#'i bear little resemblance to the king i once was. i bear little resemblance to the king i could become'

[blueren]

East

#artists on tumblr #genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #ajax #fanart #i have had like. this perfect image in my head since i heard this song #this song is him on so many levels i have been obsessed with the imagery in my head since i've heard it #i want to make an animatic or SOMETHING with him and this song and this was the thumbnail idea i had #i don't know when or if it would ever get done but i love how this turned out #i love pastel pinks and sunrises in general and this was the perfect excuse to use them #this song gives me the feels for his story big time #'i set out to rule the world with only a paper shield and a wooden sword' #and 'the tide is brave but always retreats. even the sand it cowers under my feet' #'i bear little resemblance to the king i once was. i bear little resemblance to the king i could become' #'lord i want to remember how to feel like i did' #just UGH i could write a whole analysis on this song and him

[happilyhertale]

Hi I’m the anon who asked if you watched Breaking Dawn, that’s crazy how recently you just watched it, haha. Well the reason I asked was cause I was wondering if you could write an Aemond x pregnant wife story where her pregnancy is kinda like Bella’s. The maesters have tried everything to lesson her condition but she gets worse and worse, they even think she is cursed. The reader is Rhaenyra’s daughter but has her mothers features and rumored to be a bastard like Jace & Luke, but Daemon is incredibly protective of her and treats her like his daughter. Daemon is even angry at Aemond and blames him for what is happening to the reader, that he hired a witch to curse her and the babe. Aemond deeply loves the reader and is incredibly troubled by her state and feels guilty, but she reassures him a lot. Aegon teases her about being a bastard and when she falls incredibly ill with Aemond’s baby he says that it only proves she’s a bastard cause she can’t carry the seed of a dragon. Everyone is preparing for her death once the babe is born, but she defies everyones expectations and survives and Aemond says he always knew she was a dragon and calls her fierce and just fluffy stuff.

Breaking down - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Author’s note:

Thank you dear Anon for the request! Now I have finally written the story!

I hope you like it (: English is my second language, soo.. please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3 k

Other stories of mine

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You are hanging over a bowl. Your eyes are closed and your breath comes in short bursts.

"Not again," you whisper.

But then another wave of nausea hits you. You bend down to the bowl and fill it with the contents of your stomach. But what comes out of you is a secret to you. You have not been able to eat for days.

You whimper softly. Your eyes are closed.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your back. A warm hand stroking your tense back.

"Hey... Love," you hear Aemond say softly, "still not feeling better?"

You shake your head just slightly, your eyes still closed. Desperately, you try to concentrate on your breathing to distract yourself from your nausea.

You and Aemond have been married for a year now. You love each other dearly. Aemond would do anything for you, you have changed his whole life. And when the news of your pregnancy came, his devotion and affection for you only increased.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, was not at all convinced at first that you should marry Aemond. But King Viserys, your grandsire, thought it was a good idea to accommodate the quarrels in your family. And after much discussion, your mother finally gave in.

Your father, Laenor Velaryon, died in an accident some time ago. Your heart broke when your mother broke the news to you and your brothers. You cried a lot, felt a sudden emptiness. But Rhaenyra was there for you, consoled you.

Like your brothers, you bear little outward resemblance to your father. You are the image of your mother. But unlike your brothers, you have inherited your father's hair.

Shortly after your father died, your mother married your current stepfather, Daemon. This was not surprising to you. Ever since you can remember, Daemon has been around you. He is almost affectionate with you. Always looking out for you. Even comforted you when your brothers or Aegon and Aemond annoyed you. Daemon has become something of a surrogate father to you.

And that's exactly why rumours are going around the realm. That Daemon is your real father and not Laenor. That you're a bastard. You don't pay much attention to these rumours, because you know who your father is.

Yet no one dares to say it openly. But still, the thoughts of man are free. It is different with your brothers. They didn't inherit silver hair from your mother or father and the looks they get literally scream the word bastard.

But you were speechless when the betrothal between you and Aemond was announced. You stood in front of Aemond and just looked. He didn't look pleased either and gave a barely perceptible nod to his mother, Queen Alicent. But when your mother repeated her question if it was okay with you, you nodded at her with a forced smile.

It was a mystery to you that Aemond didn't immediately erupt in a fit of rage, after all, the dislike he feels for your brothers is known to all. And even though the rumour that you were a bastard had not yet been voiced publicly, you could only guess what Aemond thought of you.

But things turned out differently. At first it seemed like he was just doing his duty. He often went for walks with you. You had done that before, but now it had a completely different meaning.

But still, somehow you got used to each other's constant presence and you soon realised that there was more between you. You found out that you shared a love of reading and sword fighting. Hours of conversation and laughter followed, as well as sword fights on the training yard. Almost as quickly, love developed between you.

But those memories seem to be fading, just as you are now hanging over the bowl, barely able to breathe.

You look at Aemond, your voice trembling, "It has to get better eventually, hasn't it?"

He looks pained, but he nods at you, "I will send for the maesters again... they must ease your discomfort somehow..." he whispers.

You close your eyes again and exhale heavily.

You spend the rest of the day over the bowl. At times you curl up on the floor, gently caressing your belly. You love your little ball. You lovingly call your baby your little dragon. You love your little dragon inside you. You know that the little dragon does not want to hurt you. It loves you as you love it, you can feel that.

But it gets worse and worse.

The bigger your belly gets, the worse your discomfort gets. If you ate little before, now you are hardly able to even think about eating. Nothing stays inside you. And by now you can see this agony on your body.

You are getting thinner and weaker. Your purple eyes have lost their glow. Your delicate skin is covered with bruises, as every touch seems to harm you. Aemond is visibly distressed. For hours he sits by your side. Caresses you, tries to make you eat all the food that seems appetising to you. He tries to ease your suffering with a mountain of pillows on the bed.

And even Daemon is at your side at least as often as Aemond. Every time he is with you, you see the worry and anger in his eyes. He wants to punish someone for making you feel so bad.

At some point, the maesters seem to have the right idea. They want to feed you fortified baby milk and porridge. Food that usually only babies get to eat. In the hope that it will suit you and that the baby will accept the food and leave it in you. You keep hoping that it will work, that you won't be overcome by nausea.

And at first it seems to help. The food stays inside you. Your hand trembles with every movement from your plate to your mouth, but you can finally eat again. It's not much, you're too weak to eat larger quantities. But you don't throw up.

Everyone is fed with new hope that you will get better now.

But still the maesters approach Aemond anxiously.

"My prince... Princess y/n's condition remains critical"

Aemond looks up from his desk as the Maesers are with him. He says nothing and just looks at them as if admonishing them with that look to keep talking. He suspects what is coming.

"My prince... If her condition does not improve, we fear that she will not survive the birth. Not even our knowledge and skill can counter that... Giving birth is a strength-sapping task for women and..."

"Stop it!" hisses Aemond. There is a cold silence in the room.

"She will survive it. She will. She is of the blood of the dragon. There will be no other eventuality!" Again, the oppressive silence spreads through the room.

The maesters just nod and look at the floor. They dare not meet his gaze.

After a few days of being able to eat again, you decide to have dinner with your family. Aemond leads you into the hall. He is not enthusiastic about the idea. He wants to spare you this journey, but you are stubborn. And so he walks slowly with you through the corridors. You are breathing heavily. Your belly is almost as big as the rest of your body. You arrive at the hall, the rest of your family already gathered. They look at you with a mixture of worry and hope.

You avoid their gaze.

Aemond helps you to sit down. You feel dizzy. You close your eyes briefly when you are finally seated and exhale heavily. When you open your eyes again, you notice Daemon watching you with concern.

"Is everything alright? Shall I take you back to our chambers?" whispers Aemond to you.

But you shake your head and look over at him, "No... I want to stay here," you say softly.

He nods at you and gently kisses your forehead.

You try to eat some porridge. Your family is eating around you and the room is filled with soft conversation. But suddenly you notice yourself beginning to tremble. You feel dizzy.

"Aem...", but then you fall off your chair.

Aemond jumps up and prevents your head from hitting the floor.

Daemon is also immediately at your side. But your vision blurs until it goes completely black.

"y/n!" shouts Aemond. But there is no response from you. He strokes your face.

"This is your fault!", Daemon suddenly shouts at Aemond.

Aemond looks at him angrily.

"You and your bastard lover! You're the one who let her cast a spell!" he shouts at Aemond.

Aemond's gaze fills with hatred, "I would never! I love y/n!"

"Love...", Daemon scoffs, "You emotional cripple aren't even capable of such feelings!", he shouts in rage.

Aegon sits on his chair and watches the scene with amusement. He drinks his wine and grins.

"I don't think Aemond would be able to persuade his witch whore for anything... I think as a bastard you're just not capable of carrying a dragon's seed," Aegon chuckles softly to himself.

Daemon is now looking angrily at Aegon, "Shut your drunken mouth. Say something like that again..." he says through gritted teeth.

But he is interrupted by Aemond, "I will take your tongue if you say something like that about my wife again!", Aemond hisses the words.

Suddenly you move. Aemond immediately looks at you, "My love... hey... my love... please say something...", he whispers to you.

But all you feel is a sharp pain in your abdomen and you cry out.

All is silent in the hall. Your mother by now is also standing by your side and notices it, "Her water has broken! The baby is coming!"

You just whimper. The pain eats through your entire body.

"Aemond..." you whimper.

"I'm here, I'm here my love...", Aemond whispers.

Aemond looks up, "We need to get her into a bed"

"Can you get up?" he asks gently as he looks back down at you.

But you can barely shake your head. Aemond doesn't hesitate for long and carefully lifts you up. You whimper. When the next contraction comes you cry out. Aemond bears it stoically, but his heart breaks at your suffering.

Aemond carries you. He tries to hold you carefully, but still he tries to move quickly. You cling desperately to Aemond. You groan in pain. You feel every step he takes, right to the core.

He walks into a room where many maids are walking around. They prepare the bed that is in this room. Many cloths and bowls of warm water are also prepared.

He carefully lays you down on the bed. But you don't notice much. You are whimpering, your hands are on your belly.

The maesters follow you closely and are accompanied by midwives. The mood is sombre as the maesters stand in front of your bed. You cry out with the last of your strength as the next contraction comes.

The maesters look at each other, they look worried.

A maester steps forward and addresses Aemond, "My prince... the princess is very weak..."

"I don't want to hear about it," he hisses quietly to the maester. His gaze wanders to you, so as not to worry you, he continues to speak quietly.

"If anything should happen to her... I will feed you to Vhagar," he says dryly.

Aemond is convinced that with the right motivation, the maesters will be able to help you.

He looks over at you again as you cry out once more.

You are lying on the bed. You are already drenched in sweat and tears are running down your face.

Aemond comes to your side. He kneels down and holds your hand. He kisses it gently. He reaches for a cloth and dabs the sweat from your forehead.

You don't notice much. The vision in front of your eyes blurs again and again.

But you notice that voices keep saying "Push, princess!" and you do your best. But you don't know if it will be enough...

You want your child to survive. Your baby, your little dragon. The product of Aemond's and your love.

You keep seeing silver hair all around you. But you cannot tell whether it belongs to Aemond, Daemon or your mother Rhaenyra. You feel your hands being held. The sweat is dabbed from you. Again and again they talk to you, but you cannot react. You feel yourself fading.

And then it goes black around you.

Baby cries suddenly fill the room. The midwives take the baby and bring it to a table where there are many cloths and a water bowl. They clean the baby. But Aemond has no eyes for it. 

"Y/n.. Love... Please.. Answer me," he says to you.

He shakes you lightly

"Love.. Please... I need you... Answer me," he repeats.

He searches for your pulse.

He finds a slight pulse.

He looks down at you. You are lying in a sea of blood.

Aemond panics.

"Clean her up!" yells Aemond suddenly. He doesn't know what good it will do to clean the blood and dirt off you, but he hopes it will make you feel better.

The midwives nod eagerly at Aemond.

They fetch new warm water. They gently try to get the afterbirth out and clean you up.

The baby is still crying in the room. Rhaenrya comes into the room and goes to the baby. The maesters examine the baby. Examine to see if it is healthy. When the maesters nod at Rhaenyra, she accepts the baby.

She cradles it in her arms and smiles at it.

She turns and sees Aemond bending over you, stroking you. She sees the look of despair in his eye. The tears in his eye.

"Aemond," she says softly.

He doesn't hear her.

"Aemond," Rhaenyra says a little louder.

Aemond looks up.

He looks at Rhaenyra, startled, as if he is only now being reminded again that there are other people in the room.

"Aemond... this is your daughter," Rhaenyra says softly.

Only now does he look at the bundle in her arms. He looks down at you. You are lying on the bed, your eyes are closed.

But you are breathing.

He looks at the baby again and then at you.

Rhaenyra notices the conflict in him, that he doesn't want to leave you alone.

"Aemond... you can't do anything for her right now... But... but your daughter needs you," Rhaenyra says gently.

Aemond looks to her again and nods slowly.

He gently kisses your forehead. Leaves his lips pressed to your forehead for a while and then goes to Rhaenyra.

He stands in front of her and looks down at the baby. Then he slowly takes her. And he is immediately fascinated by his little daughter.

The little girl cries softly, but she stops when Aemond holds her in his arms. She opens her eyes briefly and the Targaryen purple can be seen. Aemond has to smile.

This is what he has created... Created her with you.

He turns around again. You are still lying there.

But he sees your chest gently rising and falling. You are still breathing.

He looks back down at the baby in his arms and he holds it, "Hey..." he murmurs.

"Your mother will make it... I know she will... and then she will greet you," he continues to murmur.

He kisses the baby's forehead. Breathes in the scent. He closes his eyes and smiles.

Rhaenyra watches him and also smiles slightly.

You sleep through the next few days. Aemond does not leave your side. He makes sure you don't get too cold. From time to time he sits you up slightly and tries to give you something to drink.

Rhaenyra comes in from time to time and puts your daughter by your side. She is convinced that it helps you to gather strength and that the little girl needs your closeness.

But after a few days, Aemond sees you moving. He sits beside the bed, your daughter lying by your side. As you slowly stir, a smile comes to his lips. Carefully he leans forward and takes your daughter in his arms.

You slowly open your eyes. The sun shines into the room and you immediately squeeze your eyes shut again. You groan softly. You open your eyes again. You realise that you are lying in your bed. Your throat is dry. It hurts to swallow.

But then you remember. You look down at yourself. Your baby bump is gone. You immediately touch your stomach. You feel empty.

"What..." you whisper.

"She's here, my love," you hear Aemond say. He seems to realise what you are "looking for".

You immediately look to the side and you see Aemond, holding your baby. You smile slightly. Your breathing is still a little labored

"She...?" you ask softly in a dry voice.

Aemond nods at you, "We have a wonderful daughter," he whispers.

Your smile widens.

Aemond leans forward slightly and places your daughter in your arms.

You see your girl for the first time. She looks at you with her small eyes. Light purple glows towards you.

"My girl," you whisper. You kiss her head

"She's perfect," you say softly to Aemond.

He just nods at you. The smile does not leave his lips.

As your door suddenly opens slowly. You see your mother peek in cautiously and you smile at her.

Rhaenyra smiles back at you.

Rhaenyra turns her head back, "She's awake," she says and with her Daemon and Alicent step into the room.

You just smile and cradle your girl.

"We were so worried," Alicent says, joining you at the bedside. She gently strokes your arm.

"I told you she would make it," Aemond says to his mother.

But Alicent only smiles.

"Do you finally have a name?" asks Rhaenyra a little impatiently, but with a smile.

You look at Aemond, "Haven't you told them the name yet?" you ask him quietly.

But he just shakes his head, "I didn't want to announce the name without you..." he says softly.

You smile, "We thought of a name beforehand," you say softly, "But before the birth we didn't want to reveal it..."

For a short time there is silence in the room.

"Alaenyra," you say softly, "a combination of the names Alicent and Rhaenyra," you add with a smile.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

#aemond x y/n #ewan mitchell #hotd #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

[2d-reality]

Little Things (The Prince of Demons)

characters: Diavolo, GN!MC navigation: Diavolo | Barbatos | Simeon | Solomon | Luke | Thirteen content/warnings: little things you do, out of love. dateables edition! fluff. could be read as platonic but why would u word count: 862 notes: Alas, Dia is the only one I have finished as of now on account of how my work/life balance has been absolutely wacked recently. I'll get around to the rest eventually, I promise! I have bits and pieces here and there but the dateables don't flow as easy as the boys. Mephis will likely not be included bc I'm not even vaguely familiar with his character, and because we are both horse girls and he is my bitter rival on principle. I stared at this piece a lot but did I edit it? no

Diavolo was a lonely man. He knew a lonely childhood, tucked away in the Demon King’s palace with only the grounds staff as company. He attended lessons alone as he grew up learning what it would take to shoulder his father’s throne once he came of age. When the reigning monarch fell into his dreamless slumber, Diavolo had effectively lost yet another lifeline to anything resembling a normal existence-- a parent. As a young man (or, rather, the demon equivalent of a young man), surrounded by nobility of all kinds vying for his attention, he knew they only saw Diavolo, the Crown Prince. Even the brothers, who were the closest to being considered his friends, played along with his antics out of duty. No doubt Lucifer drilled it into them to be accommodating. 

