Mom can take you like every other year.”

“But...but I picked this outfit out just for you. Don’t you like it?” Roman said, “I thought you could be my brother-witch who cursed me into being a dragon. Wouldn’t that be fun?” And, oh shit, now his eyes are getting watery.

No, I am strong, dammit!

“Roman…,” Virgil stops as Roman’s lip trembles and he realizes he is very, very weak and pouty children have too much power in society, “Fiiiiine.”

^

“I hate it.”

Logan smiles from behind his little brother, who has black and yellow scales painted on the top half of his face. To make this new costume, they got a plain black onesie, and they painted the accurate markings (okay, not completely accurate. D.C. had taken some creative liberties and Logan couldn’t say no) on the back. After some searching, Logan found some yellow contacts that were comfy enough for his brother to wear, so they were in as well. They even stuck some fangs on his teeth, and they were surprisingly staying in place.

“I’m glad,” Logan said as his brother walked over and hugged his leg. Keeping with the theme, Logan had dressed up in khaki shorts, a tan shirt, and a hat, going for a zoologist, “Don’t smear your makeup.”

“I’m a snake.”

“Yes.”

“I’m squeezing you to death.”

“That’s a boa constrictor, D.”

“I am a magic snake. I have all the best parts of every snake. So I can squeeze you to death if I wanted.”

“Ah, I see. In that case, I am very afraid,” Logan says, not being able to fight back a smile, “But if you want candy, we better get going. So you’ll have to let go of my leg.”

^

“I think I made your costume too amazing, Virgil,” Roman frowned, “You look better than me.”

“I think you’re just saying that because I have more glitter than you,” Virgil says, looking in the mirror.

And, boy, does he have glitter. He has no idea how Roman found this stuff, and he’s definitely going to have to talk to their mom about this. His pants are bell bottoms, because apparently those still exist, and they are covered in purple glittery spiderwebs. His top is a simple black one, except for the black bat wing sleeves (he’s kinda living for that aesthetic though, not gonna lie.) He has a gigantic plastic belt looped around his waist. His shoulders are covered by a sheer black cape that, again, has purple glitter covering it. It’s all topped off with a hat, which is, of course, purple.

Virgil suddenly regrets having a favorite color.

“...Virgil?”

“I will add more glitter to your scales.”

Roman grins, “Thaaaaank you!”

They make their way out to the kitchen, where they haven’t cleaned the makeup and facepaint up yet. Roman sits sideways on the chair, so his tail doesn’t get in the way. He has a black dress on, coming down to his calves, because he insisted that he had to show off his ankles, which needed to be in striped socks, Virgil! Virgil has somehow constructed a tail out of cloth and stuffing. They’ve added wings, which were originally bat wings, but now were painted green. He has a classic pointy hat, or at least it was classic, until he insisted on painting it with glitter glue.  

The real star of the outfit, of course, were the scales. They were a gradient of dark blue to light green, with glitter in the dark blue area. No matter how much they tried, they couldn’t think of a way to recreate fire, so Virgil had dabbed a little bit of black lipstick into the center of Roman’s lips, to make it look like ash.

“You know, this means you have to wait until you get home to eat the candy,” he warned.

Roman pulled back and looked at him seriously.

“For fashion,” he said, “Anything.”

Virgil had to turn to his head to the side, so he could make sure he didn’t laugh in his brother’s face. Roman frowned.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

Since he was adding more glitter, this time in the green area, he went ahead and added some red glitter in the center of the black lipstick. Roman smiled.

“Are you going to do your makeup, Virgil?”

“I always do my makeup.”

“Are you gonna do your makeup fun?” Roman’s eye lit up, “Are you going to add glitter?”

“Absolutely not.”

^

Virgil was weak. That’s what he was going to tell anyone who looked at him weird for having a glittery spider on his temple or eyebags that were made of purple glitter.

Which he might have to do, because the cute guy from his math class is right there, and Virgil looks ridiculous, so of course that’s when this would happen. Maybe he could just blend in, be invisible, they’d walk right by each other-

“Virgil?” Logan says from the other side of the street.

Of course not, Virgil looked like a goddamn road flare.

“Heyyyy, Logan,” Virgil says, pausing on the sidewalk.

Roman sends a look over his shoulder, “Oh? Logan?”

“Roman, I swear to God-”

He tugs on Virgil’s hand harder, all but dragging him to Logan. Logan is looking at him curiously, and Virgil is lucky he can hide under his hat.

“Hi!” Roman says, beaming up at Logan, “I’m Roman! Virgil’s favorite little brother!”

“You’re my only brother.”

Logan snickers, then pauses. “Wait, Roman? Are you in Mr. Patton’s class?”

“Ummmm...yeah?”

“I’m just asking because I believe my brother is in the same class.”’

“Who?”

