#When the Dragon Meets the Sun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eraenaa · 2 months

Text

But Daddy, I Love Him

Aemond Targaryen x Niece Reader

Synopsis: When the favored daughter of Daemon Targaryen falls for the favored son of Alicent Hightower, the Rogue Prince does everything he can to ensure that a union between the two of you will never happen.

Warnings: Not Proofread, ¿Softer Aemond and Daemon?, No Smut

Word Count: 5,019

It could no longer be denied nor be overlooked. It was growing painfully obvious to the court that the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra has had her head turned by the second son of Queen Alicent. Everyone believed that the only thing the second-borns of the Princess and the Queen would share was animosity. Still, the return of Princess Rhaenyra and her kin to the capitol brought something different— something entirely unexpected. It started with stolen glances around the tilt yard and the halls of the red keep. Stolen glances lingered throughout dinner and the trial. Meeting in the library by chance turned into secret rendezvous. Banter and teases blended into meaningful conversations. Animosity turned to affection. Loathing bloomed into love. A love that cannot be.

“You look lovely, today, niece,” Aemond complimented as he caught you in the gardens. The prince relished the sweet blush that spread through your cheeks. “Shh, you might be heard,” You whispered in concern as your brothers were only seated a few leagues away. He hummed and dared to twirl your silky, curly hair into his fingers. “Shall you join me for a ride today, uncle?” You asked and took a flower into your delicate hands. You turned to the silver prince, who had a small, rare smile as he peered down at you. You boldly placed the plucked flower into the upper pocket of his tunic. “If you wish,” He answered, making you bite your lip as he stepped closer. “To the dragon pits then?” You asked, and Aemond offered his arm for you to take, and you gladly did.

Prince Daemon stood above the gardens and watched the scene with a sneer. He had been stewing in rage, fear, and uncertainty for the past few weeks. You could no longer be reasoned with. In his eyes, you could never do no wrong. You had never done anything wrong— his favorite daughter was perfect. But apparently, your return to the capitol had caused you to make a lapse in judgment. Trusting a Hightower spawn was a great mistake on your part. You, his smart and sweet daughter, have been corrupted and manipulated by the one-eyed bastard of a son of the bitch that had the title queen. It pained the Rogue prince, but he had to take extreme measures to ensure that you would never be bound and be played by a Hightower spawn.

You rode the skies next to your uncle. A wide smile on your lips and laughs, leaving your tongue as he playfully chased you through the clouds. His Vhagar may be the largest dragon there is, but she is also the oldest. Whilst your dragon had the quickness and agility of youth. “You’ll have to try harder than that, uncle!” You yelled in glee as you heard his frustrated groan when he lost you through a cloud. “I will catch you, little niece— and you shall give me my prize when I do,” He answered back, and you laughed in glee as your dragon rode through a cloud, making your stomach flip. “That is if you shall succeed!” You yelled before urging your dragon to fly faster and further from the prince.

The afternoon sun started to fade, bathing the two of you in the orange hue of the setting sun, and it was then that Aemond finally caught up to you. When you landed by the pits, you were quickly grabbed by the waist. Entrapped in the arms of an uncle you used to loathe. “I demand my prize, little niece,” He murmured by your ear. You feel your heart stutter, and at the same time, you feel conscious as the two of you may be caught. “I demand my kiss, princess,” he said, and you feel your breathing shallowed by his words and the sound of footsteps approaching. You two were luckily hidden behind the body of your beloved dragon. “Tonight, meet me in the library and you shall have my kiss, my prince,” You said and reluctantly urged him to let go of his hold of you.

When the two of you turned to the reason for the footsteps, your brows furrowed as you were both met with a gold cloak. “Can we help you, Ser?” you asked as Aemond cautiously assessed the trusted man of your father; stepping in front of you as if the knight would harm you. “Princess, I was sent by your father to escort you back into the keep.” He bowed and answered, but that did not aid your confusion. “It’s fine; I shall ride back to the keep with my uncle,” You answered, but the knight insisted that he had a direct order from the Rogue Prince that you shall return to the Red Keep under his supervision. “Just go; I shall ride behind you,” Aemond finally spoke after a moment, guiding you to the wheelhouse and glaring at the knight who interrupted the supposed private moment between the two of you.

When inside the castle walls, you were greeted by your father and eldest brother as you disembarked the wheelhouse. “I see you have met Ser Adam,” Your father remarked at the knight who helped you step out of the carriage. “He shall be your sworn protector,” Prince Daemon added, his gaze turning to a prince who greatly reminded him of himself during his youth riding, following closely behind you. “Sworn protector? I— I do not believe there is a need fo—“ Your father cut you off, taking your arm and stirring you further from the one-eyed prince who dared to step closer to you after he had disembarked his horse. “You are the only daughter of the heir to the throne— of course, you need protecting. Ser Adam shall be constantly by your side, and he shall report back to me and your mother for any potential threat that arises.” You looked back, confused, locking eyes with Aemond, who had his jaw clenched as he conversed with your brother.

“So I take it that my sister and brothers have their own sworn protectors as well?” You asked, feeling that you were singled out by your father’s sudden paranoia about your safety. “They too shall have one… in time,” He mumbled the last part, making your head snap up at him. “But in the meantime, Ser Adam shall oversee your ventures and activities. No more venturing out in the halls in the dead of the night alone. He shall be there by your side if any danger arises while you are in the dim walls of the library,” Your lips part as you realize that the knight was placed as a buffer, a wall between you and Aemond. You bit your tongue and made no further comment about the matter for now.

When dinner came, you were excited because it meant that you would be in the presence of Aemond once more, enveloped in quiet conversation with the prince who sat by your left. But a frown adorned your pretty face once more as your seat beside Aemond was removed and instead placed cramped between Aegon and your elder brother. You hear Aemond’s familiar footsteps approaching; you turn to him as your brother guides you to your new place. Aemond knew exactly what they were doing. His jaw tightened as they had been keeping you from him. He knew he should have been cautious with his affection when out in public, knowing it would not be received well. But how could he restrain himself? How could he control himself when you are near?

Throughout dinner, the two of you were silent, missing, and already longing to be by each other’s side once again. The prince’s face was filled with annoyance, his lips in a thin line. You held a look of solemnity, and a pout adorned your plush pink lips. Daemon turned to Jacaerys, the two of them satisfied with their tactics in keeping you and Aemond out of each other’s company.

After dinner, you hear your newly assigned knight trail behind you as you walk the path toward the library. You sighed as you heard the clank of his armor. “You can stay by the door, Ser Adam,” You say as you approach the silent room, Aemond already waiting for you in your favorite spot. “I am afraid that I cannot abide by your orders, princess,” He said, and you bit your tongue; you could not let out your frustrations upon him as he was only ordered by your father. You took your seat across from Aemond; the prince eyed the knight who stood behind your chair.

“What is he doing here?” Aemond asked in ancient tongue, annoyance seeping through his tone. “My father has instructed him to follow me wherever I go… instructed him to report back all of my ventures,” You answered and played with the embroidery of your fine dress as your pals for the night with Aemond were now ruined. “They are keeping you from me,” Aemond gritted, his hand clenching in anger. “And why should they do that?” You asked with a tilt of your head, moving to take hold of his hand, but the knight behind you cleared his throat as if a warning. You sighed and licked your lips and clamped your hands in front of you. “Because they are scared— threatened that…” Aemond caught himself before he uttered the deep truth he had realized just a week after you had returned. “That what?” You asked in common tongue. Aemond sighed and shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “That I would burn for you, little light. That we are dragons that need to be bound by blood.”

You, being the watchful eyes of your sworn protector, did not last long. Aemond had commissioned some of the guards to pick a fight with your knight, and it left him bloody, bruised, and bedridden. Buying the two of you a small amount of freedom in each other’s presence before your father could find a replacement.

The two of you were in the godswood, hidden behind the white, ashy trunk of the Weirwood tree, away from anyone’s view. Aemond laid his head on your lap as you read a book written in the language of your house, him listening intently to your honey voice as it read fluent Valyrian. “You still have not given me my prize,” The prince suddenly said as you paused from reading. You turned to him, gazing down at the serenity on his handsome face as he lay on your lap. One of your hands intertwined with his and resting atop his chest. “What?” You asked, feeling your stomach flip at the intensity in his eye. “You still have not given me my kiss,” Aemond said, voice growing deeper and more serious.

You tried to laugh it off, moving your intertwined hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand. “There,” you say, but Aemond sat up from his position. “That is not the kiss we discussed, princess,” He whispered, face inching forward to yours. You feel his cold hand on the apex of your neck and shoulder, pulling you in and sending gooseflesh to rise all over your skin. “Just one kiss,” You whispered as his lips were so close to yours, his scent of cedar wood, mint, and leather so intoxicating. “We’ll see,” he said and smashed your lips. Your heart stuttered for a moment, feeling his warm, soft, wine-tasting lips upon yours. It was supposed to be only a chaste kiss, you knew you should pull away, but as Aemond placed his hand on your waist and pulled you close, you knew you did not have the strength nor want to do so.

Unbeknownst to you, your secret actions with your uncle were caught by your eldest brother, who did not hesitate to run to your mother’s husband to report the scene. On how yours and Aemond’s lips danced, on how you grinned at each other as you acted to catch your breath, gazing at each other love-struck. On how your kiss under the scarlet leaves of the ancient tree had only solidified your emotions and deepened your desires for each other.

You were soon called to your mother’s chambers later that afternoon. “No, please! Please, you cannot do this to me— why… why would you marry me to him?” You cried to your mother as they announced that you were to be sent to the North as a bride for its warden. It was the extreme measure your father had to take to keep you away from Aemond. Sequestering you into the frigid wasteland just so a one-eyed dragon would not lay more of its claim on you. “You had promised me I was free to choose whom I shall marry!” You cried in front of them, knowing your tears had always been your trusted weapon to bend them to your will. “I’m sorry, my love… but, the crown needs allies… a union with Lord Stark is vital.” You shook your head, “The North is already sworn to you! You need not promise me to their lord,” You countered. “It was a decision your father believed had to be made, and it is to—“

Your mother’s words faded out, and you could only focus on how it was your father’s orders to offer you to a lord you had not even met. His cruel way of keeping you from Aemond. “My father is dead,” You suddenly gritted out, silencing your mother in shock as you said the bitter words. Though you were a product of Ser Harwin Strong, and the kingdom was made to believe that your paternity came from the line of Ser Laenor— neither of those men were fathers to you. Not like Daemon was. It stung you to say such words, but you were overly hurt that he had made such a decision just to keep you from the prince you loved.

“My father is dead; how could he have made such a decision?” You asked and dug your fingernails into your palms. Your mother sighed as you and Daemon stared each other down. “Daemon made the decision,” She clarified. “You are heir to the throne, but you would let a prince consort dictate the future of your only daughter?” You asked, menacingly. Watching the way your step-father’s jaw ticks at your impertinence. He did not know how to handle you in such a state; you were never one to rebel, but what was there to rebel against when everything you had ever wanted was quickly given to you?

“That is beside the point, my love; you still need to marry.” Your mother said, and you shifted your gaze to her. “I know! And I am happy to do so just as long as—“ Daemon cut you off. “Just as long as what?” He asked, “Just as long as it will be Aemond.” You proclaimed. “I wish to marry him, and he wishes to marry me as well! You are the only one against this!” You all but screamed with a stomp of your foot. Making your father roll his eyes and disapprovingly shake his head as they had filed you up with their lies. “You see, Nyra… look at how they had manipulated our daughter… they filled up her head with falsities— this had been their plan all along.” Daemon reasoned to your other, who looked in between the two of you with concern and cluelessness on how to proceed.

“Look at how they corrupted her… arguing, yelling, insulting us just to defend their disfigured son. They are playing her!” he spat bitterly. “Do not call him that,” you gritted to Daemon as he uttered offense toward Aemond. There was a silence that enveloped the room before you finally spoke once more. “Father, please… I love him,” you pleaded, ready to beg on your knees just for you not to be sent as a bride for a wolf. Daemon looked at your eyes, sincerity in your orbs, gut-wrenching sadness as pearl tears ran through your cheeks; that still did not sway his mind. “The decision is made. You shall be Cregan Stark’s bride.” He stated and walked off, leaving you to cry and wail in your mother’s arms.

Aemond eyed you with concern as you sat dejectedly in your place next to your brother and his. Your head hung low, and not once had you cast your enchanting eyes upon him— or anyone else for that matter. His hold on his knife is tighter as he realizes you have not a bite of your supper. His gaze went murderous as he finally saw your bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. They had made you cry. He turned to your father, a harsh look on his face, whilst your mother looked at you wistfully. Aemond then turned to Jacaerys, a smug look on his plain face.

As supper ended, Aemond was the first to leave the table. He made fast steps and entered your chambers to hide there, needing to speak with you, and he was certain that would not be possible whilst you were in the presence of your kin. He hid behind the pillar as he heard the door creek and your somber voice bidding Lucerys ‘good night.’ When he heard the door shut and bared, he made his presence announced.

It was then that he saw a clear view of your state: eyes swollen and red, lips trembling, nose sniffling, soft cheeks flush with sadness. “My light… what has happened?” he asked. You said no word, only ran to his arms and let you hold him as the tears came like rivers once more. “They’re… they’re marrying me to Cregan Stark,” You said in between sobs. Aemond felt the air knocked out of him, his form turn rigged and was immediately filled with dread. “What?” He asked, hoping what he heard was a misunderstanding. “They offered me as a bride to Cregan Stark. He shall arrive in a few days to be presented to grandfather, and we shall leave for the North in a fortnight.”

Aemond sat you down on your plush bed, wiping away your hot tears with his cold fingers. “You will never be his,” he swore, looking deeply into your eyes as your tears did not cease. I shall speak with your parents,” he said and tried to soothe you by running his hand through your hair and caressing your cheek. “Aemond, they wouldn’t even listen to me… their minds are made,” You said sadly. Your prince only shook his head and kissed the top of your brow. “You are a dragon. Wolves do not deserve dragons,” was all he said before kissing your lips again, hoping the action would distract you from your sadness because he could no longer stomach seeing you cry.

