#we love it when ocs as a what if thing become a canon thing! it happened with lhysa being in dai AND her witcher canon too! and now kenny! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

togenabi · 8 months

Text

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it��s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you.

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much.

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does.

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.”

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily.

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him.

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?”

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him.

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face.

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals.

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards.

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you.

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together.

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji.

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there.

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same.

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas.

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn.

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.”

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand.

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand.

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof.

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern.

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.”

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous.

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.”

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars.

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn��t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown.

But he won’t tell you that.

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

2K notes · View notes

lady-ashfade · 2 months

Text

I thought It Was Normal

Percy Jackson character x male!reader (gods x reader) (platonic all)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ reader: like klaus from TUA. reader is a little oc in this, but i couldn’t help it. I needed this because I got a funny idea.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: short , me having little knowledge of what’s to come in the books, not canon just a silly idea

Camp got new campers every year so it wasn’t like they thought anything of you. The only thing is, you looked too confused to be there, everything Chiron said you would would give him the strangest look. Percy happened to be passing by, you got a tour of camp just like he did. And you were a bit to loud with your words- and let’s face it. He’s a little nosy.

“So you’re saying all the gods just drop their kids off here- or, don’t give them attention until they do something they deem worthy?” You ask like you had no care.

“Really a great idea. Half gods with daddy and mommy issues running around in the same place. Doesn’t sound dangerous at all.” You comment and continued walking with a eye roll.

Percy was interested in you right after that. You made him laugh and shared his views when he first came here, and he still thought them. He didn’t have to wait long to introduce himself since you left Hermes cabin in a rush to get away from people.

You didn’t want to talk to him at first. He tried to introduce himself but you brushed him off and said you weren’t willing to speak.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m sure you’re parent will claim you.”

You stopped in your tracks and turn around and started to flail your arms. “I am human! I have no godly parent, not like you-. Honestly I wish I was because I would be less concerned about my future.”

“That’s new.” A girl’s voice popped up from behind you and out of no where. A girl with a cap in her hands yanked down from her head, she looked intimidating to you.

“Can you all do that? Just appear out of no where?” You asked slightly scared but amazed.

“Let’s go back to the part where you’re human,” Percy stepped forward like you were a bomb of some sort ready to explode. “Why are you here?” You scuffed and shrugged your shoulders.

“So, i happened to eat a crystal I found in the woods behind my house. It was weird and it had me hypnotized, surprised I didn’t break any teeth, and the next minute I know I’m seeing the dead. And these voices are talking to me, then I’m moved off to this camp.”

“Wait the dead?”

“The gods say I need training before I came to them. Which is weird because you think they would train me themselves…do you guys know what I should do? I have no clue why they want me.” You look at both of them for help but Percy is just staring with his mouth open and shocked. Annabeth looks annoyed and looking you up and down.

“Don’t piss them off.” she was going to be great help.

Months go by and you grow closer to the trio. it was strange how you seemed to have more strength then a human, and could kept up in training with them. not once did you ever get claimed and it still surprised them to this day how you just become something out of the blue. They tried so hard to get their parents attention but you just- stumped upon something and had the gods interests?

yes, you were human. but no longer a human boy, but a god in training.

“did it have to be him? he’s more chaotic then your son Poseidon.” zues rubbed his temple as the gods watch down on you.

“fate is a funny thing brother.“

“I for one love the kid.” ares smirks as you trip percy and let out a vicious scream. nothing evil or mean behind it, just a adrenaline rush. but ares didn’t take it that why, you were going to be a monster.

“I’ll bless him soon, he should stay in my cabin.” Aphrodite smiles and played with her hair.

“We all know he’s basically my child, the dead thing? Yeah, he’ll be staying with me in the underworld when it’s time.” Hades smirks at all of them.

and just like that the gods are starting a war all over again.

Reader: stumbles upon a crystal

the voices: eat me!!

Reader: No!! Let me go!!

Reader then becomes a god.

#Percy Jackson universe x reader #Percy Jackson x reader #the gods x reader #annabeth chase x reader #Greek gods x reader #pjo x reader

174 notes · View notes

myteavsricochet · 5 months

Text

Favorite firstprince fanfics, an incomplete list:

One shots:

All the Stars We Steal From the Night Sky :

Alex is quiet, and something is wrong.

Or, Alex struggles with emotions and Henry is there to help.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Just Them Being Soft, Alex is struggling, Henry helps)

In His Wildest Dreams

Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. Pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process.

(Please, look at the tags carefully, this fic is very soft, very hot and very consensual but may not be for everyone: Consensual somnophilia, Kink exploration, Porn with feelings, Smut)

5 times Alex called Henry baby ‘casually’ and 1 time it was (definitely) because of love

How did “baby” become a thing in the film universe? When did it become a thing in the film universe? Fine, I’ll answer these questions myself.

(Additional Tags: Overuse of the word "baby", Pet Names, Fluff, Angst, 5+1 Things, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort)

Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?

Alex has always been too much. Objectively, he knows this. He talks too much, his volume is too much, and the fire under his ass is too much. So, when he’d met Henry, when he hadn’t cared about Henry’s opinion and had been his real, authentic, annoying self, and Henry had liked him anyway? It was something Alex struggled to wrap his head around. It started in kindergarten.

Or: A look at Alex's childhood and how hard it is always being the too-much person in any given room.

(Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Childhood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, So much comfort)

Déjame Ver Cómo Es Que Floreces

Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

(This fic is absolutely amazing ❤️

Additional Tags: Humor, Fluff, Family Fluff, Pre-Engagement, Mexican-American Culture, Mexican OC's galore, Drinking, Family Bonding, Karaoke, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Alex Claremont-Diaz Speaks Spanish)

Forty-Four Days

"God, I haven't seen you in forty-four days," Alex suddenly spits, and Henry feels the pain of his words in his own chest, like ice replacing the blood in his veins. Because that's it, isn't it? Forty-four days of separation. Forty-four days of waking up to an empty bed, of making coffee along with his tea only to realize that Alex isn't there to drink it, of long meetings without any of Alex's witty jokes, of cold hands on chilly autumn walks because Alex isn't there to warm them up.

Maybe it's the simple fact of hearing for the first time, or maybe it's the tipping point of the taxing day, but Henry feels something inside of him snap, and —

And all he knows is that he needs to see Alex now.

(Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Separations, Separation Anxiety, Late Night Conversations, Minor Character Death, but it's nothing to worry about I PROMISE, Reunions, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Mild Sexual Content, they love and miss each other, that's the plot, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

A Mind That Never Sleeps

Five times Alex stays awake with Henry, and the one time he coaxes him back to sleep.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Insomnia, Sleepless nights, Piano, Weddings, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, that's really all this is, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

talk too much

Alex has his wisdom teeth removed and Henry takes care of him, fluff ensues

(Additional Tags: wisdom teeth removal, not bloody or graphic, just fluff, pure fluff, No Angst, Henry Pov, firstprince, living in the brownstone, FLUFF I TELL YOU, Henry taking care of Alex, and Alex taking care of Henry too hehe, You’ll see)

silk and steel

Thanks to a welcome day off, Henry and Alex spend a lazy morning in bed. Soft, mid-morning cuddles escalate into semi-soft, mid-morning sex.

(Addictional tags: Morning cuddles, Morning sex, Body worship, Light dom/sub, Praise kink, Established relationship, Top Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Bottom Alex Claremont Diaz)

I don't wanna dance, if I'm not dancing with you

"You want me at a ball?"

"I want you with me as often as possible," Henry says, immediately, as if it's obvious. Maybe it is. "But yes, it would be nice to have you there. I'm not necessarily actively trying to anger my grandmother, which you being there might, but... Well, she hasn't exactly extended an invitation but I have just as much right as anyone to bring a date and--"

"Baby." Henry's rambling stops short on what nearly sounds like a gasp, and Alex grins to himself. Sometimes, his boyfriend is too easy. "Do you want me there?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there."

----

or, Henry wants Alex at a ball and Alex is anxious about it.

(Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Ballroom Dancing, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Hurt/Comfort)

If You Hold Me Without Hurting Me, You’ll Be the First Who Ever Did

Henry feels himself aching for Alex—this Alex, the one who’s at home in Texas, the one who’s vulnerable and free—and he sees the ache reflected in Alex’s eyes.

The first night they spend at the lake house, before Alex wakes up with Henry's swimsuit tangled around his elbow.

(Additional Tags: Emotions, Anal Sex, Bottom Henry, alex calling henry baby, henry calling alex love, Boys In Love, Porn with Feelings, Henry Pov, so it's a wee bit angsty)

love dares you, to change our way of caring about ourselves

Henry has read it all: fairy-tales of princes and their courters, unsung histories of kings and their secret lovers, and he has read all their happy endings. But he is not a prince in a fairy-tale, and he has always thought his own secret love story was likelier to end in tragedy.

Perhaps it’s time that changed.

(Or, Henry’s POV the morning after The Great Claremont-Diaz Ambush at Kensington Palace)

Let Me Hold Your Head in My Hands

Alex has a migraine.

Henry takes care of him.

(Additional Tags: Sickfic, Sick Character, Boys In Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Idiots in Love, Headaches & Migraines, Tooth-Rotting Fluff,Domestic Fluff, Bathtubs)

you would not believe your eyes (if ten million fireflies)

Alex and Henry are staying at Alex’s house in Texas. Henry has never seen fireflies before, and Alex can’t let him get away without the experience of catching one.

Or,

Alex is helplessly in love with Henry.

(Additional Tags: Fluff, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Summer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, firefly catching, Fireflies, Lightning bugs, Texas)

Promises, Promises.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes again.

The corner of Henry’s mouth does the thing it does. His walls are back up.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he mutters, before turning on his heel and marching down the hall.

——

Alex has never felt so horrible. And 3 days is a long time.

(Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Fights, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Stressed Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Anxiety, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Abandonment Issues, Leaving Home)

The Red Side Goes Up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

(Additional Tags: Smut, Rimming, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Post-Canon)

(all of me changed like) midnight rain

“They’re fighting again,” he whispers instead. Henry’s eyes are sad.

“I know, love.”

Or, 5 times Alex believes his relationship with Henry won't last, and 1 time he knows it will.

Or, 5 times Alex doesn't believe in love because of his parents and 1 time Henry proves him wrong.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, Canonical Divorce, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Song: Midnight Rain (Taylor Swift), Depression, References to Depression)

We'll Get Together Then

5+1 times Oscar was a good dad to Henry (ft. Abuelo Oscar)

(Additional Tags: Henry and Oscar bonding, 5+1 Things, I have Feelings about their relationship, Arthur's death is mentioned)

The Bet

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

(Additional Tags: Bets & Wagers, No sex bet, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but it gets resolved eventually, Wet Dream, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Porn With Plot, like it kind of has a plot, Mostly just porn though, Kissing, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Riding, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Switching, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant)

What Kind of Day Has It Been

Even after thirty-odd years of being together (twenty-five of those married) Henry still has to drag Alex away from his desk and up to bed. Even just a few days after routine surgery Alex can't help himself.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Kissing, Married Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

take a bite, babe

And, well, Henry can no longer lie to himself. He couldn’t be more in love with Alex if he tried.

Or: five moments Henry notices Alex’s eyelashes (and falls a little more in love).

I miss you, i'm sorry

"I—I’m killing myself trying to make this work, trying to make both you and my family happy, living on planes, and it’s still not enough for you? I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to be with me,” Alex says bitterly, wiping furiously at his eyes and refusing to meet Henry’s.

"Alex—"

“No,” Alex interrupts angrily, “get it off your chest! I can’t wait to hear all about how much work I am to be with. You know what, if you’re just gonna leave me again then you might as well go ahead and do it now. Save us both the hurt.”

Or: the fight.

(Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Fighting, Healthy Relationships, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has Abandonment Issues, Comfort, Healthy Conflict Resolution, Conflict Resolution)

Too Much

Okay, so maybe Alex talked too much for them. It was fine. He could still sit with them at lunch, he just had to make sure not to talk so much. Just listen to them. He could do that.

The next day, and the day after, Alex sat with the same group of kids. Only, he no longer went on rants about movies or books or what he saw on the news that morning or what his parents talked/argued over at dinner.

Alex stayed silent, desperate to not be too much.

***

OR 5 times the people in Alex's life thought that he was too much + one time Henry assured him that he wasn't.

(Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Projecting, author's first fic)

the common tongue of you loving me

Where did kissing come from? Henry has always wondered. Why kisses? At the beginning of history, which long forgotten person, which ancestor of all mankind, was the first to press their lips to another’s in a declaration of their love?

Was it a lover, perhaps, so consumed with devotion that they sought to use lips as well as fingertips? All followed the base urge of their bodies — the innate knowledge that the pressing of lips was the highest form of touch. But no one knows why.

Except when Alex quirks his cupid’s bow, licks into Henry’s mouth and lets his bottom lip rest on Henry’s, and oh. Henry knows.

(Additional Tags: Kissing, henry has so many feelings about kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Grinding, Frottage)

All Your Closets Of Backlogged Dreams

It’s not that the loss of the President’s oldest child is a secret. It’s just that nobody talks much about the death of Catalina June Claremont-Diaz.

It takes Alex years before he talks to Henry about her.

(The painful story no one asked for that ties June into the movie.)

(Additional Tags: Past Character Death, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Alex Claremont-Diaz Has ADHD)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing)

He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

(being with you) makes the flame burn good

“Ah, would you look at that,” Alex says hoarsely, breaking the kiss, “Looks like you got a bit of batter on your neck.”

He lowers his head and licks a stripe up Henry's neck until his tongue reaches the spot below his ear and Henry shudders slightly in his arms.

“Tastes so good, baby,” Alex teases and fits his thigh between Henry's legs, feeling how hard he is and how immediately he grinds against Alex's body, searching for any form of relief.

“Oh, piss off,” Henry breathes and tangles his hands in Alex's curls, fisting his hand lightly and moving his hips a little faster.

(Additional Tags: Married Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Kitchen Sex, Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Laughter During Sex, Body Worship, Sort Of, Hickeys, Begging, Praise Kink, Nipple Play, surprisingly there's NO food play in this, Dom Alex, Sub Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor)

we thought we ruled the world

Alex stares down at his latest text from Henry. A link to an article he’s seen about ten versions of so far. He’s managed to resist clicking on any of them, but now Henry is sending it, so he supposes he should at least give it a skim.

How Prince Henry’s Relationship With FSOTUS Lost Ellen Claremont The Election

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

Or, what would have happened if Ellen lost.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, mostly happy at least)

pictures of you

Henry has seen photos of Alex before, of Alex’s easy grin and disarming smirk, wild curls awry and lean muscles on casually stretched biceps. He’s seen countless photos of him before.

But.

Alex has never sent him a photo before. Not like this.

---

Five times Alex sends Henry a selfie from bed (+ one time Henry sends him one)

the dresden dilemma

The Crown had expectations when it sent a member of the royal family abroad but after a handful of years navigating said expectations, Alex and Henry had become adept at circumventing them when possible. Like tonight: They were supposed to be in Berlin for the weekend, but after a bit of needling and a lot of promises to behave, Alex had convinced Shaan to arrange for them to spend at least one night outside of the city.

Dresden, Alex had argued, was close enough to Berlin that they weren't really disobeying the Crown and besides, what harm could a single night in Dresden do?

(Additional Tags: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Established Relationship, Alex Claremont-Diaz has Trauma, cause he's an american kid and who doesn't, or at least he thought, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Fireworks, School Shootings, implied/referenced anyway, Guns)

the clementine thing

And, really, it doesn’t matter whether or not Alex explains it to Liam and the rest of his friends. They’ve never really discussed it between themselves through the years. Slowly, Alex had gone from asking Would you please peel this for me? to Please? to silently extending the citrus without any comment at all, just a soft smile. It’s one of the things that make them Alex-and-Henry; the silent conversations and the contentment in each other’s company.

Now, as Alex starts to flourish through his position on the lacrosse team, his slew of AP classes, and his role in student government, getting him to slow down at all is a feat. The only way that Henry can do it, guaranteed, is by one of those innocuous little fruits. There’s nothing Alex can’t do—surely, he could peel a fucking orange if he felt so inclined—but Henry delights in being able to do this for him.

Five times Henry shares a clementine with Alex, and one time Alex returns the favor

(This is one of my favorites, please read this ❤️)

In the Low Lamp Light, I Was Free

“You wanna go again?” Alex asks, pressing the back of his head into the pillows, offering his throat more fully to Henry’s hungry mouth, and when Henry laughs and retrieves another condom and the little bottle of lube from his toiletry bag, he adds, “I had a thought, though. I thought, maybe… you could be inside me this time.”

(Movieverse; there were two condom wrappers on the floor in Paris.)

he is exactly the poem i wanted to write

There is no Turkey in Alex's room this year, but there is a prince.

AKA, Henry spends thanksgiving with Alex after the election and reflects on all of his dreams coming true.

(Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, so fluffy it borders on worshippy, Porn with Feelings)

we might fall

A little ficlet of Alex and Henry in the hammock. Metaphors about falling.

lifeline of mine

Henry hates hospitals, has hated them since he watched his father wither away in one that smelled just like this one, that had the same unsettling chill in the air. And every time he walked into a hospital after losing Arthur, he would see his father’s ashen face, would feel the ghost of his cold skin prickling his own, would hear the slowing beep of his heart monitor. And now, it’s Henry in a hospital bed, not knowing what’s wrong with his body. And he’s scared, and he’s thinking about Arthur and…

“I saw him,” Henry whispers.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Hurt Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Worried Alex Claremont-Diaz, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Needs a Hug, Forehead Kisses, Fever, Angst with a Happy Ending)

please don't ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

Alex’s love language is physical touch.

Henry knows this—has known it from the first moment he’s met Alex, all wild curls and bright eyes and a smile that could breathe life into Henry’s little, fragile hife. He’d stuck out a hand at that first meeting, dejected when Henry didn’t even take it. Found a way to poke and prod Henry every single time they’d met after, sharp jabs hitting his shoulder and rough hits shoving him around.

Now, Alex’s fingers are gentle as they lace around his. His arms hold him tight to his chest. His hair tickles the nape of Henry’s neck, and the couch is entirely too small for the two of them but Henry doesn’t have the heart to kick him out.

Or, 5 times Alex clings tight to Henry and 1 time Henry finds out why.

Bear with me

The first time it happened, Henry was not having it.

“For the last time, I’m not helping you shave your arse.”

—

In which Alex is very hairy, and Henry sort of has a thing for it. Not that he'd admit it, though.

(Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Canon - Book, But can fit the movie verse too, tzp is a walking thirst trap, this was supposed to be crack but became quite serious real quick, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Sex, No Smut, Body Hair Appreciation, Healthy Relationships)

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie)

The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

but i'd put you first a million times over

Henry first noticed it shortly after the Waterloo incident. Apparently, it hadn’t been enough to thrust all their private thoughts and emails into the public eye; they had to be thrust into the limelight as well.

Or the 5 times Henry asked the Crown for better security, plus one time he no longer had to.

(Additional Tags: Protective Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Paparazzi, Hurt/Comfort, 5+1 Things, Hurt Alex Claremont-Diaz, Post-Canon)

in every scenario

Henry can practically hear Alex thinking. They’re curled up in bed, Alex’s head resting on his chest, and his mind is so loud. He can hear it in the rustling of the sheets, in Alex’s hand skating up his ribcage; the anxious curl of his toes against Henry’s ankles. He’s nearly vibrating with thought.