Sometimes he felt as though he was cursed-- paying for his original sin by bearing his existence, at the end of the day, alone. 

That was, at least, until you came along. You, so small and fierce and human. You, who upon meeting him at the beginning of your tenure as an exchange student, held his gaze squarely and didn’t back down, even when he could practically smell your fear.

You, who for whatever reason, be it ignorance or sheer, unmitigated gall or something else entirely, didn’t for a moment treat him any differently than any other demon you met. Once you were comfortable living among magical beings, it was as if the floodgates opened. Despite horrified reactions from Lucifer and gentle chiding from Barbatos, you told him when his jokes were stupid (even if you still laughed), slapped his arm companionably when greeting him, and called him by a myriad of silly nicknames. 

Your friendship is the most precious thing Diavolo has ever received in his long life. You aren’t one of his subjects, born to defer to him whether you wanted to or not. You aren’t an angel, who gave him a cautious respect for the good of your realms’ relations. You didn’t even know he existed before you came to the Devildom. You chose not to see the heir to the throne, and instead saw Diavolo-- a gentle giant with more love in his heart than he was born to carry. Diavolo, who would go to the ends of all three realms for those he cared for. Diavolo, who was loud and boisterous and always wanted to be involved. Diavolo, who liked cigar cookies and video games and could be a bit of a goofball. 

He cherishes every aspect of your relationship. He loves when you send him blurry photos of various pairs of objects or animals you see when out and about, with the caption "us fr <3”. He loves getting links to dumb memes in the middle of the night, followed by laughing emojis or “this u??” You poke fun at him, bite back with quips when he makes jokes at your expense, and play silly little pranks on him. His favorite is when you gesture to something on his coat, only to flick the tip of his nose when he looks down to investigate. He’d long since caught on to that ruse, among others, but your bright smile and chirping laughter when you teased him for falling for it yet again are too precious to him to not play along.

He even appreciates the times that you turn down his invitations to spend the weekend at the palace with him, citing exhaustion from the brothers’ antics or pressing schoolwork from RAD. You’re not automatically agreeing simply because you have no choice-- you spend your limited, precious time on him because you want to. More often than not you made up for declining by showing up entirely unannounced some time later, cloaked beneath a spell to shield you from Barbatos’ sixth sense for his Lord getting up to shenanigans, beckoning him to sneak out with you to suck on thick milkshakes in some cramped corner booth and giggle conspiratorially like a couple of misbehaving teenagers. 

When he’s around you, Diavolo feels like he can breathe. He doesn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances. You aren’t looking for political sway, or funding, or an elevated social status. For the first time in his life, he can set aside his heavy burden and feel... normal. He can ruffle your hair, and only half-heartedly hold you back from practically climbing him to dig your knuckles into his scalp and return the favor. He can laugh when you swat at his hand as he reaches across your plate to steal a few of your fries. He wears the friendship bracelet you braided for him at all times. He considered charming it to never fade or fray, but when it finally falls apart from wear, your mock exasperation when you tell him you’ll make him another makes him feel so real. 

Diavolo was a lonely man. But now, he has a friend. A genuine, honest-to-goodness friend. You have matching contact photos, and inside jokes. You don’t call him my lord when he comes up in conversation; it’s always my friend. Now, thanks to you, he isn’t lonely anymore.

#obey me #diavolo #obey me diavolo #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #obey me x reader #om! diavolo #om diavolo #obey me dateables #if you read through these tags i love you special

[darlingofvalyria]

❝The story where your rage nearly tore Winterfell to ashes?❞

[ You talk your daughter down from her cold feet. ]

[ 1,405 ] [ series masterlist ] | king!jacaerys velaryon x aunt targ!reader (aegon's twin)

contains— canon divergence - fluff, smidge of angst - allusions to warfare, character death(s), infidelity, revenge, manipulative targ!reader - children, arranged marriage, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth - sort of fluff?? bits of angst, toxic as shit hhshs - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— a little blurb before the third proper instalment of 'in hightower green' (yes, we now have a masterlist and a series title!!). this is post-the series, & contains a hint on what happens to the third part, which will be a two-parter, cos its heavy and reader goes full gone girl shdjshdhs can't wait to share it!! but for now have a glimpse of the future lol + comment, reblog & like at will, my loves!!

"I was told that you were on the verge of fainting, but I see you are upright as a horse." A faint smile glimmers on your playful lips as your daughter turns, smiling in an exact replica of how Helaena smiles.

It bursts wildflowers and warmth in your chest as you approach, standing behind her as you take the earrings from her fingers that have been turning them around and around, Nila, the spider whose web you placed by your daughter's, said.

You balance the heavy accessory, before you say, "Let me."

A quiet settles the pair of mother and daughter, the chaos of the feast unable to taint the tranquility provided in her chambers. As you take care in placing the baubles for her ears you press a gentle smile on your face as you gaze upon her on the mirror. Maegella Velaryon is a patchwork creation of your most beloved people, despite being the fourth born daughter and the second triplet, she bore Helaena's smile and Aemond's dusky laughter.

Though there is the Strong features in her jaw and face shape, her eyes and hair are your mother's. The Hightower features you have adored since childhood, the auburn hair and the gentle, round brown eyes.

Your seventh child bears the most resemblance to your Hightower roots, as she is the only one with her grandmother's auburn locks. Sweet orange red, a shimmer of a dying flame.

"I do not know if I am making the right decision, your grace." She breaks the silence, meeting your violet gaze with her gentle brown. She is young, on the verge of her womanhood, while you have aged, a mirror of what visage will soon become. "I understand that the Lord Stark is an honourable man, most auspicious is our arrangement thus far, but..."

"But?"

"I am fearful," she whispers.

There is Aegon in her chin, in her purse lips. It tugs at your heartstrings further at the reminder of your beloved twin.

Your children have always been Aegon's favourite to spoil, but much more your triplet daughters.

"They all look so much like you, sweet sister, even if their colouring is not fully Valyrian," he had said when they were born, snuggled against each other in their sleep much like the two of you when you were newborn babes.

"So they look like you, since we are twins," you teased. He nudged you with an elbow, giggling.

"Yes, exactly." He turned to Maegella, newborn as she is, her hair had been a lighter shade of red orange back then. He runs a finger down her hair and forehead before booping her button nose. "This one has mother's hair."

"And brown eyed. I thought of naming her Alicent, but I digressed. Much too on the nose."

He laughed. "Maybe the next one then, as for sure you will be round with the Strong bastard's babe once more."

Though there was no heat to his tone, you still slapped his arm. It wasn't like he was wrong. You promised Jace you will bring him heirs.

You promised yourself strong babes. Their blood is yours, and they breathe with you.

"Oh, my sweet, darling girl," you say now, smiling gently as you place a coifed, auburn lock back behind strings of pearl that swept up her hair in elegant coils, not unlike fully bloomed roses cinched together. "You are about to make a new life for yourself, there is much to fear. But you are the blood of the dragons. And of the oldest, greatest House in Westeros. And the sea. Which is ancient, and has drowned men in vigour despite her age."

"Just like Vhagar?"

You laugh. "Much like Vhagar when she lived, yes, that old, ferocious girl."

She giggles then sighs as you hold her close to you. Gentle as you are to her wedding attire, a faint, seafoam blue laced white dress. A gift from her father.

You stand straight, something in your expression triggers her own posture to straighten. The visage and orderly manner of a princess coming back to her spine and face.

"No true marriage is a fairytale. Most oft, you have to strangle fate by the throat and conquer your future."

Her eyes widen. "Mother! That sounds ghastly."

"It is." Your laugh isn't what she's used to. It's a breathless, mirthless exhale. A memory so entangled in your mind it weaves about in silvery threads between you. "But my marriage to your father had not always been such a gladdened time."

"I would expect so..." she says hesitantly, wary of every minute change of your expression. "It has been a long marriage, with a heft of babes of your own." Her hand finds yours and squeezes, trying for a jest with a pinch of honesty. "Do not expect the same amount of children from me, your grace. Though the birthing bed is a war all women must face, I have five other sisters to continue your lineage."

You exchange a laugh, pinching her cheek whilst she yelps.

"I cannot fathom birthing the same amount as you have. You are the strongest of us all."

"Your great-great grandmother, The Good Queen Alysanne, named after your sister, bore much more than I, I will remind you so."

She shivers. "Madness it is."

"It is," you agree. "The realm had asked for only two, but I had love your father so. But our marriage... it had almost cost me everything."

"Everything?"

Your smile is flaccid. "My crown, my birthright, my position in your father's life. Everything."

She stands, thoroughly alarmed, spinning to you and holding your arms. "Mother? I have not heard of this before."

"Oh, how can you? You were yet to be born." You run your fingers over her sweet face. Your seventh child. To think you almost lost them all. To think such bastards nearly took everything from you. "Only Daenera and Aemma had been, and I am not sure they can remember it all. They were quite young. And I am furious to tell further, but... but for you, I can. So you might understand that marriage is too, a battle to be won. A prize you must covet. As a dragon, your hoard is your own. Any who dare touch it must pay with fire and blood."

Your chin tips. "Even if sometimes, your enemy is your own spouse."

"Father?" A faint gasps leave her lips. "You are scaring me mother. What story is this?"

A smirk plays on your lips. "The story of how Winterfell almost burnt to the ground."

"What?"

"Rage, my sweet girl, especially born out of a dragon's flame, can raze armies to the ground. We were called conquerors for a reason." You cup her face with your hands. "Though I have not made a promise to your father, I had kept this piece of history deep within the wells of my heart. But for you I shall. To guide you into your marriage, and to comfort you that no matter what happens, no matter what tragedy curses your vows, you are able to control your future. You are no mere wife. Your blood sings above the sheep alike, and with it, a reminder to all that you are a dragon and nothing less."

You release her face, smiling gently, before you tug her to the bed. "We have time for a story, I'm sure. They cannot start it without a queen nor the bride."

"The story where your rage nearly tore Winterfell to ashes?" She frowns. "How does father fare in this?"

"Oh, he had lied to me."

"Father?! Lied?"

You tap her lips. "You must take this story to your bosom. And you must not look at your father any differently. He is changed now. He has kept his vows with much sincerity." Though a certain bitter triumph echoes in your heart at the idea that his own daughter might look at him with hatred.

The years had been kind to you, yes. But by no means have you met it with ease. The crown you bear on your head bore witness to every battle you had won, every war you had forged, and only those who understood its stench know of the blood you had spilled to get it.

And though you have forgiven him long before, the memory sings old embers anew.

"Her name was Sara Snow, and your father had dared..."

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

#₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷 #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon angst #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys angst #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒

[rhaenin-time]

As much as I believe that questioning the parentage of a married woman's chiIdren feels like a witchhunt, I do think it's time we start an honest discussion about the Dance of the Dragons and the legitimacy of the contenders.

Because too often we forget that Alicent's bastards are just as ineligible for the throne as Rhaenyra's bastards.

By Andal convention, only Aegon the Younger and Viserys are eligible for inheritance. Even if Alicent's bastards wanted to push their claim through Daemon, their true father, they could never inherit over his trueborn sons.

In fact, her children are less eligible. At least Jace's claim comes through his mother! At least least Luke was promised to Rhaena and has Velaryon blood regardless. But Alicent, trying to put the bastards of a man who was disinherited on the throne ahead of the King's trueborn daughter? She's fortunate that Viserys was conflict averse enough to show let it pass and quietly keep Rhaenyra, his only trueborn child, as his heir.

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Keep in mind that the question of Rhaenyra's sons' parentage was strongly dismissed by Septon Eustace. But at no point does any reliable source argue that the rumours regarding Alicent and Daemon are fabrication. Instead, we have only the far weaker defense that they're "unsupported."

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Now, I think we can all agree that the most plausible explanation is that, once Alicent worried she might be pregnant by Daemon, she immediately seduced Viserys to cover the matter. Whether this happened before or after Aemma's death, and whether she turned out to be truly with child, is a matter of debate.

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But even on the small chance Alicent did manage to bear a child of Viserys's blood, she should have known better than to put herself in situations where the question could even arise. And Daemon did not help matters with his public display of jealousy.

Because once the truth is out there, there is no way to "prove" that Alicent's children are not Daemon's bastards.

Not only do her children resemble him, but Daemon is a dragonrider. Which means geography is not an obstacle. All it takes is a few moonlight rides, and a quick trip through the secret tunnels, and you have another bastard sired with no one the wiser. And indeed, he did seem committed to secrecy, even taking precautions like distancing himself from Alicent and his bastards in every public setting.

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The question of motive does remain. Was Daemon siring bastards out of true affection for Alicent? Or was it simply a mutually beneficial arrangement because they were both wed to spouses who could not give them heirs? Alicent feared being set aside, and Daemon feared dying without a legacy. And it is noteworthy that Alicent stopped bearing his bastards after he became free to wed Laena Velaryon.

Another interesting area of debate is, of course, Viserys's knowledge on the matter. Some might argue that he affected a willful blindness. But surely he would be understanding of Alicent's predicament if it was he who was no longer able to produce heirs. Indeed, the text does support the theory that he was aware.

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Now, it's pretty clear that while Alicent was comfortable throwing stones from her glass house of bastards, Rhaenyra was not. Be it from feeling above the matter, respect for her father's wishes, or simply a lack of desire to see Daemon's bastards publicly shamed, she seems to have held her own tongue even when faced with Alicent's hypocrisy. Which I find admirable, if maybe a little unhelpful.

I suppose we can give Alicent a little credit. She did originally acknowledge her good fortune of her bastards all bearing a vague resemblance to Viserys. And it seems she even encouraged Rhaenyra and Laenor to hold onto hope that they might one day share that fortune. As long as they keep trying the way she did.

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Or was it in fact, a brazen taunt? A flaunting of her privilege of having bastards that resembled their supposed father?

Regardless of the sentiment behind the comment, it does open up questions regarding whether she'd previously "tried" and "failed" only to end up with dark-haired babes she was forced to send away. After all, with Viserys in such poor health that surely his ability to sire heirs would be whispered about, it was essential they resemble him.

Another question worth pondering is Alicent's true feelings toward Daemon. Did she, perchance, ever entertain hopes of wedding him once Viserys had passed? Of him legitimizing her bastards for the Realm to hear?

But what would she gain? Well, potentially a lot.

What is not disputable is that once she'd given up hope of Viserys installing her bastard above his trueborn daughter, Alicent turned her hopes to usurping Rhaenyra based on her gender. But perhaps she worried that, should she cross that line, Rhaenyra would no longer turn the other cheek. She likely worried that Rhaenyra would point out the obvious fact that Alicent's bastards were ineligible for inheritance.

But Daemon wasn't.

Per the Council of 101, Daemon should have been heir over Rhaenyra. And it's not illogical to assume that Alicent might have nursed hopes of usurping Rhaenyra after Viserys's death (which she did do) and installing Daemon as King. A King whose wife had passed leaving him only daughters — therefore ineligible under the precedent they established. A King finally free to marry the mother of his bastards and name them bastards no more. To name them his heirs.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Daemon had moved on. And not only that, he appears to have set the example for Rhaegar by naming his son Aegon despite already having a son named Aegon! (History truly does repeat itelf!) A message to Alicent that he would never claim her bastards as his heirs.

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Alicent might have thought she was clever in the moment — to select a man who resembled her husband. But it also works against her.

Because her children resemble Daemon. And not just in appearance.

Remember that, when Aenys proved to be a sickly boy despite being ostensibly sired by a man of Aegon's vigor, that was when his parentage was truly put to question?

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But does the opposite not apply? Viserys was in poor health, yet Alicent's bastards did not seem to share those troubles.

Now, you can hardly fault Alicent for bearing healthy children. But that does not mean she couldn't have taken other steps to make her bastards' parentage less obvious. We can credit her with notably dressing them in green as children to avoid easy superficial comparisons, but it seems like her attention, or authority, on the matter lapsed as her bastards grew older.

Why was Aegon allowed to cavort in Fleabottom the way Daemon once had? Why was Aemond allowed to style his hair and clothes so that he resembled a young Prince Daemon? Alicent should have better stressed to them the importance of appearance — and masking appearance. Because she ended up letting her sons undo all her efforts.

Honestly, the more you think about it, the more undeniable it becomes. Undeniable because, I repeat, there is no way to prove otherwise.

Well, I think that's enough evidence for now. I honestly never thought it was worth dwelling on the matter. If Viserys knew, if he made arrangements to keep Alicent's bastards both safe and respected while preserving his line, it truly should not matter.

But the problem is that Alicent pushed too far. Not just by trying to seat her bastard on the throne — something that, unlike with Rhaenyra and Driftmark, she did not have the blessing of the Head of house for nor did she take steps to ensure the line remains intact — but by also then being brazen enough to point her finger at Rhaenyra, knowing Rhaenyra was above doing the same.

Well, I don't think that's fair. And I think it's time we acknowledged it, and put the 'bastard' talk to rest. Honestly, it often feels both disingenuous and steeped in misogyny. And in a world of fundamentally unjust systems, it's best to just accept that these matters should be kept quiet, and resolved within the family.