“They would never approve of us,” You whispered to Aemond as he held you to his chest. He tried to lull you to sleep, but your mind was distraught. “I do not care for their approval,” he uttered atop your head, inhaling deeply the scent of you. “But—“ You hear Aemond sigh and pull you closer to his leather-clad chest. “You will be mine, my light, just as it ought to be. Forget their qualms and objections— my uncle and his disapproval is a challenge I’ll happily welcome, just as long as you will forever be mine.” He stated as his fingers twirled your hair, “Let us just rest, ñuha ōños,” he murmured, and you did as told. Savoring the first and probably the last time in his hold.

“What are you planning?” Ser Criston asked as Aemond spent more hours in the tiltyard. The arrival of his betrothed had only spurred him to fight harder, train more, and let out his rage at the knights. “Pick your weapon,” was all the prince said as he wiped away the sweat off his forehead. “Tell me the reason for your more frequent sessions first,” the knight stated. Lilac eye flickered above the tiltyard, Aemond's jaw clenching and nostrils flared as he saw you walking around with the warden of the north, chaperoned by your brother. Ser Criston’s eyes followed the prince’s gaze, realization shining through his brown orbs. “My prince, you—“ He was cut off.

“I shall be challenging the warden to a duel for the hand of my niece,” he proclaimed and urged the knight to pick up his weapon. “But she is a bastard,” Ser Criston muttered lowly. Aemond's eye widened, and he had to greatly retrain himself from maiming the knight who stood as his father figure. “She will be my wife.” He proclaimed and returned to his training.

When all were gathered in the throne room to announce their betrothal to Lord Stark, Aemond stepped away from his sibling and drew out his sword, bravely challenging the warden in front of the eyes of the court and his father, the king. You felt your stomach pit in fear, for you did not know that this was the plan Aemond had devised. You had half the mind that he would have the two of you escape to YiTi and live freely there. You hear your father and brother’s disapproval of the duel, but you hear your grandfather’s agreement to it. Lord Stark had little choice but to accept the challenge. You turn to your mother, her lips in a thin line and hands fiddling with her rings, her expression unreadable as he watched men argue before the throne, dictating her only daughter’s fate. She felt your eyes upon her, and she took your hand into hers as fear was evident in your gaze. “It will be fine, my love,” She muttered lowly, but you had trouble believing her words.

When night came, the supposed family supper was discarded as both sides were furious and confused at what had transpired in the throne room. “She will not marry him— I would rather feed myself to Caraxes than watch our daughter marry a spawn of those cunts.” Daemon muttered to his wife and downed a whole chalice of wine, quickly moving to refill it once more. “She loves him,” was all your mother could mutter as she plainly saw the affection in your eyes. “And he loves her,” she added as he saw the tenderness and warmth in her half-brother’s usually cold, lone eye. Daemon scoffed and turned to his wife.

“Not you too— Rhaenyra, you cannot buy into their deceit! You cannot let your daughter be bound to that—“ The princess cut her husband off. “Why? Why are you so against this? Put your pride and animosity towards Otto and Alicent aside… our daughter has made it clear that she wants Aemond— and he, too, made it clear that he wants our daughter. There is no underlying deceit from his intentions… what will they even gain? The crown passes to Jacaerys; Aemond wants our daughter, not for power or whatever reason you had sold yourself to greatly disagree to this match!” Daemon shook his head at his wife’s words. “We need allies. We need the North.” He said, but Rhaenyra shook her head. “You are preparing for a war that may not come— already sacrificing our daughter on the way! And she is right. The North is already sworn to me. A Stark never forgets their oath. And if they need further convincing, my daughter and her happiness is too great a price to pay for them to keep their word.” Your mother defended. She watched as her husband’s jaw clenched and his hold on the chalice grew tighter.

“Daemon, you and I had both been subjected to marriages, not of our choosing, a marriage devised for peace and power but ultimately led to death and devastation… you cannot be so cruel to subject her to such a fate.” Rhaenyra said softly and walked towards her husband, urging him to change his mind. The prince breathed out heavily, “We shall see in the duel if he truly deserves her,”

You nervously traced the embroidery of your dress as you watched your prince battle with the Warden of the North. Both men still yet to tire as they galloped towards each other with their jousting sticks. You feel your mother reach for your hand as your leg bounces up and down in anticipation and fear. You took in a sharp breath as the Warden was thrown off his horse, and Aemond was quick to disembark his and draw out his sword. You chewed on your lip as you shielded your gaze from the men, your bloodstream filled with fear as you heard the clang of swords and their exhausted grunts. You hear the cheers of the audience grow louder, and you feel bile rising to your throat. You shut your eyes tightly and prayed to the gods and fates for it to end soon— for it to end and for Aemond to emerge victorious.

Your prayers were quick to be answered as you snapped your eyes open at the enraged screams of your brother and father— the prince having the warden on his knees and a sword upon his throat. “Surrender, my lord,” The prince breathed, his eye scanning upwards, in search of you. “Surrender, and you will keep your life!” The prince yelled, and you fisted your dress with each moment the warden did not concede. But when he finally raised his arms up and dropped his sword, lowly saying his surrender, you were finally able to breathe freely. “Our champion, Prince Aemond Targaryen!” Someone yelled, and cheers hollered around you, but they were quick to fade as your eyes locked with the man you can now call your soon-to-be husband.

The wedding was quick to come, no matter the reluctance of your father and older brother. You were marrying Aemond. Other members of your kin were finally accepting the union, seeing how you both were truly enthralled and in love with one another. They no longer held disapproval as they realized how bright and intense you burned for each other.

You were in your chambers, the final preparations made to you as you were about to be bound to the one-eyed prince in the eyes of men and the gods. “You look… you look exquisite, my sweet,” Your mother sighed and cupped your cheeks, her eyes and voice filled with heavy emotion. You tightly embraced your mother as she was the only one who was truly on your side when it came to your union with Aemond. Your heart throbbed melancholically as you were to be married without the support or blessing of the man who had become your father. You walked out of the chambers with your mother by your side, her being the only one to escort you towards the grand doors that would lead you to the great hall where Aemond waited by the end of it. She gave you one last kiss on your cheek before stepping aside and walking towards a side entrance and waiting along with the other guests; absent was the presence of Daemon.

As the banquet went on and your hand was freely clasped around your husband, you tried not to let your sadness be shown as the man who stepped in, as your father was not anywhere in sight. Aemond could feel your sadness no matter how hard you tried to hide it; he brought the back of your hand to his cool lips and hoped it brought you comfort. You flashed him a small smile and leaned in closer, “A dance, my wife?” He asked, his heart stuttering as a genuine smile spread to your lips.

He led you to the floor and placed his hand on your waist. No more secret touches, no more possibility of scandal, for in the eyes of the gods and men, you were Aemond’s, and Aemond was yours. As your husband spun you around and kept his steady hold upon you, your mind was finally distracted by the sadness it felt as Daemon was absent on your most joyous day. The thought of your father did not occur to you as you danced until you and your husband saw him approaching. Aemond was attentive to your reaction as he approached, ready to challenge his uncle for the distress and sadness he bestowed upon you. “I wish to dance with my daughter,” He announced, and you felt Aemond’s hold on your waist tighten; he was about to speak, but you nodded and reassured him it was fine. Aemond reluctantly stepped away, and you were left in the presence of your father.

There was silence at first as you were once again spun for the dance, but you soon broke it. “You did not attend our ceremonies.” You said, voice a tad bitter and resenting. You hear your father’s aggravated sigh. “I know you think he is playing me… I know you believe this whole ordeal is a farce, but it’s not. He loves me, father. And I love him greatly,” You say and urge him to understand. “You— your marriage is something I do not approve of.” You hear him utter, making your stomach pit, “But it is clear that you truly love him…” he trailed, his eye turning to your husband, who had his watchful gaze upon you, ready to come to your aid, the moment he sensed distress. “… And I suppose his intentions are genuine,” he relents. You turn your now hopeful gaze upon him, “I do not believe he deserves you, but if he truly makes you happy, who am I to stand in your way? I will not hinder you anymore.” You processed her father’s words. “Do you truly mean it?” You asked, voice thick with emotion, “I do,” he sighed and kissed the top of your head. You smiled widely as heaviness in your heart faded with the blessing of your father was finally bestowed upon you and your husband.

Other fics in this universe: Mine (part 2) and King of My Heart (Part 3)

1K notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 9 months

Text

Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen angst

5K notes · View notes

too-deviant · 3 months

Text

The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

#the title is a play on words #cos it wasn’t just the physical wounds #get it?#i’ll shut up #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson

2K notes · View notes

sixosix · 8 months

Text

INFATUATED | AETHER

i. summary mutual pining but aether is a tease and you're an idiot

ii. tags 1.5k words, aether helplessly in love, reader being dumb and in denial, bff!yoimiya may be ooc and may embarrass you, set in inazuma, fluff & flirting

Aether’s always smiling whenever you see him.

At first, you thought it was because he’s just a happy little guy, always wearing a grin as bright as his hair. Like the sun, and you’re but a flower soaking in his light. But then you hear how people talk about him—

“He’s quite terrifying, isn’t he? Sometimes I get too scared to ask for help…”

“They weren't joking about what they said regarding the Traveler. He looks young and yet has the eyes of a seasoned warrior.”

“Scary. And a bit strange. His eyes are so… blank. It’s like he’s drifting out, and it’s why he has that pixie around to do all the talking.”

—and now, you’re not so sure. The Aether you’ve met is nowhere near the Traveler they keep raving about. Are they dealing with a doppelgänger?

Yoimiya mulls over your words with a thoughtful hum. She loudly sips on her drink. “Hmm, have you ever considered it might be because he’s just happy every time you’re there?”

You scoff, nestling into your chair with crossed arms—to protect yourself from Yoimiya’s wild imagination, no doubt. “That’d be absolutely presumptuous of me to even think about.” Aether? Happy to see you? Absurd.

She tilts her head as if she pities you. “I’m blessed to not have turned out this oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“Listen to me.” She sets her glass down; it rattles the table. The owner casts you both a stern look. “He’s really just infatuated with you. How hard is it to see that?”

Very hard. Yoimiya is reaching. This is one of the truths she’s trying to pursue—except there is no truth here, just plain fantasy. “It doesn’t make sense,” you insist, growing frustrated. “He’s the Traveler, I’m no one important.”

She hums. “I’ll admit no one in Teyvat can compare to the Traveler, but no one else seems to make him happier than you do. Which is why I’m saying that explains why he’s smiling whenever you—”

“Bold assumptions you’re making,” you interrupt quickly.

“Trust me! He liiiiikes you in that way.”

“Why? How do you know that?”

“‘cause,” Yoimiya grins, her eyes sparkling. She’s as excited as she usually is talking about fireworks. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I can ask him, if you wanna be sure about it.”

“Please don’t ask him anything weird,” you plead. “He’s met so many people, Yoimiya. Why me? What do I have to offer to the holder of the dragon-defeating, god-slaying, renowned fatui-slaughtering reputation? Nothing!”

“Does he have to be with someone who’s done all of that?” she asks, and your thoughts come to a halt. Does it? No, certainly not—unless that’s what he wants. And that might be what he wants!

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Perhaps, if that’s what makes him happy.” At Yoimiya’s quirked brow, you slouch in defeat, cheeks heating up at even thinking about what Aether’s type is. “You’re enjoying this,” you murmur at the sight of Yoimiya’s conspiratorial grin.

“I’m not, I’ve just never seen you act this shy and cute before! So this is what you’re like when you have a crush?” Over Yoimiya’s shoulder, you spot a familiar pixie and a mop of golden hair from afar, walking over.

Your eyes widen, “I am not acting shy and cute—”

“What’s this? Y/N has a crush!?” Paimon’s shrieky voice is unmistakable. It’s hard to mistake her even if you tried. They’re still a few feet away, but Yoimiya’s voice can be very loud.

“I don’t,” you want to snark, however meeting Aether’s eyes has your voice going quiet. Maybe Yoimiya’s right: you are acting very shy. “Hi, Aether, Paimon.”

“Ooh,” Paimon giggles, kicking her feet. “What were you two talking about, huh? Paimon heard Yoimiya talking about a crush.” Paimon notices your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, Paimon can kick Aether out!”

Exasperated, Aether casts Paimon a look. “Who’s gonna pay for your order?”

Paimon deflates. “W-Well, Paimon can ask Yoimiya—”

“No can do; I spent all Mora on me already.”

“—Then, Paimon will—”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I can afford your usual orders. Don’t look at me. I’m a starving artist already.”

She huffs. “Fine! Paimon was trying to protect your secret but she guesses that no one’s appreciating it anyway!” Paimon, the only one who’s terrible at keeping secrets, says. She turns to her companion, hands clasped together. “Aether…”

“Alright, alright,” Aether sighs, pulling out his wallet. The poor thing.

You and Yoimiya share a look as Aether orders food for him and Paimon. You weren’t anticipating that the Traveler—the subject of your predicament—would end up here, out of all the corners and food stalls in Inazuma. Then again, that’s his thing: he’s everywhere, all at once, including the nook and cranny of your heart.

Aether turns to you, a smile blossoming across his face, which is nice, actually, despite the flutter of your heart that is starting to feel like horror. His side profile was driving you crazy, anyway. “Should we leave you two to talk about crushes?”

Just one word directed at you is enough to have you fidgeting uselessly in your seat. And this doesn’t go unacknowledged by Yoimiya, who springs up to save the day. “Don’t worry about it, Traveler! We were just talking about this—this novel that we started reading the other day.”

“Really?” Aether doesn’t sound like he believes it one bit. “Well, Paimon and I have been looking for reading material anyway. Would you mind if we borrowed it?” Said pixie is too busy stuffing her face with Dry-Braised Salted Fish to care about reading materials.