Henry’s hand tucks into the base of Alex’s spine. “Love,” he murmurs, ducking his chin to look down at his boyfriend. “What on earth are you thinking about?”

Or, Alex has something important on his mind.

Long fics:

all that glitters (is not gold)

Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

—-

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

(The masterpiece. The firstprince sequel. The canon sequel.)

But I love him, whether or no.

Henry moves to New York City to help Pez with the opening of his new bar in the East Village. The location—fortunately for business, but unfortunately for Henry’s sanity—is directly across the street from a fire station. The sound of sirens is bad, Alex the gorgeous firefighter is worse. But when Alex helps Henry avoid a near catastrophe the night of the bar’s opening, the two form a tentative friendship that starts to develop into something more.

(Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Firefighter!Alex, Canon typical mental health issues for Henry, Canon typical struggles with grief for Henry, Canon typical child of divorce issues for Alex, Canon typical struggles with sexuality for Alex, Firefighter injuries, Hospitalization, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

the poem you make of me

After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention.

Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

God Save the Blessed American President Mom

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.”

“June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.”

“Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”]

***

On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life.

Alex gets shot instead.

How wonderful life is (while you're in the world)

The corner of Henry’s mouth. It’s disappeared now, covered by the oxygen mask fixed securely around his head, but if Alex concentrates hard enough, he can see it sprawled out in front of him. Every ridge, every bend and edge and turn of it.

He knows Henry’s heart. And that’ll be enough.

(or: the one where henry gets shot and alex is a goddamn mess.)

#it's been 84 years #but i did it #this is the longest post I've ever made #please don't ignore it #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince fanfic #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

258 notes · View notes

abitohoney · 8 months

Text

Hustle - CH1: Proposition

AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, Ran & Reader, Established Relationship, assassin reader, Fluff, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, horny idiots in love, Dom/sub, Dom Sevika, sub Reader, Humor, Banter, Choking, Spanking, Teasing, Light Sadism, Begging, Strap-Ons, Lesbian Sex, Aftercare, Gambling, Smoking, lack of understanding card games, totally winging this shit, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling, reader is not the most graceful creature, but Sevika adores reader all the more for it, Jealousy, Marking, Orgasm Delay, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Hurt/Comfort, a Yordle OC that we will likely never see again but I had entirely too much fun writing, 69 (Sex Position)

Word Count: 7.9k

Summary: Looking to make your nights with Sevika a bit more… exciting, you suggest making use of your shared talent for playing cards. Together, the two of you take the Undercity, and even Topside, by storm. And what’s more exciting than the thrill of winning, or watching your opponents whine and gripe in defeat, or earning far more coin than the two of you could possibly spend? The release of pent-up sexual desire that seems to come with each and every win, that’s what.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

Sevika sat at the small table in your shared room, removing the last screw that held the protective plate over her metal shoulder. A thick cigar- one of the fancy ones you’d gifted her a while back- hung from the corner of her mouth. She was apparently too focused on her arm to realize it had gone out some time ago.

You, however, noticed when you approached her, two drinks in hand and clad in only your underwear and one of her old shirts. After placing one glass near her, and the other at the opposite end by your chair, you grabbed her lighter from the table.

“Light?” you offered, opening the lighter with a swift flick of your wrist.

Sevika glanced down her nose at her barely smoldering cigar before bringing the end into the dancing flame. After taking one long drag, her gray eyes met yours. Tendrils of smoke seeped from the corners of her mouth when her lips curled into a crooked grin.

That smirk of hers was the closest thing you’d get to a thank you, but it was good enough for you. You gave her your own lopsided grin in return before bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Moving to the chair opposite her, you took a seat and started working on sharpening your pile of daggers strewn about the table.

That had become somewhat of a weekly ritual for the two of you. An unspoken one, where once a week the two of you would sit at your small, quaint table littered with parts, tools, and cleaning supplies for Sevika’s arm, as well as sharpening tools and cleaning cloths for your daggers. You’d both have a good drink. She’d have one of her usual cigarillos, or occasionally, like tonight, she’d treat herself to a fancy imported cigar. A sign that she’d had a particularly bad day.

“Rough day?” you asked and carefully wiped one of your daggers clean before setting it aside to grab the next.

“Yeah,” she replied gruffly, focus returned to her arm while she loosened something at the elbow.

Your gaze fell to her bicep from where it peeked out from beneath her leather sleeve, watching almost in a trance as it flexed with her movements.

Good god, she’s so fucking buff.

“Jinx?” you asked, knowing that more often than not the blue-haired girl was the cause of Sevika’s bad days. The bane of her existence really. You’d met the girl a few times over your years under Silco’s employ, and although she was quite the little spitfire, unpredictable even, she seemed like a genuinely sweet kid. Everyone in the Undercity had their demons, so why Jinx’s seemed to bother Sevika so much more, you weren’t exactly sure, but you weren’t about to ask. Best not to poke the bear.

“Yeah.”

Realizing she was clearly not interested in divulging any details, you returned to your daggers in silence, occasionally sipping your drink or stealing a glance at Sevika working on her arm.

Once every dagger was finely sharpened and shined, you turned your full attention to Sevika. Her arm at some point had ended up in far more pieces on the table than usual. Must have been a deep clean day, or something got really fucked up. A quick glance at Sevika’s face confirmed the latter.

Her dark brows sat in a deep v-shaped line and her lips pulled into a tight frown. She was clearly not happy. Even less so than usual.

Dragging your chair over to her side, you ignored the sharp look she gave you at the obnoxious sound of it scraping along the floor, echoing through the otherwise quiet room. “What’s wrong?” you asked and leaned closer to look over all the parts.

“Something jammed,” she grumbled and removed her cigar to throw back the last of her drink.

Picking up her metal hand, which although disconnected from her wrist, was still entirely assembled, you turned it over several times to inspect the construction. Even after all the time you’ve been close to Sevika, you still found yourself fascinated with all the intricacies of her mechanical arm. So many moving parts, powered primarily by something that was also used as a drug. Intricate joints that functioned much like the real thing, but better. More precision, more strength, more flexibility. But the moment something malfunctioned, like now, it became almost useless. So of course you understood her frustration. Not only being left without a usable arm, but also being left with the hassle of trying to fix the damn thing.

As you took what would be the index finger between your own fingers and moved the joints, you could feel more resistance than usual. Turning it so the palm faced up, you stretched and bent the joints opposite their intended direction. There was definitely a build-up of… something. Gunk of some kind. No wonder shit was jammed. Probably full of dried blood, or human flesh. Who knows how many necks she broke or guts she impaled since her arm got a good cleaning.

“What are you smiling about?”

Not even realizing you were smiling, your eyes shot up to Sevika’s scowling face in confusion. “What? Oh. Just thinking about how many idiots you must have slaughtered since you last gave this a proper cleaning. There’s all sorts of shit stuck in the joints. Of course you’re having issues.”

“Well maybe if you did your job and took them out with your little knives, I wouldn’t have to use my hand so much,” she sneered, mouth twitching at the corner. She was clearly proud of her snarky comeback.

Ass.

Smile still in place, but now directed at Sevika, you shot back your own snarky retort, “Well maybe if you didn’t fucking announce our presence with your big ass feet stomping around, I could have used my daggers.”

Oh, that got her truly smirking. A challenge. A verbal challenge. Something the two of you have always taken part in, but ever since becoming an... item, it had become downright exhilarating. You both enjoyed the challenge the other provided. Equal wit, snark, and speed. Not to mention it almost always ended with the two of you engaging in other fun activities.

“I don’t need that hand to choke you.”

“I don’t need to ask if you’re bluffing. All talk.” You smiled at her confidently. At least at first.

Sevika’s chair scraped across the floor when she stood suddenly. Your eyes widened and you jumped in your chair, not really expecting her to do anything. Not when her arm was half disassembled, tubes and wires dangling loose and exposed. You quickly schooled your expression, back to that cocky smile to match hers. She wouldn’t really follow through. Tilting your head back, you stared up at her towering form as she stood close enough for her feet to disappear beneath your chair.

“I don’t need to tell you how very wrong you are,” she sneered, her smile curling into a wicked grin. Without breaking her eye contact with you, she removed her cigar from between her teeth and set it in the ashtray you’d made her months ago. Her prized possession. And when she bent down, you could feel your smile start to falter, confidence waning. “I’ll show you,” she said so quietly you almost missed it.

Fuck. She is going to-

And then her hand was on your throat, squeezing with just enough pressure to have you feeling the strain in your airway. But when the air in your lungs escaped through your parted lips, it was not in the form of a complaint, a cry, or a whine. No, it was a deep, quiet moan. Her name.

“Sevika…”

It’s yet another unspoken… dynamic the two of you had developed from the very beginning of your relationship. Despite you offering her a good verbal fight, and sometimes even physical, it always ended with you submitting to her. Completely willing. Because it would always benefit you both. She gets that ego of hers stroked real nice. A good power trip. You swear it almost makes her high. And you get that euphoric feeling of losing control to someone you trust deeply. Someone you know can give you what you want. What you need. She doesn’t even need to ask. She knows. She’ll only ask to make you say it. To watch you squirm while you try to find the words- your voice- to beg her to give you all your filthy desires.

“What do you want?” she husked, and you could smell the intoxicating mix of cigar spices and high-end whiskey on her breath when she leaned in closer.

“You,” you breathed, your desperate eyes pleading with her wild ones. Your hands- one still holding her metal hand, the other resting on your thigh- clenched, fighting urges. But not because you wanted to remove her hand, or fight back. You wanted to put your hands on her. Touch her. Pull her closer. But you knew you couldn't. Not yet.

“What do you want from me,” she sneered, thick fingers squeezing just a little tighter around your neck.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, but when you saw her arch a brow, you knew what else she wanted to hear. “Please, Sevika.”

Her smirk softened, and as she brought her face even closer, your eyes fluttered shut. The moment those full lips of hers pressed against your own, you felt yourself melting into your chair. The way she kissed you, so teasingly soft while she squeezed your throat in her hand- a hand that could easily snap your neck- left your head spinning. She was powerful enough to destroy you without using so much as even half of that power, yet she always gave you pleasure instead.

Moaning against her lips, you finally dropped her metal hand in favor of placing both your hands on the exposed skin at her hips and waist. She allowed it, but not without the cost of her teasing you. Lips parted, you tried to invite her tongue in, but she chose to run that delightful muscle of hers across your upper lip instead. And when you tried to lean in and take it yourself, her fingers wrapped blissfully tighter around you, leaving you seeing stars.

Without realizing it, your nails dug into the skin just above Sevika’s hips, causing her to break away and hiss at you. Gazing up at her through half-lidded eyes, you whispered a soft, “Sorry,” and relaxed your fingers, soothingly running your fingertips over the little crescent moon marks you’d left behind.

“I need to finish fixing my arm before I fuck you,” she husked, slowly loosening her grip on your throat. “Think you can be patient for me?”

No.

You nodded, whimpering when she released you and went back to her seat. Slowly turning back to the table, you picked her metal hand back up, but your mind was too clouded by lust to really focus. Glancing at Sevika from the corner of your eyes, you spotted her smirking at you. Apparently amused by how she got you so fucking riled up only to leave you sitting there stewing in your own… juices.

So fucking mean, but so fucking hot.

It was a deadly combo that kept you on your toes, and kept you coming back for more. Because in the end, with patience, you always got what you wanted. What you both wanted.

Once your head was mostly clear, you grabbed one of your smaller, sharper daggers and started prying out some of the crap stuck in the joints of her prosthetic hand. Disgusting to most, it was- in all honesty- a very satisfying process for you. The little bits of dried bloody flesh and even bone left you itching to get back to your job. Being Silco’s number one assassin had been rewarding beyond anything else you could have done to get by in the Undercity. You’d always had a knack for stealth, speed, and agility. Not to mention a fascination with knives and daggers, or ‘ pointy objects’ as Sevika so lovingly called them. But that feeling of euphoria you got the first time you slid a blade along someone’s skin, watching the blood trickle then pour from the wound. It was your calling. A sick thing to take pleasure in perhaps, but with the rest of Silco’s crew, you fit right in. Sevika included. You’d seen her get that same wild gleam in her eye. That same wicked smile while she strangled her foe or beat the everliving snot out of them.

Peering over at Sevika, you found her scowl was back in place. Seemed that little intermission was not enough for her either.

“Hey, I was thinking,” you started as you continued to meticulously clean one of the metal fingers, “What if you and I teamed up at cards and wiped this whole damned city clean? I mean, you and I are two of the best, if not the best, players down here. If we teamed up, we’d be unstoppable.”

When Sevika didn’t offer a reply, you turned your attention to her. Cigar back between her teeth, she simply raised a single brow, and you weren’t sure if that was in intrigue or disbelief. “What? It could be fun. Get ourselves some good coin while we’re at it.”

Removing her cigar. She tapped it against the ashtray. With an amused grin, she finally replied, smoke billowing from her mouth while she spoke, “Alright, princess, I’ll admit that sounds like a good idea.”

“A great idea,” you corrected her. “If we set up a tournament, we could end up with enough coin to buy some nice things.”

“Like what?” she scoffed, “More pointy objects?”

You narrowed your eyes at her little jab, gaze dropping to her cigar as you retorted, “Or more fancy cancer sticks.” Before she could throw another retort your way, you added, “But I was thinking more like an improved chem tech arm, so you don’t have to fuck around with maintenance so much. Or you could just pay someone else to do it.” Reaching across the table, you grabbed a cloth and a bottle of solvent. Pouring a generous amount into the cloth, you started wiping down one of the metal digits. “Just think about it?”

“How soon?”

Your gaze shot back up to Sevika. “Really?”

She said nothing, just kept her gaze on you and waited for your answer.

You made no effort to hide the wide smile that put on your face. And though she shook her head in mock disgust, you saw how her own lips pulled up at one corner. “I bet with Ran’s help I could get a tournament set up by this weekend. So you’re game?”

“As long as Ran is involved to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

You ignored her attempt to bait you into another battle of wits, too thrilled that she’d agreed to your idea. Instead, you returned to your task in silence, save for the excited tapping of your foot. That weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

Too caught up in your meticulous cleaning of Sevika’s metal hand, not to mention thinking about how the two of you were going to clean up a bunch of unsuspecting idiots, you hadn’t realized Sevika had finished her own work some time ago. After giving the hand one final wipe down with a clean cloth, you turned to find her leaning back in her chair just watching you while she smoked. “What?” you asked, cheeks flushing under her heated gaze.

Setting the remainder of her cigar in the ashtray, she patted her thigh. “Help me put it back on.”

Suspicious of her intentions with how… oddly she was looking at you, you hesitantly stood from your chair to take a seat across her lap. As you reached across the table to grab the hand, you felt her wrap her human arm around your waist, resting her hand on your thigh. And if that hadn’t been distracting enough while you tried to hook up the tubes and wires of her prosthetic, the feeling of her intense gaze on you sure as hell was.

With everything reconnected, you gave the wrist one final twist to lock the hand back in place. Carefully, you turned it over in your hand, ensuring everything was moving properly. Bending each finger, you could tell the cleaning had definitely made a difference. Satisfied with your work, you lined her hand up with yours, marveling at the contrasting size and material. Bringing it to your face, you placed a kiss on the top of one of the plates that covered the back of it. Releasing her hand, you glanced up at Sevika to find her still staring at you with that odd expression. It was as if she was in disbelief. You searched her eyes for a sign of what she was thinking. And god damn you swore those gray eyes of hers were somehow a softer shade.

“Sevika? Is something wrong?” you asked quietly.

Her gaze fell to her metal hand as she lifted it. She moved each joint, one at a time while she spoke softly, her voice so raspy you swore there was something she was trying to hold back. “I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. You’re too good to me.”

Oh Fuck. That’s so sweet.

She had, in fact, said that before. And your heart both swelled and broke all the same last time. “Sevika,” you whispered breathlessly. You weren’t even sure how to respond to that. Tell her she’s an idiot for thinking she doesn’t deserve your affection and care even after all this time? Tell her everyone deserves someone to treat them right? But you knew neither would help someone like her see the truth. So instead of telling her with words, you decided to show her using her own language. Action. Sliding a hand along her scarred cheek, you pressed your fingers against the back of her neck and slowly guided her lips to yours.

She hesitantly returned the kiss, but it was nothing like her usual more fervent and dominating ones. The kiss was much sweeter, softer, and surprisingly tender.

Her arm around your waist pulled you closer while her metal hand gently grasped your thigh. That delightfully soft nose of hers glided along the side of your own and over your cheek when she cocked her head and pulled you even closer, pressing her lips further into yours.

Though the kiss was far less wild than usual, it still left you equally, if not more, breathless when she pulled away. Resting your forehead against hers, you gazed into beautiful pools of gray. Slowly, that lopsided grin of hers started to reappear.

“Should we head to bed?” you asked softly.

She gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before releasing her hold on you.

The moment you stood up, you no more than turned to head for the bed when you felt a sharp slap to your bottom.

“Hey!” you yelped, spinning on your heel to scowl down- or rather up- at Sevika as she stood from her seat.

“Don’t get too used to that soft shit,” she sneered and stepped closer, toe-to-toe with you.

A challenge?

“Of course,” you replied with a dramatic roll of your eyes. “Can’t ruin that tough image of yours.”

And then she was in your space, chest pressing into yours and causing you to take a step away to keep from toppling backward. You furrowed your brows while you peered up at her.

What’s she playing at?

She took another step into your space, a smug smile painting her face.

You took another step away, the backs of your knees connecting with the edge of the bed.

“Now that I’ve got my hand back…” Sevika drawled and lifted her metal hand to inspect it as the gears near her wrist spun and whirred.

You should have taken that as your warning sign, but you were too focused on trying to figure out what she had planned to do with you. A shrill yelp pulled from your throat when the sharp blade sprung from her arm, slicing through the air dangerously close to the side of your face. With nowhere else to go, you fell onto your rear on the edge of the mattress.

Her dark chuckle made your brows draw together.

“Damnit Sevika stop startling me with that fucking thing!” you snarled and shot her a nasty glare.

“Thought you liked pointy objects,” she jeered, her blade retracting back into her arm with a resounding swish.

“ My pointy objects.”

“Hmm. They are pretty nice,” she teased, eyes blatantly honed in on your tits.

Despite your best effort to refrain, you couldn’t help but grin at that lovely combination of joke and compliment.

Sevika stepped forward again, her knees urging you to spread your legs and allow her between them.

Then she slowly leaned over you, forcing you to scoot back on the bed.

“Sevika…” you sighed, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you, I’ve got my hand back now…” she sneered, hands planted against the mattress on either side of your hips.

“Now what?” you asked.

Moving farther away, you fell back onto your forearms as she crawled onto the bed and up your body, her strong arms on either side of your chest. Then you recalled what she’d said to you earlier when things were starting to heat up.

‘I need to finish fixing my arm before I fuck you.’

Oh.

Her hands moved to either side of your shoulders and you let your back fall completely against the bed. You beamed up at her while she smiled down at you wolfishly.

Her eyes dropped to your mouth. "That fucking dopey smile."