#hotd #hotd critical #asoiaf #team black #hotd sexism #rhaenyra targaryen #anti team green #asoiaf fandom #anti alicent hightower #asoiaf bigotry #fire and blood #asoiaf bastards #anti hypocrisy #Prince Aegon Waters #Princess Helaena Waters #Lord Aemond Waters #Alicent Mother of Waters

[apothe-roses]

I Wanna Ride

modern Aemond Targaryen x reader

Part 2

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Summary: You go to your first biker meet with Aly and Cregan. After witnessing a bit of that classic Targ family tension, an opportunity arises. One that may require you to spend more time with your least favorite Targaryen.

Fic Contains: swearing, family tension, Aemond being a prick (again), sexual tension if you squint

Word Count: 2034

The sun has just set over the gathering in the heart of King’s Landing’s steel district. The air is alive with the sound of purring engines, shouts, and rock music playing. You look around, trying to take everything in at once.

You and Ally likely would’ve been swallowed by the crowd had it not been for Cregan serving as your personal buffer. With his height, he easily cut a path through the crowd for the two of you. One of his hands reaches behind him to hold Aly’s. Her other arm is linked in yours.

“Isn’t this fun?” Aly shouts.

“Yeah, I wish I’d gone to one of these sooner,” you respond just as loud.

“Really? Even the countless times I asked you to come with me?” Aly shoots back playfully.

“I was busy!” you argue.

“Excuses, excuses,” Aly retorts. “You were scaared.” She drags the last word out mockingly.

You elbow her playfully. She laughs and elbows you back.

“Well, at least you’re here now. Right, babe?” She directs the question to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, sure!” Cregan shouts over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention to your conversation at all.

Suddenly, Cregan raises his free hand and starts waving madly.

“Jace! Jace!” He shouts. He picks up his pace, dragging you and Aly with him.

You come to a less crowded area with picnic benches scattered about. Cregan makes a beeline towards one, letting go of Aly’s hand to engulf another guy in a bear hug. Cregan breaks the hug, ruffling his friend’s curly brown hair. You presume this is “Jace.”

“Aly! How’ve you been,” Jace asks, embracing her.

“I was doing great til I saw your ugly mug,” Aly teases, copying Cregan and ruffling his hair. Jace waves her off, laughing. Then he notices you.

“Hi! I’m Jace! Nice to meet you,” Jace says happily.

“My boyfriend’s boyfriend,” Aly explains over Jace’s shoulder. Jace turns to retort, but Aly takes refuge behind a laughing Cregan. Jace turns back to you, shaking his head.

“Come on. I saved us a table,” he said with a smile. He leads you all to a table where another boy—his brother Luke—sits. You all fall into easy conversation. You tell Jace and Luke about your new dragon, and they tell you about the new models they’re having a hand in developing.

“I thought only Targaryens were allowed to submit designs,” you say, confused.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? Our mom’s Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Luke explains. Your mouth falls open.

“We take after our dad. Our little brother Joffrey is the same,” Jace adds in. Looking at him, you could see the resemblance to his father, Harwin Strong.

“Oh, wow,” you stammer, unable to find a response. Luckily, you didn’t have to as something catches Luke’s eye.

“Oh no,” he says, shrinking in his seat. You turn to where he’s looking. Walking through the crowd are none other than Aegon and Aemond Targaryen. Both Targaryens have ditched the coveralls you initially met them in. Aegon opted for a navy sweatshirt and jeans, a gold chain hanging around his neck. Aemond was wearing all black, from his leather jacket to his combat boots. His hair was only half pulled up, leaving the rest to hang down his chest.

They were accompanied by two people you immediately recognized as their siblings Daeron and Helaena.

The four siblings spot your group and start to make their way over. Well, three of them do. Aemond immediately turns and stalks off in a different direction. Helaena looks like she’s going to stop him, but Daeron shakes his head at her. You watch as Aemond disappears down an alley. When you turn back, you immediately lock eyes with Aly, who raises a brow and smirks a bit.

You scowl back at her, thinking back to the conversation you two had after getting your bike back.

“You didn’t mention he was hot!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware the hotness of the mechanic was of any relevance!” Aly shot back sarcastically.

“You also didn’t mention he was…”

“Rude?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, Aemond’s always been more on the antisocial side. Apparently the rudeness came in after the accident,” she whispers that last part (even though they were the only two people in the room).

“Accident?”

“Yeah. Something to do with his nephew. Never got the full story. All I know is that it really divided the family and they haven’t been the same since.”

That tension is evident in the strained smiles the remaining Targaryen siblings give your group.

“Hello nephews,” Aegon greets Jace and Luke. “And friends,” he finishes, sending a wink your way.

“Mind if we join you?” Helaena asks softly.

“Of course,” Jace answers, noticeably less tense with his aunt. Aegon and Daeron squeeze in on either side of Jace and Luke while Helaena takes a place on the edge of the bench next to you. You notice she has brightly colored earplugs in.

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Helaena,” she says softly. You tell her your name in response.

“The one who put Aemond in his place,” Aegon adds from his seat at the table.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him,” you say

“Don’t be. Aemond’s funny when he’s mad,” Daeron laughs. You furrow your brows.

“We didn’t even interact for that long. I didn’t think I would make much of an impression on him,” you ponder.

“Oh, Arm’s not used to people talking to him at all. People tend to give him a wide berth when they come to the garage,” Aegon explains. “And you not only tried to make conversation but called him out on his bullshit. Honestly, I’m impressed.”

“It’s a shame, really,” Helaena muses. “He’s really nice once you get to know him.

“Everyone is nice to you Hel,” Daeron drawls.

“Still,” Helaena huffs.

The topic is dropped as the table makes meaningless small talk with each other. You tuned most of the conversation out til Aegon clasped his hands together.

“Look, nephews,” Aegon starts, leaning in. “Word on the street is that you know the location of the next Dragon Rally.”

“How do you know we know?” Jace asks.

“Because you don’t shut up about it,” Aly responds, causing Cregan to snort. Jace frowns at her. “Didn’t Grandpa tell any of you about it?” He directs the question to his relatives.

“Of course not,” Daeron scoffs. An awkward silence falls over the table.

“Aaanyways,” Cregan drags out. “You gonna come with us?” He looks at you over his girlfriend’s head. Aly turns to look at you as well.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply. The Dragon Rally was a rather secretive event despite its popularity. All you knew was that it involved a grueling ride to whatever location was picked that year and that it was sponsored by the Targaryen family.

“I don’t think I’ll have quite gotten the hang of riding by the time it rolls around,” you continue.

“Oh, Aemond can teach you!” Helaena exclaims. Everyone at the table turns to look at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“What? Vaghar and Meraxes are similar enough models. Plus, it could help patch things up between them.”

“As much as I’d hate to throw you to the wolves, she has a point,” Aegon says. “If anyone’s got the stuff to whip you into shape in a short amount of time, it’s Aemond.”

You look down at the table, thinking on what they said. You’ve spent a long time on the outskirts of this community, wanting to join on the fun but never finding the opportunity—or the courage. You didn’t want to miss out on any more.

“Why doesn’t Aly do it? They’re friends after all,” Jace asks.

“Trust me, Aly couldn’t teach a fish how to swim,” Cregan laughs, earning an elbow in the side from his girlfriend.

“I’m a great teacher,” Aly snaps at Cregan, who laughs and kisses the top of her head.

“Of course you are, love,” he says softly. Daeron pretends to gag, causing Helaena to scold him.

“You know I’d help you,” she says to you. “But my nephew and his gremlin friends are coming into town.” You nod sympathetically. You’ve met Benji Blackwood before. He’s a nice kid, but if he and his friends are in town…Aly’s brother’s gonna need all the help he can get.

“And before you ask, I won’t have the time to lend my expertise. And neither will you,” Cregan explains to Jace.

“Come on, there’s no harm in at least asking,” Aegon teases. You look up at him.

“Alright,” you say simply, rising from the bench.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now!” Aegon shouts as you walk off in the direction Aemond disappeared in earlier.

Aemond leans against the brick wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You know that’s bad for you, right?”

Aemond’s eye lands on you. He gives you a once over before removing the cigarette and letting out a puff of smoke.

“Oh. You,” he said flatly.

“Yes. Me,” you parrot back, matching his flat delivery. You swear you see a slight twinkle in his eye.

“I didn’t think events like this were your thing,” you say, folding your arms across your chest.

“They’re not,” Aemond responds curtly. He takes another drag. “My siblings practically kidnapped me. They think I don’t get out enough,” He scoffs.

“Based on the mercifully brief interaction we had, I’d wager they’re right,” you quip.

“Did they send you to drag me out there,” he asks, taking another puff.

“No, actually. I wanted to ask you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Did you fuck up your bike already?”

“No,” you huff. “Though if I had, I could probably fix it myself.”

He angles his body towards you, his shoulder braces against the wall. “Could you now?”

You thought he was mocking you, but the look in his eyes…he looks more curious than anything.

“I brought her to you ‘cause I hit a dead end. Thought it would be good to get a second pair of eyes to look her over. Oh!” You mentally kick yourself for your poor word choice. “I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine. Happens all the time,” Aemond interjects, though you see his jaw clench. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

You took a deep breath. “The Dragon Rally is coming up. I want to go with my friends,” you start.

“That ride is brutal,” he says, frowning. “You’d have to train hard to be ready by the time it rolls around.”

“I know. Which is why I want you to teach me,” you finish, bracing yourself for his response.

He doesn’t say anything, only gapes at you as if you’d spouted the most ludicrous idea in the world. “Why on earth would you want me to teach you?” He asks.

“Your sister suggested it,” you reply shyly. “And Aegon seconded the idea.”

He lowers his gaze with a hmm. You shift from foot to foot, waiting for his response.

“It’s going to be a lot of work. To start from absolutely nothing—“

“We wouldn’t be starting from nothing!” You interrupt.

“Wouldn’t we?” He quips back.

“I know the basics,” you explain.

“The basics,” he scoffed.

“And what’s wrong with that?” you ask incredulously. His lips curl into a smirk as he leans in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

“Riding a dragon,” he purrs, “is anything but basic.”

You weren’t sure if he meant for that to come off as seductive as it did.Gods, why does his voice have to be so sexy?

“So will you do it?” You ask tentatively.

“Hmmm. I’ll think about it,” he responds.

You nod your head. At least it wasn’t an outright no. Not wanting to push your luck, you turn to walk away.

“But if I do say yes, I’ll want something in return,” he calls after you.

You freeze, looking back at him over your shoulder. “And what exactly will that be?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he replies. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.” You let out a small sigh of relief.

“But you’ll owe me,” he finishes. “And I never forget a debt.”

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Taglist: @valeskafics @carriellie @let-love-bleeds-red @wintrr13 @queenofshinigamis @seabasscevans @fangirlninja67 @toodlesxcuddles @almostpurplelady @goldenpanda16

Bold means I couldn’t tag you

Let me know if you want me to add you to the list! (Or be removed. No shame in that 😊)

#Aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x reader #modern!aemond x reader #I Wanna Ride Aemond fic

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Four: A Request

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

Chapter Track: "Blue" bardcore cover by Cornelius Link A/N: SHORT chapter. A necessary bit before a bigger scene. Obviously not updating as often as I'd like, but I have some mental health stuff going on that's actively interfering with my creativity/ability to write. Your comments and support mean the world! <3

A Request

The bard found her opportunity in the midafternoon.

The court wheeled slow. Too early to dine, too late for anything but quiet meetings over tea. Gossips bartered in corners, warmed by sunlight and conspiracy. The oldest and youngest members of court disappeared for a private rest before the night’s feasting, and the empty spaces they left behind became walls between cliques and families. Everyone found a place and settled there. Or most did, at least. Even the king wandered from his guest to attend to matters of state – his new mistress, rather – and Dream of the Endless sat like a black tear in the golden hangings and wreathed roses.

A cat, perfectly still, intent on everything and nothing as it watched for something worth the bother to hunt. A flicking tail would suit him well.

She’d spent the morning watching his frown cut over the assembled nobles, more judge than hopeful husband, and each failure to notice a pretty girl or answer an eager boy drew a new line in the web she suspected he wove over the court, the trap under the façade. The Endless’s true motive and threat.

She twiddled inoffensive tunes with her lute, banished by her own free will to the minstrels’ corner. Her songs had a purpose, even when played softly. She saved a queen’s reign once, sitting quietly and listening to courtiers sing in traitorous whispers. With busy hands and a clear purpose, she was invisible. Even her friends only remembered her every hour or so, and most knew her well enough to let her be.

The Endless did not leave his seat on high. He did not lower himself to converse with the lowly mortals gathered for his pleasure, and he raised his wine to his lips but rarely. Everything moved like a dull play someone bribed him to sit and watch.

Stealing strings from the growing web, the bard wove a tapestry, working until she could see the shapes and faces, until something resembling sense appeared. The scene in the unfinished fabric looked more like a war than a courtship.

And when the slow hours crept over the castle, and Dream of the Endless sat alone, she turned like the shadows over the wall to settle at on the steps of the royal dais.

“You must enjoy your misery, King of Dreams, to subject yourself to seven full days of this.”

He looked at her, nearer than the rest of court, but still so clearly beneath him, and lifted a brow.

“My misery?” It was the most he’d engaged with any of the lesser beings he sat amidst, and each word weighed heavy, spoken slowly so she’d feel the burden of his attention. “What inspires your assumption?”

Assumption was not presumption, and she took it as permission to continue. He would deign indulge her questions. For the moment. But she must tread carefully, and she continued playing, a gentle ballad a half-step removed from a lullaby.

“Your bearing,” she said, keeping her eyes on the chords. “Your face, your manner.”

Music and mathematics came from the same house. A simple melody and simple addition led to answers most preferred to ignore.

 “You seem terribly bored, majesty.”

A ghost of a smile shadowed his face, a passing eclipse over the moon’s bright face.

“And you would entertain me, little bard?”

“I would not presume to know your tastes, though they clearly do not walk this court.” He didn’t even pretend to show interest. When the king left the room, the Endless’s starry eyes turned flat and cold, proof that the promised bride hadn’t lured him back. Which left only one possibility. To ensure she was heard, she turned to meet his gaze, filling the natural pause of her lute’s tune with her request. “I wouldn’t ask it as a favor, but if you would deign consider it – perhaps whatever cautionary tale you spin will spread farther carried by survivors.”

Now, she truly had his interest. Graceful as a snake, he shifted in his throne. His dark figure blocked the sun, and the only light to creep over his shoulders caught in the ruby at his throat. The bloody glint drew the hair along the back of her neck to stand straight, and she hoped the goosebumps didn’t betray her by running down her arms. She didn’t dare look away to check.

“Do you fear for your life?”

Not at all, and the unnatural confidence of immortality buoyed her courage, lifting a smile from the deep pit in her chest where it sank before she came to sit at Dream’s feet.

“Your sister will not have me, as I’m sure you know.”

The stars in his eyes flashed, and while his shadows didn’t grow any brighter, their knife’s edge softened.

“I’m asking so I might advise a few wiser birds fly the coop before the fox comes calling. They’d make excellent messenger pigeons, if they escape.”

It was too much to hope for a direct answer, and she didn’t wait for one. She rose from the step to sink back down in a far more honest curtsy than she’d offered the mortal realm’s king the night before. Here was a monarch due much greater respect.

And for the second time, she took her leave of him.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #fic: promises #dark!morpheus

[thedeathlysallows]

Is It Over Now? (4)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon; Aegon Targaryen x Aemma Velaryon

Summary: At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight

Warnings: canon typical Targaryen incest.

Here is the masterlist containing all the other drabbles in the series!

Happy Christmas Eve everyone! I'm not sure if I'll get to post tomorrow, so please enjoy this, and have a wonderful time over the next couple of days!

Whispers travel through the Keep at an alarming rate. Servants and knights alike gossip with one another about the princess disappearing into Prince Aegon's chambers for hours, only coming out once Princess Rhaneyra threatened to send Prince Daemon after her.

Aemond doesn't believe the whispers.

Why should he?

Aemma, his Aemma, would never debase herself with a man such as Aegon.

No, the servants are wrong. They have to be wrong. Perhaps some of the servant girls Aemond fucked finally realized exactly what he was doing, and their jealousy overtook them, leading them to lie about what they saw. Or maybe it's not a lie and simply a case of mistaken identity. Perhaps Aegon is doing the same as Aemond and his whore of the day just happened to bear a striking resemblance to their niece.

Yes, that's it. That's exactly what happened.

And yet...

Aemond finds himself outside Aegon's chambers, as if his subconscious carried him all the way here. He allows the guards to open the doors and announce his presence. He waits. Patiently. Desperately.

"Servants have been whispering," Aemond announces unceremoniously. He takes in the way his brother lounges in bed, skin flushed and a dazed smile on his face. Aegon reeks of wine and sex.

"Servants always whisper," Aegon counters. He's altogether too unbothered by anything Aemond could say or do, the afterglow of a good fuck still rendering his mind hazy.

Aemond decides to be outright. "Did you fuck Aemma?"

"And if I did?" Aegon stands slowly, wrapping the bedsheet around his waist. It's more for his prudish brother's sake than his own. "Tell me what you would do, brother. Keep in mind, I know your dirty little servant girl secret, and it's not above me to let it be known to our sweet little Aemma."