“Logan, I totally didn’t get any good candy-” D.C. freezes as he looks up and sees Roman talking to his brother.

Roman looks over and narrows his eyes. The witch near him seems to sense the danger, because he immediately whispers “Roman, be nice.” Something in D.C.’s stomach drops, because for a normal kid, you don’t have to be told to be nice.

“D,” Logan whispers, holding his arm out. D.C. runs and ducks behind him, not even accepting his hug. His lip is trembling and he definitely doesn’t want his classmate to see that. He feels Logan’s hand in his hair, and he tries to relax.

Virgil is confused. But there is a crying child behind Logan, and that is never good, and his little brother might have caused that, but also is this kid the one Roman said called him lame? He looks down at his little brother, who just looks back at him in confusion.

“D...are you...okay?” Roman asks, carefully.

“Yes.” He’s squeezing his eyes shut so the tears don’t come out.

“D…,” Logan sighs, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You see-” D.C. frantically pokes his older brother in the leg, shaking his head.

“What misunderstanding?” Roman asks.

Logan sighs, and looks over at Virgil, even though he knows Virgil can’t help him explain maladaptive coping skills and childhood trauma to seven year old.

“D.C. lies sometimes,” and he is decidedly not looking his little brother, because he might be crying, and Logan simply couldn’t handle that.

“Lies? Why?”

“I can totally control it,” D.C. says, his voice watery. Roman wrinkles his eyebrows.

“He...somethings are hard for him, so he feels the only way he can control things is by lying,” Logan is desperately looking at Virgil, hoping he at least understands. Virgil gives the slightest nod of his head, then kneels down so he’s eye level with Roman.

“You know how I get panic attacks because I feel like the world is too much?”

“Yeah…?”

“D.C. feels like the world is too much, so he lies to make it a little less. He can’t control it, just like I can’t control my panic attacks.”

Logan can hear his little brother sniffling, so he cards his fingers through his hair, reminding him he’s there, even if Roman doesn’t get it, even if-

But Roman is putting everything together, slowly. If he lies...and he called him lame...and he can’t control it…

His cheeks turn red. Oh.

“Oh…,” he says out loud, slowly.

D.C. is still holding on to his brother, even though his knuckles are turning white. He pushes down any sliver of hope, because Roman didn’t understand, he couldn’t-

He blinks and suddenly Roman is holding out a hand. He takes it slowly, and then he’s being pulled along, hand clutched in Roman’s.

“Roman, you can’t go anywhere without me,” Virgil reminds him.

“You wouldn’t let me out of your sight if I tried,” Roman says, still strolling along.

Logan snickers as he and Virgil trail after them.

“Where are you going?”

“We’re going to battle a dragon.”

This time Logan full on laughs, and Virgil feels himself flushing. He just had a cute laugh, ok?

“A dragon?” D. C. asks. He’s stopped crying but his eyes are still a little red.

“Yes,” Roman says, very seriously, “And through our epic battle, an unbreakable friendship will form.” Then he leans back and starts whispering to D.C., who immediately starts giggling and whispers back.

Virgil narrows his eyes, “What are you guys-”

“There!” Roman shouts suddenly, making a beeline to a patch of grass in between two houses.

“Wh-Wait!” Virgil says, “What about trick or treating?”

“Oh,” Roman says, smiling, “I guess you’re just going to have to do it for us.” He shoves his  plastic pumpkin into Virgil’s hands.

“We’d really hate it,” D.C. says, pushing his bag into Logan’s hands. Then they both take off, even though they make sure they’re in clear view of both of their older brothers.

“Did we just get set up?” Virgil asks.

Logan smiles at him and he blushes.

“Accept our fate, Virgil,” he says as they walk up to a new house, ringing the doorbell.

“Trick or treat.”.

#sanders sides spooky month #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #sympathetic deceit #my writing #haha guess what i like this au more than I though I would and there's gonna be a part three tomorrow #oops #there's a reference to iliza schlesinger in there

[angsty-nerd]

Fictober 25

Another shortie...

#25. I could really eat something.

Roswell, NM Fanfic

Maria & Liz, gen, post S-1.

Maria poured herself a tequila shot and quickly knocked it back, closing her eyes as she felt the familiar burn of the liquor on her throat, the warmth in her stomach. She gestured the bottle towards Liz, but her friend waved it off.

"I've gotta keep my head clear. I'm going back to the lab after this. But talk to me, Maria! What's going on?"

"Stupid Guerin." Maria complained, as she poured herself another shot. "Just...stupid Guerin being stupid. He's been a mess ever since…" Maria froze and met Liz's eyes apologetically.

"...ever since Max died. I know." Liz finished, her voice emotionless. Maria cursed herself for being too focused on herself and Guerin and not thinking about her best friend. Michael wasn't the only one messed up over Max. The only difference between the two of them was how they channeled their grief. Guerin was a loud, hot, angry mess. Liz was burying her emotions and focusing all of her energy on her lab work, on trying to save Max.