"You know you always say that, but then you're just smiling at me. Clearly you love it," you pointed out.

Sevika scoffed, but that smirk remained on her face. "It's ridiculous."

"And cute," you added.

"Ridiculous."

"Ridiculously cute. And it's only for you," you said sweetly.

"Damn right."

You raised a brow. "A bit possessive aren't we?"

"Just know what's mine." Her lips curled higher.

Fucking cocky.

But two can play that game.

"Same," you replied with a crooked grin before grabbing Sevika by her leather vest and pulling her down for a kiss.

She willingly kissed you back, but not without the cost of taking your bottom lip between her teeth and tugging- hard. She chuckled at your whine of protest, lips curling against yours before she kissed away the stinging sensation.

Your game wasn’t over yet though.

Sevika pulled back from the kiss, brows furrowed as she peered down at your smiling face. “What's so funny?"

"This," You replied just before flipping her onto her back. You swiftly moved to straddle her waist and pin her wrists above her head.

She simply smirked up at you with a raised brow.

You both knew she could break free with very little effort, but you both tested each other. You tested how far she'd let your hand go as it traveled down her neck toward her chest. She tested just how brave you'd actually be.

The moment your hand rested over a breast she gave you a threatening look.

"Don't you do it," she growled.

"Don't do what?" You asked with feigned innocence.

"You know what."

"Oh, you mean this?" You gave her breast a hard squeeze, twisting her nipple through the thick fabric of her top. That got you the desired effect, or rather effects. The immediate; a groan and strained face of pleasure, and the delayed; you were not only thrown off her, but also lying face down with your ass held up high by her thigh wedged between both of yours. Before you could even think to react, your wrists were scooped up by her metal hand and held together behind your back.

"You're gonna pay for that princess," she sneered.

You opened your mouth to retort, only for a startled yelp to escape when her flesh hand contacted your asscheek with a loud SMACK!

"Learn your lesson?" she asked, rubbing her hand soothingly over your tingling skin.

“No.”

SMACK!

Another sharp cry ripped from your throat.

"How about now?" she sneered, hand running delightful circles over your other abused asscheek.

"I think- I think you're gonna have to drill it into me,” you managed to get out between soft moans.

Janna, you’re so fucking clever.

"Hate to admit it princess, but I think you're right," she husked and continued to rub your bottom, her thumb inching closer to the inside of your thigh and ghosting over your slit through your panties. "Looks like you're nice and ready for it too."

Your cheeks burned. You knew you were already dripping from what little attention she’d already given you. She always had that effect on you.

She gave your ass one more pat before crawling off the bed and leaving you disappointed at the loss of contact. "Now, how big?" She asked as she strode to the dresser where she kept all the harnesses and attachments.

You rolled onto your side to watch her, resting your head on your hand, elbow propped on the mattress.

"So I was thinking," you started while she rummaged through the drawer, "we should come up with signals to communicate with each other during the tournament."

You tilted your head as you continued to speak, trying to catch a glimpse of which toy Sevika had selected while she slipped on the harness.

"I could come up with a series of subtle hand gestures, ways we hold our cards or drinks, or how we blow the smoke from our cigarillos. You know, something that looks unsuspecting."

"Gonna play dirty, huh?" Sevika sneered as she lubed up the faux cock.

With her back to you, you still couldn't quite make out which one she'd put on. Your curiosity- the anticipation- had your body temperature rising by the second, but you still tried to keep your cool. "Damn right. Those fools won't know what hit 'em. You and I are gonna empty the pockets of every poor sucker down here."

Sevika turned to face you, revealing a strap you hadn’t seen before. Not particularly girthy, but long, bright purple, and with a notable curve.

Oh boy. What the hell is that for?

As she stalked toward the bed, you met her gaze�� her very lust-filled gaze. “Why- Why are you looking at me like that?” you stammered and moved to lean back on your forearms, eyes nervously following Sevika as she stalked toward you.

She crawled onto the bed, metal hand slowly dragging up the side of one of your legs. “Cause I want to fuck you. Now shut your mouth or I'll give you something to keep it busy."

"You say that like it's supposed to be a threat. Maybe I want you to keep my mouth busy. Ever think about that?" you retorted with a crooked grin, though it came out much less snarky and confident than you’d intended, your anxiousness getting the better of you.

Her hand froze at your thigh. A single brow arched. Then she sat up on her knees and started to undo her harness.

"Wait!"

She paused, smirking. "Thought this was what you wanted."

"Fuck me first.”

…

“Please," you quickly added.

She said nothing, but bent back down to resume dragging her metal hand up along your leg until she reached your panties. She slipped a sharp claw beneath the waistband, then locked eyes with you and gave you the most evil-looking toothy grin.

“Don’t you do it,” you threatened, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t do what?” she mocked.

“I just bought thOSE!” your words turned into a sharp yelp the moment Sevika ripped your underwear clear off your body. “Fucking hell Sevika! You can’t just keep ripping all my clothes!”

“I’ll buy you more.”

Though she spoke those words with a stoic tone, you could see her mirth plain as day with the damn smirk she wore.

“You’ll just buy something impractical,” you pouted.

“And I’ll rip those off too,” she sneered, backing down the bed to stand on the floor between your dangling legs.

You raised your brows, confused as to why she left the bed. Was she going to fuck you or not?

She leaned over, flesh and metal fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to grasp your hips. Then, without warning, she yanked your body down across the mattress, pulling your ass to the edge of the bed, your shirt up and over your chest when it caught on the sheets, and yet another startled yelp from your throat.

Your mouth hung open to fire another chastising remark, only for it to die in your throat when her hands started slowly gliding up your stomach towards your now fully exposed chest.

“Got something to say, princess?” she husked as she cupped each breast.

You knew she was goading you. Trying to get you to speak so she could provide enough stimulation to make you fumble your words again. So instead you said nothing, just watched her with narrowed eyes. But not even that look stood a chance the moment she started to squeeze and knead your supple flesh.

“Hm. Didn’t think so,” she taunted.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle the moan that you felt building up. Once she added your nipples to her play, you had officially lost the game.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting and releasing a soft moan when she rolled metal and flesh fingers across your hardened peaks.

“So easy to shut you up,” she continued to tease. She leaned over your chest, ghosting her lips along the swell of a breast.

The urge to bite back was completely overrun by the natural desire to just submit to her. To just let her take care of you. Like she always did.

“Just a simple touch,” she continued, accenting her words with a drag of those luscious lips right over a nipple.

You keened, arching towards her mouth, silently begging her to wrap her lips around your flesh. But she wouldn’t do that. Not yet. She had to tease you more. Break you down. Leave you begging.

“S-Sevika,” you whined when she merely slid her mouth to the other breast– not nearly enough stimulation. And good god you craved her. You could already feel the ache building in your lower half– a tight heat that radiated from your core straight down through your legs.

“Yea, baby?” she murmured against the swell of your breast. She introduced her tongue into the mix, dragging just the tip around your areola while her hands continued to explore.

“More, please,” you pleaded. You carded your hands through her hair, but you didn’t dare pull her head closer, despite the burning desire to do so.

“More what?” Her tongue left a long, wet trail from the bottom side of one breast clear across the other.

“Your mouth,” you sighed.

“Hmm,” she hummed against the side of your breast, the vibrations only adding to the torment of her light touches. “What do you want me to do with it?” she asked before flicking her tongue across a nipple.

Your fingers and toes curled and you sucked in a sharp breath. “Suck,” you whispered as you released that breath.

Another reverberating hum. “Like this?”

Those delightfully soft, warm, wet lips wrapped around a nipple and sucked, tongue teasing over the tip.

“Fuck, yes,” you groaned. Your back arched again, pressing your chest closer to her mouth.

“Mmm. And what about this?” she purred. Without further warning she bit down on that sensitive nub, pulling a sharp cry from you only for it to dissolve into a soft moan as she soothed it with her tongue.

The sound of her low, throaty laugh only made your body ache for her more. Before you could beg for her to continue, her mouth started to move up your chest, sucking and biting every inch of skin along the way. Her metal hand soon joined the climb, gliding up the other side of your chest while her human hand descended down your stomach.

Her tongue dipped and trailed up along your collarbone while her metal hand crept up the column of your throat. With her flesh hand tightly gripping your waist, she pressed her metal thumb against your chin, forcing you to expose more of your neck.

Your mind was already reeling from all the sensations, but then you felt the cold, wet tip of her faux cock tease over your clit. Her teeth sank into the flesh of your neck, her nails into the soft fat at your waist. There was no hope for holding back your desperate mewls, her name spilling like honey from your lips.

“Sevika.”

You needed her. You needed her so bad.

“Sevika, fuck me. Please.”

The deep, sinister chuckle that you felt just as much as you heard contrasted against how she ran the side of her nose gently along your cheek and nose.

“So desperate for my cock, hm?” she taunted, lips brushing over yours as she spoke.

You swallowed hard, throat bobbing. Even with your eyes still closed, you could feel the heat of her eyes on you, the arrogant curl of her lips just barely pressed to yours.

“Yes,” you breathed and it took every ounce of willpower to remain still. To not pull her lips to yours and take the kiss you so desperately wanted. To not just thrust towards that teasing silicone toy and grind against it. Your fingers curled against her scalp, your toes against the sheets hanging off the edge of the bed.

Patience.

You needed to be patient. The reward she’d give you would be so very worth it.

She slid her thumb from your chin to the pulse point at your neck, teasing over it several times before finally pressing, ever-so-lightly.

Your lips parted in a breathless gasp, body thrumming in bliss. Your subsequent moan became muffled, drowned out by her mouth hungrily devouring yours. Her tongue delved in, swiping along yours as if fighting for dominance. But there was no battle. There was nothing you could do. You were too lost in that delirium she always brought on when she had her hands on your neck, carefully- precisely- applying pressure.

You were too far gone to even realize the hand at your waist had left to move the tip of the strap between your wet folds, lining it up at your entrance.

And then came the abrupt, glorious stretch of your walls as she buried the faux cock clear to the hilt with one powerful thrust. Your cry of pleasure was muffled by her mouth over yours. You sank your nails into her scalp, earning a threatening growl from her that barely registered through the cloud of pleasure overtaking your mind.

She stood upright, your hands sliding off her head and collapsing against the bed at your sides. You gazed up at her through half-lidded eyes, slowly starting to come back to your senses with your airway fully open again.

God you wanted her hand back there.

“Sevika,” you whined, but you were too ashamed to admit what you wanted. She knew anyway, and yet she’d still make you say it.

“Yeah baby?” she teased. She slipped her hands beneath your thighs, lifting them until your heels rested on the edge of the bed, opening you nice and wide for her. Both her hands firmly grasped your waist and she slowly slid back out, her eyes glued between your legs and reveling at the sight of the silicone toy sliding between your wet folds.

You lost the ability to articulate your request as you watched her move her human hand over your lower stomach and press– hard. Her dark lips curled into a crooked smile, eyes glinting in sick satisfaction while she slowly pushed the strap back inside.

“Fuck, baby,” she breathed.

There was no telling if that was truly for your ears. She looked utterly lost in watching- feeling- her sink deeper inside you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as the added pressure of that wicked curve and press of her hand left an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure.

She pulled back out again, grabbing one of your wrists and placing your hand flat against your stomach. With her hand encasing yours she pressed down hard, her gaze still locked between your spread legs. Then, torturously slow, she pushed back inside once again.

“You feel that?” she husked. “My cock dragging along your insides? That’s good, isn’t it?”

You could, in fact, feel the tip of the faux cock dragging beneath your hand. That, however, was not what had you reeling with pleasure and arousal. No, it was her expression. She looked utterly enraptured by it. It made your body tremble, visibly shudder against the sheets.

“It’s…” You trailed off, groaning when she bottomed out, her thighs pressing against the backs of yours. “Sevika,” you mewled. Even when you whimpered her name, she couldn’t break away from that state. Instead, she let your hand slip free to grip the sheets again and placed her hand back on your stomach.

She set a slow rhythm, much unlike her typical rough and unhinged pace, more focused on enjoying the show of it than pleasing you, at least until she heard your soft plea.

“Sevika, please,” you forced out between clenched teeth. The pressure against your insides was damn near excruciating. It felt as if you were teetering on the edge of bliss. You needed just a little more.

Sevika’s heavy-lidded gaze drifted up to your face. Though her smirk remained, her gray eyes softened at the sight of your distress. “What do you need, baby?”

“I- I need-” you struggled to speak, distracted by another gradual roll of her hips.

“Hm?”

You felt her press her thumb against the tip of the strap through your stomach and had you been in your right mind you would have vocally accused her of attempting to impede your ability to speak.

“Fuck,” you cursed, closing your eyes shut tight. Her sinister chuckle echoed in your head. She had definitely been fucking with you.

Deep breath in.

“I need more,” you huffed with the release of that breath.

“More what?”

Fucking sadistic cunt.

She knew how much you hated saying the specifics out loud. How fucking hard it was when she was working you up. But she also knew you loved it.

You loved everything about the damn woman smirking down at you while she waited for your answer.

“Fuck me faster,” you groaned, another drag along that sweet spot leaving you seeing stars.

“Forget your manners, princess?”

You peered up at her through narrowed eyes. Whatever malice you had behind that look was lost in how your face contorted in pleasure.

“ Please fuck me faster.”

With a satisfied chuckle, she quickened her pace.

While her hand remained pressed against your stomach, her thumb slid down to tease across your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your throat.

Despite your effort to bite back the sounds your body so desperately wanted to release, you quickly lost that battle, succumbing to the pleasure that radiated through your body with each heavenly swipe of her thumb, each divine drag of her cock.

She must have sensed your approaching climax, her pace suddenly increasing and her metal claws sinking deeper into your hip.

The sound of the headboard smacking violently against the wall was lost to your mewls and moans- her grunts and heavy breaths.

And then- time slowed, your body stilling when all that build-up finally exploded in mind-numbing pleasure. You sobbed her name, barely getting out the last sweet syllable before all your breath left your body in a shuddering gasp.

“That’s it, pretty baby, let it all out.”

Your lover’s voice was merely a low hum in your head, the last waves of your orgasm still wreaking blissful havoc on your body.

Then, just as quick as it came, it was gone, leaving you in a daze. Sevika must have come to a stop at some point, you realized when you peeled your eyes open to gaze up at her.

She wore that damn lopsided grin- the cocky one she always has after she fucks you senseless. And senseless you were, brain damn well useless, empty of any and all thoughts other than how fucking wonderful Sevika was. That, and how badly you wanted to touch her. The only point of contact you had with her was the tops of her thighs pressed against the back of yours, and her hands resting against your hip and stomach. You needed to hold her. To be held by her.

“Sev- please,” you panted softly, hand weakly reaching out for her.

Still smirking, she bent over your limp body, her flesh arm slipping beneath your back to scoop you up and hold you against her. As she carried you further up the bed toward the headboard, the faux cock shifted inside you, pulling whines from you that elicited a chuckle you could feel from where her chest pressed to yours.

She dropped you rather unceremoniously against the pillows, smiling like the sexy fucking sadist she is at how the protest you had ready to fire turned into a sharp gasp when she pulled the strap out without warning.

“You’ve got to warn me when you do that!” you chastised, eyes narrowed on her.

She simply chuckled, slipped out of her harness, and tossed it aside. “I don’t have to do anything, princess,” she sneered.

Before you could fire back, she was over you, mouth pressed to yours in a deep kiss that took your breath and left your head spinning. You pulled your legs up, spreading them to give her room to kneel between them. She rested her metal arm beside your head, the soft whirring of its fan a distant echo in your fuzzy consciousness. Her other hand slid up along one of your thighs, fingertips sinking possessively into the supple flesh.

You tangled your fingers in her soft hair. You felt her knee press against your exposed core and your lips parted to moan softly, allowing her to slip her tongue inside and run along yours.

When she finally released your lips from hers, there was little time to recover as her mouth moved down your jaw and neck, biting and sucking marks into every inch of skin along her path. Lips barely grazing your ear, she whispered, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Had she not already washed away your irritation with her earlier harsh treatment, it certainly would have faded in that instant. Your heart swelled, damn near bursting from your chest.

Your dynamic mostly consisted of witty banter, quips, and jabs. They were typically fairly well-matched, but she had a tendency to win by cheating. She knew what buttons to push, or rather touch, to have you forget any and all coherent thoughts. You both thoroughly enjoy it, and you both knew it was just your odd way of showing your interest in one another, that you both were actually head over heels for the other. However, in rare moments like this, Sevika would say out loud what she was actually thinking. And it left you absolutely floored every single time.

“You know-” you started quietly, pausing to clear your throat, afraid she’d detect that you were getting a bit choked up, “-I could say the same to you.”

She hummed against your neck while pressing more kisses there.

You two really were a gorgeous couple, you thought.

"Imagine what our children would look like."

The moment those words left your mouth you knew it was a fatal mistake, but there was no taking it back. Your heart sank to your stomach and Sevika’s lips paused against your skin.

Oh fuck!

She slowly lifted her head, a single brow raised as she peered down at you.

Oh dear god, say something to fix this!

“I- I mean not that I would have kids with you.” you spat out.

Sevika’s brow raised higher.

“I mean not that I wouldn’t want to- with you. I-”

Oh god, just shut up. You’re just digging a deeper grave.

“Not that I want to either. I- I mean honestly I haven't really thought about it. With you. Or anyone. I mean we couldn't technically...” Your cheeks burned hotter than the fucking sun the more you fumbled your words.

The corner of Sevika’s mouth twitched.

Sensing some sort of snark that would leave you wanting to just bury your head somewhere and never let her see your face again, you tried to further explain. “I just thought, like if we did, not that we would, or wouldn’t, that they’d be really cute and-”

Your nonsensical rambling was finally cut off by the soft press of Sevika’s lips to yours. She kept her mouth there, in a gentle kiss, her hand gently caressing your thigh, until you realized she wasn’t upset or planning to obliterate you with a mocking comment. Your heart rate finally settled and she pulled back from the kiss just far enough to look into your worried eyes.

You searched her face for any sign, any warning of what she might be thinking. All you found was the corner of her mouth curling upward.

Please let that be a good sign.

"IF we had children, they would be beautiful."

Oh gods, the way she looked at you as she said that– even with that damn smirk, those gray eyes sparkling while they watched you- spoke louder than anything. She was complimenting you. A shy smile spread across your face. You reached up to wrap your fingers around her bicep and whispered, “And strong.”

"And cunning."

"And cute." You emphasized the word with a peck to the tip of her nose.

"And great in bed," she added with a cocky smirk.

"Whoa, now that's just weird. We’re talking about our kids here. But are you saying I'm great in bed?!" you laughed.

"I'm saying I'm so damn good it would make up for your lacking." She grinned wider, revealing her tooth gap and making the snarky comment considerably less effective.

“Cute and annoying,” you replied with a barely contained smile as you pressed your hands against her shoulders and attempted to shove her off you.

She was too fast for you though. Not that it should have surprised you. With no effort whatsoever, she grabbed both your wrists into one hand and pinned them above your head. "Very annoying," she sneered.

To your surprise, rather than tease or mock you for your failure, she brought her lips to yours again.

You could feel the wide spread of her lips against yours, and couldn’t help but smile just as wide.