You turn to Yoimiya with a forced smile, then back to Aether, who seems so visibly amused by how you’re acting. You must look like a mess. You feel like it. “Well, I haven’t really finished it…but—but we can tell you about it!”

“Yeah, exactly!” Yoimiya looks like she’s having the time of her life. “Y/N has a big crush on the main character, which is why we were talking about him.”

Aether hums, chewing, “What’s he like?”

Yoimiya narrows her eyes, grinning as she tilts her head. “Why do you want to know?”

Aether levels her with a flat look. It’s a bit strange with you in the middle of them. “Because I want to read the story.”

“We never hear you talk about anything romantic, Y/N!” Paimon says, bits of fish spewing out while she talks. Aether reprimands her. “Whenever Paimon sees you, you’re always working!”

Is that how everyone sees you? “Are you saying you thought I was too boring to experience love?”

Paimon decides to tune out the conversation once again, wolfing down her next plate of food.

Aether’s still looking at you, a smile on his face. No, perhaps a slight smirk would be more accurate. You can feel yourself melting. Perhaps those people were right when they called Aether ‘terrifying’—the swarm of butterflies his gaze is leaving you is downright frightening.

He tilts his head, waiting.

You stammer, “W-Well, the main character’s nothing special. It’s like those things where they make the hero really likable, really…”

Yoimiya butts in, “You just have a thing for guys who have defeated dragons and faced gods head-on. Nothing special.”

“Yoimiya!”

Aether throws his head back laughing.

Yoimiya settles in her seat, looking mildly surprised. “I’ve never seen you this expressive, Traveler.”

You throw Yoimiya a warning look. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve brushed that off, but Yoimiya is clearly hinting at what started your crisis in the first place.

Paimon chugs her water like a madman dying of thirst. “He’s always like that whenever we’re around Y/N. Paimon already told him to stop bullying Y/N!”

Right. Bullying. If only the shared glances and longing stares were bullying. If only Aether lingering in your thoughts was because he’s bullying you, and not because you’re developing a massive crush on him. That would’ve been easier to explain and believe.

“Bullying?” Aether echoes in confusion.

“Flirting might be the more appropriate word for it, Paimon,” Yoimiya corrects with a gleeful grin. “So romantic. Reserving your lovesick and longing smiles to Y/N only,” she sings. “No wonder why you’ve been so happy recently.”

“Yoimiya,” you seethe, though it’s mostly desperate, humiliated. It seems that her name is your only vocabulary this evening.

Aether laughs, his eyes crinkling as he shares your gaze. And if you let yourself believe Yoimiya’s words, you might even call it fond. “You can’t blame me if I can’t help it. Surely that novel taught you what it’s like to have a crush on someone, right, Y/N?”

A/N i love aether so much im sobbing hope u liked reading!!1 bc i cried while writing this!!!! also thank u earthtooz for proofreading i love u big sibling.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #aether x reader #aether x you #aether x y/n #genshin x y/n

2K notes · View notes

comicaurora · 15 days

Note

hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

#asks #not aurora #media recs

638 notes · View notes

fishnapple · 16 days

Text

CRYSTAL READING : What kind of partner does your soul need right now ?

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Book a personal reading for you.

Reading for each group below :

1. Strawberry quartz

Energy : cheetah

Immediately, I can see a lot of warm and fast-paced, action oriented energy. A lot of fire and creativity. They could have fire signs in their chart, jupiter dominant or sun dominant. Red and orange would be their colours. They know what they want and how to go after it.

This person will be like the sun to you, at first, you may not used to their intensity and decisive way of doing things, they may even have a big ego and a little arrogant but they bring so much inspirations and motivations to you. Being with them will ignite your creative fire. You will feel more carefree, more open to the joy of life. Your inner child would safely be expressed. They could even widen your circle of friends and introduce you to a new social network with many interesting people.

Maybe you struggle with feeling confident. This person will lift you up and help you build your confidence from within.

In a way, they are like a life teacher for you. You could learn so much from their example. They radiate light from within, the motivation behind whatever they do, whatever action they take comes from their inner truth, their own guiding spirit. They value authenticity and meaningful purpose behind actions.

This is not a person who does something just because everyone else is doing it, who initiates superficial conversations just for the sake of talking.

Their words sometimes would trigger your deeper fears and make you feel exposed, but at the same time, you will feel so much love and tender compassion. They would understand intuitively your secret intimate desires and dreams and gradually help you fulfil them.

This is the kind of partner that can give you unconditional love, the one that your inner child has been yearning so much for but may not get so often.

You could meet them when doing your daily routine like taking a walk, going to the supermarket or at the workplace. They would seem intimidating or demanding, hardworking. They would make you feel more conscious of your health and working habits. Maybe when you guys first meet, they will give you advice on how to improve your health and build a more healthy routines. After that, gradually, it turns into a more romantic connection.

Another scenario is that someone older than you, could be your superior of someone you respect would introduce you guys to each other.

2. Flourite

Energy : dragon

This group's energy is quite similar to group 1 but softer. Strong spiritual energy.

This person is wise, no matter their physical age. They have inner wisdom, the kind that is deep and profound, the truth that lies hidden in each of us. They understand it, and they will help you awaken to that understanding, too. Their energy is very stabilising. Just by being within the same physical proximity of this person, you could feel more safe and clear in your soul. Their spiritual energy protects you.

This person is not afraid to show the world their wounds and fears. They are honest about them because they understand that everyone has their own wounds and fears. They are strong by being honest with their vulnerability. That inner strength will help you process your own fears.

If you have some hidden wounds, your inner child doesn't feel safe. They are well hidden in the dark corner. This person will gently heal your inner child. I see the image of the parents console a crying child. Not that I'm saying they will act like a parent to you, but they embody both fatherly and motherly energy. They are very balance, somehow they can understand what is the best approach for you. They would help you understand more deeply about yourself, encourage you to learn new things, to go travel with them, to experience many activities that maybe you haven't tried before or wouldn't dare to. They give you courage. At the same time, they will nurture you softly, soothe your pains and sadness. This person could have a strong moon in their chart.

Through them, you will learn how to build a strong foundation within, to be able to withstand life's many challenges but still have the ability to dream, to be generous with your love, you will learn to give love more freely just like how they give to you. You will learn to persevere, to know when to give up, when to keep trying.

You would meet this person when you are having fun, talking with people. Could be a place where there are lots of children.

They could be a writer, a magician or someone doing jobs related to logistics, traveling, or speculative business. Someone good with their hands, can makes beautiful things with their hands.

3. Citrine

Energy : nightingale

Music and poetry. This is someone who will sing to your soul. You could even hear music or feel the urge to sing, to hum when being near this person.

This person's energy is gentle and a little childlike, a little nervous and restless. So many interesting conversations about all kinds of topics. You will not feel tired talking or listening to this person. Their words just have a soothing effect on your heart. Like running your hands through a gentle stream of clear water. It's invigorating and freshening.

They could be popular, the kind that can mingle with all kinds of people with no differentiation, they can charm the crowd easily. They would give off quite a captivating and sexy impression.

You may meet this person through a mutual friend or through your siblings, in school, in a concert, a workshop, a forum, or simply somewhere people share their thoughts freely. I don't really see that you need to be with them for a lifetime. Maybe they would come into your life like a light breeze, and someday, you guys would move one from each other, but the memories you shared will stay with you for the rest of your life.

They would help you be more open with your thoughts, give your mind more freedom. If you are the type to feel shy in front of the public or have some difficulties speaking more clearly and openly, this person will help you find your voice and communicate your ideas more beautifully. They bring inspiration.

Also, they would encourage you to re-examine your beliefs. Those that formed in your past thay may no longer serve you. They may even inspire you to take some trips, to go on some journeys or adventures with them, both outside and in the bedroom, something you may have felt before that wasn't too comfortable or you thought that didn't suit your characters. But they have some kind of sway, they will persuade you do it, not in a manipulative ways for their selfish desires but more like how a child persuades you to go finding fairies in the wood with them. You just can't help but smile and go with them.

Maybe you are someone who is more uptight or more concerned about rules and practicality. This person will gently nudge you out of the rigid mould and be more free, to dare to dream and see that life is a lot more magical.

4. Agate

Energy : swan

This person is quite a beauty. They are graceful and mysterious. There is a certain pure vibe about them. They could wear lots of white.

Upon meeting them, you will have an inner tower moment. Subconsciously, you will feel like some gate in your soul has been opened. You would even begin to see them a lot in your dreams. You guys might communicate with each other through dreams. You would even feel uncomfortable and strangely emotional around them, even though they may not say or do much. Their presence alone is enough to make you question yourself. Maybe you would find them a little unreal, like a mirage, you might even question if you are indeed seeing them. They are not elusive, but they trigger that reaction within yourself. You guys might mirror each other a lot, events and experiences in your life would be very similar to them.

Something about them feel egoless. They are not the kind to go around imposing their beliefs onto others or order others around. Most likely a quiet person. Their beauty will be apparent to you and to whomever they interact with. It's more of an undercurrent energy that affect other's vision of them. They could have heavy neptune influences in their chart.

Their silence will encourage you to speak more willingly and honestly. A certain simplicity. You would feel safe telling them your secrets and your silly jokes without fear of judgements. Just be careful not to overwhelm them with your talk, they might not be a talker but if one remains silent for too long, there would be an imbalance in the conversations and later would create some resentment or avoidance.

You could meet them at a social gathering, somewhere with lots of people, but they will seem to be alone. You will feel an immediate subconscious pull toward them. You might take the initiative to approach them first, even if that isn't how you normally are.

5. Obsidian

Energy : dragon

Flourite group's person also has dragon energy, but this dragon has completely different feel to them.

They are someone who is super intense and serious at first impression. Like a wounded animal. This is someone who will awaken your own dragon energy. You will be able to sense their wounds and pains from the first meeting, even if you normally don't consider yourself to be super sensitive to people's energy. With this person, you will, and you will want to help heal them.

Their inner child stone flung very far, so I had to move them back into the frame. You will also do that for them. You will help them find and bring back their inner child.

Their energy feels gloomy and cold. They could even wear dark clothes. Somehow, they have lost their own inner faith. Maybe your soul's need is to guide and help ignite the inner fire in other again, and you will meet this person. Their soul will need you.

Something feels very short and hard to channel with this group, maybe this person is not a talker. They don't feel too comfortable voicing their emotions. There is a sense of hidden love here too, this person will keep their feelings for you hidden for some times before expressing them to you. Even as I am typing this, I keep pressing the delete button by mistake. It's like they don't want you to know about them too much. They would feel too exposed. I suppose with enough time in the future, they will feel more comfortable to reveal themself to you more.

You will meet this person in an unexpected manner. On that day, you would do your usual daily routines, but there would be some unexpected changes or complications, and this person will be there. You could meet them at some place related to legal matters, signing contracts, or getting counselling. You could even have some arguments with them or someone else, and they will witness that. Their still water will feel alive again, new life will be formed, slowly, they will begin to imagine how their life would change after meeting you.

6. Carnelian

Energy : crow

This person will be a complete mystery to you. But you can sense that they have a very strong intuition. They could even be psychic or interested in spirituality and the occult. You and other people will feel a certain pull toward them, wanting to know them more, because their life would seem to be very intriguing and out of the norm, they will have many interesting tales to tell you.

You could see their confidence but not in an attention seeking way. Nobody would want to mess with them. They could wear black or dark red a lot.

Upon first meeting them, you would feel suddenly weak in the knee. There will be strong sexual attraction. It's not the fun and superficial kind, but the kind that you know won't fade easily. Their way of talking will feel sexy to you. You could like their voice, there is a hypnotic feel to it, and they don't need to talk very much to captivate you.

With this person, your emotions, all kinds of fears, deep dark secrets will be exposed. But they will keep them safe, you would tell them your most embarrassing stories, your guilts and shames, things that you deemed inappropriate and are afraid that will be rejected by others, not this person, they will accept them all, no more hiding and no use hiding. They will intuitively know you. Your soul is much in need of this kind of person. You will feel more confident and protected. It's like they help you untie a knot in your soul's journey so that you can go faster and smoother. Their words and embrace will sooth you in stormy times.

You could meet them in public institutions, when you go travelling, maybe for work or for something of a more serious nature than a vacation. You won't expect to see them. They could be a complete stranger. A male or someone with masculine energy would be the bridge to get you guys together. The scenario would be you and them both talk to the same person about the same topic so that person will later introduce you guys to each other.

Love.

527 notes · View notes

goddessofwisdom-7 · 5 months

Text

I Gotcha.

Luke Castellan x daughter of Apollo!reader

Description: three times you promised Luke that you got him. The two times he struggled to believe and finally when he did.

A/N: the gif is not mine, credits to the owner.

************************************************************

The days spent at camp immediately after his failed quest were arguably the worst of Luke's entire life.

He had to drag himself back home with a burnt chunk of an apple, a dragon tooth and half his face destroyed.

You had nursed him back to health. Spending three days straight in the infirmary. The solo quest was a bad idea and you had known it. Luke had gone alone in some sort of attempt to prove himself, seeking glory but now this entire thing had backfired and you couldn't help but worry.

When he awoke he had stared in mute horror at the mirror you held up to his face.

"I tried to minimise the scarring as much as I could, Luke. I couldn't remove it entirely but with the correct balm and scar creams it'll fade," you had explained.

Luke knew you were the best the camp infirmary had but he couldn't explain the rage that boiled within him. This fruitless quest, with its dumb replication to Heracles' and his quest all for the sake of earning his father's attention had permanently marred him.

Physical proof of his father's neglect right there for everyone to witness.

And he would have to carry this stupid scar for the rest of his life.

"Luke?"

His gaze snapped to meet yours, softening slightly, as you placed the mirror facedown on his bedside table.

"Yeah?"

He didn't want to see sympathy in your eyes, no doubt too many campers will be looking upon him like he was a pitiful kicked dog, nor did he want to see disappointment; he wasn't quite sure how he'd stomach that.