"What did he do this time?" Liz asked her.

Maria sighed. "Oh you know...he was already pretty drunk when he got here tonight. Used his powers to snag a bottle of whiskey while I was busy with an actual paying customer and got even sloppier. Took it out to the parking lot and picked fights with the rednecks until the deputies showed up to arrest him."

"Uggghhh," Liz groaned. "He's in jail again?"

"He should rot in there for a few days, Liz. Maybe he'll sober up and realize that he needs to clean up his life a bit."

"Maybe…" Liz pondered. "The problem is that I need him for my research. I can go a day or two, but eventually I'm going to need more samples from him, at minimum. And when he can stay sober his brain actually helps too."

Maria knocked back the second tequila shot. "You know, Liz? Twelve years ago when Kyle first asked you out and we had that sleepover party, you know, the one where you came clean and told us all about how he did it and your first kiss and everything. Then we did all of those quizzes in Seventeen Magazine on how to know when you've found 'the one'. Back then we never could have imagined that we'd be sitting here today talking about our alien boyfriends."

"YOUR alien boyfriend," Liz corrected her. "Officially I don't have an alien boyfriend right now. I have an alien corpse."

"Liz!" Maria cried out. But Liz stopped her from saying more with a gesture.

"No. Please don't, Maria. I just can't." Maria nodded sadly. "But tell me what I can do for you? Do you need anything? Anything at all?"

The question took Maria a little by surprise. She had texted Liz, asking her to drop by the Pony because she wanted a friendly ear to vent to about the latest incident Guerin. But now her concern had shifted to Liz's well being, and yet, her friend was still worrying about Maria?

“I could really eat something.” Maria admitted, slowly, as she was just now realizing it. “Oh my gosh, yeah...I’m so hungry!”

Liz laughed out loud. “Thank goodness that one is easy for me to fix. You finish locking up and I’ll be back in 20 minutes with some burgers.”

“Ohhhh...you’re my hero, Liz. Thaaaaank you.”

“Hey, I’ve got you." Liz smiled at her friend as she slid off of her barstool. "But Maria? Maybe don't do any more tequila shots on an empty stomach? I'll be back soon."

Maria saluted her friend, and then went back to cleaning tables.

#rnm gen fanfic #my fanfic #maria deluca #liz ortecho #max is still dead #fictober19

[amepcrdue]

Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are from five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends!

Tagged by: @americanalien (thaaaaank you middy, you know i love these things) Tagging: @heavensarch @eternallyretold (hilde) @starcfchaos @agentnineteen and anyone else who wants to do it!

“ Perhaps I was enamored with the idea of promises, with vows. ” - Soulcalibur VI, Amy’s Soul Chronicle (Chapter 5)

Raphael was always a schemer and a cold and cruel person as a noble. But upon meeting Amy, he had experienced something he’d never felt before, kindness (even if her actions weren’t to save him but to spite the guards). It stirred a feeling of love and devotion for the young girl. After that, he became a man of his word, promising all he could to her and delivering on most of it. But some promises were too big and he was unable to keep them like he wanted too. He’d grown enamored with having the ability to promise things and give meaning to them. And the promises he made after he spoke this line he was never able to keep.

“Fate, I curse thee!” - Soulcalibur VI, Amy’s Soul Chronicle (Chapter 9)

While this is said in a vision that Amy has, it’s entirely possible that the events she’s viewing are what happens to Raphael during his fateful battle with Nightmare (she instead sees him the day they met, being cornered and impaled by the city guards before he utters this curse and roars as he becomes malfested). Regardless, the quote exemplifies how Raph comes to view things after his ousting from the nobility. That fate has had it in for him, for every right move there’s something waiting to destroy what he’s worked towards. Even when things are peaceful at the manor and nothing more stands in the way of a peaceful existence for Raphael and Amy, he’s restless because he feels fate has it in for him. He curses fate, that it would ever deign to try to tear him down so utterly and completely.

“Do not delude yourself, thou wretched fool.” - Soulcalibur, various entries

You want an arrogant shit lord? Here he is. Raphael thinks himself better than everyone else. Though he went through a few years of being a truly good person, humbled, even, by what he had endured when he lost it all again, the arrogance came back tenfold. Raphael went from being a noble thinking himself better than everyone else to being a malfested “knowing” he was better than everyone else. He was no longer human, he was beyond it. And he sought to remind everyone of such. 

“You have failed, but I will not!” - Soulcalibur II, Destined Battle victory quote against Nightmare/Siegfried, Raphael’s arcade mode.

More on Raphael’s arrogance, though here it was when he was still human and hunting down Soul Edge. Raphael recognized how Siegfried was struggling with the blade, even as the monstrous Nightmare, and Raphael was quick to point it out. He takes pleasure in pointing out the weakness in others and exploiting it when he can. More so if it makes him look even better.