CH2>>

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika x reader #fanfic #honey writes #ran #arcane ran

194 notes · View notes

poppadom0912 · 9 months

Note

Hi! You have so many good Chicago stories! I had an idea for a Will Halstead fic, if you'd be interested... OC/Reader is a nurse at Med, she and Will are a (newish?) couple. She has been sick or hurt, but isn't telling Will, to avoid worrying him - Sharon (or someone) has been on his ass, for something he didn't do of course, but he's been under a microscope, so she doesn't want to bother or distract him - until she passes out or ends up in an OR (depending on the illness/injury) and he finds out after the fact... Heavy on the angst is always good ;)

A/N: I'm a sucker for angst. Hope this is good enough. I tried researching as accurately as possible but there might be inaccuracies.

I'm posting this is celebration of not failing my exams which means no resitting! I didn't get the high grades I wanted but we move on. Enjoy!! Hope this is good enough.

Warnings: Canon-typical injuries, blood, angst w a happy ending, surgery

*****

Becoming a nurse was inevitable for you because it was the next best thing after a doctor and you didn't want to go through all those extra years of learning and debt.

You were born with a congenital heart defect as a result of your mother poorly caring for her diabetes during pregnancy. All your life, your parents had been on top of your health, always dragging you to specialists and making sure you were still taking your meds.

You moved states several years ago and now you weren't constantly reminded of the defect you were born with.

There were times though when you did get forgetful and Will never complained about your bad trait that you couldn't handle, he shrugged it off and made sure your health was one hundred percent.

Your relationship was in the honeymoon phase, six months in you were both decently comfortable. Everyone was aware of your relationship but you both agreed to keep work at work and home at home.

Recently, Will was under extra scrutiny from Sharon because of a small incident that happened in the ED when his brother rolled up bleeding from his shoulder. No one could blame him for his reaction, it was completely justified but that hospital were being asses and wouldn't let go.

Following this, your interactions at work decreased at your suggestion to make things a little easier for him. And at first, it was working but then it just got straight up frustrating.

All of a sudden, following the intense summer heatwave, everyone's workload doubled and your hours never lined up. You'd be leaving and he'd be preparing for his second double shift of the week.

And things only got worse from there. You were so busy because of the nurse shortages that your priorities began shifting, your health dwindling down the list.

But no one needed to know that.

*****

Week One

"And that's me done, you ready to break?" Will asked, setting aside the tablet on the desk. You both took your breaks together as much as you could, any time you could get together you would take.

"Yes I am." You nodded, slipping your hand into his as you began walking out of the ED. "I remember someone promising coffee from the cart outside."

Will chuckled, rolling his eyes at the reminder of the expensive coffee sitting outside that you loved. Just as he was going to reply, Maggie shouting your name stopped him.

Sighing, your heart felt heavy both figuratively and literally. With a sheepish smile, you pecked him on the cheek with a promise to catch him later on during shift.

Not being able to get a word in, Will simply watched you scurry off to help the next incoming patient, leaving him to change directions towards the cafeteria.

*****

Week two

You should've been more attentive but being short of breath after a run wasn't uncommon. It was early morning and Will's side of the bed was empty so you took what used to be a daily run alone.

As the day progressed, you started feeling tired and your fatigue progressed. It should've been the first sign to you that you needed to slow down and take care of yourself but the next shooting in Chicago just couldn't wait.

"Y/N, are you okay?" April asked, standing besides you with a new file in hand. "You look pale."

"I'm fine." You assured her, nodding as you licked your drying lips. "And before you ask, Will doesn't know and doesn't need to be interrupted, he has a patient in the ICU."

April backed away apprehensively, always trying to check up with you whenever time permitted. Maybe she was also to blame for not being more forceful with her concerns.

It wasn't her fault that she forgot you had a heart disease.

*****

Week three

"I love you so much." You muttered against his forehead before stepping away to leave the dark bedroom.

Will stirred slightly at the contact, shifting under the covers and further messing up his curls you so badly wanted to delve your fingers into but you were on a time crunch.

Just as you were leaving the room, your chest clenched, pain suddenly overtaking you. Clutching onto the door frame, your grip slacked and your bag dropped causing Will to wake up.

"What's wrong?" Will asked in his half awake state, completely disheveled. He was blinking the sleep away while he turned to you and tried to see what was wrong but failed due to severe sleep deprivation.

"Are you okay? What happened?" He continued, voice hoarse like it usually was after a deep sleep

For some reason, you struggled to form words, your chest feeling as though it was being stabbed repeatedly.

And for some reason, you couldn't come up with a logical excuse and you stupidly left without a word to your lover.

*****

Week four

You couldn't ignore it anymore.

It felt like your body was starting to give up on you. You were constantly tired and out of breath and the chest pains never let up, at times, they even doubled and felt worse than the worst of your period cramps.

The biggest flashing red warning sign should've been when you fainted in the bathroom after your shower.

You came home shattered from your 24 hour shift. Just as you walked in the door, Will was leaving for his 48 hour shift. At this point, you really felt like the world was against you.

You were kinda like roommates more than romantic partners. You were barely at home together and at work, you tried to keep interactions to a minimum after the small incident that the board was elevating ridiculously.

Waking up on the bathroom rug, your body felt numb almost paralysed. It was like what movies described comas to be but your chest was still pulsating in pain.

You weren't being a really good nurse because you simply got up, drank some water and ate some food before sleeping it off.

*****

Week five

The silence was suffocating.

The two of you finally got more than two minutes together but words somehow failed you.

With droopy eyes and furrowed brows, your hands itched to grab the blue scrubs covering your chest. If it wasn't for your boyfriend sitting opposite you, you would've been hunched over the sinks in the women's room.

"What's wrong?" It was a question but with that tone, it felt more like a demand. His two words hit you hard, your eyes dragging from the table up to his big brown eyes filled with nothing but eternal love and concern. "And don't say nothing cause that's clearly bullshit."

And for some reason, you flinched.

Licking your chapped lips, you scrunched your eyes closed at the pain encasing your heart. Despite being back on your medication, the pain didn't cease.

"Y/N? Baby-"

"CODE SILVER. CODE SILVER IN THE ED."

*****

Today

For the past week, Will was hypervigilant about his work. Peter kalmik was never his biggest fan so it didn't help he was constantly making his presence known along with the more power holding board members.

You hated how he no longer fought his case and he just conformed, keeping his head buried in the sand and distanced himself from those he cared about.

It got to such a point that when Jay came in with only work intentions, Will physically forced himself to stay well away.

You were so caught up in your concern for him that you neglected your medication on the kitchen counter.

The pain today all of a sudden increased tenfold in the middle of shift. You were helping Doris turn over a treatment room, listening as she talked about her family drama that you loved to hear about when you felt the world come to an abrupt stop.

Before you knew it, breath escaped you and darkness enveloped you.

“Y/N?!” Doris shouted, going around the bed and crouching down besides your unconscious body.

As she started checking your pulse and your breathing, Connor ran in with Maggie in tow having witnessed you fall from the nurses desk.

In a flurry of rushed movements, you were placed on a bed as your friends searched for the cause of your unconscious state. Out of the blue, Maggie spoke up, reminding everyone of your heart condition.

Equipped with the new but old information, the cardiothoracic surgeon was now more than confident he was able to help you.

"Whose her emergency contact? Is it still her parents or has it been changed to Will?" Connor asked the charge nurse as they started wheeling the gurney towards the elevators. They needed to get you into surgery as soon as possible before you deteriorated.

"Good question."

"Page him anyways."

"Already on it."

*****

"I'm a horrible boyfriend."

"No you're not."

"All the signs were there and I missed them."

"We did too."

"I know Connor is one of the best but what if-"

"I'm going to stop you right there." Maggie cut him off, looking at him sternly, eerily resembling the face of a mother telling off her child. "This is no ones fault and you know that, stop punishing yourself for something no one could control."

Will opened his mouth to interject but stopped himself when Maggie held her hand up. "Yes, maybe Y/N should've taken better care of herself but as a doctor, you know that this surgery was inevitable anyways."

"It's better that she was already in the hospital and not home alone where no one would've noticed till you finished in another eight hours." Maggie continued, being more gentle as she got her point across. She was just as concerned but for everyone else's sake, she could be their pillar.

"Look at her Will." Maggie said, gently rubbing him on the back, hopefully bringing him some comfort. "She's in the best hands."

And of course Will knew that, he wouldn't say it to Connor's face but the man was a heck of a surgeon. There was no one else he would want operating on you but he was simply unnerved to no end.

He couldn't wipe off this icky feeling he had. It lurked around him like a shadow and stuck to him like a stain. He felt like a failure - he was unable to help you as both a doctor and a boyfriend - what good was he?

News spread of your collapse around the hospital and as an automatic response, the hospital board stepped metres away from Will, almost like he was sick with a deathly contagious disease.

It was so stupid that it was funny.

Will wanted to rip his hair out. How he was even standing watching your surgery was beyond him right now. He felt sick to his stomach at the sight of your chest cracked open, your heart just there for the world to see.

He never felt so useless before.

*****

Waking up was one of the most confusing scenarios you've ever been in. The last thing you remembered was being in the ED with Doris before blinking and the next thing you knew, you were waking up in recovery.

Your body felt like the heaviest gym weights were sat on you. Your mouth unbelievably dry as your eyes squinted in the dim lighting, trying to look around the room for any sign of life.

And right by your bedside, sleeping in a very awkward position was the man you considered the love of your life.

It must've been the movement of your head, you literally turning your head less than 90 degrees that woke him up because without any further prompting, Will was no longer dead to the world.

Instantly, he was alive and alert, no trace of sleep anywhere on his face as he made eye contact with you.

He felt as light as a feather to see you awake, the biggest weight being lifted off his chest from the relief that nothing went wrong despite knowing Connor made no mistake at all.

"Pulmonary valve stenosis." Was the first thing Will said, easily recognising the confusion painting your face. "Connor put in a balloon. They'll keep you for probably a week to monitor you to see if you need a valvotomy."

You hummed, letting him know that you understood everything he told you without talking. Somehow, without even looking at him, he knew and brought forth a cup with a straw in, holding it to your mouth allowing you to sip easily.

"I'm so sorry Y/N." Will said earnestly, his eyes shimmering as he intertwined your fingers with his. "I wasn't paying enough attention to you otherwise-"

"Stop." You interrupted him, voice still slightly hoarse from not using it. "Blaming yourself helps no one."

"What's done is done." You continued, squeezing his hands when he squeezed yours first. "I'm really the one to blame. If I took care of myself and did something when I first was having problems then we wouldn't be here."

Silence followed, the only sound being the constant beeping from all the machines attached to you.

"Never faint on me again, you hear me?"

"Can't promise you that babes."

"Yes you can."

"You're hilarious Will."

"No, I'm being serious Y/N."

"Don't make me laugh, where's Connor Rhodes, my favourite doctor?"

"Very funny, I think I'll buy April expensive cart coffee next time."

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #onechicago #chicago med #will halstead imagine #will halstead x reader #will halstead #will halstead x you #will halstead fanfic #will halstead x y/n

155 notes · View notes

lizardsfromspace · 10 months

Text

Ben Chatham was too niche to ever become known outside one forum but it's the My Immortal of Doctor Who. It was a series starring the writer's self-insert companion, Ben Chatham, and I guess it started with his fanfic version of series 2 (not sure if it's still online anywhere, but there's a summary), where Jackie dies of cancer bc the author thought chavs shouldn't be allowed on Doctor Who & the Doctor murders a hamster. His stories are full of random grim moments, and no one is ever heroic, since everyone just dies until UNIT can save the day. Ben Chatham is gay and a military-loving Tory. He reintroduced Adam and Jack over the course of the season bc he didn't like writing women doing or saying things and bc he felt Rose was too lower class to be allowed on television

I think I first learned about him when he posted his pitch for Matt Smith's first story:

"Martha Jones is walking down the cobbled street of the Cornish village of Little Bampton towards the local Inn, pondering why UNIT had sent her to investigate the strange sightings nearby and disappearances. Since entering into full time investigative work for UNIT in the UK following the events of Journey’s End she had never been so bored by a case. Nothing has happened in the three weeks that she had been in the village and she found the locals distasteful and she suspected some of the older ones were rather prejudiced.

Suddenly there is a familiar sound and she sees the TARDIS materialise in front of her. She grins excitedly as the door is flung open: “DOCTOR……….OH” she shouts as instead of the Doctor, a slip youth with floppy hair emerges, dressed in jeans and a casual jacket. “Who are you? Wheres the Doctor” she exclaims. “Hey babe, I’m like the Doctor. I’ve regenerated like. Wow its great to see you again. Wicked!”Martha is perturbed:

“But you’re so….. So much younger.” “Yay its great to be a kid again. I’m like so gonna get a myspace page. You look great in that jacket babe, I’ve like SO got the hots for you. Hows about we get up close and personal on the TARDIS double bed.” The Doctor coyly lets his floppy hair descend over his eyes."

There's a lot going on here, but my fave parts are picturing Matt Smith saying "Hey babe, I'm like the Doctor" and the fact that Martha internally refers to the events of Journey's End as the events of Journey's End. I've accepted ever since that Martha Jones can sense episode titles; she was just out there living her life until she suddenly sees a vortex and the words "THE STOLEN EARTH" floating in the air and groans at having to do this again

Also, in the Chatham canon, Martha hates going on adventures and loves to whine and do nothing. Just like everyone else. Meanwhile the Eleventh Doctor is a horny freak who wants to fuck and post to MySpace. Both of them despise poor people

This story also features the Russian mob whose leader, named Ivan, has henchmen named Ivan, bc he could only think of one Russian name.

Was the writer of this serious or a troll? We will never know. Certainly he was surrounded by trolls. He got an entire subforum quarantining promoting his stories, and there were fanfics of his fanfic, made by trolls whose sincerity was also, for many years, in doubt (they were trolls)

What we do know is that the writer repeatedly insisted it was canon, and wrote a letter to Doctor Who Magazine demanding more coverage of his OC. They sent him a lengthier letter he posted on forum but in the magazine all they said was

"Er…who?"

Which just about sums it up

#doctor who #long post

202 notes · View notes

mahs-dumpster · 8 days

Text

"Happy 100th anniversary"

a/n: this is soooo self indulgent please. It's a vignette (written only in dialogue) for Daisy's (my Yuu) birthday jacket card that I just made! I'll be linking it here once I edit this post!

cw: oc x canon (Ruggie x Daisy; they're established to be in a relationship and Daisy has already made her decision to stay in twisted wonderland); dialogue heavy; poor attemps at making this look like a fake translation from a vignette bc I'm delulu

The template for the frames of the paintings can be found here.

Words: around 1k

Happy birthday, Daisy!!

Daisy: To think I'm able to visit a museum like this! I wonder what sort of paintings I'm going to see…

Daisy: I'm expecting to maybe recognize a few from the stories mom used to read to me… let's see if I actually can recognize them!

Daisy: I wonder… is she someone I'm aware of? A lady who constantly cleans her house…

???: That's the princess who inspired the glass slippers you always wear.

Daisy: Huh? Oh, Ruggie! I thought you were all the way on the other side of the museum!

Ruggie: I was, but then I met Trey and we kinda ended up wandering around until I got here.

Ruggie: What a coincidence that I found you looking at the painting of the lady who inspired your favorite shoes, shishishi~

Daisy: I guess it is a fun coincidence. Oh, right! Would you mind explaining more about her to me?

Ruggie: Fine! But don't go walking around telling people I've gone soft…

Daisy: No need to worry, I wouldn't even dream of it.

Ruggie: *sigh* anyway… This lady is the princess that inspired your shoes, do you know the story behind it?

Daisy: Sam only explained to me that the princess who wore them danced with them until midnight… so I guess I don't know much more than that.

Ruggie: Right. Legend says she was an orphan who was forced by her stepmother to become basically a servant.

Ruggie: She cleaned the house all day everyday, was forced to hear awful things by her step family and when she wanted to go to a ball her stepsisters tore down her dress.

Ruggie: A Fairy Godmother – well, her Fairy Godmother – decided to help her get to a ball, she gave her a gown, a carriage and everything!

Ruggie: the Prince fell in love with her almost immediately and when she ran away and left her glass slipper fall, he tried it on every lady in the kingdom to find out who his beloved was. Then they got married and she never saw her family again.

Daisy: That’s basically the story of Cendrillon.

Ruggie: What? Oh– one of the fairytales from your world?

Daisy: Yes. I’ve always admired her story, I reread it a lot growing up because I related to her.

Ruggie: Ah… you did say your stepmother treated you horribly.

Daisy: She… treated me as best as she could.

Ruggie: Which wasn't anywhere near good enough.

Daisy: Haha… I guess you're right.

Daisy: What I mean is just… she treated me badly, but I don't hold grudges.

Daisy: Whatever she's doing, I forgive her. And now that I'm somewhere better and living a happier life… I hope that her and her children manage to grow as people.

Daisy: That's what my mother taught me.

Ruggie: …sometimes I really do wonder how I fell for such a goody-goody.

Daisy: W-what’s that supposed to mean?

Ruggie: I’m just saying, you're way too naive and nice to forgive someone like that.

Ruggie: if it were me, I’d never forgive them. No way someone's gonna step all over me and I'll forgive them.

Daisy: because that's exactly what you did to Leona-senpai, huh?

Ruggie: besides the point.

Daisy: Ruggie, isn't this painting depicting that story you told me about? The ones about the dogs sharing spaghetti?

Ruggie: Oh, that one, yeah! I didn't know they actually painted the scene, who would've thought.

Daisy: They're so adorable, I see now how romantic this is.

Ruggie: I guess? It's still just spaghetti…not only that but it's outside in the middle of the night. I guess for dogs it would be cool but for people? I’d honestly just be excited because it's free food.

Daisy: Oh, come on now! This is super romantic! It's a candlelight dinner under the night sky!

Daisy: If someone did that for me, I know I’d be pretty happy and satisfied.

Ruggie: You’re just trying to convince me to ask you on a date, aren't you?

Daisy: …

Ruggie: Should’ve figured, shishishi!

Daisy: You can't blame a girl for trying, I’ve been pretty lonely these past few weeks since you’ve been working more than usual.

Daisy: But jokes aside, this right here is already enough. I’m already way less lonely just by walking around this museum with you, it's practically a date!

Ruggie: I don't think a date would consist of everyone from our school coming with us…

Daisy: You get what I mean…

Ruggie: Tell you what, once we get back I’m cooking us both some spaghetti and lighting some candles if that's what you’d like.

Ruggie: If my flower is feeling lonely then I better give her a proper date so she can feel loved, right?

Daisy: You really don't have to… but thanks. I would love to.

Ruggie: Ah, this one's actually a very famous painting, I’ve seen pictures of it around quite often.

Daisy: R-Really…?

Ruggie: What? You don't believe me?

Ruggie: It ties with Sunset Savannah’s history and with The King of Beasts’s story!

Daisy: Well, forgive me for not understanding the historical significance of a monkey holding a lion cub…

Ruggie: *sigh* Alright. Lemme explain.

Ruggie: This is a ceremony often done by members of royalty when a new child from the royal family is born.

Ruggie: It goes so far back even the lions from The King of Beasts’s story did that. They basically present the baby to everyone else in the kingdom… it's kinda hard to explain.