"You'll find it difficult to speak without a tongue."

Aegon smirks. "You would never."

He's right. Aemond would never; however, the threat still feels nice rolling from his tongue.

"Does it burn you up inside, brother?" Aegon tilts his head to the side. "Does it just make that cold heart of yours shrivel even more to know Aemma came to my bed willingly? She's always been meant to be mine-"

"No!" Aemond steps forward, but stops himself from moving further. Aegon is simply trying to goad him, and Aemond can't give him the satisfaction of it working. "You lie. Just like the rest of the Keep."

"Do I?" He gestures to his bed where a small splotch of red colors the sheet still over his mattress. When Aemond says nothing, Aegon claps him on the shoulder. "I'll see you in the throne room, brother."

The throne room.

Aemond almost forgot.

Vaemond Velaryon and his suit to inherit Driftmark is to be brought before the King. Yet another reason for your appearance in King's Landing.

He leaves as soon as the thought strikes him and heads to the throne room. Most of the Lords and Ladies are gathered already, his family included. He takes his place with them and waits. Aegon slinks in not long after, standing between Aemond and Helaena.

When you enter the room, trailing behind your mother like a good little heir to the throne, Aemond's eye is on you instantly. He searches up and down your body, scanning for any hint that Aegon was indeed telling the truth, but he sees nothing. You stand with your shoulders back and head high as you listen to Vaemond's unhinged speech. Aemond hears little of it. He's too focused on you, all but begging you to look at him. When you finally do look over the breath leaves his chest. Your gaze is sharp but softens into comfortable familiarity as you look at him.

I love you, he wants to say.

"Speak plainly," King Viserys snaps, pulling Aemond's attention back to the matter at hand.

Vaemond bares his teeth. "Her sons are bastards."

"I'll have your tongue!" Viserys makes to get off the throne, but Daemon is quicker. Dark Sister arches through the air and frees Vaemond's head from his neck.

Your uncle turned step father smirks. "He can keep it."

Aemond watches your reaction carefully, taking in the way you turn ever so slightly towards your mother. Your face goes deathly pale as you clutch your stomach. You've clearly no appetite for violence still.

"Aemma," Aemond says in a reverent whisper. The sound can't possibly reach you, but your eyes seek him out once more, and he can't help but step towards you.

"Aemond," Alicent snaps.

And just like that you look away, your own mother pulling you close and whispering something to you when she notices Aemond's staring.

Aegon leans over, dropping his voice so low that only Aemond can hear it. "Someone informed our dear sister of your escapades with pretty light haired serving girls that bear a shocking resemblance to her precious daughter."

"You're using a lot of words to say you told her."

"I didn't." Aegon's expression is grave. "I would make a spectacle out of it. You know that. Mother believes she has spies in the Keep."

Aemond takes his brother's words in stride.

"I advise you be more discreet," Aegon continues after a pause. "It's not a good look to lust after your brother's wife. Though if you can manage to not make me look like a joke I might let you have a taste after I put a babe in her belly."

It takes everything in Aemond not to reach over and strangle his brother. He's had enough of Aegon's lies. He didn't bed Aemma, he just wants to torture Aemond.

"She doesn't deserve a man like you," Aemond says simply.

"We shall see, brother."

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader

[namorslutfanfiction]

Fic request! Something soft and fluffy? Like Namor is relaxing for once and letting himself be a bit soft and gentle 🥺

Thank you for the request! This is perfect to start me off.

Namor x Reader

Summary: Namor goes to visit the children of Talokan and his favorite teacher.

I don't want to disrespect Yucatec Mayan and this would almost certainly have to have the dialogue be completely translated. So I will write in English to avoid any mistranslations.

The children noticed the King swimming by their class as you taught them. You bowed slightly to the King who waved you off and mouthed for you to finish your lesson. You finished showing the children the type of net weaving style you were demonstrating then dismissed them.

The children all let out screams and laughs as they swam up to the King, lifting their hands in a gesture of respect that resembled the open jaw of a megaladon.

"Your majesty, will you play ball with us again?" A young boy asked, taking Namor's hand and pulling him toward the open water near their classes alcove.

"I am still recovering but I can play for a bit, but you must help your teacher clean up after your class, alright?" Namor ruffled the child's hair, an affectionate smile appearing on his regal visage.

The child nodded excitedly and the rest of the kids followed him to clean up the remnants of their net weaving. You looked up as Namor swam to your side and nudged his shoulder against yours. He was dressed in a half cape and you noticed that one of his ankles was wrapped in bandages.

"I see that the children still love you despite your tedious lessons," Namor teased.

"K'uk'ulkan, come sit. I heard you were injured," You guide him into a seat before he can protest. You're at his feet examining the bandage around his ankle. "Did she really rip off your wing? Do you think it will grow back? Does it still hurt? I can make some of the balm you liked the last time that shark took a bit of your thigh if you like?"

You rattled off question after question as you took his ankle into your hands. Namor looked down at you fondly then reached forward to cup your cheek with his hand, "I am alright. I promise. It will grow back. It was a small price to pay to know that we have a strong ally and Talokan and our people are safe; to know that you are safe."

You looked up at him, seeing the care in his eyes and feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin. Your worries melted away as you stood and he pulled you into his arms by your waist. He rested his head against your chest, heaving a sigh of relief.

You wrapped an arm across his shoulders, pressing him closer. Your hand found his hair and massaged his scalp. He leaned in deeper and you stood strong and reliant as he gripped you firmly. You stood together for awhile, resting in each other's embrace.

"Hearing your heart beat is all the balm I need," Namor nuzzled your neck slightly. You pulled away and looked down at him, his eyes looked tired but had a spark of relief in them.

"I was worried about you, my king," You admitted, running a finger over his brow gently, dragging it down to the tip of his nose. You traced his lip and he kissed your finger.

"Will you keep your promise once the alliance with Wakanda is finalized? Will you become my queen?" He spoke in a soft, hopeful tone.

"We will see," You teased, finally pulling away. But Namor pulled you back into his arms.

"Don't tease me, my love," he smiled and stole a chaste kiss that made you giggle.

"Hush, what if the children see?" You half-heartedly tried to break free from his embrace.

"The children know by now; they see me visit you nearly every day," Namor bear hugged you, nuzzling your cheek with his nose.

"K'uk'ulkan, we finished cleaning!" The boy from earlier appeared to their right followed by the rest of the children. The rest of the little boys and girls broke out in giggles as they watched their teacher wriggle out of the king's embrace.

"That is exactly the prompt response I expect from my future general," Namor addressed the original little boy causing him to puff up his chest in pride.

"Will you come play with us now?" The boy asked with a pleading look.

"Yes, I always keep my word," the children cheered and gathered their things and headed toward the clearing.

"Please take it easy, my king," You said as you helped him remove his cloak so he could play with the children. You tried to ignore the quickening of your heartbeat as more of his skin was exposed.

"Like what you see, my love? You're blushing," Namor whispered after turning around to find you flustered, "After I play with the children, I can play with you. I promise."

Namor swam off with a rogueish smirk on his lips. You watched him swim away with a pleasant fluttering in your stomach, looking forward to him keeping his promise.

////

So there we go! Hope you like it! The first of hopefully many more!

#namor #namor x reader #namor x oc #namorslutfanfiction #namorfanfic #namor of talokan #fluff

[sepublic]

Hooty, the Titan, and the Archivists?

(Skip to The Timeline heading down below if you just want the backstory I put together.)

All right, so I think Hooty was the one who built the temple, or “Collector’s lair” we see inside of the Titan’s skull. Going off of the assumption that the Titan’s tapeworm is indeed our Hooty and not another of his kind...

Anyone remember these weird demons from Hooty’s Moving Hassle? Probably not; It’s a case of a little demon living in the right eye socket of a bigger demon. Right after giving Eda directions, the bigger demon ensnares his little guy with his tongue to eat him. But what if he wasn’t actually eating him; Just transporting his friend to another part of his body?

If you think of it, these two could be a metaphor for how the Boiling Isles as a whole work; A bunch of smaller little guys, living on a bigger guy’s body and occasionally interacting with him. The main difference being that the Titan is mostly dead, and can’t physically interact with people, just watch and show them glyphs. Hooty’s relationship with the Titan could’ve been similar to these two... And we see this pair in Hooty’s Moving Hassle, an episode that implied deeper lore to Hooty, such as the living legs underneath the Owl House, his reaction to the Moonlight Conjuring, etc.

Then there’s that mural I showed earlier, depicting a tower at the Collector’s lair, with a circular symbol that as @fermented-writers-block (and/or someone else idk) suggested, bears a resemblance to Hooty... So could this be where Hooty emerged from, all the way within the Titan’s eye socket? Did he build this living space while the Titan was alive, or afterwards? 

Likewise, this eye motif becomes even more interesting when we remember Dell’s tower, which the Owl House was built from;

It has the same giant eye window, repurposed... And at the end of the first episode, it even blinks.

Could be a case of early-installment weirdness, but what if this alludes to the window having once been alive? We know the Owl House itself has breathing walls, revealed in, you guessed it, Hooty’s Moving Hassle! If Hooty was a part of the Owl House, who’s to say he wasn’t part of Dell’s tower, before it got converted by Eda? Likewise...

We know Dell visited the ‘mandible’, so presumably the Titan’s jaws. This next bit is more speculative, but if Hooty was left behind in the Titan’s skull, then maybe he scavenged around the area; And teeth are known to have lots of leftover food bits, wonderful for such a voracious creature like Hooty! So maybe Dell found Hooty there, and essentially adopted him; Bringing Hooty with him back to the right arm, where he eventually created a new structure for Hooty to house himself in. Possibly taking the Titan’s right eye and repurposing it as a window...

I mean, if you think about it... Both King and Eda have a dad who’s missing an eye. And Dell would’ve presumably made this trip after losing his eye... Assuming it’s not a return trip, possibly to meet up with his old pal Hooty, or search Hooty’s old home for strange things that might help? So maybe the window is the Titan’s left eye, transformed. 

Continuing onwards, Hooty may seem too small, given his scale relative to the Titan; But so does the Titan’s heart, as is the proposed eye the window would’ve come from. What I think happened is that over time, these leftover bits of the Titan shrank due to a lack of nutrition, for obvious reasons; And Hooty is indeed a very gluttonous creature. Of course, his eating tendencies may have originated prior to the Titan’s death...

We see how Hooty has a tendency to swallow a bunch of stuff to spit out at a later time, when needed. And if he guards the temple where the Collector’s disc was found, perhaps Hooty simply... swallowed it, in order to transport the disc within? He could’ve been used as a way for the Titan to store things inside of her skull, of all places, and then vomit back up afterwards when required.

We know there are multiple Collector discs, there’s one with the Titan Trappers, a second one I theorize was eaten by Hooty, and what appear to be remains of at least one more hovering around the Collector’s prison in the in-between;

However! We must recall that on the doors leading to the skull’s temple (or ‘The Collector’s lair’ as Philip calls it), there are five circular indentations. They may be other places for Hooty to have emerged from, but people speculated they were actually meant for five Collector discs we’ve seen. And, well...

It appears there were five Collectors (or more specifically, one Collector and four Archivists). The fate of the Archivists is not specified; The Collector says ‘They’re not here’ in response to Luz’s death... But keep in mind, this is them just now realizing that death is a thing. So just as they believe and were likely told the Archivists ‘took away’ people who died (not unlike how the living were preserved in scrolls, per their title)... It’s possible they believed the Archivists had simply left, when in reality, they had been wiped out by the Titans in their war, a mutual genocide.

After all, we know Titan magic is able to cancel out that of the Archivists’, so it’s not a stretch to imagine they had a fighting chance; The Archivists did rely on the Titan Trappers for help, so they were clearly aware of their shortcomings. And just as one side made trophies out of remnants of the other...

What if these discs are basically Archivist corpses? That upon death, their bodies reverted into these tiny, glass-like artifacts; And the Titan, OUR Titan, stored them inside of his skull, relying on Hooty to organize the discs for him. Five discs... For five Collectors.

But as we know, the Titan didn’t kill OUR Collector; She spared him. Although she does frame this as an act of passion, committed out of vengeance; So did she want revenge, but still had enough sense to not kill this kid? 

Anyhow, we have this theorized precedent for living things becoming glass discs after death. Perhaps like the Titan’s eye, which Hooty held onto, and later brought with him when Dell invited him into the Owl Tower? Likewise, if these discs are crystallized Archivist corpses, that might explain their connection to the Collector, given they are kin, and there’s still some leftover magic.

This does raise the implications of the Titan Trappers’ disc being shattered. And to be honest... I think it was just broken. There are reasons why Belos wrapped the Collector’s disc in his old cloak; It was him getting rid of a wretched part of his past, and silencing the kid. But the way the Collector’s disc lands, caught on the cloak and not hitting the ground... It makes me wonder if the animators showed it this way, to suggest that if it weren’t for the cloak catching it, the disc would’ve hit the ground and shattered upon impact.

That could be the very simple explanation behind Bill’s disc being broken; Nothing to do with an Archivist being freed, I hope... But if they are alive and out there, perhaps they all escaped their prisons and fled into the cosmos, abandoning the Collector.

So to put things together into a general timeline...!

The Timeline

The Archivists seek to preserve life, converting them into scrolls you can read, hence their name. They travel from planet to planet, with the policy that if the natives resist preservation, they’ve essentially embraced the alternative that is death; So may as well help them get it over with! Hence the genocide as retaliation.

The Archivists eventually spot the Demon Realm, and send in their little kid, the Collector, as a Trojan Horse; Someone who can scout out the place for them, provide intel, and make the Titans think the rest of his kind are trustworthy. The Collector plays with the fellow kids, expresses interest in one egg still waiting to hatch, but isn’t allowed to play just yet. Eventually, the Archivists strike... Only to discover their magic is countered by the Titans’.

Still, they don’t give up; They enlist the help of puny mortal witches (among them Bill), creating the first generation of Titan Trappers to help them. The alliance between Archivists and Titan Trappers succeeds in commencing a brutal genocide; And at some point during this war, one Archivist targets the Owl Beast, and turns it into a scroll. However, they lose the scroll, which ends up in the boiling ocean, drifting for millennia until an unsuspecting trash-cleaner picks it up...

The Archivists use their viscous forms, resembling the darkness of space, to restrain the Titans, so their Titan Trapper allies can land the mortal blow. In response, OUR Titan fights back alongside the others, and one by one, the Archivists fall; Upon death, their magic fades and leaves behind only a little crystalline disc. Our Titan’s parasite, Hooty, swallows and stores them inside of his skull, which has a decorated living quarters he carved out himself! We know from Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door that he built an entire underground love tunnel for Luz and Amity... Storing the discs causes Hooty to form a connection with the moon (one that can be invoked during a Moonlight Conjuring), just as the Archivists once had.

As for the Collector, our Titan feels resentful and blames him for the genocide of her people, but doesn’t commit to killing them, despite having five slots, for five Archivists; Instead, she imprisons him in the in-between. Likewise, her egg is kept safe in a hidden Titan nursery, using a glyph (possibly an undiscovered combo, or the glyph of another Titan entirely) to hide it from the Archivists; Jean-Luc is placed as a guardian. 

The war continues, until our Titan is the last one left, but has successfully killed the last Archivist in battle. However, their Titan Trapper allies collect the disc left behind in their death, forcing a wounded Titan to flee, but not before she blows out Bill’s ear drums. She succumbs to her injuries, lying down and mourning the child she left behind; And upon death, her spirit lingers in the in-between, for her heart still beats. Unable to interact with the world of the living, she relies on cubes to see what is going on there, and eventually regrets imprisoning the Collector; But despite her search across millennia, she cannot find the Collector’s prison in this infinite chasm.

Poor Hooty is left behind, and like the Bat Queen, loses his memories over time; Possibly the result of physical trauma like her, and/or time taking a toll on his psychology (Amity states House Demons go crazy after a while). At one point, he captures a Stonesleeper during the Hektaceous period to keep as a pet, hoping to soothe his loneliness; And eventually, leaves the Titan’s eye socket, bored and without purpose. With the Titan’s crystallized eye stored in his stomach, Hooty heads down to the mandible, where some leftover food is there for him to scavenge upon...

Meanwhile, Bill uses the disc the Titan Trappers found to communicate with the Collector. Bill worships the Collector as the Grand Huntsman, recognizing them as kin of the Archivists. The Collector explains only a Titan can free them and expresses interest in the egg they wanted to play with, and Bill interprets the mission to find the Titan’s egg as a continuation of the genocide the Archivists ordered. However, the disc he has is broken, cutting contact with Bill and the Collector. Undeterred, the Titan Trappers eventually locate the Titan’s corpse, but are unable to find her egg and give up, returning home. Every now and then, a Titan Trapper visits the isles for clues.

Even more time passes, witches evolve and spread across the Boiling Isles, etc. Others visit the skull and find the other three discs, but only two are taken away; The witches who find these discs discover they can communicate with an enigmatic entity known as the Collector through them, but ultimately get sick of the kid and shatter their discs. Nevertheless, someone makes note of the Collector’s existence, and their connection to the discs, of which only one is known to be left intact in the skull; Philip Wittebane comes across these notes, which also record how the Collector taught this witch powerful magic.