But your face held neither of those emotions, instead a strong conviction resided in the lines of your face, lines that you were too young to have, that marked the effects of stress no adolescent should feel.

"I'm gonna take care of you Luke, okay?" You reached out and cupped his uninjured cheek, "I gotcha. I always gotcha."

And wasn't that something.

He reached out cupping your face in his hands, this was his whole world.

"Okay baby; yeah, please."

****************************

Luke had miscalculated. He'd failed to retain the master bolt and the helm of darkness.

Now, he was being punished. Severely. And he hated it but he deserved it. He'd let Kronos down, he needed to learn his lesson so he never makes the same mistake.

The nightmares cut too much into reality though sometimes. His entire body lit aflame but it always got so much worse when he was forced to face a scenario where he had to cut you up so that your pieces would replace the Titan.

He never failed this test, but it always took the most out of him. Even if you always understood his anger, he wasn't sure you'd understand his methods; and at the crack of every dawn, he'd escape his cabin and run to the lake where he knew you'd always be. Like clockwork, watching the sun rise.

This time his skin buzzed with the phantom recollection of his nightmares, he had to scrub at his eyes to clear his vision a few times, mistaking the blood on his hands to be real in his fatigued state.

You sat on the deck, eyes fixed on the changing colours of the sky. He could hear your voice humming a soft nameless tune. This was your ritual, your futile attempts at interactions with your father as he burst across the heavenly dome on his sun chariot.

Nonetheless, Luke always enjoyed the sound of your voice. He'd appreciate it if Apollo never would.

You'd sense his presence as you always did in the early hours and you'd beckon him towards you.

Sitting by your side felt right, amidst all the tension he'd been under. The weight of all his plans. Your song was familiar, the heat and strength of your figure a comfort.

"Nightmares again?" You asked, knowing the answer regardless.

He'd nod.

There were a few truths he was allowed to tell you. Sometimes if he said it with enough of himself, he could fool himself to believe that all you knew weren't mainly lies.

"Come here."

And you'd guide his head to you lap, gentle– loving, like the first rays of the sun. You would card your fingers through his curls, and every now and then lightly ghost your fingertips over the scar on his face.

On occasion, Luke would dream that you were healing him, erasing his scars, erasing his pains.

"I gotcha Luke," you'd murmur, "I always gotcha."

Some mornings he'd fall into a dreamless sleep.

************************

"I gotcha baby," oh he's missed that voice, "I always gotcha, Luke." It's been too long. Days, weeks, months. Years.

You were crying.

Percy and Annabeth were crying too but–

You're crying.

Don't cry.

He's really tired, and it's getting difficult to take a breath. He figures this is the feeling of death and he's trying to not be afraid.

You reach for him, and he forces himself to open his eyes and look at you.

It's not so bad. Your face has always been what he'd like to see last. It's just–

There's so much to say. So many things he has to tell you, to apologise for, to confess, to love and there's no time.

You're so beautiful.

Even covered in soot and monster dust and blood.

Your hands cup his face, fingers instinctively brushing his brows and scar. You keep mumbling small comforts, little assurances. But you don't promise life, because that wouldn't be true and while Luke has been a deceitful liar, you have never been one yourself and you won't lie to him even now.

But you promise that you got him. And he believes you.

"I know baby," He huffs and tries to say, "but now...it's time– time to let me go."

It's a struggle. His vision is blurry, he's really tired.

So he focuses on the feel of you instead, letting his eyes close. This is just like falling asleep.

*****************************************************************************

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fic rec #pjo fandom #pjo fanfic #percy jackson #luke castellan #annabeth chase #lc

798 notes · View notes

running-with-kn1ves · 1 month

Text

Sleepy Afternoons

A/N: Teehee ngl I just wrote this as a period comfort fic indulgent for myself. I hope you nerds enjoy it as much as I liked writing it!

CW: AFAB reader on period, jokes of breeding, using a dragon as a heating pad, pretty much just fluff

WC:2000

Synopsis: A lazy Sunday, the perfect start to a week on your period where you'll be constantly pestered by your dragon boyfriend.

A dragon’s hoard in times long before consisted of fine jewels and immense mounds of gold, shiny objects as far as the eye could see. Whether it was stuffed in the depths of a cave or deep in the forest, a hoard barred spikes and “DO NOT ENTER” warnings; whether they were legible or not was never up to the righteous dragon’s responsibility.

Adventurers and bandits never heeded these signs of caution, getting stuck in the narrow holes meant for dragons to shimmy through or meeting their demise through puzzles and endless booby traps-- such monsters were thorough in keeping their treasure safe. Any item that caught the creatures attention could be found in their rich reservoirs, even if they were mere wave-smoothened stones from a lake, an old lover, or a prettily decked-out concubine that was too tempting not to take.

That however, was centuries ago. Dragons, like the rest of us, must conform to modern society, technology too powerful and people too abundant to go around flying and terrorizing just to get one’s hands on a pretty penny.

Your boyfriend, once a ravenous creature with a cave of glittering gems and fine craftsmanship-- that he may or may not have maimed many blacksmiths to steal-- now resided with you in too big of a bedroom. You had argued before buying the apartment; who would need this much space? But his hoarder tendencies clearly made up for the abundance in space. Gaming consoles, silvery granola bar wrappers, aluminum dollar store trinkets, books with glittery covers-- the floor was almost unseeable with his trash and treasure mixed together. He wasn’t necessarily dirty-- in fact every item had its own spot and preferred place, which is why it killed a piece of him any time you threw away something that should not be “decorating” your shared home.

Though as you practically took care of both of you, it was hard to keep up being the caregiver in the relationship. Especially, on your period. Sunday, what a perfect day, to realize you had a whole work week ahead of mood swings and lower abdominal pain, all mixed with the gory massacre you’d face every time you went to the bathroom. Your cramps didn’t usually come in this early of a start, but it seemed like nothing was going quite right today.

“T’s wrong, darlin’?” Your draconic, crusty-eyed boyfriend mumbled into your back. “Somethin’ hurting…?”

He had been asleep since noon, ignoring the stream of yellow shining down on him from between the cracks of the blinds. But with those poor eyes and slightly above average listening skills, he completely ignored the sun and heard your groans of pain as you curled into a ball. The aching in your lower tummy was like hellfire, crisp burning and somersaults of your organs unlike any other pain than usual. Nothing was helping, no cold rags or medicine, it was like your infinite headache and body pains were destined to consume you.

“C’mon baby answer me, I wanna help..” He pouted again.

“Just my stomach..” You downplayed, not sure if you could handle his frantic coddling if he realized you’re period started. The last time you made the mistake of doing so, you had pads stacked to the brim in your bathroom cabinets and tampons in your closets, the mass shoplifting endeavor of his creating even less space in your home. Well, atleast you were set for the next fifty-seven or so cycles.

“I just need to rest n’ I’ll be fine, soon…”

Another wave of pain came through, head ringing as soft nails raked up and down your sweating back.

‘When will this be over,’ you wondered.

Maybe that horrible breeding endeavor your boyfriend was always obsessed with was worth it if it meant you wouldn’t have to suffer through this for nine months. Yeah, just nine months of morning sickness and bloating and growing a whole dragon-human parasite inside of you. But hey… the making part wouldn’t be too bad, and atleast you would be crotch-pain free.

Man, now the pain was really talking through you.

“Yer period, right?” Your dragon wonders, scratching the back of his head. He’s more awake now, and you wish he was still passed out grabbing onto you, even through the sticky sweat from his body heat. “I’m sorry baby…I know it hurts. What’you want me to do?”

“How’d you even know..” You groan, almost annoyed at how keen he is. Next thing you’d know he’d be shoving some pretty pawn shop jewelry for you to hold to distract you from the pain.

“I don’t think.. You want to know. And well there’s the obvious, I noticed you changed the bed covers.”

Oh lord, was he talking about that split tongue-nose smell-ability ‘dragon thing’ again? Could your embarassment get any worse?

“Does that mean you’ve… EVERY TIME? Every time you knew?”

He sheepishly fell into the new sheets of warmth, those dark eyebrows lifted in innocence.

“Sometimes before you knew, I think.”

Officially, you wish your boyfriend was asleep again. Maybe you’d just strangle him to end this mind-numbing conversation.

“What can I do?” He repeated. “Get you more pads?”

“No.” You shut him down as soon as the words left his mouth.

“What then? A snack, more pillows? Now’s the time to be babied, you know. Unless you’d be okay with me coming to work with you--”

You groaned, partly to shut him up and to vocalize the squeezing, contracting inside of you.

His clawed fingers came to cradle your belly, right below your belly button on your pelvic muscle. He rubbed, just gently, back and forth with a slight pressure as your head buried into the sheets beneath you.

“Just this.. is fine..” You murmur, feeling hot, humid breath exhale against your neck, emerald green slits baring into your twisted expression. He was watching you, the way your body reacted, the little signals of discomfort.

You heard a slight flutter of his wings as they adjusted, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece; it was nice to be the small spoon again, rather than cradling your needy dragon lover like a cocoon as he so often desired.

The dragon slowly pushed a leg between your bunched knees that stuck together, getting easier access to your tummy. His palm was so warm, as the torso flushed behind you kept a reassuring prresence. You almost turned on your back to get his palm farther against your stomach, the slight pressure and warm temperature soothing the ache in your lower back and groin.

“You know… I could always breed ya, then you wouldn’t have to--”

“Don’t try to convince me right now.” you spat, turning into him as his hand worked magic, the other brushing hair off of your neck and cheek. “That’s not an option, especially right now.”

“Well, at the very least I can make you feel good. Might ease up some of the pain, yeah?” He laid back down to lean in closer.

You sighed; he clearly didn’t understand the discomfort and embarrassment that his oh-so keen intimacy would bring you right now. You loved the sentiment, and maybe you’d be up for it if you weren’t solely thinking about your physical misery, but you barely had the fortitude to look back toward him.

Your dragon buried his flared nose into the top of your head, lined against you like a perfectly shaped heat blanket.

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything.. I’ll do whatever makes ya feel better.” His other hand snakes beneath your hip against the bed mattress, pulling you back toward his body even closer, if possible. The warm, spiked fingers tapping alongside your pelvic bone made your skin spark, your lower stomach buzzing with numbed pain and a fullness that made you want to sleep for another week. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” He frowns. “Your face.. You look so, uncomfortable.”

“Wow, thanks.” You jab, feeling a heated tail slither up your knee, to your thigh. It almost flicked in apology. “Mm.. Just stay my heating pillow and I’ll be fine.”

“I can do that.” The confidence in his voice worries you, knowing he’ll do an unnecessary load of more than you asked for. Your fetal position was gently yanked free, a pounced creature on your back as you’re forced onto your stomach. “I’ll be the best spiky heating pad you’ve ever seen.”

The strong, scaled forearms of your draconic spouse come to wrap around your hips, a burning touch ringing from his skin, worming his way beneath your comfortable pajama pants and shirt, skin on skin as his body temperature rises to accommodate your desires. His forearms seem to ripple against you, fingers tickling your sides as his legs trap against your thighs from above, most if not every length of his body pulsating against yours like a live, scaly cocoon intent on making you his personal plush, and he your sweet, warm monster.

“Feel better baby…” He kissed at the nape of your neck, sandpapery forked tongue popping out to lick away your sweat. “It’ll be over soon.. I’ma make it all better.”

You leaned deeper into the stuffy mattress sheets, the pressure on your abdomen welcomly encouraged as you push as far as possible into his fiery hands.

“I’m betting on it.” You muffle into the pillows, squirming your hips against his his body, warm chest and carved quadriceps surrounding you. The slight pressure of his inner thighs against your hips was welcoming, his mounted position atop of you seemingly odd to an outsider-- but you didn’t care how weird it might’ve looked, as the calm of your gutted abdomen took over.

You yawned into the side of the pillow as you turned your head, lifting your hips just a little to soak in the heat radiating from behind you.

“Awe’d, so sleepy huh? Need a little nap?” the dragon behind you poked.

Who knew a murderous, millenium-old dragon would be sweet-talking you so gently-- just a few centuries ago he was murdering travelers for stumbling just a few steps too close to his prized hoard.

“But I just woke up.” You protest, upset at the sleepiness of the afternoon that was rubbing off from your draconic lover on you. “Got too much to do, can’t lay in bed all day..like you.”

You groan into the pillow as a wave of cramps hit you, only slightly set ajar by the gentle massaging of the skin above your pelvic bone.

“Hrmm.” Your boyfriend thinks, shoving his warmly snout against your neck. “I guess it’s unfortunate that I’m not going to be letting you go then. Not allowed to get up until you feel better.”

You laugh, taking one of your dragon’s toasty hands to your chest to hold onto.

“I’ll be here all week, then.”

It was here you felt the safest, the warmest, the most vulnerable and easily devourable-- well, thankfully dragon’s didn’t particularly have a taste for the flesh of humans. Shutting your eyes, you let the guttural ‘hrmm’s’ of your dragon lull you to thoughtlessness.

“If that’s what it takes..” He presses a deep kiss close to your forehead, relishing in the sweet scent of your hair. The huffs from his nose tickle the back of your ears, such petrichor warmth and humidity so reminiscent of past lazy mornings. “You’re not going anywhere, my diamond.”