Daisy: Oh, I get it now!

Daisy: I see why it's so famous, seeing how it portrays an aspect of the royalty of Sunset Savannah.

Ruggie: Eh… I never went to one, as you can imagine.

Daisy: Never? Is it not open to the common folk?

Ruggie: Well yeah, but back when there was one for who I now know is Leona-san's nephew, I was trying to survive.

Ruggie: I didn't have the time to go to a ceremony just to watch a new baby I didn't care about being presented to the whole kingdom.

Ruggie: I’d learn about him regardless, so I just didn't care much.

Daisy: I guess that makes sense.

Daisy: Still, it must be super interesting to see it happening. How cute would it be to see a baby cub being shown to the entire world just like that, hahah!

Ruggie: Ah– sorry, before I got here I told Leona-san I’d go fetch something for him at the cafeteria in a few minutes… if I don't go now he’s gonna be pissed.

Daisy: Why didn't you tell me sooner?!

Ruggie: Well, ya know– it's impossible to resist spending time with you~

Daisy: Alright there, Romeo, enough! Go before he gets upset. I'll be looking around this area for a while more if you want to come back.

Ruggie: *sigh* ‘kay, I'll be off then!

Daisy: Hm? Ah, this is another painting of Cendrillon.

Daisy: She looks so much free... I'm happy she got her happy ending.

#💌! mah writes #💌! daisy #💌! daiggie #twisted wonderland #twst #oc x canon #twst oc #twst yuu #yuu twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi x yuu #twisted wonderland ruggie

47 notes · View notes

queer-ragnelle · 5 days

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you had any advice on how to craft a well-written, compelling Arthurian OC that isn't obnoxious or out of place but is still unique. I recognize the difficulty in doing so with so many different source texts (I'm most familiar with Le Morte, so that's usually my go-to) and the vast list of already existing characters. I'm just curious about your thoughts on the matter, since you're an author and also very knowledgeable about Arthuriana 💖

Hello there!

This is a tough question to answer! I think it's important to note that everyone will have a different opinion on this, but that shouldn't alter you writing your story how you want to. Some think adding any characters at all is too big of a change, while others write a full cast of original characters and then Merlin shows up randomly and makes the story "Arthurian."

I'm going to say something controversial.

Every Arthurian character is an OC.

Even King Arthur himself is an OC.

I'm going to elaborate on this quite a bit, as it's very important to me. But the TL;DR is that reading more will definitely help you conceptualize the boundaries of what's possible. Le Morte d'Arthur is a great start, but there's so much out there, both medieval and modern, that'll undoubtedly aid in your Arthuriana writing journey! :^)

While I do say things like "I love Arthurian OCs" as a means to convey that I view everyone's new creations as valid and interesting, I actually don't believe in a strong differentiation between Chretien de Troyes' Sir Lancelot or Marie of France's Sir Lanval and what you or I are writing today. We're participating in a tradition which can, at times, necessitate the creation of a new character or repurposing of an existing one. I think as soon as you create a character for your Arthurian story, they're an Arthurian character. Some refer to Lancelot or Galahad as "French OCs" or call Knight of the Cart or the Vulgate "fanfiction" as a means to degrade it's validity. Some seem to have an arbitrary timeline on which the full body of Arthurian works is measured, and the more recently something was written, the less authentic it becomes. I think they're wrong. I believe that whether or not we enjoy an installment in the ever expanding Arthurian tradition is irrelevant; it's all equally entitled to a measure of respect, even the new characters. No character or story is lesser than another by virtue of its age or language of origin or target audience or medium. I disdain the excess of scrutiny put upon certain arbitrary groupings of Arthurian tradition. Each story is full of original characters and building on the foundations of what came before. That's the nature of creative influence. Whether or not Arthur was a real person at some point in history is moot. The guy in the Mabinogion or the Vulgate or Le Morte d'Arthur or BBC Merlin is a character. He's a tool to tell a story. Such as your creation will be! Your brand new Arthurian character stands equally with all the rest who preceded them. :^)

Now, it can be helpful to distinguish between a medieval character and a modern one, sure, as they may represent different things depending on what point in history (or part of the world) they were created in. But Arthuriana isn't a franchise one must obtain express permission to contribute to, and it doesn't have a "canon," so therefore differentiating a character as "other" can be counter productive when developing a story. I don't believe Sir Robin from Monty Python and The Holy Grail (1975) or Brian from The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-1957) are any less valuable as characters, even if they do draw on traits of existing Arthurian motifs in order to commentate on them or otherwise expand. In fact I think they're great characters and serve their narrative roles beautifully. One simple and one complex. I recommend watching those to see how it's done well and that may help you develop your own characters. But I'll delve into it a bit here to illustrate what I mean.

Sir Robin carries the coat of arms of a chicken, he's a cowardly knight followed around by a troupe of musicians that sing songs about all of his exploits. That is, the things he's run away from. Rather than use an existing Arthurian character and degrading them, Monty Python developed Sir Robin in order to tell their joke.

The flipside is Brian, a bona fide kitchen boy, who attaches himself to Sir Lancelot and desires to squire for him. Brian's narrative purpose is to deconstruct the nobility in a way that Gareth Beaumains, whom Brian is plainly inspired by, could not. Brian begins as a true serf forced to endear himself to Sir Lancelot to elevate his station. Merlin forges papers of nobility to convince King Arthur that Brian is worthy of this privilege. Even after that, Brian must face the brutality of his fellows while living in the barracks with them, as they don't take kindly to a "smelly kitchen boy" in their midst, plotting to get Brian to incriminate himself as a thief and get evicted from Camelot by Sir Kay. This role is incongruous with Gareth as Sir Gawain's brother, who was always noble, always a prince, and merely cloaked himself in the guise of poverty to prove a point. Gareth could return to the comforts of wealth whenever it suited him and his reason for going stealth was to intentionally distance himself from that privilege. The character Brian exists in order to commentate on the injustice of the upper class's oppression and dehumanization of the lower class in a way Gareth, or even Tor, could not, as they are of noble blood, even if it came by way of reveal. That's why Brian is a great addition to the Arthurian tradition.

Really, it comes down to treating the creation of your new Arthurian character like you would developing one for any other work, one entirely separate from the tradition. If they're a good character, they're a good character! Try not to get hung up too much on whether or not they're going to mesh well with the rest of the cast. For centuries, writers have transformed historical figures into Arthurian characters. (See: King Mark of Kernow better known as the Cuckhold King from the Prose Tristan, Owain mab Urien better known as Sir Yvain from Knight of the Lion by Chretien de Troyes, Saint Derfel better known as Derfel Gadarn from The Warlord Chronicles by Bernard Cornwell, etc.)

Speaking of Prose Tristan, would anyone consider Sir Dinadan an OC? Or Sir Palomides? They're characters added to a story drawing from a much, much older tradition, and I think they enrich the story. I feel likewise about the many Perceval Continuations, including the German Parzival by Wolfram von Eschenbach, which adds a half brother named Sir Feirefiz, or names Chretien's anonymous haughty maiden Orgeluse. What about Sir Aglovale's son Moriaen in the Dutch tradition? Amurfina in German Diu Krone by Heinrich von dem Türlin? Morgan le Fay's daughter Puzella Gaia in Italian La Tavola Ritonda? Not to mention the countless Middle English additions. The Green Knight and his wife? Dame Ragnelle and Sir Gromer? Or how about everyone's favorite Savage Damsel, Lynette of Castle Perilous? Is she not a late-era addition to the tradition courtesy of the man, the myth, the legend, Sir Thomas Malory himself? And then here comes Tennyson, who read Le Morte d'Arthur, and got to the end of dear Gareth Beaumains' story and had the same reaction we all did: "What the hell? He marries her sister?" And then he went about changing that in Idylls of the King. Speaking of Lynette, what's up with her niece Laurel? She's just a name on a page, the vast majority of retellings choose to ignore her, even if they do keep Lynette and Lyonesse. Laurel can scarcely be called a character, after all. She doesn't even have dialogue. So as I've gone out of my way to make her a prominent, fully developed character, with her own culture and back story and motivations, does that make her an OC of mine? And Henry Newbolt who included Laurel in his play Mordred: A Tragedy. And Sarah Zettel, who wrote from Laurel's point of view in Camelot's Blood. We did all the work, but we threw an Arthurian name on the character, so therefore, she isn't ours? But if we changed her name, she would be? Who gets to decide?

All of the Arthurian characters belong to all of us. That's the beauty of writing in a long-standing tradition, which exists apart from all other forms of writing. We have complete creative liberty to do what we want and refer to it how we want and no person or corporation or anyone can dictate otherwise. The intellectual property of Arthuriana belongs to the people. So invent a brand new wife for Gawain, and well, you're only the millionth author to do it! Just make sure she's an interesting character and that's literally the only requirement. Can't wait to meet her. (And all others you create!)

Have a great day!

#arthurian legend #arthurian legends #arthuriana #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #writing #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #ask #merilles

32 notes · View notes

x-liv25-jamieswife · 20 days

Note

Grayson enemies to lovers hc?

grayson enemies to lover head canons

sure! i don't think this will be very long bc i don't really have any ideas and i'm not good with oc's/reader hcs. you also didn't specify if you want the other character to be a man or woman so i'll just refer to the character as 'them'. this is really bad and cliche. im sorry T-T.

i just know he'd be like cardan in the cruel prince (if you know what that is) when he kept writing jude's name on this piece of paper (basically, he'd hate them but wouldn't be able to stop thinking about them).

he'd do the biggest background check on them. he'd hire 10 private investigators to make sure they're not going to kill his family.

he'd call them something like sweetheart (or anything else) in a condescending way if you get what i mean

the other character would call him smth like 'love' to annoy him or smth meaner like 'asshole'

the other character would outsmart him all of the time, but grayson would be too prideful to admit it so he'd just ignore them or stare at them weirdly.

i imagine the love interest being quite funny and being the type of person to crack jokes. they make grayson smile but he always hides it. he never admits to it when someone brings it up.

they would be the only person capable of getting a rise out of grayson. he never swears unless they provoke him.

i don't think grayson is the type of person to not apologize when he does smth wrong. although he hates them, if he says/does smth really shitty and uncalled for, he would apologize

i can see the 'who did this to you' trope happening, but grayson is the one to get hurt (somehow got in a fight or was ambushed by some people who wanted to kill him), not the other character

grayson would consider himself in debt after the other character helped him with his wound. he'd end up doing some digging and finding out that the other character wishes to travel to europe cause they never got the chance to. he'd buy them a plane ticket and book them a room at a super expensive hotel to some place.

nothing extravagant ends up happening before they confess that they love each other. it's more of a slow build up. they'll be sitting next to each other at night (why, its up to you to imagine that), and one character (im thinking the love interest is saying this, but it could also the grayson) will go 'i think i might be falling in love with you' really quietly.

the other person ends up ignoring them for days bc they love the other person too but they're scared of what might happen if they give in. eventually, though, they talk it out and get together.

even when they become lovers, they still call each other sweetheart and asshole sometimes bc it reminds them of how petty they used to be when they were younger.

late at night, one day, they'll be lying in bed and they'll start talking about what made them fall in love with the other person (a lot of tears were shed).

the love interest would constantly tease grayson about how petty, prideful, and untrustworthy he was. they'll be at an event talking to strangers when the love interest goes 'you remember when you hired 10 private investigator to do a background check on me?' and the people they're talking to just stare in shock and are slightly frightened.

this is probably the shittiest thing i've ever written but oh well T-T. i didn't want to not do it so here we are. im posting an averyjameson hcs post soon to make up for this shit.

#the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #avery grambs

38 notes · View notes

elvendorx · 10 months

Note

The Remus and Sirius height discourse has become so loaded. Today I saw a post claiming that viewing Sirius as taller than Remus means that one supports jkr? (What?)

Canonically, Sirius is taller than Remus. That's just a fact. And I understand that some people don't care about canon, and that's cool!! But even if you don't give a flying fig about canon, that does not make the view that Remus is taller than Sirius any more valid than the reverse, and you can't go around telling other people that they are wrong, or worse, bad people for not agreeing with a version of the character that exists in your head?

Look I get that it would be annoying to have people inject an "ahem actually..." on posts that are clearly based on headcanons. I get that. But that is the natural consequence of taking the names/tags of characters from popular fandoms and using them for your own OCs, and the fact that these fans jump to "they must be horrible people!" as opposed to "they might be confused about my relationship with canon" is... something.

As someone who is neurodivergent, I find that the fandom that claims to love diversity has very little tolerance for people who don't understand the unwritten rules about when canon is and isn't allowed to be used as a reference point. (Somehow, we still hate Snape because canon, but all other canon is garbage?) Sorry for the rant, I'm just tired and confused.

don't be sorry at all, i think this kind of thing needs to be talked about because at its worst, this rhetoric is an attempt at emotional manipulation and censorship. nobody is ever going to 100% agree even with the exact same words on a page - this is the entire literary criticism field, most of the time variation in readings are a good thing but this isn't even a "reading", because it has no bearing on the characters, they just are or aren't a certain height, so it becomes a tool for personal agendas - "if you think sirius was tall, you're a fascist". even though those two facts are not connected, because sirius' height is never anything more than a physical description of him. and it's glaringly obvious that the people who fixate on this aren't interested in sirius as a character, just as a vehicle for their own fantasies/validation.

this is the problem that comes from people trying to put dynamics & personalities that they want to see onto characters who don't fit those moulds. the height thing doesn't actually matter, it doesn't change anything in the narrative, but it summarises the attitude towards canon which for me summarises critical reading & reading comprehension as a whole within hp fandom. i don't think canon is perfect and i don't think it's sacred but i don't understand why you would engage with something that you have to twist out of recognition in order to enjoy it.

part of the fun of fandom, for me, is finding the limits and boundaries while maintaining recognition. at the very least, even if you change everything else, character has to be consistent. you have to recognise who you're working with otherwise what are you doing here? other authors are writing and have written exactly what you want, so why do you need this character with a history and motivations and a distinctive personality to be the ideal version of you/the partner you want (because lbr, that's it!). i'm not saying that people can't use their imaginations and bend things, i do it, and people can do that by bending characters out of recognition if they want. i don't get any enjoyment out of that or see the point in it but i'm not going to try and stop people. it's the flagrant dismissal of logic and evidence that i think is a more dangerous stance when applied more widely.

it's ALWAYS the people who want remus to be taller and sirius to be tiny who have 10 million personal reasons why they need it to be that way around despite it being clear that sirius is specifically tall, and remus is of such average and nondescript height that it's never mentioned. it's nobody else's responsibility to validate anyone's projections onto a fictional character, and your personal reasons for wanting a character to behave in a way that they wouldn't isn't anybody's responsibility. i don't think these kind of people see the irony in how they're trying to force their view on everyone else even though there's direct contradiction to it, yet are claiming that people who go with that feature from the text are violent fanaticists or something.

when you question why it makes such a difference to the "big strong remus and baby boi sirius" people, it comes down to "it's cuter" or "it allows me to simplify m/m relationships into tough and cute and use physical attributes as symbols rather than thinking complexly about personality traits and dynamics." the height thing is basically one step away from top/bottom discourse and just because someone identifies as queer or relates to a character doesn't make it unproblematic. if you need to see a character who represents your specific circumstances, find one or make an original one, imo. it's not an entire fandom's job to validate individuals and it's manipulative to suggest that someone else seeing a character according to the way that character is explicitly described is an act of hatred or violence or something.

apologies if this turned into a rant of its own - i don't CARE that sirius is tall but the attitude towards minor, basic facts is wild to me. it makes no difference to me but idk why you would take being taller than snape away from sirius bc he clearly enjoys being able to tower over him. if i did want to argue that sirius' height makes a difference in the text, i'd say that sirius is tall because padfoot is also a large creature and there seems to be some kind of reflection of the human in animagus forms, whereas the whole werewolf thing is something inflicted externally rather than something that comes from within the person so remus' human height isn't reflected by his lycanthropy. but that's a whole other question i would have to research more.

#txtpst #fandom discourse #sirius black #remus lupin #height discourse #idk i will thank short sirius/tall remus ppl to just leave this alone ty :)

111 notes · View notes

icarusignite · 2 years

Text

An Eye for an Eye (part 1)

Pairing: Aemond x OC! Daenys Varyon-Targaryen

Summary: Daenys Velaryon-Targaryen is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. Having grown up beside Aemond Targaryen, she has become a friend, a companion, and eventually a beloved wife to him. But when the man she loves commits an unforgivable crime, she must choose between her beloved and her family.

parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / Future parts: MASTERLIST

A/N: I have seen so many edits of the scene where Vhagar chomps down on poor baby Lucerys and Aemond looks shaken and it got me in my feels so I thought I'd try my hand at my first fanfiction. Aemond is probably a bit OOC but I was craving regretful soft Aemond so here we are. This is also pretty canon divergent lol. This fic is also available on AO3

Word count: 1837

Daenys Targaryen walked the halls of the castle lost in thought. The past few days had been quite strenuous, with the death of her grandfather and the crowning of Queen Alicents son Aegon. Daenys yearned to return to Dragonstone to her mother, the rightful heir, and support her true claim. However, her access to the dragon pit had been forbidden and she was barely ever allowed to leave the castle unchaperoned. Someone was always watching her every move and she was beginning to feel stifled. Perhaps, she thought, a part of her stayed to try and convince her husband to join her mother's cause. It was a laughable thought really, because how could she of all people ever get Aemond to turn his back on his family?

They had been friends since childhood and when he had asked his father, the late King Viserys, to offer for her hand in marriage, Daenys was more than happy to accept, even if her mother was a little reluctant. Even her relationship with the Queen had once been one of companionship and tenderness, but the recent crowning of Aegon had placed a strain on their relationship. Daenys had once been Alicient's favourite of all of Rhaenyra's children, so much so that she had been the one to convince Rhaenyra regarding her betrothal to Aemond, speaking of alliances and powerful unions. It certainly helped that Daneys looked the part of a true Targaryen, unlike her beloved brothers whose parentage was always put into question. Perhaps, Alicent had taken advantage of Daenys's fondness for Aemond to keep her in King's Landing for a while longer as opposed to running off to Dragonstone to her mother. The royal family needed to present a united front during such a time of chaos.

As she reached the throne room, Daenys heard a commotion. There was yelling, a frustrated sigh, and then furious whispering. Daenys could barely make out the words but she could swear her name being said, along with her brother Lucerys's. Why would he be here, she wondered, but her heart raced with anticipation. Perhaps her mother had sent for her. The Hightowers couldn't very well keep her here if her mother officially summoned her and sent her brother to bring her back to Dragonstone.

With a skip in her step, she entered the throne room. However, her brother was nowhere to be seen and she was greeted by a strange scene. Otto Hightower and the dowager queen were engaged in heated whispers while Aegon sat on the iron throne laughing. Her eyes scanned the room and eventually landed on her husband. Aemond Targaryen looked lost. His eyepatch was missing, his eyes were wide in what looked like equal parts of disbelief and horror. His hair was mussed like he had just been out riding Vhagar. Something must have disturbed him while he was out, though Daenys couldn't think of a single thing that would possibly scare the mighty Aemond Targaryen. Worry gnawed at her either way as she rushed to his side to take his trembling hands in her own.