“You will regret not killing me... when you had the chance.” - Soulcalibur III, Destined Battle intro quote against Siegfried

Can you tell I love how arrogant Raphael is through most of the series? It makes his time as a good man so much more poignant and his recovery from death, having to learn about himself so much better. But more so, he knows what he’s capable of and he knows that he would absolutely destroy his foes if given even the slightest chance. And he wants his enemies to know it too. Raphael is dangerous, and not to be underestimated and he’ll let you know as such.

#~*meme*~ #god i spent a long time on this

[almaasi]

i dunno when it happened but my 10k de-aged!Sam Destiel fic Wee Little Love Child now has 1001 beautiful kudos!!!!!

THAaaaaNK YOuuuuUUUU *toots miniature trumpet*

After being magically de-aged, little Sammy is under the impression that Dean and Cas are his parents. He wants to know if they're in love, but they can't (or won't) give a consistent answer. The thing is, they have to grant Sam's greatest wish in order to reverse the curse, but they can only do that as a pair. What does Sam want most? For Dean and Cas to express their true feelings. Aloud. To each other.

read the fic~~

or all my other Dean/Cas fics

or buy me coffee

or support me on patreon!!!

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Destiel fic rec #Elmie writes things #Wee Little Love Child #post of postiness #milestones

[vicariousphotographer]

SEXUAL PREFERENCES

bold - applies always. italic - applies sometimes. 

* INCLINATIONS/HABITS:

is submissive   |   is dominant  |   prefers to top  |   prefers to bottom   |   likes to switch   |   identifies as heterosexual  |   identifies as homosexual  |   identifies as bisexual  |   identifies as pansexual |   identifies as demisexual  |   identifies as asexual   |   enjoys sex with men  |   enjoys sex with women   |   enjoys sex with multiple people at one time   |  initiates  |   waits for partner to initiate   |   spits   |   swallows   |   prefers sex in the morning   |   prefers sex at night   |   prefers sex any time   |   no sex drive   |   low sex drive   |   average sex drive   |   high sex drive   |   hypersexual

* BODY/APPEARANCE:

small build   |   medium build  |   athletic build   |   muscular build   |   curvy build   |   voluptuous build  |   wears boxers   |   wears lingerie   |   goes ‘commando’   |  shaves/waxes  |   doesn’t shave/wax   |   cup size a-c   |   cup size d-f   |   1-5" in length   |   6-9" in length   |   10" or over in length

* SOUNDS:

is silent / makes little to no sounds  |   is very quiet   |   is very loud   |   grows in volume over time  |   bites hand / partner / pillow to muffle themselves  |   calls out partner’s name   |   curses   |   fakes/exaggerates   |   prefers a quiet partner   |   prefers a loud partner   |   is turned on by dirty talk   |   is turned off by dirty talk

* TURN-ONS/KINKS:

having their hands pinned  |   pinning their partner’s hands  |  having their hair pulled  | pulling their partner’s hair  |   being watched (by their partner)  |   being watched (by a third party)   |   watching their partner  |   receiving oral   |   giving oral   | giving praise  |  receiving praise |   biting / marking   |  being bitten / marked   |   spanking   |   being spanked   |   teasing   |  being teased  | having toys used on them  |   using toys on their partner   |   giving anal |   receiving anal   |   choking   |   being choked  |   dirty talk   |  being tied up  |   tying their partner up  |  being worshiped  |   worshiping their partner  |  humiliating   |   being humiliated  |  degrading  |   being degraded   |   knife play  |   blood play   |   being pegged |   pegging

tagged by: @celestialspitfire ( thaaaaank~! ) tagging: you

#( that's....a lot of kinks lmao ) #📷 ↠ ⌠ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʳᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵐᶦʳʳᵒʳ﹔ʰᶦˢ ˢᵒᵘᶫ ᶫᶦᵉˢ ʷᶦᵗʰᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᶰᵈᶫᵉˢˢ ᵈᵉᵖᵗʰˢ | HEADCANONS ⌡ #;nsfw;

[fleetofshippyships-archive]

Heyo! Could you write Draco/Ron with the prompt "Would you stop that!" Thaaaaanks

(Here we go! First time writing them together! Nervous, but I quite like how it turned out myself =) hope you do too!)

“Would you stop that?” Draco hissed.

Ron raised an eyebrow, and his face set into a stubborn expression that made Draco’s breath hitch for a moment. Once an expression that signalled only annoyance and suffering, it had lately become a signal for a very long and pleasurable night ahead.

Today, however, it would be annoyance again.

Ron held Draco’s gaze, and reached out again, taking another flower from the centrepiece, and proceed to de-petal it as well.