609 notes · View notes

sh1-n0bu · 2 months

Text

✿ 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 ✿

characters: self aware!acheron x isekai!gn!reader, slight dan heng x reader to the end

warnings: fluff, poor attempt at humor, consumption of alcohol, lying (from dan heng), brief appearance of playable characters, description of acheron test run, reader is isekaid into the hsr world and is just trying to live their life, reader is referred to as aeon of life and your excellency

notes: just had a shower thought and remembered acheron interaction from the cosmodessy event and BOOM! part 2 of dragon fic is on the work i swEAR PLS DONT EAT ME the divider is from @/rookthornesartistry

“hmm…”

what a tricky situation. acheron had been wandering through the dreams of penacony to find out about the truth of the oak family. or at least, finding some hint and cases that has been silenced by the family. but on the way…

“i seem to be lost”

yes, the amnesiac galaxy ranger had found herself lost once more. she had briefly agreed with the astral express to meet them later at the clockie statue of golden hour, but the poor woman was now wondering which way is which and which direction she should be heading towards. oh well, she’ll figure it out later. right now, she needed to know where she was or attempt to find a familiar face.

looking around herself, acheron could hear the faint sound of jazz playing further down one of the halls. there also seem to be other people there as she could make out laughter and murmuring of people alongside the scent of alcohol wafting through the air.

a bar, perhaps?

quietly, she makes her way to the end of the hall, opening the double doors and coming to what she guessed was a bar. it did indeed seem like it, though just maybe a bit smaller than the usual grand and bright neon sign filled ones at the golden hour. briefly, the woman takes a moment to look around, hoping to find a familiar face. there was a bartender behind the bar, a halovian mixing a drink. perhaps she could ask her—?

a familiar colored hair catches acheron’s attention just as she was about to make her way over to the bartender. there, far away from the crowd of people at one of the seats sat the aeon of life. their back turned to others, seemingly running away from attention as they hunch over their table. acheron had never personally met the aeon of life before but she had felt their warmth, heard some snippets about them through the trailblazer and during an odd battle she was forced to fight in and have seen glimpses of their visage through the screen that the trailblazer allowed her to.

when acheron was first teleported to some theme park of penacony, she wondered if someone had kidnapped her. but when the ranger tried to move herself, she had found it impossible. until she did. someone or something was controlling her body, making her draw her blade and fight, yet she found it hard to hate the puppeteer. it felt… warm. to the lone galaxy ranger, this odd puppeteer of hers gave her a warm feeling, like being gently cradled by the sun. gentle and kind as the puppeteer moves her around, muffled gasps of awe and words of admiration falling onto her ears. this puppeteer of hers’ voice sounded gentle, soothing her heart, filling the loneliness of her soul. as quickly as it came, it disappeared and she was back in her room at the reality of the hotel.

when she briefly mentioned of this incident when she met welt of the astral express, he simply smiled with a knowing expression. the older man had told her about the aeon of life — or at least their reborn mortal self — and how they would sometimes guide some people to help them solve their problem or to bless them with more strength. most of the times though, these people were pathstriders, he told her.

and now here she was, in the flesh, being able to see the aeon of life themself.

quietly, the ranger makes her way towards the hunched over aeon. they seem to have had some glasses of drinks, the ice in them melting inside the glass as they lay their head on their arms, one hand wrapped around the glass of their next drink.

meanwhile, you try to fight back some sleep. drowsiness falling over you due to all sorts of drinks you’ve consumed. though, most were alcohol free, they still managed to knock you down a peg. must be the secret of being penacony dreamscape drinks or something. or maybe it was just siobhan’s specialty. she seemed very skilled in the art of free mixing.

the faint sound of heels clacking catches your attention though, making you stop and take a moment to listen carefully. not so soon after, the sound stops right behind you, along with a faint presence behind your back. you try to play asleep, hoping the person would just buy the act and leave you alone. ever since you were isekaid into the star rail world, people have been clamoring for your attention left and right. you came to penacony with the express in hopes of blending within the bright lights and dazzling signs of the dream world for people to ignore you and give you some time to breathe.

though, the presence continues to stay. lingering just behind you.

gulping, remembering an iconic meme back from your world, you slowly get up from your laying position and turn your head around to see who it was.

“YAAGHH—!” you yelp out loud, nearly shrieking as you jump from your seat when you saw acheron just silently staring at you, a bit closer than what you would prefer. the woman blinks, eyeing you carefully as she takes in your appearance. meanwhile, you hold a hand over your heart to calm the rapid beating of it.

breathing in and out, you eventually manage to calm yourself down. keeping an awkward eye contact with the ranger, you reach out to your unfinished glass of drink, taking a long sip from it. all the while, acheron continues to hold this somewhat awkward stare down.

“a-acheron, what are you doing here? you scared the shit out of me” you say, now finally calm after that last gulp of your drink. the woman’s exposed purple eye widens slightly, as if she was surprised by the fact you knew her. ah right, you two haven’t officially met each other in the flesh. so of course it will come off as weird to the galaxy ranger.

“i appear to be lost, your excellency” she replies, noting the unusual hue of your eye. it had a ring of gold in it, making you look otherworldly. but in this life where people can easily travel from one world to the other, that wasn’t exactly a compliment enough to say that you looked beautiful.

right, you remembered now that acheron had a tendency to forget things very easily and she would continue to be amnesiac until she draws her blade.

“well… where do you need to go then?”

the two of you have made your way out of siobhan’s bar, out of the dreamscape reverie hotel and towards the golden hour as she had said. but first you made little detours in your walk, stopping a few memory zone memes that has become unstable — during the whole time, acheron had told you to stay behind her so you would be safe — taking your time to admire the scenery of the dreamscapes before you two finally made it to the golden hour. it was buzzing, bustling with people from all over the galaxy and street vendors raising their voices to catch someone’s attention.

seeing a floating ice cream at the other end of the street, acheron steps onto the road without looking.

“ache, watch out!” you quickly reach out, holding her hand and yanking her back to yourself as a speeding car nearly runs her over. warm. you felt warm to the touch, gentle in the way you handled her as if she was made of glass. tender, almost, like a lover would hug another to their heart. she liked the way you hugged her, even though it was one born out of protective instinct.

“are you okay?” you ask, squeezing her bicep gently to take her attention. acheron turns her head to look at you, nodding her head that she was fine. everyone would be fine if they were in your protection after all. warm, safely tucked into your loving embrace.

“ache” she spoke suddenly, taking your attention back to herself. “you called me ache, your excellency. do you like the nickname?” the ranger asks, having never received any nicknames from others. this was her first time, having lost everyone she was close to and being forced to walk a lonely road until she caught the gaze of nothingness itself. even if she did indeed had gained nicknames from others before, she had long forgotten them. so this newfound form of kinship in you, in being given something intimate to be referred to by someone, brought a feeling of joy to the lonely ranger.

“i mean… do you like it?” you ask, looking at her face if she would give away any indication that she disliked it. to which you saw nothing. only the faint smile growing on her face. you liked that look on her face. the brooding, sad, melancholic look that she usually wears never fitted her. but when she did that, had a small smile on her face with a face of contentment, it seemed to suit her much better.

“mhm” acheron simply nods, an odd feeling of childish glee in her heart at the thought of having earned an intimate nickname. not from just anyone, but from you — the aeon of life, the very first living being that came to existence and decided to bless other lifeless things into meaningful ones. the aeon of life whose love and care held no bounds, reaching all over galaxies and world — even to ones that were distant and lone — embracing them in your love and care.

acheron liked the nickname “ache”. a heron liked to enjoy her time beside you. with you.

holding hands, eating floating ice creams and magical popcorns, the two of your take your sweet time during your detour to the clockie statue in golden hour. some people stopped you to ask for your autograph or a selfie together. it had become a common thing for you to experience ever since you got isekaid into this world.

the way you stopped to laugh at acheron’s face, where she had undoubtedly made a mess when eating her newly favorite peach flavored ice cream, the way you took out a napkin, wiping away the mess from her lips in such a tender manner caught the attention of a certain bloodhound. gallagher watched, jealous and other unknown bitter feelings swirling inside him as he watches your “date” with acheron from a bit away. he didn’t understand why he was so jealous. he was already in your grace, having come home to you many times while the ranger hadn’t came home to you even once.

but coming home, being in your grace and going on dates with you and holding hands were two completely different things. maybe he should invite you to come over at siobhan’s bar more.

finally, the pair of you made it to the clockie statue. when nearing to your destination, you felt the metal clawed hand of acheron tightening around yours. she seemed sad over the fact she had to let you go. it was nice to be beside you. holding hands, making jokes, feeling of belonging and comfort easily sweeping over her in waves that she never felt before. and yet she had to let go now. the express members were looking at you two weirdly.

“it’s alright, ache. we’ll go on more walks together later, okay? you have my phone number after all. you can text me if you want” your soothing voice graces her ears, filling the empty void of her heart. the woman remembers now. you gave her your number on the way here.

nodding, very reluctantly, acheron’s hands lets go of yours. immediately she wanted to reach out to hold your hand again, to feel the warmth of the sun from your skin again. but she holds herself back, afraid that she might scare you off with how forward she may come off as.

“see you later!”

“aaah… hopefully, today won’t be filled with creepy stalkers or annoying fans running after me…” you groan out, slumped over on one of the seats at the theme park. there wasn’t much people around, even if there were, the people here were too immersed in the exhilarating experience of the theme park. this place really was the world of dreams, huh…

“good afternoon, everyone. this is the ipc broadcast, coming back with news from all over the galaxy” one of the radios that was placed around the theme park speaks up, the familiar voices of the two npc’s coming through to catch some gossip loving folks’ attention.

“yesterday, at the world of dreams penacony, many people have reported to seeing their excellency, the aeon of life, going on a date with a certain mysterious purple haired woman” oh fuck no. no more gossip regarding the most basic things you do. please, no more scandals.

“some reports have stated that their excellency was sighted holding hands and going around one of the most famous dreamscapes of penacony — the golden hour — in a seemingly intimate date with the woman” it wasn’t a date! besides, people were too damn invested into your life.

groaning and silently spewing curses under your breath, you tune out the rest of the news broadcast, instead focusing on the taste of soulglad in your hand. at least there weren’t anyone around to bother you today. or anyone to spook you by just silently standing behind you. breathing down your neck, quietly standing there as if waiting for you to slowly turn around with “it’s behind me, isn’t it?”.

wait that’s too specific.

“your excellen—“

“whAT THE FUCK?!” safe to say, you jumped out of your seat when the familiar soothing voice of dan heng reached your ears. some people around turned to give you a weird or concerned stare.

“dan heng?! the hell are you doing here? aren’t you supposed to be back at the express?” you choke out, thankfully having not thrown your glass of soulglad in your fright. in return, the quiet dragon only tilts his head slightly, a sheepish look on his face. he lowkey reminded you of a puppy with that face…

“i came here to check on the other express members. they weren’t replying to me in the group chat. and now—“

“— and now you’re lost” you finish for him, waiting, keeping an eye contact to see if he would deny or agree. to which he simply nodded his head as slight pink hue spread over his cheeks.

“alright where do you need to go?”

“the golden hour, clockie statue”

“alright, alright. jeez, what’s up with you guys always meeting up at the statue?”

“uhm… your excellency?”

“yeah?”

“can we… hold hands?”

tomorrow, another hit news was broadcasted by the ipc broadcast, speaking of how the aeon of life was spotted going on another date with a young, handsome man from the astral express.

#nobu.writes #self aware hsr #self aware honkai star rail #sahsrau #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #dan heng x reader #acheron x reader #acheron x you #gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert

618 notes · View notes

chknbzkt · 8 months

Text

Anddd for the one that started it all: Moondrop the Night Terror!!! \o/

Stand-alone!!!

More pictures and lore below!!

Proto dragon Moon (yucky man, I love him so)

Gremlin to not-gargoyle pipeline is so real lmaooo-

The shades, abyssal inky monsters that take vague, bastardized forms based on things they see (and oft consume) are infamous for only venturing out of their pools at night. Shades are, however, not the only thing that stalks Hyde’s Crossing and it’s people when the sun falls ‘neath the horizon.

Yet another “problem dragon” (with an impressively sizeable bounty on his head!!), Moon’s disposition towards humans in particular is hostile at best, potentially deadly at worst. He relishes in the chaos and unrest his nightly excursions cause to all manner of folk, seemingly unpredictable in that he never sticks around in any one part of Hyde’s Crossing for too long.

No, indeed efforts have been ramping up of late to catch him. He’s responsible for all manner of crimes including arson, murder of livestock, theft, jaywalking, vandalism, bribery, forgery… and murder. Never you mind that the deaths in question were either an accident on his end or that of his would-be slayers, unfortunately he’s not particularly interested in sticking around to give his testimony to the contrary.

So, as efforts to encourage monster hunters to kill him dead in the form of steadily rising bounty rewards continue being made, he’s stuck nomadically jumping around from place to place to evade capture or worse. He’s not keen on stopping his nightly reigns of terror, he wants to be feared and he likes the purchase that comes with having no alignments or attachments.

He’s made attachments with humans before. He has the iron collar to show for it. Never again.

He has no hoard to call his own and it’s not doing his dubious mental stability (with like zero support) any favors. He does tend to linger near villages with libraries a tad longer despite the risk, however.

It’s only a matter of time before his bounty gets upped to “kill on sight,” though to finally sort himself and his baggage out may require being “slain” by the right hunter he meets at the right time…

#bzkt barf #fnaf smaugust #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sb au #dragon moon #dca fandom #art #artistsontumblr #bastard man: deploy!!!

1K notes · View notes

sepherinaspoppies · 3 months

Text

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche

series taglist: @castellomargot @toodlesxcuddles @itsabby15 @diannnnsss @fan-goddess @zenka69 @a-beaverhausen @gabee-arts @bluebirdbts @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @absurduty @delulumhaggy @liannafae @aaaaaamond @ilikechocolatemilkh @bellaisasleep @ammo23 @alphard-hydraes-blog

if you'd like to be tagged on my general taglist click here

if you want to be tagged on this series comment here!

#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

513 notes · View notes

aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 4 months

Text

YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I PRAY FOR. (3/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/Targcest (uncle & niece), p in v, slight degrading kink, slight breeding kink, this is plot with a whole lot of smut at the end, Valyrian wedding, mentions blood

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: So, this Valyrian wedding is somewhat different to the one in Precious Delights. I took the Daemyra wedding for inspiration, and kinda blamed it on Grandmaster Benifer not being that educated on Valyrian customs (Maegor was just keen on marrying his niece and didn't care of the formalities).