Her entrance silenced the entire room. Even Aegon halted his maniacal laughter. When the queen's eyes landed on her, they softened immediately. Aemond on the other hand froze and went pale. He refused to meet her eyes and pulled his hands away.

"Aemond are you alright?" she spoke gently, trying not to startle him further, "what's going on?"

At the sound of her voice, Aemond flinched. Aegon smirked.

"Tell her what happened. Go ahead. It is the best news I've heard in a long time," he crowed with pleasure.

At the sound of everyone's silence, Aegon laughed even louder.

"Daenys my dear, pay Aegon no mind. His majesty simply has too much on his mind. 'Tis nothing," Alicent said gently, coming over to put her hand comfortingly on Daenys's shoulder.

"Oh for God's sake, stop being such cowards. Tell her the truth. Why don't you tell her brother?" Aegon turned to Aemond. "Tell your beloved what you did to her brother!"

Daenys froze. Her brother? Is that why they were talking about him earlier? Had something happened to him? Her heart twisted as she tried to meet Aemond's eyes. Eyes that remained glued to the floor.

"My dear there's been an accident..." Alicent tried again before Aegon interrupted.

"Why let mother fight your battles against your lady wife Aemond? You seemed perfectly capable of fighting for yourself against that Strong Bastard. An eye for an eye was it then?"

Daenys's jaw dropped as she whirled towards Aemond with fury in her eyes.

"You fought with my brother? Why would you do that? Was that the accident then? Did you hurt him? Where is he now?"

"At the bottom of the..." Aegon stopped with a scowl as Aemond glared daggers at him.

"Your brother...uh he... he had an accident and unfortunately he didn't make it," Alicent whispered.

Oh.

All the fire went out inside of her and Daenys slumped to her knees on the floor. Aemond tried to approach her, speaking for the first time since she entered the room.

"Daenys, listen..."

She flinched away from his touch as he reached for her.

"Don't," she whispered, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

"Daenys please," he pleaded.

Aegon was clearly enjoying this. He grinned at his brother.

"We shall have a grand feast for you, Kinslayer. Finally rid of that bastard. As king perhaps I shall gift you the Driftmark seat. You may rule the seas you earned with your lady love," he winked.

Aemond's eyes remain fixed on Daenys as she slowly turned towards him.

"How... how did it..." she could barely get the words out.

"It was an accident, I swear it. I tried to stop Vhagar but she wouldn't listen. I promise it was an accident," Aemond insisted, still trying to reach for her, even as she pulled farther away.

"Oh quit being modest brother. Tell her how you earned the name Kinslayer. Finally going after the bastard who took your eye. You were even kind enough to give him the choice of carving out his own eye. A courtesy I remember he did not offer you. It was only after he so rudely denied you your repayment that you went after him. As king, I declare it to be a fair game to be sure," Aegon winked at Daenys, recounting the entire tale of how Aemond gave chase to Lucerys and his dragon in Storm's End. His grin grew wider as her expression grew more horrified.

"If you are too upset with my brother to warm his bed, you know where to find me, don't you? After all, it was his dragon that took a nice big bite out of your brother."

A strangled cry of horror and disbelief escaped Daenys's lips as she glared at Aemond.

"You are still on about that? After all these years, you still haven't let it go?"

"He took my eye!" Aemond protested.

"He was 5! A child!"

“And what of me? I was a child too. A child who lost his eye and had to live with this hideous disfigurement for the rest of my life!”

“I'm sorry for that. Truly I am. I even offered you my eye as retribution for what my brother did. He was a child and didn’t know better. That still didn’t give you the right to take his life.”

"I... I'm telling you it was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen like that. I just got angry and wanted to teach him a lesson. I gave chase only as a prank, to scare him a little. I didn't mean for him to get hurt."

"He was still a child Aemond! You chased my little brother and his baby dragon across Storm's End on that monstrosity you ride. What did you expect?" Daenys sobbed, tears now streaming down her face. "You killed him. You and your stupid giant brute of a dragon killed my baby brother!"

"Daenys, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen," Aemond pleaded. He knelt next to her and tried to take her into his arms as her entire body seemed to vibrate with grief and rage.

It hurt him to see her this way, coming apart at the seams. She pulled away from him violently, taking deep shuddering breaths.

"Stay the hell away from me!" she shrieked.

Aemond lowered his hands, chest aching. He looked at his mother beseechingly until she knelt beside Daenys.

"Shhhh my darling. It's going to be ok. I'm sorry. He's sorry. We're sorry," Alicent soothed.

"NO!" Daenys screamed. "It won't be alright. My brother is dead. My brother is dead!"

Daenys doubled over, her insides burning. She pressed her forehead against the cool marble of the throne room and willed it to swallow her. Great sobs wracked her body and she pushed away the multitudes of arms that tried to hold her, to pull her up and carry her away. Then it became hard to breathe and when she started choking on her own frenzied cries, she allowed herself to slip into the darkness that hovered just at the edge of her consciousness.

Alicent looked at the girl who lay slumped on the floor in pity. First, by crowning Aegon as King and now by killing one of Rhaenyra's sons, her family had officially broken any and all bonds with Rhaenyra’s. This meant war to be sure. She did feel sorry for Daenys though. She cared for the girl more than she cared to admit. She was the only one of the ladies at court who didn't give her son Aemond a hard time over his missing eye, who wouldn't look at him with fear or disgust. She had always been kind to him, and Alicent knew her son's heart belonged wholly to the girl. It was a pity that it had come to this. While the girl herself posed no real threat to Alicent or the crown, especially as Aemond's bride, her family did.

"Take your wife up to your room Aemond. She needs to rest, the poor girl has worn herself out," Alicent gestured to Daenys's limp body that lay at their feet.

Aemond gathered her up in his arms as carefully as he could and made his way to their shared room. He looked at her with eyes full of remorse. He never meant to hurt her like this. He supposed the cruel part of him wanted to hurt Lucerys, but the part of him that loved Daenys was far greater and so all he was left with was a feeling of emptiness and self-loathing. He wondered if they could ever come back from this. If she would ever forgive him for this crime. He wondered if he even deserved her forgiveness.

As he gently tucked her into bed, he couldn't resist placing a gentle kiss upon her troubled brow. She whimpered in her slumber.

"I'm sorry Daenys."

501 notes · View notes

galacticwildfire · 2 years

Text

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic | Alicent Hightower

One

Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!oc

Their fathers sworn enemies, Viserra and Alicent should never have been as close as they were, yet it was a connection neither could fight. What began as an innocent girlhood companionship becomes something scandalous, with the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen showing her true colours. As the dance begins she finds herself torn between her loyalty to her house and her love for her father. Yet neither hold a candle to her forbidden love for the new queen, a love which threatens to destroy them both.

Word count : 6600

A/N: this chapter is set during episode one, setting up the tone for the rest of the story. For hotd/got stories I do not typically use tags unless it is for severe content warnings, all violence and themes will align with that in canon.

A year it's been since I've stepped foot in Kings Landing. So long has passed since my father decided to take me on one of his adventures to Dorne and then across the narrow sea, to show me the ruins of old Valyria with my own eyes, only to return for the heir's tournament.

Except despite his insistence, it is not his tournament, but that of the king's unborn child. I can only imagine how Rhaenyra must feel as the king's daughter, because gods do I know how my father is taking it as the king's brother. If he were to be disinherited by a baby boy he may just kill it himself.

"Now," Father begins as we walk through the gates of the Red Keep, our dragons returning to the Dragonpit for the first time in so long. "If that cunt of Hightower makes even a single comment I want to know."

"It's Otto Hightower, of course he will," I reply, knowing the reason he decided to take me and leave. Otto Hightower made the mistake of complaining to the king that I am of too low a status to be seen with his daughter. Something my father did not take well to. "He's a cunt by nature, you can't win them all over."

"I don't have any desire to win him over, what I desire is to cut his tongue out for calling my only daughter a bastard."

"Except I am a bastard," I remind him, the very words Viserys told him. "His tongue cannot be cut out for speaking the truth."

"A legitimised bastard, I made sure of that," he reminds me in return. "My brother knew he'd have hell to pay if he didn't give you the Targaryen name and legitimise you, especially after I named you in his honour. Don't forget that when you walk through the Red Keep you are my heir and a fucking dragon rider. You are above the likes of Otto Hightower."

"It's not hard to be above him," I remark and say "I'll just be glad to see Rhaenyra and Alicent."

He groans. "You truly wish to run around with that girl knowing who her father is?"

"Alicent is sweet," I dismiss, immediately protective. "It's hardly her fault who her father is."

"That may be true but she is utterly boring," he remarks and I roll my eyes. "Rhaenyra is the one you ought to be close with."

"If I recall I was inseparable with both before the kingsguard had to stop you from cutting Otto's tongue out in the small council chamber."

"And I'd do it again."

"In that case I'll happily run around with Alicent and Rhaenyra," I tell him. "They are the closest thing I have to sisters, I will not let insults take that from me."

"Yes well, as long as Otto doesn't like it I'm fine with it," he allows and reminds me. "Now don't let them keep Darkfyre in the pits for too long, she's growing fast out of captivity. I give it only a few years and she'll be as large as Caraxes." He looks towards the throne room. "You go settle in, I'll see you after."

He leaves me to my own devices, and the first place I go is to the queens chambers to see her, it's only by chance they are both there as well.

"Your grace, the Lady Viserra."

As I'm announced they all look to me in surprise, but it is a happy one.

Rhaenyra immediately jumps up to hug me, followed by Alicent, and I look over their shoulders to Aemma, sitting up with a hand resting on her belly.

"I was starting to worry your father would never bring you back," she says and reaches out her hand. "Come here child, let me see you." She smiles as I come over. "You look like Jeyne more every day."

Jeyne. My mother. A lady in waiting to Aemma when she was first brought to court from the Vale. I know well enough it was not love what happened between her and my father, for he left her at the first mention of pregnancy and returned for me after she had died in the childbed. But before then Aemma had promised my mother she would care for me, and she has.

"How are you faring?" I ask her, noticing her discomfort.

"I could be better, but as I was just telling Rhaenyra, you three girls will soon be in this bed and you must learn to face it with a stiff lip."

For Rhaenyra and Alicent an arranged marriage to a great house is a certainty, for me it is an impossibility. "I think my father would sooner send any suitor to the sword than have me wed."

She chuckles. "That is true." She looks past me to Rhaenyra and Alicent and says "Now you girls go and have fun, I have no doubt there is much to catch up on."

The three of us walk arm in arm through the Red Keep, the two of them asking eagerly of tales from across the narrow sea which I give vividly. When Rhaenyra is called away to serve as her fathers cupbearer on the council, I take Alicent to the dragon pit.

Come," I say, holding her hand. "Come see how Darkfyre's grown."

Darkfyre, named to honour my fathers sword Darksister. The keepers are still coaxing her into the pit since it's been so long since she's been in captivity.

"Lykiri," I tell her, since the keepers struggle to tame her. Alicent stands behind me as I put a hand on her black scales to ease her. "Lykiri."

"She's larger than Syrax," Alicent comments in surprise. "Far larger."

"Keeping them captive in the dragon pit is hindering their growth," I tell her. "Since travelling around Dorne and the free cities with father she's been free to grow."

"It's been so long since a Targaryen's stepped foot in Dorne," she says, knowing her histories. "What was your father doing there?"

"Well, he decided to go remind the Dornish we have dragons," I put it simply. "Parading himself trying to gather favour. We were guests of the prince of the Dorne for a while, it truly is beautiful in Sunspear."

"I can imagine," she says. "So what's brought your father back?"

"Gods know, he's likely grown bored and has decided to give his brother and your father hell again."

We're both able to laugh despite how our fathers despise one another. While my father is content to burn his bridges, I don't have that luxury. As a bastard my standing is fragile enough, I need all the friends at court I can have.

"I'm glad to be back," I tell her. "I've missed home. As much as I love my father I have no desire to spend my time in Dornish brothels as he does."

She raises an eyebrow. "Then what is it you desire?"

"To be the greatest dragon rider there is," I tell her, flashing a smile as I take her hand, coaxing her towards Darkfyre. "Here, don't be afraid."

She's too stunned to refuse as I bring her hand to Darkfyre and she gasps at the touch. "I've never-"

"Touched a dragon?" I finish, knowing how she's always refused to. "See, there's no reason to fear them. They're loyal to their riders."

"Except I'm not her rider."

"Yet," I tease, knowing she's large enough to saddle two. "My father took me up on Caraxes when I was just a week old, as his mother did with him."

"My father would kill me if I even considered it."

That makes me smile. "It would be a bit hard for him to kill you if you were on dragonback."

She shakes her head, smiling. "You have not changed a bit."

The three of us lay beneath the Weirwood tree in the garden. Alicent testing me on my studies which have been truly neglected this past year, except I've gained a knowledge that is truly invaluable. Experience. Seeing the places we read of, being part of their living history instead of flipping through books.

"It doesn't matter what lord married what lady fifty years ago," I lecture. "What matters is the state of everything today, and unless it's Valyrian history what's the point?"

Rhaenyra laughs. "Did Daemon tell you that?"

"Well it's true," I say, him being my sole educator for the past year. "Across the narrow sea no one asks what lord married what lady fifty years ago, they want to hear of the dragons and the conqueror."

"Now that is something I can agree with," Rhaenyra says much to Alicent's annoyance, who's trying to get us up to scratch for the septa.

"The Septa will be furious if you two insist on jesting."

"The Septa's funny when she's furious."

I laugh but Alicent senses something deeper. "You're always like this when you're worried."

"Like what?"

"Disagreeable."

There's something in the look the two share that makes my heart sink a little, that in my absence the two have become closer. It was always the three of us, and now it is them with me there as well.

"You're worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son."

"I only worry for my mother," Rhaenyra says, a sentiment I share.

"She'll be alright," I try to assure her. "She's done this many times."

"And yet I'm the only one that lives."

Her reply is morbid enough to make Alicent quiet.

"Yes, but if you're mother has endured childbirth this many times over the odds are in her favour," I say, trying to put it logically. "Trust in the maesters."

I look to Alicent, who lost her own mother whilst I was in the free cities, and silently reach for her hand. It seems more has changed in my absence than I thought.

That night my father requests I come with him to Fleabottom to witness his new force of Gold Cloaks. I stand by his side as he gives his speech to his men, listening as the men howl and the violence begins.

It's pure butchery unlike anything I've ever seen, but father watches me so I keep my horror buried deep, not letting it show. I don't understand the reason for me being hear until he puts Darksister in my hand and the goldcloaks bring forth a bloodied man.

"Now, you may have returned to the keep but I cannot allow you to get soft," he says as I stare numbly at the sight. "You must not be afraid of blood nor a blade, for one day it could be the only thing standing between you and death." The man writhes, begging for mercy. "This blade will be yours one day, Darksister, blade of Visenya. I intend to make you worthy of it."

And so I raise the blade and spill my first blood.

Alicent is with me the next morning, helping me alter a dress for the tournament since my bust has come in this past year and the clothes I left here in the keep are ill fitting as a result.

"You're tired," she notices, and from the way her nose turns up I know she can smell Fleabottom on me. "Your father took you into the city?"

"Yes, he wanted me to be there as he showcased his Goldcloaks," I tell her, choosing not to elaborate much further. "An eventful night of the kings justice being showcased." But as I reach out to help her the red staining my hand matches the dress.

She's silent as she looks at me, knowing very well what I'm not telling her.

"It-" there's no point excusing it. "My father does not want me getting soft."

"So he has you spill blood in the city streets?"

There's a protective bite to her voice.

"He believes I should know how to handle a blade," I argue. "If I was a man you would see no issue with it."

"Well your father lets you behave as one," she mutters under her breath, going to push my hand aside but her eyes fall to the floor as I see the red of her nails, an old habit worsened.

"It seems my father isn't the only one with expectations," I say, knowing very well the words of me behaving as a man are from her fathers mouth, but that's not what I'm concerned about. "How long Alicent?"

She quickly hides her nails from me. "It's nothing."

I look at her and see a truly sad girl, as if it's so inherent it's as much a part of her as her own heart. "You do not need to lie to me for fear of shame, it's me." She always tries so hard to please her father, to be the good and chaste influence on Rhaenyra. But she needs not be anyone else for me. "How long?"

"It- it's always been a bad habit, but I'll admit the past months it's gotten worse," she tells me shyly. "I just get so nervous-"

I hold her hands gently, looking down at them, at something she is so ashamed of. "You may be the most beautiful girl in Kings Landing and have a reputation to keep, but you are allowed to not have to seem so perfect."

My point is lost on her, for she stammers "Do you truly mean that?"

I just laugh at her naivety. "Well, I cannot speak for men but I can say with certainty after travelling the free cities you are still the most beautiful girl I've seen." She's at a loss for words and I smile. "Come now, show me your dress for the tournament."

Alicent and I sit side by side at the tournament, Rhaenyra deciding to be fashionably late. It's a beautiful day, yet an anxious one as Aemma has begun her labors. We sit at the front with Princess Rhaenys' children Laena and Laenor. I'm showing Laena a golden ring from Lys when Rhaenyra joins us, sitting on the other side of Alicent.

"Has it started yet?" Rhaenyra asks, flaunting some jewellery of her own that intrigues Laena.

"What metal is that?" she asks, not recognising it and I can't blame her, for I doubt the child has ever seen anything like it.

"Valyrian steel," Rhaenyra replies with a smile as she touches her necklace. "Daemon gifted it to me."

Now that surprises me and I can't help but exclaim "He did?"

"Yes," she says with that coy tone she uses. "When you returned to the city."

My father never mentioned it to me, he surely did waste no gold in acquiring all sorts of Valyrian artefacts, he had spent weeks seeking a Valyrian steel dagger for my nameday, yet he never once mentioned a gift like this for Rhaenyra.

Alicent much catch the confusion in my eye for she tilts her head at me, but just as quickly as she goes to inquire the events begin. Rhaenyra gleefully watches the lancing but I sit there in contemplation. Rhaenyra is his niece yes, but such a gift is strange, even for my father.

Finally he is announced.

"Prince Daemon, Prince of the City!"

He rides past in his armor, and I look to Rhaenyra, who is practically blushing, it's then it dawns on me the affection she has for my father. An innocent fancy perhaps, but not one I expected my father to encourage with gifts.

Except of course he would.

I watch as he taunts the line of knights for his choosing, until finally he makes his choice. Alicent's brother.

"For his first challenge Prince Daemon chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King."

Alicent immediately becomes anxious beside me and I reach for her hand, our fingers laced together hidden between the folds of our dresses. She is afraid and rightly so, for we both know it will be my father that wins, and will likely do so taking any chance he can to spite Otto Hightower. Sure enough I watch him look up at Otto before charging.

I'm cringing as my father upon taking a hit decides to play dirty, using his lance to take down the horse and Alicent gasps loudly as her brother is thrown to the ground. I hold her hand tight as she peers over, trying to see if he's alright all while I just shake my head at my father who smirks proudly as he rides over.

While I'm focused on Alicent it's Rhaenyra who gets up to greet my father, something else that rubs me the wrong way, something Alicent notices as we follow.

"Nicely done uncle," Rhaenyra praises.

"Thank you princess."

"Is being underhanded the only way you can win?" I taunt my father, not as impressed as Rhaenyra is.