Inspired, he heads to the skull, only to come across the Stonesleeper that Hooty left behind; Not wanting to risk his own skin, Philip relies on other witches, including Blue Fang, as bait to distract the Stonesleeper, but to no avail. He eventually enlists Luz and Lilith, and they manage to survive long enough for Philip to escape with the final disc. He also kills Hooty’s pet, using its lungs to make the first Grimwalker of Caleb...

Flash forward a few centuries, and Dell visits the mandible, meeting Hooty. He befriends the primordial parasite, who has shrunken over time due to a lack of nutrition; The Titan’s body has decayed quite a bit. Hooty explains how he lives in the area, and found some pretty weird things there that he shows off. Dell takes him back to his home in the right arm, building a tower for Hooty to inhabit, a new house for him to guard, and he places the Titan’s eye as a window. When his daughter Eda is cursed, Dell decides to head back to the mandible, in case there’s something in the area that could help... Until his eye is clawed out by the Owl Beast, that is; Coming back after all this millennia!

Feeling guilt over Dell’s injuries as well as shame by her mother over the curse, Eda moves out of the house, since Lilith has already left for the Emperor’s Coven, so there’s nobody left for her there. She finds Dell’s old tower, meets Hooty, and rebuilds the structure into our titular Owl House... And the rest is history!

#the owl house #the owl house hooty #boiling isles titan #the owl house collector #the owl house archivists #titan trappers #philip wittebane #emperor belos #dell clawthorne #speculation #analysis #theory

[floating--goblin]

so logamin

I feel like it's rightfully weird to a lot of people, considering the whole canon dynamic between them, but the way that I like to think about it is like

You have Logan. Orphan, thrust into the real world all too early, put in charge of an immense kingdom that only got united some 50 years prior. Only the second generation of Albion monarchy, with all too little wisdom left over from his predecessors, most of which were just mayors of Bowerstone. From what it looks like, his only guidance came from Walter-- who was all too busy with his little sibling-- and Reaver, who is... Reaver. Currently-busy-sucking-the-continent-dry, human sacrificer, industrialist extraordinaire, literal inventor of capitalism in Albion Reaver. Who tried to kill Logan's parent at least once, mind you.

And then you have Ben Finn-- sweet, idealist, loyal to a fault Ben Finn, whose allegiance you earn once and forever. You could break every promise, raze everything to the ground, leave thousands of innocents to die to the Darkness, and he's the only one who won't leave. Good, devoted, collared dog Ben Finn. Because he gets it-- you're trying to keep the country from crumbling. So what if he doesn't agree with your means to that end? He'll grit and bear. He knows all too well by now what sacrifice means and what the world will take from you, that life is short, that where he's from people don't live to half his age.

He knows what it's like to watch your parents die, to have what flimsy safety net you had unravel beneath you. He knows deep, undying love for his siblings, which Logan clearly has as well-- the same way little Ben Finn tried to protect his much older brothers with his peashooter and his scrawny kid fists, Logan tried to protect his sibling by keeping them locked up and in the dark about his work. Shelter them, bear the brunt of it, so others won't have to suffer. Same mentality as Ben.

When Logan has Major Swift executed, we get to see a rare glimpse of true wrath in Ben-- that was his father figure, the last thing he had resembling a family, ripped from him. He vows to make Logan suffer, advocates for his execution after the revolution; and yet, still fights by his side in the Battle for Albion, still stands by him at Walter's funeral without complaint, still tolerates his existence. A year passes in between the coup and the Battle-- do you think, in that time, he got to see Logan more? The Allies must've had meetings to strategize, and judging by his clothing Logan's been living in the castle; they couldn't have not interacted during that year.

Do you think, then, that Ben Finn-- self-sacrificial as he's always been, now having to see his best friend struggle to run the country and avoid falling into the same pitfalls Logan did-- looked at the disgraced former king and... Got it?

He's had comrades drop like flies left and right-- honest, hard-working people with families back home, who nonetheless were in it for the greater good-- and had to get back up, dust himself off and crack a joke for the sake of morale. He's lived in Bloodstone, a festering wound on the face of Albion, doing Avo knows what; death and decay have always followed in his footsteps, and yet he's chosen to take that as just another piece of the puzzle.

Because when you're talking about saving the world, you come to see people as distant, abstract notions. And he'll always resent that Logan was pushed to those depths of madness, but he can't not get the need to take extreme measures in the face of certain doom.

After all, his best friend, his Hero, is one step away from doing the same. And in their place, he might, too. For the greater good.

So he leaves Bowerstone. Tours the world once over, relives his youth-- which wasn't so long ago, but he feels ancient by now. He's quieter now perhaps, a little more skittish; more alert to a glint of something metal in the corner of his eye, more prepared to jump into action at the groaning of a wooden floor behind him. He comes back to Albion years later, maybe a little more gray and scruffy, but still Ben Finn. Despite everything, still good old Ben Finn. In a decade or so, tensions between Samarkand and Albion will be rising-- in another four or five, Darkness will descend upon Albion once more. New Heroes will have to be made.

But for now he's home, and his friend welcomes him with open arms-- gives him a room in the castle perhaps, a generous allowance, and the odd adventuring job to keep him from getting bored. Page is still down in the sewers, directing her energy toward workers' rights and children's education, building a system that'll ensure no one's left to rot in the street. Sabine's passed by now, perhaps, but the Dwellers have been given their lands back and are represented in the Court; as are the Aurorans, who have their own embassy by now. Kalin sends letters sometimes, discusses everything from philosophy to petty gossip with the Hero. She's delighted to hear Ben's back, invites him and the Hero over sometime, maybe for a festival-- You should see Aurora nowadays, Ben, it's like a phoenix risen from the ashes! the Hero might say. And it's true-- with the Darkness gone, the "City of Nightmares" has become anything but.

He takes it all in, and something's missing-- and it's not that he, personally, misses Logan, but Logan's absence is... impossible to ignore. Like a vital piece of the scenery that's been plucked out. The Hero probably doesn't mention it, but it's evident that it stings. And maybe Ben inquires about it one night, when it's evident the Hero would like to reminisce-- lets them talk about their childhood, about growing up to see Logan go from a timid, good-hearted boy to a monster. About the way he hid his encounter with the Crawler from everyone and sunk deeper and deeper into his paranoia, convinced that no one will believe him if he tells them what he's seen. Tormented by the vision and doomed not to be trusted, the Seer's curse.

And maybe Ben decides to leave one day-- sick of rescuing chickens from wells and children from trees, he decides to surprise his best friend. And so he tracks Logan down to whatever corner of the world he's cooped up in; most likely in the libraries of Samarkand, a lonely shadow from far away lands, that talks to no one, keeps his face covered, and seems to be seeking something ineffable in the hundreds upon hundreds of yellowed pages he devours each day. Ben's arrival startles him-- he, too, is more skittish these days. And when he sees that familiar face pulled up into a scowl, Logan's sure his end has come for him.

Instead, Ben invites him home. Talks about his sibling, the way they'll never admit it but have him on their mind every waking hour. He tells Logan this isn't forgiveness-- they aren't friends. But he gets it. And after so many years, it's time to let the dust settle. Everyone should come home.

They travel back together, take the long trek from province to province until they reach the coast of Samarkand, board a ship and set sail for Albion. They live off the same small hunt, wild berries and hardtack over the journey back, drink from the same battered old flask, huddle together during storms, ward off bandits side by side. For better or worse, they become comrades-- Ben talks at length around the nightly campfire to stay sane, and eventually Logan joins him. Shares some of his own stories, perhaps-- and that's how Ben discovers the former king never wanted to be a king at all, that he did it for the sake of his parent's legacy and that he clung desperately to his moral compass until his mind broke too far to be trusted. That he always dreamt of being a scholar, perhaps an alchemist or a craftsman of some sort. That he can recite hundreds of poems and epics, that he loves literature just as fiercely as Ben does.

That he'd do anything for his friends and family, no matter how big the sacrifice.

And Ben doesn't forgive him yet, can't do it-- but they reach Bowerstone, and he watches the Hero burst into tears at the sight of their brother, older and more disheveled but alive, and he can't help but think back to being small and helpless and praying every night that his brothers might somehow, through some miracle, return to him.

And maybe sometime down the line, Logan musters up the courage to approach Ben one night and apologize. He speaks quietly, there's a tremor in his voice that's hard to miss; but Ben can tell the apology was composed with care and rehearsed heavily beforehand, and it's thorough. Logan makes no demands, he recognizes he might never be forgiven; he'll live with that, it's the consequences of his own actions, for which he'll take responsibility. Still, he apologizes.

And maybe Ben, good old Ben Finn, who by this point has only been thrust further and further into misery each time he thought he'd come to understand the horrors of the universe, finds it in his heart to forgive him. It won't undo the damage, but... he gets it. There's an understanding that goes unspoken, that Logan's actions will never be forgotten-- but they can live with that, some way or another.

And maybe as time passes, they fall further and further into each other. It's not the youthful, blazing kind of love that's all butterflies in your stomach and grand gestures-- more like furtive glances over the dinner table, correspondence during absences, or sparring matches as an excuse to spend time together. It's slow, a quiet yearning that could be tuned out, but is all the sweeter for being there at all.

They're old by the time they fall into place-- or well, older than they ever thought they'd get. Thirties, fourties perhaps. Long life still ahead of them, but an ache in their bones that's aeons old. Doesn't matter anymore. They'll nurse the ache together.

By then, perhaps, they get a house far from the bustling city life; somewhere near Brightwood perhaps, where the land's decent for farming and the past is alive-- the good parts of it, at least. Somewhere they can wake up to fresh air and rustling leaves, keep a few animals, focus on writing. And The Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn can come to a close in a way Ben never dared to imagine, one that'll have audiences satisfied:

I lived.

#fable #logan fable #ben finn #logamin #fable 3 #hi. behold my deranged ramblings

[writingnocturne]

On Forbidden Ground

This is my contribution to @zelinkcommunity's Zelink Week 2023! Day Two: Forbidden

Look below the break to read! Be sure to check out everyone else's work, as well! They did great!

{ For this week, I will be posting a little peek at art/writing for memories in Call of the Forgotten, a TotK rewrite I am working on (there will obviously be direct and indirect spoilers for TotK). These memories will be posted out of order and are subject to change. They follow the Ancient Hero and Princess during the time of the First Great Calamity. }

Memory ?? – On Forbidden Ground

( Word Count – 1,625 )

A young woman approaches the edge of a forest of ruin. She travels along the Dracozu River, even the ripples of the water carrying her reflection with trepidation. Higher cliffs hang not far above her head, looming over the thin slits of land she has to travel upon. It occurs to her that she would have benefited from bringing along a boat, but it's far too late to turn back now. She braved this accursed wood on a whim; chasing a hope for her people.

You are chosen, Impa had told her, As a child of Light and Time– one born from the bloodline of Hylia herself– you are perhaps the only one worthy of bearing the complete Triforce upon her hand. Awaken it, and perhaps this Calamity you foresee shall fall before it even begins.

This land– the land of Faron– has been one forbidden to set foot in since she was young. However, legend properly written down by the late Queen Sonia states that a magical spring within it is hidden beyond the walls of a temple; one built to resemble a spring of the earth in ancient myth. Although later taken over by an outcast clan of barbarians, the lands holding the site were once the home of King Rauru's own ancestors; and hers. It was a place of ceremony, dedicated to the guardian dragons they worshiped. She hopes, if anywhere, she will have the best luck starting from here. Passing through this place, seeing the old statues overturned and overwhelmed by overgrowth, carries a sort of bitterness; yet this bitterness is nothing she is not already familiar with. This shell of a place is the same as the life she once knew: an empty realm of memories one simply cannot grasp. The emptiness remains, but the resentment it brings alongside it is unmatched. Creatures that once lurked in the night followed the order of the demon responsible for this hollow state. She once hid from them, in fear that The Demon King would discover the heir of his mortal enemy and try to bring her to the same fate as her mother. At that time, she was young… She never could have accounted for the people that had no option to run.

The princess becomes distant from the world she travels amidst; something that has become the norm when her thoughts dwell in a time now lost. It leaves her unaware. This moment of staring off soon twists into folly as, by the time she snaps back into reality, her attention is caught by the sound of swift movement through the tall grass. The young woman is quick to turn her head back towards the source. In unison, a golden aura emits from her body and stops a weapon mid-air. It was mere inches from striking the back of her head… it surely would have knocked her unconscious. She squints, perplexed by the weapon's structure. Suspended before her is a bat with blades fastened into the wood. Resembling a weapon of which a monster would have carried during the Imprisoning War, the club has a peculiar green substance securing the individual parts. As if she has forgotten the obvious threat of whatever threw the weapon, she slowly brings a hand towards it to inspect what has been done to upgrade such a primitive weapon this way. It is almost… familiar. The instant she attempts to investigate where she recognizes the substance from, however, she feels a heavy force drive into her back.

Zelda is sent down to the earth, managing to catch herself just before she can collide with it at full-force. Instinct kicking in, she immediately turns herself to be sure her attacker cannot catch her off guard again whilst she tries to stand. This reveals their now-visible silhouette to be close; they are close enough to easily kick the princess's stomach and pin her down with their weight. She grunts as she finally is forced down. Zelda lifts her right hand to focus a surge of light energy towards the figure, but finds herself pausing at the sight of a paralleled action from her attacker. A green energy comes from their own aimed arm, streams of its power leaking out into the air around them. It now illuminates their form in the shade of the canopy. Although their flowing red hair strikes her as odd, it is their face that particularly stands out. Unlike any Hylian, they have an almost animalistic appearance. And upon their forehead: a tear-shaped stone emits the faintest light of its own.

Almost breathless, she mutters the baffling realization aloud, "You're…– You're a Zonai."

The Zonai's blue eyes widen slightly as they gaze upon her, their right hand leaving the surface of their left arm as the glow slowly dims. She keeps an eye on every movement they make, but they do not seem intent on attacking again. The figure brings their hand to their face, their fingers spread out across it, before… removing this face entirely. In a short flash of light, she finds the Zonai has disappeared. It has been reduced to a carved face in the hands of a new person: a shorter Hylian with a mass of long red hair falling to his sides. He shares the same blue eyes, which continue to stare at the princess for a moment or two in thought. Still alarmed, regardless, Zelda hurriedly scoots back from the figure before returning the gesture with locked eyes.

"You're… like me." His eyes trail to her left arm as he mumbles his words. Zelda looks down to it as well, recalling the clash both lines of her ancestors have over her appearance. It shows even in her ears, which are large and aligned with her hair. With this shared understanding out of the way, the young man suddenly offers a hand to her to help her up. This is certainly an unexpected shift, but the princess would rather accept it over the fight that was seconds away from breaking out. Although hesitant, she slowly places her hand in his own. Less than a second follows before he pulls her up into a stand, then finding he has to now look up to the girl instead. "...you aren't a monster, then."

"Did you… think I was?" Zelda tilts her head, her long ears angling downward slightly. The boy simply shrugs. Perhaps he did, but perhaps he just didn't take the time to properly look at her. It has been years since he's really seen a monster. "...The Imprisoning War has been over for… for over a decade. There haven't been monsters since. How long have you…–?" The boy simply turns around, suddenly beginning to lead her off. "Hey–! What are you doing?"

He glances back for a second, blankly staring again. The young man subtly points ahead of him, but realizes this is not a sufficient answer for the princess. It takes him a while before he eventually decides to give a verbal answer, "...You're going to the head of the river."

Zelda seems slightly surprised that he knows this, but she supposes he must have noticed her following the river. She nods. For him to have attacked her like that initially… Did he aim to protect it? If he is the only one left in these woods, he must have. Such a thought leaves the returning bitterness in her chest. She pities this boy, understanding quickly that both have been barred away– forbidden by fate to have the peaceful lives that they were owed as youth. Deciding they have this common ground, she speaks, "My name is Princess Zelda of Hyrule, daughter of King Rauru and Queen Sonia."

"..." The boy peers back, looking incredibly disturbed by the length of that title. It's clear he tries to brush it off, although he knows his own name is rather bland in comparison, "...Link."

"Link… That does sound familiar…" The princess thinks aloud, finding her gaze wandering back down to his arm. Within the mysterious Zonai form he took, his arms glistened with an eerily recognisable power. It looked similar to her own, but far more decorated. It… reminds her of someone.

As Link leads Zelda over ruin– unintentionally nearly tripping her a time or two– he pulls her along until they reach a split in the river. The Dracozu ends in a pond that jaggedly takes two routes, presenting itself like a set of open jaws. The girl's initial thought is that this is what Link meant by the "head," yet her mind easily changes upon seeing the Great Dragon Head statue casting a shadow upon them both.