Pentos' desperate need for an alliance against the Triarchy has really played into your hands when Daemon and you first arrived in the Free City. Two full-grown dragons descending not too far away from the city's borders didn’t go unnoticed, meaning it wasn’t long after that you’ve been summoned to the flamboyant castle of Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos.

Never before have you had the chance to marvel at Pentoshi architecture – or Essosi architecture in general – and were completely in awe as the gates of the castle opened to invite you inside.

Even now, roughly a sennight after your relocation from the prince’s castle to an equally impressive manse, it’s still as mesmerizing as before; not as monotonous and undemanding as the architecture and tapestries harbored in the Red Keep.

Reggio Haratis is generous enough to host you and your uncle, and has very recently offered to give you permanent residence in Pentos and gift you the manse you have occupied for no less than seven days. It’s a generous deal in exchange for the intimidating presences of your dragons, considering that with the manse also comes its farms, lands, vineyards, and wood.

And of course your uncle hasn’t hesitated any moment to accept it – not if it keeps you away from Westeros.

You know Daemon has his own way of keeping tabs and staying informed of your family’s going-ons. He’s well aware of everything that’s happening in the Red Keep since there are several people lingering in it whose favor he has earned long ago that now are working as his spies and informants.

They are procuring enough information to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, since Daemon is attentive enough to let you in on many of the things that happen in King’s Landing. And hence you know that the court is in a state of uproar, and your father balances between anger and despair, though you’re not aware that he has made it his personal mission to bring you back to the Red Keep sooner or later.

Unbeknownst to you, this is one of the reasons Daemon all but presses to wed you, because it will not only solidify your relationship in an official way, but it also will make it easier for him to keep you safe should the king’s mission succeed.

You’re standing on a tuckaway terrace of the manse, overlooking the gardens and extensive fields that frame and surround it.

Reggio has been generous enough for you to carry out the ceremony in private with not many witnesses, other than the officiant, the Prince of Pentos himself, and the two servants that always tend to your and your uncle’s needs, present.

Ancient robes hug your bodies, and a matching headpiece rests on your head. They are pale white with reddish edges similar to the blood that trickles idly out of the cut on Daemon’s bottom lip. The shard of Dragonglass is still clutched between your fingers, while your other hand holds his chin.

A gentle smile adorns your face, and though you want to watch the blood trickle out of the cut you have just caused, you can’t seem to tear your eyes off of his. The light of the evening sun is caught in the lilac of his eyes, reflecting and making them appear even lighter.

As you hand him the shard, you briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again, and as the sharp edge pierces your lip, you’re far too lost in the comfort of his presence to wince.

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

Some of the blood amassing at the cut is gathered by the pad of his thumb, the touch so intimate it sends a shiver down your spine and heat to your cheeks. It is used by him to draw the Valyrian glyph for blood on your forehead, and you draw the supplementary glyph for fire on his.

Knowing the scars that scatter all over his torso, scarring his pale skin, you’re not surprised to watch him cut the palm of his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain. He has endured far worse, and this is just too easy for him.

However, the same can’t be said about you.

You surely have hurt yourself plenty of times before, but it has never been on purpose, and never with something as sharp as the shard of dragonglass is. But that is the last significant step that has to be made to strenghten your one bloodline, to seal your union and signify that you are bound to each other.

Daemon must sense the slight apprehension that spreads through your veins, and tries to comfort you and calm the raging storm of your fears by gently taking your hand in his, before the coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm. “Issa sȳz,” he hums calmly, bowing his head once in a reassuring manner. It’s alright.

Nodding meekly, you exhale a deep breath in the exact moment the dragonglass pierces your skin. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm.

“Hen lantoti ānogar,” the priest cites, “va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one.

You tilt your head back up as Daemon unites your hands in a firm grip, and do not dare to look at where your hands meet.

The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Daemon’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet your soon-to-be-husband holds underneath.

A ribbon in a style similar to the robes you wear is tied around your hands, binding you to one another.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi,” is said in the background, but you’re far too distracted by Daemon bringing the goblet full of your blood up. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires.

He holds it out to you, allowing you to be the first to drink, and you comply.

Capturing the goblet between your fingers, you raise it to your lips, not hesitating one moment to take a generous sip. Daemon follows suit, and though the goblet is lowered by him, you two do not move otherwise.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness.

There is a thick tension between the two of you, and you gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Only slowly there crawls a grin on your husband’s lips, matching the impish one that’s draped across yours.

You brush some strands of his silver hair behind his ear, before your hand comes to rest on his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing it gently.

Daemon’s gaze flickers between yours and your nicked lip, and he only slowly dips his head towards yours just in time with his free arm snaking around your waist.

Despite the seriousness of the moment, there is a slight tint of amusement in the officiant’s tone as he voices the last part of the vow, clearly just as ecstatic about you being newly wed as you two are. “Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.

It is then that Daemon’s lips finally claim yours, and the taste of copper spreads on your tongue as his swirls around yours. The kiss is shy of being gentle, yet it doesn’t lack any passion or care. You have kissed plenty of times before ever since your arrival in Pentos, but none of them has ever felt as significant as this kiss does.

To state it in the words of the Faith, you’re one heart, one flesh, and one soul now. Each other’s from this day, until the end of your days. And you finally feel whole with that prospect, the large chasm that has clasped inside of you filled by Daemon’s undeniable love.

Reggio Haratis has spared no expenses when it comes to the celebration of your newfound unison. There are a handful of other people present, mostly some friends and acquaintances you both have made during your brief stay at the prince’s castle.

In Westeros, you would have celebrated your marriage with a large feast in the Throne Room with no less than three hundred people present, following the strict rules and customs the Faith of the Seven prescribes.

But in Essos, it seems to be a bit different.

The large dining room is lavishly and opulently adorned by tapestries and ornaments, a goldish hue pervading the entire room with the sun that’s shining through the large apertures and tied-back curtains.

It truly is a wedding for your caliber, though there’s no royal family accompanying you two.

Everyone gathers around the large dining table that stands in the center of the room. They are all dressed in a similar fashion to you and your husband now, having changed into more elegant clothes not long after the ceremony, but the expensive textures and patterns of yours give away that this evening solely revolves around you two.

The dinner and customs are far less formal than the ones back home, and with none of your guests being ill-mannered or impolite, a relaxed and open atmosphere characterizes the evening.

There’s chatter and laughter everywhere while the food is served, quite a few bottles of wine emptied already, and not one thought of a possible bedding ceremony crosses your mind – because there’s no reason for it.

Daemon and you have been on top of each other quite regularly, the Pentoshi way of living probably one of main reasons with your insatiable hunger for each other being the other.

And thus, you’re not afraid of the thought of bedding Daemon once supper is over for your body has had quite a few days to get thoroughly adjusted to his sheer size.

Only as the Prince of Pentos raises his glass does your breath hitch in your throat for a moment, not knowing what to expect from him.

The room falls silent almost immediately, and if not everyone has gathered what’s about to happen, they certainly do the moment Reggio rises to his feet.

“Let us toast to this exceptional match,” he starts with much eloquence, his choice of words bringing a warmth to your cheeks.

Daemon smiles at you, and clasps a hand around your thigh. As you lean closer to him to hide your blush, he chuckles and rests his forehead against the side of your face.

“Behave,” he chastises in a teasing manner, squeezing your thigh once. “Or do I have to teach you manners first?”

Daemon’s words do little to help with the blush on your face, the warmth spreading from your cheeks right down to the apex of your legs, causing you to shift and squirm slightly to soothe the aching.

Your host isn’t oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him, and merely chuckles, “I’ll try to keep this short.”

You take in a deep breath, and Daemon nods, a silent invitation for him to keep going.

The prince speaks of your bravery to leave your House behind, of your undeniable love for each other, and how the Old Gods must have brought you together. He boasts of the strong bond you and your husband have, and how that alone is a testament to the Gods themselves.

Everyone around you applauds as the speech ends, and Daemon raises his cup to toast with your host. “Hear, hear.” Bringing your own cup to your lips, you empty what feels like your fifth cup of the Lyseni sweet red they have procured only for you.

You grab Daemon’s hand when the applause drowns out again, and squeeze it gently. Gazing at him lovingly, he leans in to press his lips to your temple.

“Ivestragī īlva jikagon naejot ēdrugon, kessa īlon?” he mutters against your skin, and you sheepishly bite your bottom lip, bowing your head. Let us retire to bed, shall we?

“Nyke pendagon kesā dōrī epagon,” you reply. I thought you would never ask.

Squeezing your hand back, you follow suit as he stands up from his seat after he has announced your departure and thanked everyone for the lovely evening. A hand of his rests at the small of your back to lead you towards your shared chambers, the lacking guests finally allowing you to catch your breath.

He snakes his arm around your waist on your way, and pulls you tightly against his side, his hand traveling a bit lower than what’s appropriate.

“Daemon,” you scold him, placing your hand above his to put it back on your waist.

As you look at him, you’re greeted by a wide grin adorning his face. “I am sure you can forgive me,” he teases, his hand finding its way to your arse again, groping it roughly enough to make you yelp. “I just can not resist you, not in the prospect of us finally being able to truly celebrate our marriage.”

You shove at his chest on your way into your chambers, chuckling softly, but to no avail as his grip only lets go of you in order to close the door.

And suddenly, there’s a thick tension hugging the two of you.

You briefly glance around the room, noticing the many, colorful flowers the servants have placed on your bed; all of which can only be found in Essos. Everywhere stand lit candles, their flames flickering and dancing in the soft, Pentoshi gust of breeze that sweeps past the lightweight curtains concealing the floor-to-ceiling apertures.

It seems inviting to push the silk aside and step out on the balcony, yet your husband beats you to it and pulls you against his sturdy frame by grasping your wrist, taking control over your movements.

A soft gasp slips past your lips as you find yourself pressed against his body, the heat and his scent emanating from him driving you insane with lust already. You look up at him with half lidded eyes, your desire for him plain.

Standing on tiptoes, you tilt your head up to press your lips to his jaw in a chaste kiss, and trail some more down the curve of his throat, causing a soft hum to rumble in your husband’s chest. The gold, embroidered vest he wears is slowly pushed off his shoulders while the feeling of your lips on his skin distract him, falling to the ground and pooling around his ankles.

“Let us not waste anymore time,” you whisper, your fingers almost eagerly fumbling with the laces in the front of his trousers.

With every passing moment, you spot his breathing growing heavier, his body burning hot with desire. You sigh softly, “let us indulge ourselves in each other as much as we want, even if it means we will not leave our chambers in the morrow.”

His eyes peer deeply into yours when you tilt your head back, the mesmerizing lilac hue completely eclipsed by black.

He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding it steady as the other clasps around your thigh. Your flesh is squeezed harshly under his tight grip, but you can’t bring yourself to care for there suddenly are not more than a few inches separating your lips from his.

But instead of kissing you, Daemon bows his head down enough to press sloppy kisses to your neck, licking the side of your throat. His hand slides up to cup your clothed cunt, and you have to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life, not risking your shaky legs to be the reason you fall onto the ground.

“My darling wife,” he rasps, and hearing him voice it aloud for the first time sends a shiver down your spine. “I should have taken you to Pentos a long time ago.”

With that, he spins you around and pushes you towards the bed. Toppling forward, you catch yourself and tightly hold onto the wooden footboard of it, crouched forwards and basically presenting him your arse.

Daemon hums, clearly pleased by the sight, and approaches you with careful steps.

You try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, not meeting his lust-filled gaze for long enough since he is quick to press your head forward again. When his hands fist the neckline of your dress, goosebumps start to prickle on your skin, coaxed by the warmth and roughness of his fingers.

“‘Twas a mistake to wait so long,” he says, but it’s clear he’s speaking to himself.

Then, the laces in the back of your lavish gown tear with an agonizing ripping sound, but the thrill of it doesn't allow your heart to grief the now ruined gift of your host.

The skimpy underclothes you wear follow the Myrish lace just as quick, exposing your whole body to him faster than you could have wished for. His fingers trail slowly along your spine, and he chuckles as he watches your body tremble beneath his featherlight touch with a jolt of pleasurable excitement.

His thick digits inch lower and lower, but never touch where you need him most. It’s agonizing, and your patience runs thinner and thinner. Your breathing is just as heavy as his own, and the tension has you moaning softly.

And then he suddenly drags two of his deft fingers through your soaked womanhood, the ambush eliciting a shuddered breath to fall from your lips. Yet you also welcome it and eagerly buck your hips to chase the friction they grant you, which prompts him to seize your hip with one hand, the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh to keep your body still.

The lack of freedom to move feeds your impatience, and your head bows forwards with a sigh. “I-I can hardly take this any longer, husband,” you breathe, trying to make your frustration not too obvious.

Another ambush overtakes you as Daemon connects the back of his hand with your cunt, the collusion sending a stinging pain through your body. He tsks in a manner that’s meant to scold a child, having heard it plenty of times before when he was around his nephews and nieces.

“You can’t take it any longer? What a shame,” he teases. “If you’re feeling so overwhelmed, then perhaps I should stop?”

Remaining still for a moment, the weight of his heavy gaze pierces through your skin, and you’re glad he can’t see you rolling your eyes. You know that he has no intention of stopping, and he knows that you don’t want him to either.

However, it seems he’s partly forgotten that you two share the same blood, and although he considers himself to be witty, you’re not lagging behind him.

“Oh, you want to stop?” you ask, a mocking edge to your otherwise strained voice. It is clear he’s taken off guard by your words, having expected you to beg and whine for more. “My, what a disappointing turn of events. I was so keen on experiencing you tonight. I–”

The rest of your protest dies on your tongue as he slides two digits inside without a warning, effectively silencing you.

A jolt of pleasure surges through your body that has you clinging to the footboard of the bed, your knuckles blanching from the force. The moan you release is wanton, and brings a blush to your cheeks that’s intensified by the mocking scoff Daemon releases.

Your legs are nudged further apart by his foot knocking against yours, causing you to be off-balanced for a moment in which he’s snaking his arm around your waist to support your frame.