Draco grit his teeth, and made a surreptitious sweep of the restaurant. “I know you were raised in a bloody shed for all the good you are in civilised society, but can you at least try to act like you belong here?”

Ron threw the flower stem at him, and held his gaze. A year ago, he would have turned red and drawn his wand, now he only kept that eyebrow raised, and looked more amused than anything.

Draco picked up the flower stem, and deposited it back in the vase. Service was slow tonight, and it was only making things more awkward.

“You’re a disgrace,” he muttered.

“You’ll never get me to enjoy eating a stuck-up place like this,” Ron said, slouching in his chair, and looking about the place with a judgmental expression. “But I’m here. Don’t be such a fucking wanker about it.”

Draco felt his cheeks flush with heat. Yes, he was there. After months of failed attempts. Finally.

“You’re ruining the purpose of this venture by looking like you want to be somewhere else,” he said, hating the petulance that seeped into his tone.

Ron looked back at him, and leaned forward. “We could have ‘announced’ our relationship any other bloody way. This circus is completely unnecessary!”

Draco scowled as he made air quotes with his fingers. For once, he agreed, and would much rather have done this another way. But in this society, it was the fastest way. No two wizards ate dinner together at an establishment like this unless they were dating. That was the way it was. Any other outing could be misinterpreted. And he refused to be like some of the others in the past, carefully planning ‘accidental’ exposure while snogging somewhere. Disgraceful.

But letting Ron know he also didn’t want to be there would only result in getting dragged out of there. As soon as Ron knew Draco agreed with him, about anything, then he won, and would not stop until things were changed. He never could grasp the concept of doing something unsavoury when there were better ways.

No grasp on tradition, even if his family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

“It’s dinner, Weasley,” Draco hissed. “Suck it up, as you like to say. It will be over in an hour and a half.”

Ron’s expression contorted at the use of his last name, and Draco cursed himself.

Leaning forward, Ron lowered his voice. “Don’t call me that again, unless you want me to drag you out of here and have you over the closest available surface, Malfoy.”

Heat rushed to Draco’s cheeks again, and strongly enough that he was surely blushing. The shift to satisfaction in Ron’s expression confirmed it.

Their host finally showed himself a moment later, depositing their meal, and topping up their drinks. Ron didn’t look away from Draco for a moment, and Draco cleared his throat, and tried not to look at him directly.

Merlin only knew he’d rather be getting laid than participating in this stupid tradition of outing himself. All the people whose opinion he cared for knew anyway. It was just the damn public.

But he was so sick of those articles about how delightful it was that he’d changed enough to spark a friendship with Ron Weasley, War Hero. A friendship. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted on no public displays of affection while they were on dates. Ron had called him a daft sod for it.

Huffing to himself, he looked down at his food, no longer hungry. His stomach was churning, as he suddenly remembered that there was a chance that this may all go terribly wrong. Just because his ‘friendship’ with Ron and the other Gryffindorks had been accepted didn’t mean a romantic liaison would be.

“What did I order?” Ron asked, and Draco looked up to see him squinting suspiciously at his meal. “I can’t even tell what this is.”

Laughter bubbled up in Draco’s throat, and some of it escaped before he could stop it. Ron glared up at him.

“Piss of!” he hissed, keeping his voice low in an odd show of propriety. “You know I don’t know shit about this fancy food.”

Draco shook his head. Once, he had loved the idea of going to fancy dinners with a partner, and all the society events. Now, they were only fun due to the commentary Ron provided, if he managed to drag him along. More and more he found himself despising the things he’d once dreamed of.

Playing Quidditch with the Weasleys on their cramped property, or playing chess with Ron in bed, was far more enjoyable.

Maybe he should have just snogged him in public and been done with it, even if it was not the done thing.

A hand suddenly covered his, and he looked up. Ron was looking serious, and his hand tightened over Draco’s.

“Say the word, and we’re out of here,” he said, almost too low to be heard. “You know I don’t want to be here, that I think this tradition is utter bollocks. I’m only here for you. If you don’t want this, then what the fuck are we doing here?”

Draco swallowed heavily. Why had he tried to cling to this last trace of tradition anyway? He’d already broken with tradition in so many other ways after the war. Why was this so ingrained in him? Because he thought he’d never even have the chance to participate in this antiquated rite of passage? So sure he’d have to marry some witch and continue the line, ignoring the fact that he would never be truly happy with a woman, and despising infidelity, and knowing he would never even do that to get what he wanted?

“Draco?” Ron prompted softly. “Don’t be a prideful git, yeah? We were here for long enough, right?”

Draco pulled his hand away, and straightened in his chair. He hid his hands in his lap, so no one would see them shaking, and fixed Ron with a snide look.

“Watch your language, Weasley,” he sneered. “This isn’t the barn you were raised in.”