"This must be it. The Spring of Courage." Taking a step towards it, the princess focuses on the statue visible within the dragon's mouth. It sits, overlooking the spring, as countless durians oddly float around it upon the water's surface. The statue of Hylia wears a mask of its own: one that imitates the dragon-like face of the figures outside. She decides not to question this fact, for now, simply entering the forsaken yet sacred ground. Link's footsteps are more than audible following behind, which is rather expected. "Link–" The girl turns her head back to the peculiar stranger, "Thank you." Zelda is about to say more, but her words come to a sudden halt. Although their encounter was certainly strange enough, she could have sworn that the eyes of his mask… moved. This is the final detail it takes for her to redirect the course of her words. The princess takes a deep breath, then makes her decision: "There is something I must do here, but… Link, once I am done, may I speak to you for a while longer?"

Thank you for reading! Check out the first concept doodles of them here! Obviously, this is all very incomplete; but most is planned out thoroughly! If you have questions, just ask!

Art Info: (Check my art blog @nocturnalfandomartist!)

Program: Ibis Paint X

Time Elapsed: 7 hours, 27 minutes

#zelink week 2023 #totk spoilers #tears of the kindom spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk #totk fanfic #totk headcanons #loz #the legend of zelda #legend of zelda #tloz fanfic #loz fic #zelda #loz fanfic #tloz fanart #tloz #ancient hero's aspect #zonai link #botw #botw zelink #totk zelink #princess zelda #zelink #loz fanfiction #the great calamity #zelda botw #loz totk #loz botw #zelda tears of the kingdom #tloz fanfiction

[wyvernquill]

One more snippet of the Dreamling Anastasia AU

...in which we witness Hob and Murphy's very first conversation (spoiler: it doesn't go well). Please enjoy!

Link to the Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

---

For a moment, the scene unfolding before Hob makes him think he’s stepped into a fairytale - or perhaps a sweet and strange dream, haunting you ever so gently even after waking.

Once upon a time, thinks Hob, there was a Dream King draped in a cloak of midnight, and he held court over the ravens in a silver-winter forest under heavy, snow-laden boughs…

But then he blinks, and the silly, fanciful vision fades. The cloak is but a dark coat three sizes too large and marked by at least ten years’ worth of dirt and wear, the forest only a small and pitiful park fenced in by roads, and the snow a dirty grey, barely more than half-melted sludge where countless feet have trodden it down.

And the Dream King is only some beggar called Murphy, of course, uncanny resemblance be damned.

But there are ravens. Birds of all kinds, really, the sounds of their wings and their various songs nearly managing to drown out the noise of the city around them. Yet Hob is a practical man, and knows that they gather around their ‘king’ only because they’re clever little buggers waiting to be fed, and not thanks to any strange magics.

(Magic died when humanity rose up and brought the Endless low; and what little survived has fled, concealed itself, and would know better than to enchant a hundred or so birds in broad-if-cloud-dimmed daylight.

Magic died with Dream of the Endless, and all that is left are shadows and cheap facsimiles.

Magic died, and nothing will bring it back.)

And yet… there’s potential there, Hob thinks, as he watches Murphy draw his giant coat more tightly around himself, shivering but still holding his head high and proud, surveying the assorted fowl around him as if they were his subjects. There’s a sharp, delicate arrogance in his bearing that will serve their deception well.

And. Christ alive. He does look like him, doesn’t he. Like the Sandman himself, made flesh and bone and sweat and dirt. Made human. If Hob didn’t know, with absolute certainty… he could swear...

Ridiculous thought. Dream of the Endless would never sink so low as to get himself thrown out of a pub swearing and spitting, human or not.

Murphy’s eyes suddenly snap up, and Hob flinches instinctively, contemplates ducking behind the next tree or the column advertising the latest local plays - but the man’s gaze passes over him carelessly, long neck craning out from the ratty scarf wound around his throat as he scans the sky.

It’s the raven. The large, coal-feathered beast Murphy had with him at the pub, with the clever glint in its eye - and in its claws, it holds a whole loaf of bread, clearly pilfered from some bakery or street stall.

The raven drops the bread into Murphy’s lap, and then lands on his shoulder, cawing and nudging its beak against a sharp cheekbone in a strange avian gesture of affection.

Murphy rasps some sort of acknowledgement in his dark, hoarse voice that Hob is too far away to parse, stroking a finger along the bird’s side, before turning his attention to the bread.

His spindly, dirty fingers tear into it with the hungry desperation of a man who remembers with precise clarity when his last meal was, and also that it’s been far too long since then, and Hob’s stomach gives a sympathetic pang. He’s been there. Not so much recently - but he knows the slow gnaw of starvation, and will never forget it.

(He hasn’t gone hungry since meeting Gilbert, who’d rather skip on his own technically unnecessary meals if it meant his young human companion could eat his fill. Sometimes, Gil even hands Hob fruits he’s seemingly conjured up out of thin air, which are never as filling as the real thing, but taste heavenly enough to stave off hunger for a few more hours at least.

There must be some dream-magic there, something to do with Gil being, in all technicality, a meadow - but Hob doesn’t think about it too much. It’s sweet, the actions of a friend who truly cares, and that’s enough for him.)

Murphy raises the first morsel of bread up to his mouth…

…and feeds it to the raven.

Hob blinks.

Watches, as the man takes his own bite, chewing ravenously, and then tears another bit off the loaf, throwing it to the ground, birds immediately flocking around it, picking for their share.

The process repeats. Murphy goes through the entire loaf that way. One bite for the raven who stole the bread, one bite for Murphy himself, and one for the flocks of birds around him. Halfway through, the raven refuses its bites, presumably full, and from then on it’s one bite for Murphy, two for the birds. It’s already not the largest loaf, and a third of it is hardly enough to sate a grown man’s hunger - strangely selfless, this Murphy character. No wonder he’s thin as a rake.

(Then again, Hob supposes there’s strategy in it, teaching the birds that they’ll be well-rewarded for any bounty they bring him.

Altruism, or shrewdness? Hob wonders.)

Soon, there’s nothing left of the bread. Murphy still looks hungry, but it’s an exhausted, resigned hunger that’s there to stay. Hob doubts the man can remember a time he wasn’t hungry. This city is not kind to the starving, to the poor - Murphy might get a place in a workhouse, if he tried, but Hob doubts that quiet pride still shining through the veil of hunger would let him. And besides, they’re dying institutions, these days, workhouses - the modern world is turning up their noses at anything that might help the destitute, even as it churns out more and more of them. It’s a dark and miserable time they’re living in, and none of the glamorous parties the rich so love to throw these days will convince Hob otherwise.

But, well. If their scheme goes off without a hitch, then at the very least the new ‘Dream of the Endless’ will never go hungry again. Hob’s doing a public service here, if you look at it from the right angle - though he’ll be the first to admit that his main motivation is anything but selfless. Immortality is too rich a prize to pretend he doesn’t want it with every fibre of his being.

And he’ll not get it standing idly by and watching, that’s for sure.

Hob straightens his coat lapels, takes off his hat to comb his fingers through his overlong hair, places it back at a jaunty angle - and walks over to finally officially make this Murphy character’s acquaintance.

“Afternoon,” Hob says, still a few steps away, smile widening into a grin when Murphy’s gaze immediately fixes itself onto him, cold and filled with the sharp suspicion of a man most people go out of their way to ignore, and who does not trust direct address.

(The eyes give him away. Dream of the Endless had eyes like midnight stars, the depths of space and the glitter of distant galaxies eternally reflected in them. Strange eyes, inhuman eyes, endless eyes.

Murphy’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue-grey, slightly sunken in their sockets, and perfectly ordinary.

No matter - they will already have to sell some cock-and-bull story about Dream having been forced into human form, the eyes will be the least of it.)

“What do you want?” Murphy growls, and that is perfect. The voice. Easily his best asset, besides the overall look. It’s right, scratchy and roughened by disuse, but just as deep and sonorous as Dream of the Endless's was. The harsh tone and tendency to curse like a sailor Hob witnessed at the inn will need to go, to be sure, this man speaks too much like a London gutter rat and not enough like the Lord of Stories - but, well, nothing a few lessons can't fix. Nobody else ever got the voice even remotely right, and this’ll already give them a lot more to work with.

“A moment of your time, m’lord. Nothing more.” Hob affects a cheeky bow, and does not waver under the cold disdain he receives in return. Mr. Murphy’s not a fan of teasing and gentle mockery, evidently - unfortunately, that is about 50% of Hob’s personality. They’ll get on just splendidly, won’t they. “Hob, at your service. Are you aware your lady sister is looking for you?”

A quick blink, even as Murphy’s entire scrawny body and haggard face goes very, very still.

“...I do not have a sister.” He says, only the slightest edge of uncertainty and confusion wavering in his voice. And then, “piss off, Robert Gadling” he adds, uncouth and vulgar, a scowl scrunching up his face. Oh, they’ll need to train that out of him, most certainly.

(Hob has not introduced himself as Robert, and certainly not as Gadling. That Murphy has named him thus nonetheless goes over both their heads.)

“No?” Hob smiles. “You’re not Dream of the Endless, then?”

Another blink - and then Murphy laughs, a horrible dissonant sound that seems like it ought to hurt his throat, the raven on his shoulder letting out a single caw alongside him.

“Are you drunk?” He snorts. “Dream of the Endless is dead. Every child knows it.”

“Every child believes it to be so. There’s a distinction.” Hob tries to take a step closer, but the sea of birds at their feet steadfastly refuses to part for him, so he thinks better of it. “You look exactly like him, you know. You might well be.”

“And you would know that, would you?” Murphy raises an arch eyebrow. “I think I’d remember having once been the personification of dreams.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Memory can be a funny thing.” Hob shoots back. “We don’t remember being born, do we? And some lose track of even more than that. How’s your recollection of your childhood, hm?”

Ah. Jackpot. The moment he speaks of remembering and childhoods, Murphy looks away, uncomfortable. Hit a sore spot there, has he? Memory issues. How interesting. How perfectly convenient.

“...you’ve had your fun now,” Murphy rasps, shifting uneasily, no longer so willing to defiantly meet Hob’s eyes. “I want no part in whatever game you’re intending to play with the London Poor, Gadling. Fuck off, before I make you.”

“Now, now, I really do think we’re on to something, here.” Giving up, Hob knows, is for fools who don’t really want to become immortal. “I’m quite certain-”

“Fuck. Off.” Murphy repeats, and turns his pale, unfortunately-human eyes on Hob again.

So do nearly a hundred birds, feathers ruffling and beaks clacking. The raven on Murphy’s shoulder caws, low and threatening.

Hob swallows, and takes stock of his options. Wonders if tactical retreats might not be just the thing for intelligent men who don’t want to die by bird before ever getting to take their stab at immortality.

“I’m only saying-” Hob tries instead, because he’s a reckless idiot.

Murphy’s eyes narrow, and he spits out a throaty sound like a command, the flock of birds rising as one, led by his personal raven jumping into flight with a sharp battle cry.

Shit.

Gilbert glances up when Hob returns covered in feathers and bird droppings, skin smarting where sharp beaks have pecked at him until he fled.

“I take it young Mr. Murphy was not particularly amenable to your proposal…?” He asks, delicately, lip twitching around a politely-repressed smile.

“Can’t say he was.” Hob shrugs easily, only wincing slightly at the way the movement pulls on his skin. “But I think I can convince him, Gil. Given enough time.”

“If you say so, young friend.” Gil, for his part, does not look particularly convinced either. He rarely is, when Hob first pitches his ideas, but he always comes around.

And so will Murphy.

Hob knows it’s only a matter of time… and, perhaps, some clever bribery.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #i had this already written so i figured i would just throw it out too #there's one more bit i've got parts of written but i can't make promises #we will see how it goes! #murphy has trained all his birds to steal and shares generously with them #honestly he may be a better boss to these birds than he was for the dreaming... #matthew in particular does deserve bread though. as a treat. #hope you enjoyed their meet-ugly! #(though honestly murphy is quite right not to trust hob) #(a scoundrel like that will just make you fall in love with him and then break your heart) #(but at least he'll help you reconnect with your identity and family so that's nice I guess)

[wolfythewitch]

please do ramble, whats your sbi and sleeping at last association? i really need to know now, that you mentioned it

Okokokok it follows the same directions as the anemoi ones

I'll start with Phil again, and West by sleeping at last, and this time it's more c!Phil than h!Phil

Can you hear me screaming

Can you hear the sandduo fan in me breaking down

The first verse also feels very reminiscent of before he joined the server, back when they would just send letters to each other. And god these verses

I've talked about cphil before, and I've talked about his grief before, and Wilbur Does Not Leave his mind, from November 16th till his revival he hasn't stopped thinking about it. He's thought about it so much that the dude, who's never usually vulnerable, even asks ranboo if what he did was right, one of the times he was emotionally vulnerable in character. I also think it's really neat that Techno built a home in the north and gave Phil a compass that points to it, it's a really neat coincidence. His character also feels very lost in a way? I made a playlist once where I ordered the songs to follow a story, but I left it unfinished because he felt unfinished, forever stuck in some sort of grief (sidenote I need to finish that playlist now that the finale happened) and I think the line about true north fading is pretty neat

So like the oh hellos post, Techno is East, and you can probably see for yourself why I picked it haha

"now I bear little resemblance to the king I once was" is definitely the line that feels very c!techno I think, and "the years wore on and changed my heart, the leading role for a smaller part"

There is the intentional change, with him trying to stay away from violence and retiring, albeit later on going back to violence. But there's also the unintentional part, the one that came more naturally when he found friends. I mean Phil has always been his friend, but now there's Niki and Ranboo, and I mean there was even a hint of a reconciliation with Tommy. Something about having started out trying to go at it alone, and in the end having surrounded yourself with people that care.

So for Wilbur, he gets South.

Wilbur is very associated with lies I think, as a wordsmith. He lies to others and he lies to himself, and I don't think all of it he didn't believe. But also both Phil and Wilbur having lines about losing true north? Oughh. What I really like though is the last few verses

Because these ones are gentler, these ones are kinder. And Wilbur ultimately does try in a way to heal, in the end.

Soo that leaves Tommy with North.

Which I think works really well! A line Tommy has repeated over and over again was that L'manburg was the people, not the government or the land. It was the community.

C!Tommy, I think, is hope. He is kindness, and second chances. Because with everything that's happened to him, he hasn't stopped being kind. He hasn't grown hard with the times, he's remained as open and as vulnerable as he was, even as he grows more scarred. He hasn't stopped caring for the people he loves, because if you stop letting yourself love, what will you have left

#jiksvokrat #wolfy tedtalks #this one os a bit more incompressible my bad ive had 3 hours of sleep #but i love sleeoing at last brbrbrbhd

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter four: first, a dead wife; second, a dead mother (wc: 6.1k) | masterlist

i forgot to mention ... this is going to be slow burn as fuck

116 AC

“Your Grace, the strawberry scones and the lemon tarts are here. Where should I place them?”

A well-groomed finger points to the space right beside the tiered display of glistening honey cakes and small blueberry pies. “If you can place them right there, it would be delightful.” The handmaiden arranges the platters of desserts just the way the person in charge likes them. “Thank you. Oh, that’s lovely.”

The soft hands behind the emerald green gown sleeves adjust the plates until the flowers on the ceramics shine through without being overshadowed by the splatters of colours on the table. Teapots are checked if the right tea flavour is procured and once that is done, the lemon candies are also poured into a bowl. The owner of the non-calloused hand sighs in accomplishment, her brown eyes taking in the assembly of what could have been an array of sweets in a luxurious bakery in the more noble circles of King’s Landing. 

Alicent doesn’t know why she is fussing so much.

Afternoon tea is usually spent with all of the children the handmaidens can round up. Aether and Aegon would be the contributors of the most noise inside her solar, with the two boys circling the only girl in their little trio like a gaggle of geese; Helaena would be murmuring things to her little friends (Alicent makes sure that the bugs she brings to the tea sessions are happily crawling inside a jar); Aemond would be reading about the basics of swordsmanship or listening to his female cousin narrate the events in the book she was reading; Daeron and Daemian would be having a contest of their own, which ends up in too many crumbs on the carpets; and Aesira would be the prim little lady that she is, reading books that she managed to take from one of the libraries or simply writing in her journal while the chaos reigns in. Each child has their own little world and the placid chambers fit for the Queen become the royal nursery where they all resided years ago. Alicent never worries about presentations with that many children. Spreads of an assortment of sweets are laid out on her table because little hands always pick what they prefer.

Maybe that is why she is pacing with her head rolling on the ground; Alicent will be alone with one of them and for some reason, everything has to be perfect.

Aesira is a ghost set to ignite Alicent’s heart and mind in bouts of internal battles — a shot in the heart for the young Queen, for the little girl bears the most uncanny resemblance to the late Aemma Targaryen. The only known daughter of the Rogue Prince is a reminder that Alicent remains to be the least of priorities for the King. There is no chance for her and her children if this familiar face roams the halls, being the perfect Valyrian beauty that she is at such a young age — white blonde hair flowing in cascading waves, lilac eyes that glisten like the most expensive jewels, and magic in her veins that puts her in the apex of the chain of beings. Alicent wants to loathe her, she really does, as selfish as it sounds and as ugly as it can get. It is not becoming of her as the most powerful woman in the realm to wear her most private insecurities on her sleeve for everyone to see just because she feels so low compared to this child. It doesn’t help that she receives sympathies from the court Ladies, all with faux smiles and the ambitious intention to climb into her social circle, every time Aesira wears her blue gowns — a statement that she will always be her mother’s daughter and nothing else; as high as honour.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, to set up this tea session with only Aesira and not with the entire brood of Tragaryens in the Keep (minus the newest addition to the family courtesy of Rhaenyra). It comes with an intention in mind. Any move she places on the board is laden with purpose, including this one.