His chest is pressed flush against your back now, and you feel his breath fan over your ear, the heat emanating from him seeping into your skin.

“I would not deprive you of that satisfaction tonight,” he rasps into your ear while his fingers pump into you at a pace that has your toes curling already, making it difficult to keep your composure. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking, his amusement at the little back and forth of your flirting is perfectly audible. “My darling wife is brimming with pleasure already, but I am just getting started.”

Your eyes widen at his teasing, and if anything, it only makes you want him even more. As your head lulls back against his shoulder, you release another moan, dizzy with lust.

With every passing second that you don’t have him inside of you, you grow more and more relentless. “Don’t you dare stop now,” you moan. “If you do, I shall feed you to Silverwing.”

Daemon lets out a breathy laugh at your words. “Quit being a brat, wife, or else I truly need to punish you to stop you from being so reckless with your words.”

You slightly push yourself up against his chest, but don’t manage to do more than hum in return at his words, the jolts of your impending peak coursing through your veins like liquid fire.

There is a brief loss of friction that doesn’t diminish the pleasure that clouds your mind, induced by Daemon’s desire to withdraw his fingers to fill you with his stiff cock instead.

Just in time with him aligning himself with your throbbing entrance, breaching your tightness to stretch you out with one, swift thrust, you topple over the edge.

The spasming and shaking of your body has Daemon’s breath hitch in his throat, a strained ‘seven hells’ slipping past it that you barely register with you losing a little bit of control over your body.

Your back arches against him, and he seizes the opportunity to set up a reckless pace from the very beginning on.

“Well, now, if that isn’t a disappointing turn of events,” Daemon mocks with an amused chuckle, using your words against yourself. “I can… can not believe that’s all you can take, my dear.” There is a strain in his voice, one that tells you his mind is just as fuzzy with pleasure as yours, amplified by the way your cunt is clenching and unclenching around his hard cock.

Daemon has both hands on your hips now, pulling you back halfway to meet the mercilessness of his thrusts. Each time the heavy sac of his stones slaps against your sensitive cunt, you feel it spasm again, bolts of pain and pleasure alike piercing your flesh.

“I thought you would last longer, my sweet wife,” he groans, the term of endearment emphasized by a thrust harsh enough to coax a breathy gasp from your throat. “A sore disappointment.”

At this point he’s all but assaulting your body, using you for his own pleasure like you’re not more than one of Flea Bottom’s common whores, pounding you hard enough that your vision whitens.

Incoherent words and sentences are falling past your lips like a prayer, occasionally interrupted by his name, chanting it as if you’re praying to the Seven.

His grip on your hips is bruising, squeezing your flesh so tight you’re not sure if it brings you more pain or pleasure. But it’s something in his words that makes it all so exhilarating, reigniting the fire inside of you.

Daemon is chasing his own peak with the will to fill you up with his seed, marking you as his and making his claim on you visible to everyone. But his stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the tightness of your cunt for any longer, running thin and threatening to burst at any given moment.

It takes all your strength to hold onto the foodboard to keep yourself steady and upright, not wanting to topple over with the weight and intensity of his thrusts. But your slowly approaching high doesn’t make it too easy for you.

Your second peak takes its time, but Daemon can tell it’s on its way, the clenching of your walls and trembling of your legs a telltale sign for him. One of his deft fingers comes to your pearl, and he proceeds to rub the bud with frantic movements that make sure to push you over the edge just in time.

Your mouth hangs open, and there are no other sounds than breathy whines and hiccuped gasps slipping past your lips, the ability to speak completely taken by his cock repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you.

“I will not last any longer,” the man behind you grunts, the damp strands of his silver hair falling in front of his face. He buries the hand that’s not between your legs in your hair, pulling you upright against him.

His hips are angled, allowing him to snap them into yours deeper and more precisely. “Peak for me again… now,” he all but commands, and it’s the sharpness and determination of his voice that eventually has you doing just that.

Your arousal oozes out of your spasming cunt, coating the palm of his hand, the length of his cock and the sac of his stones altogether.

Your head tips back in bliss, and hot streams of pleasure obscure your senses. The way your cunt is choking his cock makes it difficult for him to help you through it all, struggling to keep it together just a few moments longer. He’s brought you to such heights of pleasure that your mind temporarily blanks.

“Please,” you find your voice again, though it’s strained and resembles a whimper. “Put a babe in me. Fill me up with your seed… please.”

It might have been him being on the brink of his release already, or the meaning and significance of your words, but it is the trigger for Daemon to spend himself inside of you with a loud groan.

“Gods be good,” he grunts, connecting his lips with the curve where your shoulder meets your neck as he works himself through the blissful high. Even as it subsides, he doesn’t stop and bites through the overstimulation, determined to fuck his seed as deep as possible and put a child into your belly.

You’ve grown incredibly sensitive and overstimulated by now, and can’t fight against your body’s reaction to squirm out of his grasp to escape the uncomfortable feeling. But he doesn’t allow you to, keeping you flush against his firm chest.

The soft whines you release, however, humor him, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your face.

“Let your foolish father come for you. I shall slay every man that even dares to look at you,” he rasps. “I possess you, you belong to none other than me.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks as his words sink into your mind, and you turn your head to meet his eyes for the first time ever since you’ve entered your chambers. The meeting of your gazes is intense, and you swear you can feel his flaccid member grow hard again.

You take his hand and bring it in front of you, placing it on your stomach. Without further encouragement, he starts to rub his palm over your skin as if his seed has already borne fruit.

“Let him come,” you whisper, licking your lips. “I have waited years to be with you alone, and to have you all by myself. And now that I have gotten my will, I will not give it up without a fight.”

General Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

YTOTIPF Taglist: @ajthefujoshi @kiliskywalker666 @marihoneywk @beebeechaos @angelwonie @hangmanscoming @clarap23 @schniiipsel @aliveafterparadise @juhdoche @legalciv014 @theendlessvoidofdarkest @darkgvk @grsveeth0m @dd122004dd

565 notes · View notes

thewriterwithnoplan · 4 months

Text

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #soulmate au

403 notes · View notes

junowritings · 3 months

Note

Could I request pre-romanced but interested Astarion (spawn), Gale, Halsin, and Rolan each reacting to Tav, in a moment of desperation, transforming into a silver dragon to save him from death. The kicker? Tav did not remember that they were a true dragon due to the tadpole wrecking their memory and is just as caught off guard by this revelation as he is.

Oh now this was too much fun to write! I ended up trying to generate a different scenario for each of them bc it was fun to imagine the context for each of them! :D

Astarion

♡ What a foolish thing; to let your guard down. Astarion knows better than most that nothing good would come of doing something so utterly stupid, no matter how safe. And yet he makes that very same pitfall after a battle with gnolls goes awry. Most of the beasts had been knocked off the nearby cliff-face, an underhanded tactic but he knew well to make use of the terrain even at the cost of any worthwhile loot. The rest had been picked off easily, and when Astarion buries his dagger into the gnoll prone beneath him the tension in the air finally seems to ease - the battle is over, for now.

♡ He’s still picking bits of viscera from his clothes, bemoaning the effort it’s going to take to pluck the gore from the decals when he spots you across the battlefield. You’re helping Karlach pry her axe free from getting a bit too gung-ho on an enemy’s skull, and he watches your face scrunch up from the effort with a snort. You catch his gaze when you look up, returning his fanged grin with an unamused huff of your own. It’s a sweet sight, even marred by blood and dirt, and Astarion makes a move to rise to his feet intending to amble over and watch you either succeed or count the axe as a loss. That was the plan-

♡ Until the carcass beneath him lurches, a screaming mass that in its death rattle bowls them both straight over the edge. And in the blink of an eye he’s in freefall, barely catching the look of horror on your face before he slips from sight.

♡ It’s nowhere near as graceful as the tales make believe. The wind bites at Astarion’s face and whips around him hard enough that his ears ring as hands try to grapple for purchase against the wall of the cliff. Nothing catches, only grabbing fistfuls of dirt and catching on rocks that crumble away beneath his fingers. No, no, no this was not how he was going to die; but there’s nothing to hold, nothing to see but the vast expanse of sky above his head as though taunting his very fate-

♡ And something else. Something large and scaled and burning silver as wings fan out enough to block out the sun as it appears practically out of thin air.

♡ A dragon. As if things couldn’t get worse?! Astarion’s cursing just about every force in the universe that he can think of as the beast plummets to close the distance. It’s there in seconds, a rippling wave of silver that swelters the very air as a taloned hand shoots out and catches him around the midsection. He expects to be eaten, maybe plucked to pieces right there and then; instead the dragon’s body rolls mid flight, curling close around the vampire spawn like a protective shield as the ground rushes to meet them.

♡ The landing isn’t gentle, having been too close to the ground to take flight. Both hit the earth but it isn’t the fatal fall it could have been. At one point he slips from the dragon’s talons, and by the time he’s wormed his way free he’s marred by dirt and spitting leaves alongside the plethora of curses in his vocabulary. But he’s alive.

♡ He certainly wasn’t complaining about that, but his head is still spinning with the ‘why’ of it all - where had that beast come from? Why hadn’t it killed him when it had the chance? He’s already looking for his dagger that had been lost in the fall as he scrambles to his feet, whipping around to face the dragon as he hears it stir. But he doesn’t find it. No, instead he finds-

♡ You. The last of the draconic visage crumbles like burned parchment, and you slump to your knees in the gouge your previous form had carved into the earth. Your hands tremble as you bring them up to your face, inspecting them like you’re checking that they’re truly there before your head shoots up to look at the vampire spawn you’d just saved. There’s a wild look in your eyes, confusion evident as you mirror his own slack jawed expression and trip over yourself to get back onto your feet with a scream of “What was that?!”

♡ At first he doesn’t believe your pleas of ignorance, and doesn’t get why you’re trying to protest so hard that you didn’t know. It’s not as though he hasn’t kept secrets from the group before - it’s not as though he willingly shared he was a spawn holding hands around the campfire like a jolly old fellow, did he? He’s not going to fault you for keeping your secrets so long as it’s not getting him killed.

♡ But then he catches you pacing later that night back at camp, muttering to yourself of how you could forget and mulling over what else you’d lost with the tadpole. That kind of panic isn’t easy to fake, and you aren’t even aware of the audience to fake it. Has that tadpole altered your memories that thoroughly? A disturbing thought.

♡ Of course he’ll be the first person to encourage you to use this ‘new’ form of yours to your advantage - why wouldn’t you? It’s not everyday that someone finds out that they can turn into a hulking magical creature at the drop of a hat, so why not make the most of it? Not to mention it will be excellent for both combat and persuading anyone who makes the mistake of thinking that you’re easy prey.

♡ Of course that brings the whole other question of - why the hells did you jump after him?! Did you think your little friend in the artifact would somehow save the two of you again?! You hadn't even hesitated to reach for him; to protect him…Astarion doesn’t know whether to throttle you over your own self sacrificing logic, or kiss your damned face until any thought of risking your life like that again goes out of the window.

♡ Perhaps he’ll do both - he hasn’t decided yet.

♡ Plus, he’ll never admit it, but the camp feels a little safer knowing that it’s got a fire breathing, flying scaled powerhouse for a leader - might move his tent just a little closer to your own after that realization.

Gale

♡ Wizards and close combat rarely mix well together. It has been somewhat of a running gag between the pair of you since the first tussle back at the grove when he nearly went sailing off the rocks he’d been casting from when a sword got far too close to his flank for his liking. You’d been there to save him, of course, biting back a teasing comment on his ‘graceful trip’ and trying not to chuckle as you’d helped the man back to his feet when it was all over. Gale naturally had been just as quick to remind you that even with his lack of tact for fisticuffs he was just as capable at keeping you as safe as you kept him. As he’d proved with a well timed magic missile not even one fight later,.

♡ The understanding was mutual - he’d protect you with all of the magic at his disposal, and you would do what you can to shield him on the battlefront. As you got closer, and the wizard got the opportunity to know you better, that protection evolved to something deeper. Something more than just having one another’s back out of necessity; the thought of any harm coming to you in the first place had been a sour notion, but now it was downright unthinkable. You took every blow meant for him without hesitation; pushed back any blade or arrow meant for him even if it led to adding a few more scars to your repertoire. And gods if you didn’t look absolutely stunning doing it.

♡ This time is no different. The sounds of battle ring in his ears, the clashing of weapons striking drowned out only by the roars of a group thrust into combat. Considering just how many unique faces make up their party (with a githyanki warrior, a renowned hero of the coast, and an excitable yet combustible tiefling - to name a few) Gale is surprised that bandits would even try their luck against this gaggle of adventurers. But where your group has skill, theirs has numbers, and this fight has been going on long enough that everyone is exhausted, frayed and running out of steam.

♡ He watches you on the other side of the battlefield, weapon clutched tightly in clenched fists and eyes burning with the fire of combat as you call out to your companions. You’re trying to pinpoint everyone's locations, caught up in the fighting as your weapon comes down on a bandit’s head. Multiple voices call out to you and Gale opens his mouth to join them, the air around crackling as he rears back to cast another spell. But the words barely get past his lips before he feels a solid blow to the back of the head and for just a second his world goes white. There’s a kick to his back and the world topples before he hands on him.

♡There is a fist wrapped up in his hair and a blade so close to his gut to breathe is a risk. One of the bandits - how had they gotten so close without him noticing? Had he gotten complacent thinking he was safe from his vantage point? A knee digs into him and the wheeze he lets out is pained as he attempts to throw the bandit off. But Gale’s not a fighter, and it’s getting harder to think straight when another hard yank knocks his head against the ground with a harsh crack. Magic pulses at his fingertips as they rake up dirt, the words forming in his mouth hoping to get them out before that blade decides to get familiar with his insides. If only he could just-

♡ What comes next happens suddenly. A rush of air, an unrelenting wave of heat and the weight suffocating him is gone. The bandit’s body is hoisted up in a cushing jaw, only able to get out little more than a scream before they’re essentially ragdolled across the field. The threat of an imminent gutting is gone, but Gale finds himself unable to breathe once again as he realizes what exactly has descended upon him.