It took a moment for Ron to realise what he’d done, but it was obvious the moment he did, in the slight curve to his lips, and that way his gaze intensified.

If they went to Ron’s flat, the closest available surface was the back of the couch in the lounge. If they went to Draco’s flat, it was a table in the entryway.

He couldn’t quite decide which he preferred, so when Ron stood, and took his upper arm in a firm grip, he let him choose the destination.

It was going to be a much more enjoyable night either way.

Prompting rules | My other prompted drabbles: Tumblr or AO3

#draco x ron #ron x draco #slytherdornet #hprarepairnet #draco malfoy #harry potter #my fanfic #whispurdmusings #asked and answered #prompted writing #*

[shokugekiimagines]

the 92nd gen. guys going through a labor simulator? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) with soueri, takumegu, ryoali, akisako, ikumi x isami, ryoko x ibusaki, and marui x zenji as supports?? you can choose the other supports! thaaaaanks

OHOOHOHOHO. And I’ll pair Yuki with Marui haha, maybe that’s what you meant to put.

SoRina:

SOMA IS JUST SUFFERING SO MUCH.

Erina is quite terrified she’ll have to endure this someday.

“IT HURTS, IT HURTS, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.”

HE IS SQUEEZING ERINA’S HAND.

“THIS IS THE WORST, THIS IS THE WORST, I CAN’T.”

He just lays in Erina’s arms after, quietly saying sorry that he’ll make her go through this when they have their own children.

TakuMegu:

TAKUMI IS CRYING.

“THIS HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH, HOW THE FUCK-”

He’s having small reflexes and he wheezes and he is just crying.

Megumi is just squeezing his hand as much as he is squeezing hers.

HE JUST WANTS TO MOVE AROUND, ANYTHING TO DISTRACT HIM.

Takumi just lets Megumi know how much he loves her and how he’ll be there for her when she has to go through this.

RyoAli:

RYOU IS JUST CURSING SO MUCH.

Alice is telling him to SUCK IT UP AND PUSH.

“FUUUUUUCK. WHAT THE FUCK.”

He is trying so hard to distract himself.

“THESE ARE CONTRACTIONS???”

He knows Alice will do so much better than he ever will, I mean come on.

AkiSako:

Cannot handle this pain AT ALL.

“I FEEL LIKE I’M GETTING RAN OVER BY A BUS REPEATEDLY.”

He is just yelling so much as he literally kicks around.

Hisako is trying to GET HIM TO DO BREATHING EXERCISES BUT THEY AREN’T WORKING.

Hayama literally feels like throwing up right after.

“We never speak of this..”

IsaIku:

Isami is trying so hard to remain calm.

“I hate this, I hate this sO MUCH.”

Ikumi is kind of laughing but then she realizes she’ll have to go through this herself.

Isami is quietly crying as more ‘contractions’ hit.

“This is a freaking machine. IMAGINE REAL LABOR.”

He starts screaming when the contractions are even worse.

IbuRyo:

Ibusaki is silently cursing at first. At first.

Ryoko just feels him squeeze her hand more and she’s kind of wincing but CONTRACTIONS MAN.

“I feel like…my stomach is being ripped apart…”

He STARTS CURSING OUT LOUD AS A SECOND WAVE OF CONTRACTIONS HIT HIM.

RYOKO JUST TRYING TO HELP HIM REMAIN CALM.

“I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS.”

MarYu:

HE IS CRYING, HE IS SHAKING.

HIS VOICE PITCHES WITH EACH SCREAM.

“MAN UP, I’LL GO THROUGH WORSE.” is Yuki’s type of encouragement.

SHE IS WORRIED ABOUT HIM THOUGH.

MARUI IS KICKING EVERYWHERE.

He just sighs in relief when they shut the simulator off and Yuki is just laughing tbh.

Shoji + Daigo:

THEY DECIDED TO BE EACH OTHER’S SUPPORT BECAUSE BROS FOR LIFE.

Shoji wants to kind of kill Daigo as contractions hit him.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING.”

Daigo indeed shuts up when its his turn.

He is just ready to break Shoji’s hand.

He can’t handle this, he can’t!

Mimasaka + Everyone:

Wanted everyone to be with him as he gave ‘birth’ because he is so extra.

IS TRYING TO IGNORE THE PAIN.

“AHAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” are the only words he manages to say.

He starts doing breathing exercises!

Has no idea why he did this in the first place.

Probably holds a fake baby at the end

#shokugeki no soma #shokugeki no souma #headcanons #soma yukihira #erina nakiri #takumi aldini #megumi tadokoro #alice nakiri #ryou kurokiba #hayama akira #hisako arato #isami aldini #ikumi mito #ryoko sakaki #shun ibusaki #marui zenji #yuki yoshino #shoji sato #daigo aoki #subaru mimasaka #sorina #soueri #takumegu #ryoali #akisako #ibusaki x ryoko #marui x yuki #isami x ikumi

[hexusproductions]

Barfights Are Great! For A While, Anyway...