Alicent knows about her duties as the Queen; to stand with her husband through the thickest of thickets and to bear children that will further spread the magic of Old Valyria for generations to come. Yet one stands out the most. It comes from her father’s lips. Place Aegon as Heir. And it haunts her still. At some point, she doesn’t want to place a heavy burden on her son — her closest companion for five years when she felt the most alone in the castle, the babe's scent clinging to his skin giving her comfort above all else while she shed tears away from prying eyes. While Helaena never saw her with her dreamy disposition as a babe, Aegon always placed a tiny palm on her cheek to pat away the sadness staining her face. But this duty of putting him as Heir means survival. Such a pity how desperation shapes humans. So starts putting Aegon to the most subtle lessons in hopes of preparing him for his role in the future. Who was once her closest companion becomes the child who flinches when she merely places a finger on his shoulder.

It stabs her — whatever she touches is doomed to hurt, starting with her eldest son. 

She hopes that this impending decision on his future would soothe the wounds she inflicted on his skin, a gift disguised as a political move.

The presence of Aesira as the royal family’s ward is one way of securing Aegon’s claim. The Queen grasps an opportunity when she sees one. What better way to utilise Alicent’s ghost than to thread her fate with her son, probably giving the young boy the good graces of her husband in the process? She is pretty sure the seed planted by Aegon’s affection for Aesira is starting to sprout in her husband’s head, only waiting for the right time to announce it to both children and watch it blossom into a flowering plant that will be a rarity — a marriage primarily borne from the purest and most innocent of loves (from one person, still love nonetheless). Both children are at an age where arrangements are made but Alicent doesn’t want to subject them to the binds of a betrothal yet. Having Aesira as Aegon’s potential bride will be a weapon that brings down Lords to their knees, only solidifying their proximity to the throne when they birth trueborn children, something that Rhaenyra only speaks as one of her many lies. With the current Heir’s erratic behaviour, Alicent promises to herself that she will make this union happen and it will start by enticing the young girl to be closer to her.

“Lady Aesira Targaryen, Your Grace.”

Criston’s voice makes her jump. Alicent turns toward the open doors of her solar but not before hastily tucking stray auburn curls away from her face, an unsteady smile pulling on her lips. She unconsciously runs her hands over the skirts of her emerald gown, erasing the invisible creases from view.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Alicent’s voice is clear among the bricks holding her chambers. She looks over her shoulder, to the handmaidens who stand still beside the table with hands intertwined in front of their navels. “You are dismissed.” They bow at her and exit with Criston, leaving her with the little girl by the door. Alicent smiles, tilting her head a little to take in Aesira’s appearance. “Aesira.”

“Your Grace,” Aesira enunciates, lowering herself in a curtsy that seems to be a product of her lessons with the Septa. Clad in a soft lilac gown that is one of the many commissioned to her under the Queen’s orders (none of that eye-catching blue that the court Ladies keep whispering about), Aesira is a vision of the perfect little comely Lady bound to have hearts served for her on a gold platter. As always, her hair is styled with matching ribbons from her dress and is free to bounce with every step she makes. Alicent notices that the girl is starting to carry herself with dignity, her eyes only letting the sliver of emotions shine through — nervousness and anticipation as to why the Queen invited her and only her to her solar. Aesira straightens her posture, hands carefully holding one another in front of her as she adds, “Thank you for honouring me with an invitation. I hope I will be a good enough company for your afternoon.”

Alicent waves her hand, a practised thing that she acquired since she became Queen. “None of that,” she jests. “Your presence in my solar is already the best company I can ask for so far into my day. Come,” she beckons the girl to the table, backing to one of the cushioned chairs, “our refreshments and sweets await.”

A wave of gratitude washes over the young girl’s body. There is a little pep in her step when she makes her way to the table of various colours and waits for Alicent to sit before doing so herself on the adjacent chair. Alicent sometimes forgets that she is the same age as her eldest son with how she’s carrying herself.

The childish glow in Aesira’s eyes never dims while she trails them over the outlines of every whipped cream, filling, and dough shapes all prepared for her. It makes the shackles in the Queen’s heart loosen. Alicent doesn’t recall why she was worrying so much about Aesira’s favourites before she entered her chambers. The girl doesn’t dive straight into the honey cakes she likes so much in their usual tea sessions with the other children, rather, she carefully takes a piece of strawberry scone, the pieces of the fruit peeking through the golden bread permeating in the air. Alicent saw the exact piece of pastry in Daemian’s little hands every time. What she didn’t notice was Aesira eyeing it the same as a curious pup yet she chose to indulge in her regular honey cakes instead of taking her little brother’s share of sweets. Because it was always like that — Aether with his lemon-flavoured choices, Daemian with the hues of strawberries, and honey following Aesira like a perfume’s sillage on a summer day. Now, Alicent understands that the girl doesn’t have only one thing going about with her. It’s refreshing to see in a child of nine name days.

Alicent sips on her blend of flower and citrus tea, a specific kind of blossom the Maesters told was shipped from Yi Ti, content with the still moment for once in her hectic schedule. She lets out a chuckle when she hears a satisfied hum from Aesira, the little lady’s eyes closed to savour a second pastry, this time, a small bite of the blueberry tart.

“This is delicious, Your Grace,” Aesira hums after gulping down another bite of her blueberry tart.

Alicent smiles. “The handmaidens told me they were freshly picked and made into a new batch of sweets. Do you find it to your liking?” Her smile widens at Aesira’s animated nodding. Alicent spends a couple of moments just watching the girl stuff her face as elegantly as she can while being able to relish in the fusion of flavours brought by the treats. The initial intention of bringing Aesira here was to place the idea that she will most likely marry Aegon in the near future, it simply doesn’t exist at this juncture of the afternoon. Aesira finishes her second tart, eyes lingering on her next piece of sweet but never realising that there are residues clinging on the corners of her lips — blue from the tarts and a reminder that she is every bit of the child that she is. Alicent unconsciously picks up the napkin folded into a swan (hoping that it will add to Aesira’s fascination) and leans forward in her seat. She carefully wipes the girl’s mouth, mindful to never hurt her with her cursed fingers. “You really like it that much, little one?”

Wide lilac eyes take her in, reflecting the image of her jutting her lip in a smile while wiping invisible crumbs from Aesira’s cherubic cheeks. It is at that moment that Alicent realises she never touched her children this tenderly for so long. Her beautiful daughter—her beloved little girl—started to flinch every time a single sensation crawled on her skin. Alicent doesn’t even get to embrace Helaena after her dreams because it would make her scream more and the woman can do nothing but watch while her daughter continues pulling hair out from her scalp. It’s reminiscent of when Aether was found terrified and out of his wits that when she moved to take him away from the Kingsguard, the poor boy looked near mortified with how overwhelming everything was. Alicent forgets what it feels like to hold her children, to become the mother they deserve. As the Queen, she is expected to be standoffish but that doesn’t mean she longs to be within the circles of laughter lighting the Keep’s royal wing. With each pattern her thumb creates on Aesira’s cheek, she gains that familiar warmth again. It’s the same warmth she had when she first held Aegon, when Helaena clung to her as a babe, when Aemond smiles every time she appears, or when Daeron giggles at everything he finds funny.

She’s touching Aesira and Aesira is not hurting.

A slow nod answers her question and all thoughts vanish from her head.

Alicent tucks a lock of striking blonde hair from Aesira’s face. Time is suspended as they stare at each other, every drop of care radiating from one’s fingertips, travelling from where they touch down to the apex of a beating heart. The little one’s eyelashes shake with a flutter, the surface of her eyes becoming even more glassy by the second. Alicent purses her slips when she sees a betraying tear appear from one of Aesira’s bottom eyelids, the girl still seeing a glimpse of someone through her. She’s been on the other end of those looks since she married her husband. First, it was a dead wife and now, it’s a dead mother. Yet she keeps tidying Aesira’s hair. For once, it doesn’t squeeze her chest the way it should. She doesn’t feel like ripping her heart from the inside out nor has the urge to shout obscenities to the eye of the beholder. Instead of turning away, Alicent cups both of Aesira’s cheeks, slightly squeezing them in a manner that she herself experienced from her father before he went away to Oldtown.

Without saying a word, Alicent pulls the little girl into an embrace and the moment she does, Aesira starts sobbing.

Upon hearing the gasps for air the little one makes, Alicent looks up at the ceiling with her vision clouding with unshed tears. Her larger hand rubs soothing circles on the girl’s shaking back. When she feels a tear or two slipping from her eye, Alicent closes her eyes and presses a grounding kiss on the crown of Aesira’s head, swaying the two of them in a lullaby she starts humming unconsciously.

“I’ve got you, little one,” Alicent whispers on her forehead. “You have me now.”

The cries increase in volume and she tightens her hold around the small body slumping over her. Alicent hears the door open behind her, probably someone who heard the muffled sobs coming from inside her solar and thought it would be best to check for any altercations. True enough, when she slightly turns her head, she sees Criston frantically looking around for any threats, his hand firmly gripping his sword. The two of them make eye contact and instantly, a wave of understanding and sympathy paints Criston’s face. Alicent tries flashing a convincing smile. The Kingsguard glances at Aesira with downturned eyebrows and a rueful smile before bowing his head and disappearing through the door as if he didn’t grace the chambers with his presence.

The music of the fauna residing in the gardens goes on as Aesira tires herself out from crying.

Alicent doesn’t make a move to remove the girl from her side. She gives the little one the only thing she didn’t receive when her own mother died from a sickness that inevitably took her life way too early. Not one person thought that the little girl hugging her brothers while they let out cries of their own would ever need any semblance of comfort all these years. Alicent herself carries this guilt. She may be late but it is better than turning a blind eye and letting the girl cry within the confines of her chambers.

She isn’t a Queen who found the perfect match for her son. For now, she is a mother caring for her child. How wrong she was for thinking that this girl is nothing but a pawn in her Game of Thrones.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” She asks with a gentle voice.

Aesira peeks from the bodice of her dress, eyes rimmed with red and cheeks too puffy to hide that she just bared her soul in front of the Queen of the realm. “Yes please,” she answers meekly, almost as tiny as the day they first met in the royal nursery.

Never losing the smile, Alicent pours Aesira a cup of the butterfly pea tea she was indulging in not too long ago. “Keep a close eye, alright? Don’t look away from the cup.” Aesira answers with another slow nod. It is all it takes for Alicent to take the secret ingredient from a small container at the side of the table and pour it into the cup. The deep blue colour of the drink gradually becomes a purple shade that is mostly associated with Targaryens. Oh, how Alicent never regrets glancing at Aesira. The girl has come out of her shell to peer at the cup in awe, the stars lighting up her eyes once again. She brushes a hand over the waves of her hair. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s a trick I’ve learned from the Maesters when they introduced this specific plant to make soothing teas with. Why don’t you give it a try, little one?”

Aesira exchanges a smile with her before sipping from the cup in the proper way that a Lady should. Once again, Alicent marvels at how Aesira fully executed what has been taught in her etiquette lessons. Surely the Septa in charge of teaching her girls is basking in pride for producing one of the most comely little ladies in court.

The teacup clinks against the saucer and Aesira faces her with wonder on her face. “What did you add to turn it into purple, Your Grace?”

The title doesn’t sit well with Alicent. Tiny baby steps first and they will get there eventually, nothing of the Your Grace greetings; she wants to hear titles befitting that of family ties attached to her name. Whatever the case, she will start showering unconditional affection to this child. Alicent winks a little, whispering, “A learned person never reveals their secret.” The answer doesn’t satisfy Aesira for she pouts while staring at the ripples on the surface of her tea, the small dried flowers floating and bumping on each other inside the rim. “You must simply visit my solar every other afternoon now to witness the sorcery flowing from my hands. Don’t tell the others about our meetings though. It remains our little solace from the rambunctiousness they always bring.”

Aesira giggles, agreeing with her. “They are quite loud, especially the boys. You have my promise, Your Grace. Though, Hel shouldn’t be left out.”

How adorable. “Then, we shall invite her as well. A tea party is better enjoyed with the people you wish to share priceless memories with after all.”

Now, Alicent comprehends why Aegon is so taken with her. The way she laughs is laced with the purest delicacy that fully captures your attention. One can tell that benevolence and humility oozes from every fibre of her being. It is the kind of beauty that lasts for lifetimes — timeless. While some Ladies fabricate stories to put the child against her, more sensible Ladies step forward to say nothing but amazing things about the little Lady. She is absolutely wonderful; she complimented even the tiniest details of my new gown, even I, myself, didn't know I have embroideries showing a rare species of butterflies. Oh, a divine little thing; no shed of her horrible father in her for the Sevens’ sakes, she is her mother through and through. The second coming of Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon the Conqueror’s wife, herself. Maybe Alicent should have listened to the better part of the court instead of feeding into the words dipped in flowery lies.

The smiles die down and Aesira utters, “I understand the reason you invited my company this afternoon, Your Grace.” Gone is the easygoing air surrounding the table, replaced by a weighty gust of wind that worries Alicent. Aesira gives her a rueful smile that has her heart clenching. “The Lords and Ladies have been talking, Your Grace. They speak of theories that concern me and Aegon.” The girl doesn’t waver from Alicent’s widening eyes and parted lips. “I’ve always known that my placement in the Keep has meaning. Father told me so. He was already planning on betrothals when I was but a child of two name days, as far as I can remember. Mother was furious,” she gazes at a memory only she can see, “and it was the first time I ever saw it on her face. But the fact never changes that I should face it when the time comes. The court acknowledges me as Aegon’s match, he even does it himself whenever he finds the most opportune moments to say so, and with the timing of your invitation, I placed the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I only ask of this for my peace of mind, Your Grace; am I his betrothed?”

Alicent cradles Aesira’s cheeks in the ridges of her palms. She shakes her head without saying anything at first but with the distress soiling the little one’s features, she quickly brushes her hair away from her forehead. “Fret not for the matters circulating court, especially ones that are clearly passed from mouths whose main aim is to fuel a fire. They don’t know anything, little one, and they never will. The moment the King says any word of your impending marriage, you will be the first to hear about it from me. Understood?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Besides, if you ask me, it’s too early for you to wear any extravagant gown made from white fabrics. Enjoy all the colours before putting on a wedding dress, alright?” Aesira shares a little laugh with her. Sombre blue rains down Alicent. “I would never wish to burden you with something so shackling like a betrothal.” Guilt gnaws the lining of her stomach. It’s a good thing she never ate anything and only watched Aesira enjoy the spread that is baked solely for her. She takes back everything she planned. Her father might have scolded her for her decision but he isn’t here to throw verbal daggers at her. “You are still nine; thinking of betrothals can wait.”

Aesira’s shoulders drop the tension. A radiant smile beams from her face; the sun is put to shame. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace! Now, Aether can rest his pacing.”

“He doesn’t like the spreading rumours of your match with Aegon, I gather then.”

“He keeps threatening to make Aegon pay during their lessons with Ser Criston,” Aesira whispers with a secretive twinkle of mischief in her eyes, seeing the improvement in her brother’s handling of the sword. Aether has the same as well and it makes Alicent laugh. “It’s quite sad to watch from the viewing balcony, to be honest.”

Poor Aegon, the embarrassment he must feel. “Ah, so that’s where Aegon gets his scratches from.”

Nonetheless, Alicent never saw any sign of resignation coming from her eldest son. It is subtle — the influence of the twins in his life. When he started learning the ways of the sword years ago with Aether, he never showed a shred of determination unlike his companion, who hardened through the years and only became ruthless with the sparring partners he had. It is only when Aesira graces the balconies does he fully commit to swinging the practice sword he’s given as if it would make Aesira come down from many flights of stairs to watch the bout in the courtyard. During the times the subject of Aesira’s prospective betrothal is brought up, with Aegon usually within hearing range, Alicent notices the little changes in his behaviour. He starts taking things seriously according to the Maesters and Ser Criston as if he is trying to prove something to everyone and himself. At dinners these days, he’s often seen glaring at Aether rather than settling little desserts on Aesira’s plate while the other boy sneers at the sight of him making unnecessary snarky looks. How fascinating it is to see the hold a girl has over her son. 

The little one places a hand over her mouth in realisation. “Please don’t admonish Aether, Your Grace.”

Alicent affectionately pinches her cheek until she whines. “I would never. Boys are bound to gain small scars from their training now and then. It is a given when they learn how to be better fighters. Aegon should know that picking up the sword means having permanent marks etched on his skin.”

Aesira nods, looking down at her whimsical tea while smiling. “Aemond is doing well, I notice. He told me all of the things he learned from his first lesson.”

“Really? Do tell me more, little one.”

As the stories revolving around her younger children (ones she never even heard of) encircled Alicent and Aesira, the high afternoon sun dipped down the crests of the mountain ranges in the distance, sunburst igniting the heavens to flare a magnificent view — and it washed everything golden. 

Hearts are opened that day and there is no sign of them closing.