♡ Multiple times his size with several layers of thick silver hide, and adorned with thick leathery wings, a dragon prowls overhead. Slitted eyes scan across the battlefield, taking in the carnage and what remains of the stragglers that Gale’s companions haven’t taken down with a surprisingly clarity. It’s…looking for something? No, someone - your companions. He watches the creatures head tilt, letting out something akin to a billowing rumble before setting its sights back on the wizard still very much pinned beneath it.

♡ The dragon’s head leans down, a huff of air feeling sweltering against his face as he comes face to snout with the creature that could easily turn him into wizard-chow with but a bite of that wall of teeth in its maw. But it doesn’t; instead it lets out another huff and there’s a ripple that seems to shake every single scale on its body before it’s shifting. It shrinks, morphs, changes into someone all too familiar as you drop down to your knees. Poor Gale almost gets a limb to the gut again as you slump down beside him, shaking off some sort of daze as you come back to your senses. It’s you - that dragon was you?

♡Gale doesn’t realize he’s shouting till he hears your own voice shouting along with him just as confused and panicked. Surely the pair of you must look like fools, unable to get out any kind of coherent word as your brains catch up to. You end up having to cover his mouth with your hand so that there’s enough quiet to actually process what has just happened, but Gale doesn’t miss how utterly lost you look about the whole ordeal - clearly this is as much news to you as it is to him.

♡ Once things have calmed down (and he’s checked to make sure he didn’t infact get punctured by a stray talon on the way down) Gale is absolutely fascinated. Nothing short of a kid in a candy store, this man is enthralled by the implications of your transformation. He knows you’re shaken of course, and he gives you time to do whatever you need to to ground yourself before he thinks to act upon any of his burning questions. He hopes to shed some light on things by working through these questions with you, hoping that they’ll spark some recollection you couldn’t remember before.

♡ He’s tactful, tries to be subtle but you can tell that he’s clearly excited to learn about the origins of this ability. Is it related to your bloodline? Or were you perhaps cursed? Could this be some kind of advanced wildshape unbefore discovered? It doesn’t hurt you, does it? The last question gives the wizard pause, and he can’t quite relax till you assure him that the process doesn’t cause you pain.

♡ Depending on if your memories came back after your first transformation, you’ll only be able to give him so many answers. Feel free to practice your abilities around him though. At first he keeps a safe, out of the line of fire-distance, but it doesn’t take long before he inches closer until he’s close enough to run a hand along your flank if you allow him. There is an almost reverent touch alongside his curiosity as he marvels at the sight of you - breathtaking, is the only word he can find to describe it as you extend a wing for him to examine.

Halsin

♡ Halsin has lived long enough to see many beings, experience many things. But he’s not fool enough to simply assume that he’s seen all that this world has to offer. There are still plenty of things to discover, many days and events he has yet to live amongst these new companions that have stumbled their way into the druid’s life.

♡Every moment with you has been a shining example of that fact - from the tadpole in your skull that you somehow manage to resist with each passing day, to the very way you approach the world around you. You somehow always managed to leave Halsin guessing, trying to wrap his head around the impossibility of you - regardless of you background, regardless of your creed or the life you lived before the tadpole, you remained a walking anomaly. Once which kept him on his toes, wondering what facet of you that you would reveal to him next.

♡ Of course he had done the same for you - you’d just about knocked your whole team over when he’d transformed after you’d first rescued the druid; recalled to you events and moments in his life that had anyone else told you, you would have called bullshit. It was a mutual exchange - you were open to him, and so he would do the same for you. He trusted you after all, and hoped you felt the same for him.

♡ That trust extended to the battlefield as well. Halsin’s desire to protect extended to the entirety of your party, naturally, but you were under a watchful eye with this man. Your penchant for the disregard of your own safety left much to be desired in the ways of keeping you safe; the needs of others or obtaining what you want often put above your own safety in the throes of a fight. Your habits of getting into trouble were something he grows far used to by now, so Halsin willingly takes the mantle of your protector, if only to save you from all of the scratches and scars that you’ll no doubt earn yourself down the road with your current mindset.

♡ Such as now. Within a wildshape, Halsin acts as a defensive shield for the other companions in a fight against a stray goblin raiding party. The leftover dregs of the ones from back at the temple that were set on hunting the party down long after the fall of the cultist once housed there. Teeth and claws rip and tear into goblin flesh and bone with ease, the bear acting as an utter powerhouse shrugging off each and every hit as though he was being poked with sticks and not swords. Things look to be over swiftly, as alongside the attacks of yourself and your other companions the goblin’s ranks are quickly dwindling - having either been felled by your defense or fled once they realize it was not a fight so easily won. With luck, you’ll all be back at camp before sundown.

♡ It is you who warns him that that’s not the case. He hears your voice, hears your scream of his name and Halsin cranes his head in an attempt to seek you out worried that something had happened to you when he wasn’t looking.

♡ But then a blinding light bursts against his side and he roars, loud and anguished at the sudden pain that washes over - some kind of explosive, brutal and all too effective against the druid. It’s enough for him to drop, barely still clinging to his wildshaped form as he braces against the earth in a bid to get back to his feet. What’s left of the goblins swarm, threatening to overwhelm him in his vulnerability and Halsin prepares himself for the approaching onslaught that closes in on him.

♡ Then something slams overhead, the squeals and cries of the goblins drowned out by a blinding roar that rings in the air like a toll as something impossibly large lands above Halsin and the goblins barricading them from their assault behind the wall of its body. A thick sweltering heat takes over, emanating from scales that glint like fine silver as the large body of a dragon settles overhead, and the area around them becomes alive with noise and chaos in its wake.

♡ The very ground trembles under thick clawed footfalls - the trees groaning barely avoiding the wrath of this dragon as it rises to its full height and lunges for the attackers. The goblins never stand a chance - whichever ones weren’t smart enough to scarper before are taken out with little more than a snap of jaws and the swipe of a tail. Large claws break into the earth below, digging deep as though to ensure the dragon doesn’t move an inch from the druid’s side even as the last of the goblins are reduced to shreds.

♡ When it is all over the creature visibly loses its hostility as it rounds once again upon Halsin. A firm nudge to his side, as gentle as a beast of this size can be and Halsin manages to push himself back to his feet, shedding the form of his barely clinging wildshape as exhaustion settles heavily upon his shoulders. By this point he knows that it means no harm, head pressed to his side until he’s firm in his stance before slinking away and circling around the druid as though appraising, checking for more damage. When none is found there’s a twitch, a shift in its tail that works its way up to its skull as though its very being is unraveling before Halsin’s eyes - and that’s exactly what happens.

♡ Scales and talons shift and rend, giving way to familiar flesh and a face the druid has all but committed to memory. This time he is the one to offer support, large hands coming up to brace upon your shoulders as you stumble over yourself looking about with a bewildered expression. “That was…what did I…?” Your words are met with a gentle assurance that that can be tackled in due time - it’s better to tackle those questions with a clearer head after nursing your injuries. And he’ll be right there will you, even guiding you back to camp till you practically insist that you’ll be fine on your own.

♡ Halsin has heard of many species and many abilities, but nothing that’s quite like a dragon shifter. At least, not one like you seem to be. You seem just as distraught by that knowledge, alongside the fact that this appears. Yet another thing that the tadpole has taken from you, if your belief to have had this ability before is true. It isn’t much different than using wildshape, as you learn once you talk through the experience with Halsin - what you were feeling before, what you were thinking. You admit that the only thing on your mind had been protecting him when you’d turned, horrified at the sight of him hurt and just out of your reach to save. The look of momentary surprise on Halsin’s face melts into something far softer at the revelation, a gentle praise at your own thoughtfulness to protect others that may leave you feeling bashful.

♡ Halsin actively encourages you to shift whenever you feel the desire to do so. Learn more about this form and what it means to you; refamiliarize yourself with a part of you that you’ve been separated from for such a time. He’ll talk you through it should you express any need for support, but he knows that you’re more than capable of controlling this aspect of yourself just as you have before. Of course he’ll also be admiring you the whole time, nothing but honest praise about the power of your form and the beauty of this other part of you.

Rolan

♡ It was a mistake to have ever come to the shadowlands - now Rolan is losing everything. Cal, Lia, his very own life; all of it is going to be snuffed out by the oppressive darkness which has defiled every inch of this place, and he’s powerless to do anything to stop it. All he had wanted to do was to make a life for his family, to make Rolan a name that they and others could be proud of. But every good deed seemed to only make things worse in the end - hells had even that one act of kindness saving those damned kids been rewarded like this? Not even his attempt to save his siblings had worked and now he was facing perishing in a land where death was never kind, as though the world was giving him one final kick when he was down to remind him of his own shortcomings.

♡ Shadows circle in, lured in by the dwindling embers of his torch which is the only thing barely keeping him alive in this forsaken wasteland. But that is not enough; they claw at the edges of his light, ripping and tearing at the hem of his robes and grasping for his ankles, hoping to get a foothold on the tiefling long enough to drag him off into the darkness to never be seen again. Panic unfurls in his gut, burning brighter than the useless glorified stick clenched between sharp nails as he wrenches himself free of their grasp and stumbles over himself trying in vain to make some distance.

♡ He’s got minutes at the most, moments at the least; and those creatures writhing in shadow and dark have the luxury of biding their time waiting out his final seconds. He’s going to die here - without ever seeing his siblings again. What had he ever done to deserve such a cruel ending?

♡ But it doesn’t end - at least, not here.

♡ A roar breaks through the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears, and every hair on the back of his neck stands up as a chill shoots down his spine like a shot of ice. What, had some worse creature come to finish him off? As if being torn to shreds within the shadowlands wasn’t bad enough, now he’s got to contend with something bigger. And gods, is it bigger. Even through the thick smog of the shadowlands it stands out like a beacon of silver, its very scales giving off a faint glow within the darkness as though the shadows themselves are reviled by its presence alone. A feeling sinks within the pit of his chest the moment that he realizes what manner of creature is stalking towards him. A dragon - gods, why did it have to be a dragon?!

♡ The beast is huge, a rippling wall of impenetrable flesh that cuts through the space between them in little more than a few bounds. Wings stretch wide, an impressively intimidating display as taloned hands slam down on where the shadows persist. The shadows dissipate easily beneath its claws but their shriek in indignation warbles uselessly, clearly not expecting the sudden attack in their bid for new prey. What the shadows have in number the dragon compensates for in size, easily swiping down a handful before attempting to latch onto another with its sizable maw.

♡ Rolan can’t tell if it’s doing any damage, but whatever perceived slight this dragon has on the shadows Rolan isn’t going to question. The shadows have their attention turned to the beast; if he has any intention of making it out alive he reasons he needs to get out of here now. But that’s easier said than done when one wrong move could have him meeting the business end of a stray swipe or the lingering shadow taking the opportunity to pounce. He’s going nowhere - not while the fight persists.

♡ Eventually the shadows must decide that facing a dragon isn’t worth the trouble just for making the meal out of the tiefling, and no sooner had Rolan been surrounded, the shadowy figures slink back into the deepest recesses of the darkness. A wave of relief warms his bones at the realization that they’ve slithered back to whatever domain formed them - he’s alive.

♡ But then those slitted eyes land back on him, and Rolan decides his chances may have been better dealing with those shadows. His attempts to escape are thwarted, the dragon rounding on him in a manner far slower than the frantic thrashing of before. No, it’s watching him, and the tiefling is rendered frozen at the curious way it tilts its head as though it recognizes something familiar..

♡ Almost jumps out of his own skin when it nudges him, a quick bump of its head that almost knocks him flat. Rolan barks out a curse, but the winged creature insists on pushing him till he finally takes the hint and moves to where it’s clearly wanting him to go. Gods, this is unnerving and he doesn’t know what it wants until the nudging finally stops and he finds himself staring down at the lump of belongings haphazardly discarded at his feet. And he tenses.

♡ This pack - that lantern - he knows who they belong to at a glance. And no sooner has he put the pieces together that there’s a ripple of energy, a shift in the very air as the dragon before him begins to change. It molds into something else, taking on a form far more familiar - the last face he’d thought to see, but perhaps the one he should have expected.

♡ You just about keel over, clutching your knees and shaking bad enough to match his own as you let out a wheeze. You’re not worse for wear aside from the general health risks of being out in a land so tainted by dark magic, but even as you dust yourself off and look over at Rolan, you once again leave him speechless with a quick quip of “So…that was new.”

♡New? NEW?! You mean you just suddenly discovered your shifting abilities, like some twisted epiphany?! The pair of you must be a right sight, huddled around the moon lantern with him slack jawed and you looking more confused than you have any right to be after that stunt. It’s too much to process, and he’s still reeling from the near death experience and everything that has happened in such a short amount of time. Doesn’t put up nearly as much of a fight as he would have in his right mind when you urge him to go back to the inn - you’re grateful for that, or he might have insisted on coming with you even more.

♡ He doesn’t get to grill you on your abilities until everyone is finally safe. Many are enjoying what little respite they can get before they move on to the next place away from here, and he catches you finishing up your own business at the inn hoping for answers before you leave. Like Astarion, he has doubts that you didn’t know. Really? Not even an inkling to the draconic blood in your veins or where it had come from. Tries not to be frustrated at the shrug you offer in response, having to remind himself that this is a new development for you - he’s not going to pry you with questions when you’re likely still struggling to wrap your head around the prospect yourself.

♡ Once Rolan realizes what had triggered your transformation he goes uncharacteristically quiet, staring hard at your face as though trying to gauge your bluff. When he finds none his voice breaks with his gratitude, hiding the shake behind a cleared throat as he breaks eye contact suddenly struggling to meet the sincerity in your gaze. That was…perhaps he needed to rethink what exactly that - he - meant to you another time; in a place where there’s not always life or death on the line.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #bg3 rolan #gale dekarios #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #gale x reader #gale x tav #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #request #anon

348 notes · View notes