Title: Barfights Are Great! For A While, Anyway... Summary: Sometimes a barfight can give you just what you need. Or it gives you an idiot in a green and black speedo. Author’s Note: N/A

“Come on. One drink.”

This guy had been pissing her off for the last ten minutes. She couldn’t even get a drink in this city without some idiot harassing her.

She hadn’t spoken yet. As he leant closer, she kept her gaze forward, glass held loosely in her hand.

“Mate, I’d go away if I were you.”

“What kind of accent is that? Huh?” He asked, and smiled in a way he must have thought looked charming, “It’s kinda cute. How about we just skip the foreplay, I take you back to my place, and I show you a good time, eh?” She rolled her eyes and placed the glass down with a loud thunk before turning to face him.

“I’m sure that would work for anyone who wasn’t absolutely disgusting like you,” She told him before her eyes narrowed and she growled, “So get the hell away from me before you regret it.” The guy sneered before standing up, looming over her.

“What are you gonna do, huh? You’re a pretty girl, doll, but you ain’t gonna look so pretty if me and my friends rough you up.” As he spoke, a couple of guys at a nearby table looked around. She raised an eyebrow. After a moment of silence she finished her drink and slid the glass forward across the wooden counter. She stood up, looked the guy in the eye, and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over and she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled his face down to connect with her knee, and he stumbled backwards. The attention in the bar quickly moved to the ensuing fight as the guy’s friends quickly ran over to defend their buddy. A fist connected with her chin and she fell back, colliding with the counter and causing the barstools to tumble over. She smiled, wiped her fist across her chin, and jumped back to her feet. She brought her foot down on the first friend’s kneecap with a loud crunch and he fell with a shriek, clutching the injury. The second friend posed more of a problem. The other patrons cheered and egged them on as he grabbed her and threw her to the floor. She swore loudly as he kicked her in the side, repeatedly.

Kick a girl when she’s down? Asshole.

She scrambled away and he sniggered, as if she were terrified of him. Instead she sprang to her feet and punched him in the nose. He stumbled back, blood pouring over his lips, and he swung another punch. It connected with her shoulder and spun her around, and she glanced back over her shoulder before swinging around with a roundhouse that knocked him on his stupid arse.

She smirked at her handiwork, and then the guy who had hit on her wrapped his arm around her throat in a choke. She gagged and scraped at his arm, but he only tightened his grip. She grunted, and he grinned victoriously. He didn’t notice that she had planted her feet firmly until her hands snapped out and he went flying across the bar, crashing through the front window.

“You didn’t think I forgot about you, did ya?” She panted. The other bar patrons cheered and she grinned before walking outside.

Okay, maybe she had cheated a little at the end, but the guy was choking her! You couldn’t expect her not to use her powers.

The guy wasn’t out, she’d give him credit for that. He had pulled himself to his feet, covered in cuts from the glass.

But he wasn’t alone.

“Now now, surely there’s no need for violence…” Creeper grinned, balancing on the handlebar of a parked motorcycle.

“Oh, fuck.” She swore, putting her hands on her hips and looking up as if to something above, “Look, I ain’t doin’ anything bad. He started it.” Creeper laughed and flipped off the bike, landing perfectly on the sidewalk just in front of her.

“Look, I believe you. I’m the good guy here.” He informed her, and then tilted his head as he gestured, “But you see this doesn’t really look all that good for you. I’m afraid you’ll have to come downtown for some questions, missy.” He grabbed her arm and she slapped him, hard. Creeper laughed again.

“Oh you like it rough do ya?” He questioned, “Well so do I!” Creeper grabbed her and threw her back through the broken window. Someone in the bar shouted as she fell into one of the booths. She sneered, muttering curses under her breath, before pulling a mask out of her jacket and pressing it to her face.

“Alright.” Sorceress stood up and walked out of the booth, Creeper already jumping into the bar to meet her.

“This is something I didn’t see coming.” Creeper remarked before smiling tauntingly, “What, you’re gonna do a couple tricks for me? Maybe pull a rabbit out of a hat.” Sorceress stopped, and her hands ignited.

“Something like that.” She smirked. The patrons screamed and scrambled away, realising that this wasn’t they wanted to be anywhere near. Least they weren’t idiots like the three from earlier.

“Ooo, a firebug!” Creeper moved forward with an overly quizzical look, “Guessing you’re not the warm and cosy sitting-by-the-fire hero types, are you?”

“What was your first clue?”

“Well first it was the bar fight then it was the shattered window then it was the- hey!” Creeper jumped back as Sorceress lashed out with a fire-infused punch, and he ran up onto the bar before flipping behind her and kicking her forward. Sorceress grunted before spinning around, and Creeper stuck his tongue out at her. Sorceress sneered and threw a fireball, and then another, but Creeper was able to avoid both.