"No but it's more entertaining," he replies, looking around at the crowd and decides to aggravate Otto further. "Now I'm fairly sure I can win these games Lady Alicent, your favour would all but assure it."

I purse my lips unimpressed as Alicent goes to get her favour while Rhaenyra holds my fathers eye, the tension between them almost making me sick.

"Good luck, my prince," Alicent says placing her favour on his lance, uncomfortable beside me for only a moment before wearing a pleasant smile, and the tournament continues.

It's bloody and beautiful, pageantry alongside brutality. Whilst Alicent watches on in horror, and Rhaenyra lets out a gasp or two I watch on nubmly after having experienced the pure butchery at my fathers hands down in Fleabottom.

In the midst of it I notice Alicent, her eyes fixed on the violence whilst picking at her nails and I take her hands in mine, she almost jumps at the touch, having been pulled out of her daze and I just squeeze her hands, no more needing to be said as we watch on.

My attention is caught by the knight Ser Criston Cole going against my father. A handsome man from what we've seen, secretly I hope he puts my father in his place, and he does. Although I can't help the shriek that escapes me as my fathers horse drags him along the railing, the sound awful as he hits the ground and this time it's Alicent gripping my hand tight.

A man goes to help my father to his feet only to be pushed to the ground, and I run to the balcony's edge as my father gets to his feet, almost maddened with the shame of being dishorsed. I watch wide eyed as he calls for his sword and Alicent and Rhaenyra both jump up and come to my side.

"Prince Daemon wishes to continue in a contest of arms!"

I look behind me for the king but he's nowhere to be seen, no one to stop this madness if it gets out of hand, which it no doubt will. Ser Criston faces my fathers sword with a mace and chain, breathing through fathers shield, the fight becomes hands on, more kicking and shoving than anything else until Ser Criston is on the ground and my father looks up at me, smiling and cheering as he claims victory. Only to have made the mistake of turning his back on his opponent, for he's knocked to the ground and he does something that surprises me. He yields. Not out of weakness, but almost, almost, out of something resembling respect for a good fight.

It's then Ser Criston comes forward removing his helmet, the three of us share an exchange of pleasant surprise at the sight of him.

"Gods, he's Dornish," I hear Alicent exclaim while I can't help but appreciate the sight in front of us.

"I was hoping to ask for the favour of Lady Viserra," he says, not Rhaenyra's, but mine. "The daughter of the Prince."

Doing the same as my father, asking for the favour of his opponent's daughter. I can respect him for that. And so I'm smiling as I reach for my favour, my father watching on in amusement as I toss it down to Ser Criston. "Good fight Ser Criston, I wish you luck."

Rhaenyra can make eyes at my father all she likes, I'll give the Dornish knight my favour. But it's then I notice Otto Hightower returning and murmuring something to one of the council members. Alarm quickly spreads behind us, something Rhaenyra notices and I know it can only be one thing.

"Alicent," I say and she goes to her father who pulls her aside murmuring something to her, she looks back at us and there is no mistaking it.

The queen is dead.

"Rhaenyra," I immediately breathe, reaching for her, she's too shocked to cry but even so I take her in my arms, looking over her shoulder at Alicent in mutual horror. The two motherless girls have become three.

We sit together in Rhaenyra's room, Alicent and I sitting on the edge of her bed as she lies away from us, eyes wide open yet dead to the world.

"Baelor your father has named the boy," I tell her, treading gently. "Would you like to see him?"

She doesn't reply. Neither her or Viserys have seen the boy, he's in the care of wet nurses. I lost my mother the day I was born, I feel no pain for her, the pain I feel is for Aemma, the only mother I've ever had.

"We'll let you sleep," Alicent says gently, and we leave the room having done what we can for her, but she must mourn, there is no easy way to do so. When we're outside she asks me "Are you alright?"

I force myself to nod. "I loved the queen as my own mother, but it is Rhaenyra I worry for."

She nods in understanding, and reaches for me. "We have all lost a mother now. The pain... it does get easier."

I see the pain in her eyes, the loss of her own mother wounding her still, especially now. Silently I take her in my arms, needing someone to hold onto. In her embrace I feel safe enough to finally let the tears escape.

We stand there like that in silence until a guard comes.

"Lady Alicent, the hand has summoned you."

"Go," I tell her gently. "I'll be alright."

She nods, and is escorted by the guard to her fathers office.

In my loneliness I find myself walking to my fathers chambers, he will not be mourning, but I need him nonetheless. I need my father to hold me and tell me he understands, that it will be okay. He has never been affectionate in that manner, but he's always been there when I've needed him.

Yet when I come to his chambers he isn't there.

And so in the shadow of mourning over the keep I find myself coming to the barracks of the Goldcloaks.

"My Lady," Ser Harwin says, recognising me. "Are you looking for the prince?" I nod meekly, like a child seeking out their parent after a bad dream. "He has taken to the Street of Silk."

"To the brothels," I correct, saying what we both know. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Would you like me to get him for you?" he offers and I shake my head, swallowing my bitterness.

"He is mourning in his own way."

Alicent and I stand side by side at the funeral, the babe having passed in the night after his birth.

My father stands separate from us, his eyes on Rhaenyra, as they should be since she has lost her mother, but I cannot forget the necklace, cannot forget the unspoken tension between them.

But today is not the day for that. Today we mourn.

Again after the funeral I seek out my father to find him missing, this time I don't bother searching for him, able to hear the ruckus of the Goldcloaks ascending on the Street of Silk.

So instead I go to Rhaenyra who stares numbly at a candle flame in her room, tears staining her cheeks.

"Come," I say, extending my hand to her. "Syrax and Darkfyre have not flown together in so long."

A shadow of a smile comes to her face as she nods and takes my hand, and together we find our way to the Dragonpit.

When we return the next morning with tired eyes and reeking of dragon as Aemma would say, I'm surprised to find Alicent waiting for me in my chambers.

Yet I'm more alarmed at her demeanour.

"Are you alright?" I ask, immediately jumping to the most likely reason. "Did you have a fight with your father?"

"Viserra," she says quietly, her voice a whisper. "There is something... I- I cannot confide it in anyone."

I look at her confused. "What of Rhaenyra?"

"Especially not Rhaenyra."

That's when my stomach drops at the guilt in her eyes, and so I reach out to take her hand with a promise "I'm not Rhaenyra."

When she looks back at me her brown eyes are filled with tears. "Promise me, promise you won't tell a soul."

I'd never considered myself to be one to take oaths seriously, but in this moment I know I'll take whatever she says to the grave. "I swear it."

And somehow, despite who my father is, despite who I am, she trusts me.

"My father," she begins, voice weak. "He- he asked me to comfort the king."

A sentence that would sound so innocent if I did not know her, did not know her father. "Alicent-"

"I never touched him," she immediately insists, trying to defend herself even though there is nothing to defend. "I just read to him, I swear it, I would never-"

"Shhh," I say, pulling her in tight by her hands, trying to calm her. "I know, it is not me you need to defend yourself to."

That's when she breaks down "If Rhaenyra knew..."

She does not need to finish that sentence, for we both know well how she would react. She is rash, quick to temper, more my fathers daughter than I at times, she would take it as a betrayal and not let it go regardless of the truth.

"She doesn't need to know," I say, going against whatever morals Aemma tried to instil in me, honesty and integrity be damned. They are never things my father taught me. "Your father sent you to him, to his chambers?" She nods, not meeting my eye. "Nothing more happened, I believe that. You are not a seductress nor a mistress. You are a girl whose father is an ambitious man, this is his scheme not yours."

Her eyes are wide, afraid. "She won't believe that."

"But I do," I say, only then becoming aware of how close we are, and I take her face in my hands. "Our fathers despise one another for good reasons, my father is reckless and murderous and yours is calculating and starving for power, they are the second sons and always will be despite their best wishes. We do not need to be the pawns in their schemes."

She blinks at me confused. "Your father loves you, when has he ever used you?"

He hasn't. "You're right. My father merely wishes to rise me to his station, to Rhaenyra's, all he's done is try to make me a true Targaryen out of love. Your's would raise you to something far more dangerous, to be queen to further his own ambition."

She knows it, somewhere she must, but she sees little wrong. "What else is the purpose of a daughter?"

My heart breaks a little, breaks in realisation that my father may be the only one in Westeros who would never dream of marrying me off for his own standing, who would burn a man's city down before giving me as a bride. Then there's Otto Hightower.

It's then the door opens and there stands the bastard himself, the look on his face confuses me until I realise how he has caught us, in an embrace that would have me castrated if I was a man.

Alicent quickly drops my hands, lowering her head as her father enters and I stand there defiant at the man who would have his daughter, not even yet five and ten, a mistress for the king.

"Lord Hand," I say stiffly. "Is something the matter?"

If I was a man there certainly would be, but I am a girl, a girl found in an embrace with her companion. There is nothing wrong with it that he can justifiably make a fuss of.

But he seems not to mind, for there is already a smirk on his face. "Your father has been exiled."

I feel Alicents head whip around to me and I stand there, my blood turning cold as she grabs my arm and asks her father "What for?"

In Otto Hightower's eyes is the gleam of victory over my father, over me. He's basking in it.

"The heir for a day."

My head snaps up at those words, having heard my father remark them offhandedly after the funeral. "Where is the king?"

"You are not permitted to see him," he replies. "I have come to instruct you to pack your things, you may join your father or we can arrange for you to be taken to your stepmother in the Vale."

Alicent looks at her father in disbelief. "You can't mean-"

"I'm to be exiled as well?" I scoff, letting go of Alicent to confront her father. "Is this the king's order or yours?"

He pauses for just a moment too long and I'm pushing past him.

"Lady Viserra!"

I ignore him, running through the halls and attracting the attention of the Kingsguard who follow at the behest of Otto, yelling out orders from behind me, but it all stops the moment I enter the throne room and find Viserys sitting upon the throne.

"Uncle!" I cry out and he looks upon me in concern, out of breath and desperate as I come to my knees before the throne. "Uncle please, don't do this."

He sighs. "Viserra, if you are here to plead on behalf of your father-"

"What he said was regrettable, but exile?"

"It was not a decision I made lightly," he tries to reason. "I know you love your father, but you and I know better than any what sort of man he is."

"One who loves his brother and his king!" I argue getting to my feet as I hear Otto and the rest storming the throne room and even Viserys is alarmed by the sight. "Unlike this cunt here, who's revelling in getting rid of my father and I both!"

The throne room is silent until Viserys speaks. "Otto, did you tell the princess she is to be exiled along with Daemon?"

"She is no princess," he replies now my father is not here to take his tongue. "She is a bastard just as heinous as her father who will corrupt your daughter and mine both. Look at her now, causing a scene after I simply asked her to stay with her stepmother in the Vale."

Before Viserys can speak I turn to look at him, my voice as dangerous as my fathers. "If he were here he'd take your tongue." It's only then I see Alicent in the shadows watching on and something in my voice changes. "But I suppose that's the curse of second sons isn't it? To always be scraping at whatever scraps of power they can get? Even if it is throwing the daughter of your rival out of her own home behind the back of your king."

Viserys stands, voice as harsh as I've ever heard it. "I have lost my wife, I have lost my son, and now my brother. You would have my niece removed from this keep without my knowing? Have her taken from Rhaenyra's side as she is in mourning? All for the spite you bear her father!"

Otto is silent, having been put in his place by his king and a girl of four and ten.

Viserys must see Alicent in the shadows for he asks her "Lady Alicent, escort my niece back to her chambers."

I can almost feel Otto's blood boiling at his daughter being asked to wait on a bastard, but she doesn't see it that way, for she steps out of the shadows to take my arm.

"Thank you uncle," I say, leaving him and Otto to their devices. "But may I see my father off?"

A risky request, but he permits it. "Of course Viserra."

And so I find my father readying Caraxes at the dragon pit with a whore at his side.

"Father."

He turns to me, unsurprised to see me. "Good you're here, I've had the dragon keepers ready Darkfyre."

I just shake my head in disgust. "The heir for a day."

He sighs. "Yes I'll admit, it was distasteful, but it's said and done now. We're leaving for Dragonstone."

Something in the casualness of his voice makes something snap inside me. "And you never thought to come and get your daughter when you were being exiled?"

He merely shrugs. "I knew you'd find me."

"Except it was Otto Hightower who found me!" I yell and that gets his attention as he finally turns to look at me properly. "Is that how you wanted me to find out, him coming to my chambers revelling as he tells me we've both been exiled."

That's when it hits him. "If my brother-"

"Viserys was the one who fought for me, who stood up for me when Otto tried to have me exiled without his knowledge," I argue and scoff "While I had to defend myself against Otto Hightower in the throne room you were getting your whore and leaving me to the rats!"

The whore looks away as my father comes up to me, using a tone he rarely does. "Have you ever thought that my treatment of you is not neglect but rather faith? Faith that you don't need to be babied and managed like a child but instead treating you as you are, a dragon rider."

But I just look up at him, almost laughing with anger. "He called me a bastard, used it as justification to be rid of me. That I'm as heinous as you."

The look in his eye changes and his hand is on his sword. "If I was there-"

"You would have taken his tongue?" I finish. "Except you weren't. You were off with your whore, just like you were when you should have been with your brother mourning."

"It wasn't my wife who died, if it was I would have rented out the entire street to celebrate instead of three brothels."

I look at her, deciding to hit him where it hurts. "Try not to father another bastard seeing as you're content to damn the one you already have to a life of exile for a joke and a whore."

He grabs me, fingers bruising my arm, I try to pull it free but he doesn't let go. "Everything I have ever done is for you, and you fucking know it. If you want to be cruel so can I." I hold his eye, defiant. "I could be like Otto Hightower and sell you off the first chance that comes by, I could discard you, I could sell you to the brothels like bastard girls are. But here you are, a dragonrider and a Targaryen by name. The only reason that is, is because of me."

Despite the anger in his voice I see the fear in his eyes, the fear of losing the last person he has, the one who should love him unconditionally despite his sins.

"I'm staying here in Kings Landing," I say quietly, the cruellest words I could say at this very moment. He stares at me in disbelief, expecting me to follow it up with some type of contradiction, but I don't, and it's then he lets me go. "Did you ever realise Aemma was the closest thing I ever had to a mother?" He's silent, not realising I was mourning her also. "I needed you, and you ran off to the brothel to mourn the fact you had been disinherited. It would have only been for a day as you'd put so vocally if not for your own selfish desire to usurp what is Rhaenyra's."

I hit him where it hurts without realising it. "Do you think it was selfish wanting you to be my heir?"

"It was never about me, only you," I say with sorrow. "You know damn well a bastard would never stand to inherit the Iron Throne, and yet you would take it regardless of the crisis that would follow."

"I would," he says, without taking a moment to hesitate. "I would-"

"Have your niece?" I retort and for the first time I've caught him off guard. "I'm not blind, just disgusted." I look to his whore. "Don't be surprised if he tosses you aside for someone blonder and younger since he seems to desire girls who are barely bleeders."

He scoffs. "You make me sound horrible, this has nothing to do with desire."

"So you seduce your niece for the throne," I realise. "Because how could you ever truly be disinherited with her by your side?"

He ignores me, instead justifying it. "I have raised the greatest dragonrider there is, raised a true Valyrian, and yet despite you having every symbol of legitimacy you are still denied, no one would dare utter the word bastard if I stood to inherit the throne."

I see his delusion so clearly, even if it is spurned by love rather than ambition, it is still delusion.

"I have come to terms with what I am, now you must also."

With those words I turn my back on my father, my face does not betray how my heart cries but Darkfyre does. Her cries echoing as I return to the Red Keep.

When I make it back to my chambers it is not Rhaenyra or Viserys who stand there to offer comfort, but Alicent.

"I'm sorry," she says, but I have no more words left, instead walking into her embrace and holding her tight. Both of us bound now as the motherless daughters of second sons maddened by their own wants and ambitions.

Yet somehow the prospect is easier knowing I am not alone.

Days later we stand side by side as Rhaenyra is sworn as heir to the Iron Throne. My father has seized Dragonstone, a seat that should be her's now by right. He's gone while I remain.

And so I make the decision that will enrage my father, but one that is right.

"Lady Viserra Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen."

I step forward and kneel before Rhaenyra as I make my oath to her.

"I, Viserra Targaryen, swear to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit." I look up, knowing my oath is the one that has gathered the most attention of all in this room, a daughter betraying her father. "I swear this by the old gods and the new."

I stand and look Rhaenyra in the eye, my friend, my sister in all but name, and pray I have made the right decision.

Taglist:

slvtfornat readerinsert-coll courtney0-0 feartheclipse coffee-d0t curiouser-an-curiouser geekgreek03 0151imagayone wandapologist tiredgayhours grungebabyblu soulmateshuh avmsstuff racistuffs ladyqueenxoxo chickennugget468 darkenedlittlecorner marines938 bubblylesbianblonde umictrl gay-vet-student scottlangswife slvtfornat knightofbutterflies sad-x3 girlmythlegend ireadtofeel minaxcarter kai-kaii butlifegoeson98 pandoraboxofgay sweetflowercupcake thatmysteriousblog wxnchic steamhead15 leniabranch satans-worstnightmare deeznutzs-stuff kamilahs-smolbean artemiscastle paola2001 chynagirl13 rosaryos endless-dth llovinjoonie shedrewthehallelujah 71wm

475 notes · View notes

leviismybby · 7 months

Text

Tw: rant about ship wars under the cut!!!

Now that attack on titan is over, can we stop with the ship wars about Levi?? I thought that people would leave one another alone esp since the final instead all I see on twitter is toxic shipper wars and the old debate of "who did Levi Ackerman love romantically in canon?"

That is not what pissed me off since that has been going on for years, what pisssed me off is people sending direct HATE at Isayama and the Mappa team because of a ship they deluded themselves into thinking it's canon. I can count on my fingers how many people said that Isayama was "queerbaiting". Seriously people GET A GRIP.

TikTok isn't better in this either, all I see all the fucking time is Eruri and Levihan shippers down each other throats for no other reason than the fact that both parties have somehow convinced themselves that their ship is canon. Even worse is the fact that people on there are spoiled so much that they send hate to oc x characters or slefships, y'all need help. When someone doesn't ship with anyone, you all attack them with "proof" and subtext or whatever it is and call them delusional, talk about irony...

Next point. If I see one more person hate on either Erwin or Hange because of the ships, I will rip someone's hair out. It is not either of the character's fault and you hating on a character because of your fanon ship is nothing but stupid. Characters should never get hate bc of ships, esp not FANON ones. And don't even get me started on the hate Petra gets because of it all.

And finally, Levi isn't your tool and his worth doesn't lay in your fucking ship. All the time all I see when Levi is shipped with either is just Levi being so degraded. It makes me uncomfortable and it butchers Levi's character so much.

Why does it matter what his sexuality is?? Why does it matter if he is a sub or a dom??? None of these things are important about Levi. It's like he has become this puppet in this play you all are playing and you all are making Levi's worth based off of your ship. Of course this doesn't apply to all shippers, just those who are toxic and let themselves hate people bc of a ship...

Stop with this bullshit and ship in peace. You don't like Levihan, Eruri, whoever block the tags and move on ffs. At the end of the day Levi doesn't have a canonical love interest and its totally okay to ship your ship and admit that they aren't canon. Stop bullying each other and other people on the internet over factional ships.