Days have passed and Alicent is walking through the hallways of the Keep with a destination in mind, her skirts swishing along with the resolution coating her actions. Lord and Ladies turn their heads as she passes by, never forgetting to pay their respects by greeting and bowing even though she only wishes to see one thing in front of her as she navigates the intricate architecture of the castle — those double doors barring the inhabitants away from the harsh whispers of the halls. The clanging from behind indicates that Criston is doing his best in keeping with her pace yet she pays him no mind, slippered feet padding on the stairs leading to the castle wing dedicated to her newest children. She finally reached the level where her destination resides and immediately, the guard placed by the doors bows at her presence, his face pursing in concern. Criston doesn’t have time to announce her arrival as she opens the doors.

Three pairs of varying shades of purple from the chaise lounge look up. Just like she predicted, the three children are all gathered inside Aesira’s solar after hearing about the message Viserys received from Daemon across The Narrow Seas. Without saying a word, Alicent gathers them in her arms and offers them the unconditional warmth of someone holding their comfort dear to heart. She kneels in front of the children as their arms clutch her torso and neck. Alicent’s heart breaks when one of them starts crying, the sound alerting Criston to shut the doors and give the four the privacy they all need.

“Does Father not love us anymore?” Daemian wails on Alicent’s chest, still a toddler in his four name days to fully understand that their father left them for good.

“He is nothing but a fool,” Alicent says to the three of them. “Some men simply don't deserve to become a parent for the abomination that they are.”

The older siblings don’t speak a word but it is clear on their faces how they feel about the situation. Aether wears rage like a second skin, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a deep scowl. His chin is lowered a little, giving the illusion of shadows brushing against the top of his eye and his fists are clenching on the sides of his pants, creasing the fabric between his fingers. While Aether is a master of having his heart on his sleeve, Aesira’s silence sends Alicent a spine-chilling sensation from the crown of her head down to the tips of her limbs. The little one is glaring at nothing and something at the same time; one would think her mind is vacant with how still she is. Her brothers are shaking from anger and misery yet she remains unmoving at their side, her head not even touching the shoulder of the woman rubbing their backs. Alicent hopes that in her lifetime, she will never be placed on the other end of Aesira’s stare.

“I despise him,” Aether spits the word with so much emotion that a single tear runs down his cheek. “If I see him again, I might actually kill him.”

Alicent pulls the boy closer to her. “Do not speak of such terms,” she murmurs on his hair. “We do not dabble in kinslaying. We are above that.”

Aether makes a sharp gasp, a result of holding back his incoming sob. “I am just so angry, Your Grace. How could he do this and not feel any shred of remorse?”

It’s Aesira who says the words. “Because he thinks of no one but himself.” Her eyelids are rapidly blinking to prevent the tears from flowing. There is a tremble in her bottom lip, but no sign of a frown pulling down her mouth. Alicent instantly gets an image of Helaena’s dolls.

“But Father is—”

“He is not our father, Daemian!” She glares at the whimpering boy. Alicent doesn’t even have the room to interject when Aesira adds with as much distaste in her voice as she can muster, “And he will never be. He chose to leave us in a place we do not know. He nearly took Aether from us and left him somewhere in the Keep for three days until he was found terrified to the bone.” She gulps down, breath hitching, and shoulders taut with tension. “He doesn’t care about us. If he did, he would have landed his blasted dragon in the Dragonpit and raised us himself instead of siring children with his new wife. He doesn’t love us, not even when Mother is swollen with carrying us. How can he when we’re not born from love—”

“Sira!” Aether shouts, hugging a distraught Daemian closer to him. “You’re scaring Damy!”

At that moment, Alicent sees Aesira cry for the third time.

“Oh, little one,” Alicent says the words like a caress. She hears broken sentences on her shoulder, all with a combination of sorry and I didn’t mean it. “I know, I know,” she answers every single phrase she can pick up. Alicent manages to catch Aether’s teary eyes, beckoning the young boy to bring himself and his brother back to her embrace. They go back to huddling close to Alicent as if they are meant to be there and not anywhere else. “That man is an imbecile for leaving behind three beautiful children. I may not know if he truly felt that deeply for the family he created with your mother but I know you three can make one of your own here. We might not be of blood but I can care for you like I am made by the Seven to do so. Now, little one,” she strokes Aesira’s hair from her face, “apologise to your younger brother.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Damy,” Aesira’s voice wobbles. “Your big sister is just angry at him.”

Daemian lets go of Alicent and buries himself into Aesira. “Don’t do that again,” he pouts.

She kisses his temple. “I won’t.” Aesira picks him up, letting out a small huff at the added weight, remarking, “You’re getting bigger, Damy. Please don’t get any bigger on me now. I won’t be able to carry you like this if you keep on getting taller than me.” All she gets in reply is a lovely giggle. She wordlessly asks Alicent for permission and the woman nods her head. “Damy, what have you been eating?” She grumbles away to the table where the jar of blueberry and lemon sweets Alicent gave lay resting, her brother clinging onto her like one of those creatures Aether drew during one boring tutoring lesson with Aegon’s name attached to it.

“What will happen, Your Grace?” Aether asks Alicent, who turns back to him. “Will the King send out dragon eggs just like Daemon asked for?”

“The King will make a decision that he thinks is right,” the woman is now fully sitting on the carpeted floor to accommodate the boy of name days in a more comfortable position against her, “ and whatever will happen, we have no part in it. Nothing will change if my husband decides to send out dragon eggs to Essos just because The Rogue Prince demands them. Life will not stop its course — you will keep on growing and you will have futures to play into. My husband’s younger brother is not the end of your world, Aether.” She gazes at the pair of children picking up variations of sweets from the jar, recognizing the piece of expensive ceramic as part of her personal collection. Alicent sent her little one stocks of the candies her brothers and she loves chewing on on a regular basis, the contents of the jar coming from one conversation they shared about what her brothers preferred. Aesira is fussing over her baby brother while the boy continues smearing the cream of the blueberry sweets on his mouth. “Daemian stops his crying easily now.”

Aether follows her eyes to where his siblings are. He snorts at the moustache above Daemian’s lip. “It’s mostly because of Aesira,” slowly, he adds with a growing smile, “which is funny because she made him cry in the first place.” He catches Alicent’s frown and mutters, “Sorry.”

What is with oldest brothers and jesting about younger siblings? Gwayne did it to her growing up. Aegon does it with Helaena and Aemond each time they breathe the same air as him (never Daeron because the boy follows him around like a little duckling). Aether constantly teases the Seven Hells out of his little sister and brother. She supposes it is simply in their nature to be their kin’s greatest bully. Though that doesn’t mean Aegon gets away with pushing his brother into a bush to catch Aesira’s attention or comment on Helaena’s weird insects out of the blue. (Aemond cried to Alicent that Aegon pushed him simply because he was mean about everything but when Aether smacked Aegon at the back of his head for snatching Aesira away after pushing the younger boy, Alicent instantly understood.)

“But really, I’m glad Sira is here. I don’t need other siblings when I already have her and Daemian. They are enough for me as is. Besides, the kids Lady Laena gave birth to are nothing to me; they just happen to share the same father as me, Aesira, and Daemian.” Then, he stops leaning on Alicent. “Is that one of my lemon candies?” He scrambles to stand up from his comfortable position, scurrying to where Daemian is on the verge of gobbling one of his prized lemon candies, the sugar coating glinting against the sun’s rays. “You already have your blueberry candies, Damy! Don’t eat it! Sira,” he whines, pouting away as fixes his sister with a purposeful rendition of a puppy asking for treats, “he’s eating my sweets!”

Alicent picks herself up from the floor and stares at the children for a few moments, what Aether said ringing in her mind. Does Rhaenyra share the same feeling? Does her anger spread to Alicent’s own blood that she doesn’t have the heart to acknowledge that they are her siblings despite not sharing a mother? Again, her father’s words add to the headache. Rhaenyra will not stop until there are no threats to her throne. Alicent will have to cleave for her mercy to not have a single strand of hair on her family be harmed. She doesn’t realise she has been pulling apart pieces of thin skin from her fingers, the sharp sting of newly-healed wounds opening again.

She will indulge in this domestic bliss for now; but when the moment comes for her to wear the crown fitted on her head, her first move will be putting forth the greatest union known among the realms — a marriage.

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kingmaker | p.sh

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CHAPTER I

As an assassin working for the Hwangs, you have proven your loyalty to your benefactors for more than a decade. But when Lady Hwang's plans for a rebellion land you in a bride selection for the Crown Prince, you find yourself at a loss. Unfamiliar with the ways of the gentry, your reliance on a previously unknown informant is your only source of hope. And yet, you learn very quickly that no one in high society can be trusted, including yourself. Because who else but you is there to assassinate the King?

WARNING: please do check the masterlist for potential triggers/themes you feel uncomfortable with! this chapter contains graphic depictions of blood, as well as a fairly unhealthy dynamic resembling slavery between reader and another character (for the purpose of historical accuracy and plot).

Completing a job isn’t the hard part, it’s the report you have to give afterwards.

You stand at attention, your back ramrod straight, sword sheathed to the hilt, barely concealing the fresh blood it is stained with. A single lit wax candle rests on your lady’s desk, its haunting glow the only source of light in a room darkened by night. The moon does not shine tonight – perfect conditions for a job as messy as yours.

The fewer eyes, the better.

After what feels like hours of waiting, your lady finally lifts her gaze from her papers. Everything about Lady Hwang is regal: her elegant posture, her fine hands that gracefully dip her quill in the inkpot, even the way she schools her expression to be one that is cold and calculating. She looks every part the head of the household she is meant to be, such that it is hard to believe she is only a few years older than yourself.

“My lady, I bear the report of my task.” You bow deeply, as is expected of you. As it always has.

Lady Hwang waves her hand noncommittally, and you take it as your invitation to speak. “The target has been eliminated.”

“The eyewitnesses?” Her voice is soft, but you know better than to underestimate the attention she’s paying to you. It is a dangerous game, to work for Hwang Yeji. One wrong move and you could lose your head.

“All taken care of effectively.”

“Hm, as always. Keep up the good work. You may leave to freshen up.”

You bow once more before taking your leave. As you exit her office, Lord Hwang enters in a whirlwind of papers. “Sister, the informant’s report has arrived.” In his frenzy, he doesn’t even notice your presence, throwing an envelope on her desk.

Yeji barely looks up from her work as she speaks. “If it’s another description of the stagnant political climate, I will cut off that fool’s hand myself.”

“No, this time it’s important. More important than whatever you’re doing at the moment. Spare it a glance, I implore you.”

As you turn the doorknob, you hear the rustling of paper. Any letter from the informant is always opened with haste, but in recent weeks their reports have become too quiet. Too consistent for your masters’ liking.

You, of course, have no idea of the informant’s identity, and you suspect your masters don’t know either. All you know is that whoever they are, they’ve been feeding your side information from within the highest circles of society. A high-standing member of the gentry, at the very least. It is rare for someone of such a standing to align themselves with a cause such as that of your masters’, and yet…

Your thoughts are interrupted by a quiet inhale from Yeji, the contemplative tapping of her pen breaking the silence. You swear you can almost feel Hyunjin’s anxiousness radiating off him and permeating the whole room. 

“This…this is groundbreaking,” Yeji whispers, a cautious hope evident in her voice. Rarely is she so pleased. It must be a very good piece of information, then. You turn away from the door. “My lady, shall I prepare for my next task immediately?”

Wordlessly, she scans your figure with little to no subtlety. There is a strange light in her eyes, one that wasn’t there before. It’s the same odd look she has when she’s crafted you a perfect plan, and you can almost see the cogs in her mind whirring away. “It would be best if we gave you a thorough bath. Hair oils, essences for the skin…” Yeji snaps her fingers, and a servant rushes in. “Prepare a bath for Y/n just as you would for me. Skin, nails, hair, everything has to be done. Cover every blemish, I won’t allow for anything but a fair complexion. Oh, and send for the dressmaker as soon as you can.”

You falter in your steps. “M-my lady? Is everything alright?”

“Oh, nothing. Take a good rest, you’ll need it.” Yeji waves you all away, and the servant ushers you into a private room. 

This isn’t the first time Lady Hwang’s kept you out of the loop. More often than not, preparations begin for your next task before you even realise it’s for your next task. You’re not sure if it’s because her brain simply works too fast for anyone else to comprehend, or if she enjoys making people think the latter. 

Either way, an order is an order. Who are you to disobey?

The scent of a creamy lather of soap lingers on your skin as you make your way back to Lady Hwang’s study. With the crusted blood in your fingernails and hair removed, and an array of unknown fragrances and oils rubbed into your body, you feel almost transformed. The servant even pinned your hair up into an elaborate hairstyle, as per Lady Hwang’s instructions. Only your clothing remains the servants’ garb you wear every day. The amount of careful detail to your appearance is similar to what they usually have for a noble lady, and it makes you glow as though you were truly a member of the gentry. A far cry from reality, quite obviously.

You knock twice on the door. Unsurprisingly, the door is left slightly ajar, and you push it open. The orange glow of early dawn trickles in through the large windows, bathing your mistress’ figure in faint sunlight. She looks…ethereal. As expected, a single night’s worth of washing and scrubbing can’t turn you into a noble lady who’s spent her whole life bathing in goat’s milk and whatnot. 

Yeji steps towards you, the ruffles of her rich purple gown fluttering as she walks. Every foot forward seems perfectly calibrated. As though she is the one in control, and always has been. She gestures towards a delicate periwinkle dress draped over the sofa. It’s exquisite, with shimmering crystals sewn into the fabric, and a translucent layer on the outside that resembles a butterfly’s gossamer wings when it catches the light. Elegant, sweet, resplendent. None of which suit you.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Try it on.” Her tone is almost incredulous. As if you would have any reservations about putting on a gown so bombastically opulent for someone of your stature. Hilarious, isn’t it?

Still, you make quick work of your clothing, sliding the gown over your head with as much care as your calloused hands can manage. The dress fits perfectly, and in the glass window you catch a small glimpse of yourself. It’s gorgeous. You look gorgeous. 

It’s uncanny.

Yeji nods, assessing your appearance with more scrutiny than expected. “Excellent. My judgement was correct.” She takes out a diamond-encrusted brooch to match, fastening it into the fabric. “This is your new assignment. The Crown Prince is holding a bride selection, to choose his Crown Princess…and future bride.” She hands you a sheet of parchment, with a long list of names. It has both hers and her brothers’ names, as well as their parents’, and every known ancestor. And beside Hyunjin’s name is your own, written in beautiful script. The Hwang family seal is on the corner of the page, telling you everything you need to know.

“Your Grace, what…what is this?” you barely manage to stammer out. “Why am I listed as a member of your family?”

Yeji laughs, arms crossed as she smirks to herself. “Becoming the head of the household was no easy feat, but now that I can do such things with ease, it was indeed worth it. This will allow you to enter the selection as a noble lady of the Hwangs. Genius, aren’t I?”

The parchment feels cold in your hands. “My Lady? I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Don’t you? You will slip into the palace as a bridal candidate, then assassinate the king when you get the chance. If the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, his son won’t be pleasant to deal with either. Feel free to make him collateral damage, if necessary.”

This is the true nature of your job, and your mistress’ ultimate goal. For years, the king’s tyranny has governed your kingdom, drafting soldiers into pointless wars, dragging fathers and sons into battle. Few returned, even fewer made it out in one piece. Yeji and Hyunjin’s father died this way, and their mother had lost her life to heartbreak soon after. Meanwhile, the king gorged himself on the spoils of battles not his own, hosting revels and balls with renewed vigour each time. And if the rumours were not without truth, his eldest son Jay was no different.

But assassinate the king and his offspring? In front of numerous bride-to-bes and the whole of the palace guard? Not only would it be the hardest mission to date, but also…a suicide mission. Your mistress is essentially sending you to your grave.

You clench your fist, nails biting into the flesh of your palm as you try to bite back your protests. It would do you no good to go against Lady Hwang. And yet, your traitorous little heart hopes for her to spare you the dishonour of dying at the hands of the king’s men.

Seemingly sensing this, Yeji sighs, her hands coming to cup your chin as she lifts your gaze away from the ground to her. “Y/N, many years have passed since our first fateful encounter. I’ve given you so much since then. Don’t you agree?”

There she is, the Hwang Yeji you’ve come to know in the past 13 years. An eternally infallible, mortal devil. A schemer, born with power, learned in knowing exactly what to say and do. When someone like her is dealt an unfair hand in life, the thirst for vengeance only grows, and you know for a fact that she would do just about anything for a taste of what she’s owed. So of course her mercy came at a price all those years ago. Till now, you can only imagine what it would mean to repay her. Gratitude is no simple business, not in a line of work like yours.

You swallow the building lump in your throat and drop on one knee, ignoring the way the fabric of your dress strains as you bend your head towards Hwang Yeji. Your mistress, your benefactor. Your saviour.  

“Anything for you, My Lady. My heart and body is yours to control.”

Her eyes flash, like a cat’s in the dark. “Then prove it.”

a/n: chapter one!!! yay!!!!! idk who made it this far, but congrats if ur here! taglist is still open, so if u enjoyed this and wanna read more, js go to my asks! until next week!

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