“I have a question for you, firebug.” He said as he continued avoiding her attacks, circling and dancing around her, “What’s a girl like you doing in a nice place like this?”

“What, I can’t get a drink every once in a while?” Sorceress replied through gritted teeth. The fire in her hands extinguished and one arm reached out, and suddenly Creeper stopped moving. She flung her arm and he went crashing across the bar, shattering a table to pieces.

“Woo! You really get the blood pumping, you know that?” Creeper, having landed upside down, dangled his feet in the air as he brushed splinters of wood out of his face.

“Why do you think I came here in the first place?” Sorceress remarked, never taking her eyes off him, “You can only jump off Wayne Tower so many times.”

“You might want to get help for that, sweetheart.” Creeper rose to his feet, taking the time to brush off his arms and chest. Sorceress blinked.

“You’re yellow and you wear a speedo. That is something to get seen to.”

Creeper shrugged before throwing a piece of table at her. It hit her square in the forehead and Sorceress shouted as she stepped back. Creeper darted forward and grabbed her, throwing her on top of the bar and pinning her there.

“Someone get a fire extinguisher.” Creeper remarked, and he laughed again. Sorceress hissed as she held a hand to her forehead.

“Fuck that hurt.”

Creeper gave an exaggerated and mocking gasp.

“How rude!” He exclaimed, and leant over her, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I’d rather kiss the guy I threw through the window.” Sorceress groaned. Creeper grinned before looking around, still keeping her pinned on the bar.

“I’ll take that!” He plucked a bottle from the shelves in front of him, and then ripped off the shirt of one of the unconscious men, “Can I borrow this? Thaaaaanks!” He splashed the contents of the bottle over Sorceress’s hands, then wrapped the torn fabric firmly around them and tied it in a knot.

“Now I know it’s tempting to set fire to things. Trust me, I know.” Creeper told her, dousing the fabric in alcohol for good measure, “But I wouldn’t recommend it unless you want to hurt every time you try to pick up a pencil.”

“You piece of sh-“ Sorceress was cut off as Creeper shoved the bottle in her mouth. He grabbed her by the collar and dragged her behind him, off the counter and out of the bar.

“That’s all folks!” He called back, and laughed hysterically as he dragged a struggling Sorceress away.

#Sorceress #OC #Creeper #Jack Ryder #Fey Morgan/Renee Blaze #fanfiction

[devotvm-archive-blog]

holy shit im glad im not the only person who doesnt like chiffany. tiff's such a cool character and this ship literally chains her to fucking hell and prevents any real healthy growth in her life. i also pissed af at how they never explained why she loves chucky so much?? she deserves so much better holy fuck

FIRST OFF, THAAAAANK YOU. I feel so out of the loop because I feel I’m one of the few who doesn’t ship it. My issue with it, mostly, is that people don’t see her as an individual character because of it a lot of the time. She’s just “Chucky’s knife swinging honey” and that infuriates me.

Tiffany Valentine is such a complexly sweet, wonderful, and equally violent and damaged human being and it gets buried all under her relationship with Chucky. And then I have people who yell “SHE WAS LITERALLY MADE FOR HIM” at me from the heavens .... That doesn’t mean??? She has to??? Have no personality??? And be at the beck and call??? Of this trash man doll????

She and Chucky have such different end goals, too. And with Tiff, I will admit she’s idealistic and it doesn’t cater to Chucky’s own needs -- which, also is shitty. But they clash so hard that it’s difficult for me to see their common interests sometimes. They fight SO often and try to kill each other so often. It doesn’t seem healthy to me in any aspect, you know?

I have ideas on how she fell in love with Chucky but that’s a bit off topic. Also! Like!!!! CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW IN CURSE, IT’S CANON HE LITERALLY CHEATED ON HER, IF WE ARE TAKING FROM BRIDE THAT THEY WERE IN FACT IN A RELATIONSHIP WHEN HE DIED. 

BECAUSE. THAT’S FUCKED UP.

DON’T CHEAT ON YOUR S/O. THAT’S NOT GOOD GROUNDS FOR A RELATIONSHIP.

Tiff does, honestly, deserve SO much better. But I think so does Chucky, in his own right. I think they deserve to be down paths that truly make them happy. But I don’t feel as if they’re the best match together. Granted, I still write some Chiffany out because it’s in character for my muse -- but I, myself, do not physically ship it. It’s toxic and I won’t be changing my mind on that any time soon.

SECOND OF ALL, sorry to put this here, but if you want to continue seeing my content, follow me on my NEW blog as I am archiving this one.

Third, THANK you very much for your input!! I genuinely appreciated it and I got a chance to write out my stance.

#(ANONYMOUS.)