#levi #levi ackerman #aot levi #attack on titan #captain levi #levi attack on titan #Erwin smith #Hange zoe #Hange

60 notes · View notes

defining-skyology · 3 months

Text

Defining Darkness.

I need to decide what I want to do here.

I could just tell you what I think the Answer (to each topic) is, and what led me to that. But instead, I want to ask as many questions as possible. If I'm alone in my echo chamber, I need to be my own worst enemy, the most thorough critic possible. I want to make this fun (for me).

So let's strip this down to the most barebones it can be, and dive into the wonderful world of Lexicology: the study of words.

Darkness.

Darkness, according to Wikipedia, is defined as:

A lack of illumination

An absence of visible light, or

or a surface that absorbs light.

Darkness is a concrete, normal concept about real life, but it has transcended beyond its immediate definition to become a steeple of powerful metaphors expressing endless bounds of human emotion.

Darkness is used to paint a picture of evils, unknowns, dangers beyond the warmth of the sun. Darkness eats the sun, holds it hostage and drains hope, love, and joy. Darkness wants, it hungers, and it schemes. It has a plan. And worst of all, it's very patient.

...at least in writing.

Darkness can mean anything a writer wants it to mean, so it can mean all of those, and it could mean none of those!

Our job as Lore theorists, is to observe what this word means to Sky, and what picture should be painted in our head when we try to understand exactly, just what 'darkness' is.

{{{Continue Reading}}}

Because to the unaware, when they first hear of a "Darkness" in Sky, their minds go to every far corner possible that I had just poetized above.

There is an inescapable tendency among fanfic writers and OC designers to relish and drool over the idea of 'the bad guy'. We are craving an antagonist, and we paint them in our thoughts the moment a crumb of content leans in that direction.

And even better than an antagonist; we are itching for an antihero. For some kind of 'opposite' side against the light. Something to represent our rebellions and battles in real life as we rage against the machine, for whatever our machines are.

"Dark" creatures, "dark" skykids, "dark" elders; a world of possibility opens up and we just can't help ourselves, not even the devs!

[Official Sky concept art by Tom Zhao]

But enough about Lexicology (the study of words (if you forgot)).

What about what we can actually see in person? (In game)

As we begin to observe the world around us, we have an immediate official Rule that every theorist seems to agree on:

If it hurts your Light, it's Darkness.

[By the way, damage to your Flame is not damage to your Light. This will someday make sense later.]

The game warns us early on to 'protect your Light', and as we travel through the realms we find creatures that attack us; creatures that the game warns in loading screens are 'dark' entities, "hungry for your light". The rainfall and sludge in wasteland are also harmful to your Light, showing that Darkness may be carried in water.

Within this rule we now have a small list of Things-That-Hurt-Us:

Forest rain

Wasteland water

Darkness crabs

Dark Dragons (Krill)

Shardfall, and Dark Shards

And for the loremoffy, that leaves them with a bunch of questions and dots to connect. Starting with the creatures on the list, we're instantly alarmed, especially as moths entering the false temple for the first time. These two 'enemies' are canonically named by quests and loading screens as 'dark' creatures. "Are they dark evil minions of the bad guy??" gasps the moth, audibly. They certainly seem evil, attacking you with no [some] hesitation. If they are 'a part of' the Darkness, then that seems to guarantee the Darkness wants/exists to attack Light.

And what of signs of 'evil' darkness that don't appear to hurt you?

Darkness plants, also canonically named so, don't hurt you, but, foreign and invasive in appearance and nature, they do seem to be uninvited guests in a land that didn't really expect them. They appear in places that are wet and dimly lit, and have been seen to trap exposed light, be that smaller creatures of Light, memories of Light (released by Shardfall or memory/spirit quests), and lastly, the spirits of Ancestors, who's shells have been cracked and exposed to the Darkness.

The plants appear to keep and store Light, mostly inside small orb-like sacs. This along with the fact that it traps Beings of Light and memories of Light, seems to show that whatever this 'Darkness' is, it doesn't 'get rid' of Light, but rather bury it, keeping it perpetually contained, encased within a strange tomb indefinitely.

More official concept art by Tom Zhao

These things are slowly and painfully choking the land, killing whatever still dares to perch on the ground. They may or may not be 'evil', but whatever they are, they're a plague, a disease. Are they what make the Dark creatures the way they are, or do Dark creatures and Dark plants all appear because of something deeper down the rabbithole?

We follow the trail of Darkness, worse and worse as we grow near its source, and find that the worst of the Darkness comes from the ruined kingdom's heart of society. Whatever Darkness is, the Ancestors obviously seem to have something to do with it. From here the lore moth can trail down a few paths. The Ancestors were either the direct cause of this Darkness, or created it by accident. It was either directly connected to whatever they were doing, or they didn't expect Darkness to be a factor at all. Regardless, we'll look at why Darkness is on another day.

But What is it?

The goal of an Answer is to be able to summarize everything you know about a subject, into a bitesize, consumable, tolerable answer. And to answer what Darkness is, after all of this blog-long research and meditation; one specific word is the Answer.

noun

noun: pollution

the presence in or introduction into the environment of a substance or thing that has harmful or poisonous effects.

Pollution is the word that matches everything we know about the way this Darkness spreads. It has been introduced into the environment by the Ancestors, and is affecting the world. Pollution contaminates and poisons, killing the world with no intent of its own, but destroying everything nonetheless. This is the perfect word for what we've seen in our journey so far.

But how does this tie back in to the beginning of this post?

We had determined that the possible definitions of Darkness ellicit:

Lack of Light

Opposite of Light

An Evil

Absorption/Burying of Light

We are beginning to find that Darkness in the world of Sky does not 'lack' Light, as it instead traps and stores Light in a perpetual sleep.

🚫 [Darkness]: a lack of Light

We have also found that, being released by the Ancestors of the ancient kingdom, Darkness is not seemingly malicious, but instead a force, a storm, almost 'natural' in its ways, with no conscious mind of its own. We cannot create a face of pollution in real life enough to visualize an antagonist we can 'defeat', unless you generalize a concept of rich old fat men. It is the same way with Darkness in Sky. It's probably not 'evil', but it's not okay.

🚫 [Darkness]: an ancient evil

But we have confirmed that it does absorb Light, which is a concrete definition of 'darkness' in the dictionary.

[Darkness]: content that absorbs Light ✅✅✅

And because of that, we've come full circle! 🎊🎉🎇

Wait, we didn't address if our Darkness is or is not synonymous with the definition "opposite of Light"...

Well, maybe it's better we hold off on that thought for now. Because in order to say it's the opposite of Light, first we have to Define what Light is. And I think its safe to say we won't get there for a while. 😅

You're crazy if you actually read all of this, but thank you so much.

I think I'm really going to enjoy making these, so long as I can make them s l i g h t l y coherent. Have a good day/night yall!

#sky children of the light #sky children of the light lore #sky cotl #sky cotl lore #sky game #sky lore #sky rambles #skychildrenofthelightlore #skychildrenofthelight #skycotl #skycotllore #skycotlstory #sky children of the light story

35 notes · View notes

kquil · 4 months

Text

HELP?

i have a series that i've been planning on and off for the past year or so and i've finally got the first chapter written. being my perfectionist self, i feel as though i need to keep planning some more things but there's a part of me that really wants to just get started and, sort of, force myself to begin or else i'll never get the series written since there isn't that sense of urgency or encouragement to keep going when i have other things to do

the series is called: Divorcing Orion Black

it'll be my take on a Harry Potter fix-it-fic set in the marauder's era where reader is transferred into the Harry Potter universe and forced to replace Walburga Black, her main aim is to give sirius and regulus a better life by being a better mother than Walburga ever was. But, it's never easy considering the limited knowledge people have on the marauders era and because... the true Walburga never really...left?

the focus will be on platonic relationships as well as all the comfort and fluff in the world considering how dark and sad and angsty the marauders era characters' destiny ended up being

potential series summary : You just got transferred into the world of Harry Potter and you've been put into the shoes of Walburga Black. Splendid… You need to escape this toxic family so your first order of business is divorce AND YOU'RE DEFINITELY TAKING THE KIDS!

tags : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; isekai au/transfering worlds au ; walburga black is evil ; not reader though hehe~ ; hurt/comfort ; fluff ; platonic fluff ; second chances ; reader basically adopts remus, barty crouch jr and peter pettigrew ; peter pettigrew redemption arc? ; but he never betrays the marauders in the first place so... ; remus gets a better life ; reader becomes a semi-political figure to help werewolves + house elves ; reader assumes a male alias ; alternating chapters from different povs directly effected by reader's actions ; reader is a powerful independent business woman and single mother ; reader is a milf ; reader secretly hates dumbledore ; reader hates orion black ; reader hates JKR (we all do) ; divorce ; mentions of child abuse (physical and mental and emotional) ; mentions of neglect ; angry reader ; canon jily ; mentions of wolfstar ; regulus being a precious baby ; sirius has his moments too ; reader being a powerful trio with minerva and pomfrey ; reader potentially adopting the black sisters (bellatrix, andromeda and narcissa) ; reader adopts everyone! ; there'll be ocs ; reader leaves to live her dream cottagecore life ; happy ending! ; i'll add more tags in the future

fair warning ; this series is not gonna be canon compliant, naturally, reader will make sure of that haha!

i predict that the series will be around 25 to 30 chapters long? maybe more?

if i post the series now, i'll aim to post a new chapter per month, on the first day of every month

if i post the series next year/2026, i'll try to make sure i'm able to post twice per month (one chapter per two weeks)

taglist : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision @raevyng @rosaleenablack @samanddeansannoyingsis @marina468 @mess-is-my-aesthetic @zesnuts

36 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Sands of Time

prompt: before his Bronzed Bitch, all he had was her. amongst the smoke of salt, sea, and war, Daemon gambles with more than he ever wanted.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.4k+

note: GRRM was right, ugh, this bad boy does something to me. here's to me having a thing for rouge men being simps for their ladies! this is a stand alone, and not part of a series (yet).

warnings: i think there's cursing, mild suggestive situations, mild canon-typical violence. mhm, Daemon's gotta rescue his lady-love from the Crabfeeder - yikes. mild angst 'cause open-ended ending. OC!Daemon 'cause he's a total simp! idk what else i missed.

part two: The Battle Above the God's Eye

"And who will tell him what has become of her?" Corlys Velaryon demanded of his war council, fearing for the Prince's temper regarding their newest intel after witnessing him beat a man to death only moments prior.

The men returning from the latest battle were bloodied and worn out, but there was a notable absence in the form of one of Velaryon's top generals. The very same general who had come on the back of Caraxes, the Prince's dragon, armed to the teeth and ready to jump head first into battle; leading many men to death, but more to victory.

Her fierce determination had pushed her along the ranks, and now, her presence was desperately required at their war strategy council. Laenor Velaryon had given his battle plan, something akin to heartbreak zinging through his blood as the Lady was a staple in their camp. He feared to admit he missed her, and developed a plan with her in mind - hoping beyond hope someone could rescue her in time.

In response to his father's question, the young heir lifted his head, declaring, "I will."

"No," Lord Corlys snapped, knowing far too much of the Prince's temper and brutality; and if he learned of this atrocity, his son would be the brunt end of it all. "Not you - "

"If not me, anyone else would be fed to Caraxes for lying," Laenor pointed out. "Yes, it will be me, Father. He will believe me about her."

Before any reply could be given, Daemon had returned from his tent; storming towards them with an unreadable expression. His brother, King Viserys, had sent word of his reinforcements and Daemon had not only beaten the messenger for carrying the scroll containing words that set his blood boil, but then stormed off to prepare for what was hoped to be the final stand.

When his woman was not found in his tent, he turned back for answers. Laenor met him halfway, "My Prince - a word?"

"Where is she?" Daemon demanded through a clenched jaw and grit teeth, fists forming into a white-knuckle grip.

"Listen - "

"Where. Is she?" He repeated, showing his patience wearing thin. Caraxes growled and loomed over them all, his eyes set on the Velaryon heir as if to detect dishonesty.

"Prince Daemon," Laenor swallowed, sighing in defeat, "she's been lost to the Crabfeeder." Daemon blinked once, trying to find the lie; yet the young lad only held sincerity and heartbreak to his words. "I am sorry - "

"Where?"

When Laenor told him where they had been informed of her fall, the Prince's eyes steeled with emotion, "Bloodstone, Prince. Look, I know you want to rescue her, but there is a war - "

"I am well aware, and yet I will remind you that we would not be nearly as far along as we currently are without her," Daemon snapped, turning away from the boy as if to turn away from reality. He sighed deeply, "She will be staked along the shore... The tide will come in..."

"We've only 6 hours before she's drowning, Daemon," Laenor nodded. "If we pull this off, there might be time yet."

He heaved a breath inward, muttering, "She will not be left behind."

"I agree."

"Good," Daemon nodded, eyes casting down, "for I fear we are the only ones who would do anything to ensure her safety. I know she is dear to you," his lilac gaze lifted to meet that of his distant cousin's. "Which means we will make quick work of this," he nodded firmly, "have your father ready his men and move into position along the straights. I will row alone and offer surrender, bait them from their caves. You will not attack until their army is out in full."

"How will you - "

"I will offer my sword," Daemon lifted his chin, petting over the legendary Valyrian Steel sword at his hip. "He will not pass that up."

"No, Prince, I would think not," Laenor agreed. "I will have your boat prepared, you cast off when you're ready."

"Make haste, then," Daemon decided, turning to stalk into his tent once more with renewed vigor. He stripped of his armor, didn't bother cleaning himself, but paused to braid his hair again; wishing it was her hands caressing his scalp.

Laenor had the long boat prepared and helped cast the Prince off towards the Bloodstone Island, whose mind was ringing with words of his brother's note, and the last moments he had with her.

Night had fallen, and the men fell with exhaustion. His breath was ragged, tears brimming his eyes - but would never fall - after returning to their tent following a late night strategy session. She had been unusually quiet that night, and Daemon was growing restless.

"They want me to send for the King," he grumbled to himself, pacing angrily. She was setting aside her own weapons and padding, hoping to lay down for a few hours - even if Daemon wanted to pace himself into a hole. "To ask for Royal aid - despite having the Crown's Navy all but here. More, they want."

"Hush for now, please, Gods, I just endured hours of this speech," she sighed, hands catching his arms to pause him and pull his belted scabbard from his hips. She set it with purpose beside their bed, showing him where it would remain. "You're thinking far too much, Daemon."

"It's been - "

"Fuckin' years, yeah, I know," she interrupted him, being the only person ever known to do so. "We've been fighting the same fight, but I can't help but wonder why. What's your goal here, Daemon? Hey? Your goal, not the Army's - not the Navy's. Not the Velaryon's. You, and your goal for this war, my Prince."

His head shook, "I fear I might not know anymore."

"Then do not send for aid," she shrugged, "for this is your war, not your brother's, and if there is going to be any Targaryen victorious in this, it will be you, my sweet Prince."

"You speak with such conviction."

"Perhaps it is only faith that I have," she shrugged with a small smirk. "It has served me well, and I would continue to see us succeed." Pausing a moment, she stepped closer to him after his armor was shed; allowing her hands to raise and hold the sides of his neck, another rare move for anyone else, "Daemon, Lord Corlys came to you for a reason, and Viserys knows that. Let him sit safely on his throne, away from it all, as you prove why Targaryens are written about in the history books. What will he be remembered for, hmm?" She smirked up at him, Daemon loosening up and tugging her in tighter, eyes tender. "The King whose arse went numb from sitting so long. And you, my Prince? You will be the brother who passes into legend when your time comes."

"You know how to flatter a man," he breathed.

"How easy to compliment the man that even his King brother is jealous of," she replied smoothly, letting his lips descend heavily onto her own; backing her up to their bed.

Her back crashed to the material as he followed over top of her, legs spread to hold his hips against hers; lips fighting for dominance before Daemon easily won - like usual. "You will be the death of me, my dove," he breathed when he pulled back, lips fluttering over hers, "and how heavenly it would be to meet my end this way."

"Not tonight, Prince," she smirked, licking into his mouth with a slow moan. "Tonight, you'll live - and love. Tomorrow tells a new tale, but tonight is in the stars - and they speak of us, my love."

"Fuck," he breathed in her ear, nudging her jaw to allow access to her bruising neck. "When this is over, you'll be mine - I swear it."

Her head shook, "You are Prince, you cannot marry me."

"You dare doubt me," he snipped, lifting his head to stare down at her.

Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, biting her lip, "Never, Daemon, but you know your brother would not allow it. You would be mine, and only mine, when the time is right."

He sighed, "Your Lord of Light tell you that?"

"Perhaps," she smirked, reaching to bring him closer again, "or maybe I want to be the only one in your life - no mistresses, or other wives that would steal you from me."

His hips ground into hers; bulge humping into her and forcing them both to breathe unevenly, "I will be yours, I am always yours." The promise was followed by another roll of his hips and a hand latching under her jaw, pressing just enough to make her moan. "Marriage is political, my darling, but I swear to you, that one day... One day I will only be yours, and we will marry for love."

She laughed lightly against his lips, "We must survive first."

"We are alive tonight," he growled, teeth gnashing against the sensitive skin of her neck, "and that's enough for me."

She moaned into his mouth when her tongue hooked around his; hips lifting to roll on their own accord, and hands tangling in blood and mud splattered hair.

The same hair he had braided alone today.

His anger caused his arms to pump faster, rowing towards the still-smoking Bloodstone Island; the dead littering the shoreline and beyond. His gut lurched when he saw the captive lined up in the surf; waters lapping at their feet and ankles. He wouldn't have much time left before she was drowning, if she was even alive - and judging by the stare of the soldiers he saw as he hopped out of the long boat, he prayed she was at least in one piece.

"Daemon?" A voice cracked to his right, tearful, lilac eyes turning to see her bloodied, bruised, beaten, and restrained to a stake in the sand. Her eyes scanned over him before smirking, "Give 'em hell fer me," her voice was slurring and he knew someone was watching his every move.

"I will be right back for you, darling," he promised, trying not to move his lips. "Stay awake for me."

"Mhm," he heard her mumble, head lulling against the wooden stake as Daemon had to swallow his tangible, physical worry to storm inland for the caves.

Sniffling the emotion down, Daemon found a frayed sail and tore it from the trapped wood. After tying it to a piece of drift wood, he rose the universal sign of surrender above his head and mounted the dune of sand that would face the caves.

His blood boiled when he caught sight of the Crabfeeder; knowing he and his minions were responsible for the state his lover is in. Yet, he restrained himself out of sheer need to end this war and save her life - and right now, keeping everything as close 'to the plan' as possible was crucial.

Daemon waved the flag in figure 8's, tempting his surrender.

He drove the wood into the sand, freeing his hands for offering.

He pulled Dark Sister from the belt on his waist, making a show of dropping the sheath from both his hands as the sword was held up; a sign of his skill as warrior, being bested.

From the center of the battlefield, Daemon watched the Crab give some signal that encouraged at least 10 men from various caves. As they neared him, he took a knee - a final show of his surrender - and waited for one of them. His eyes darted around to take note of where the other men halted themselves, a plan almost lining itself out in his mind.

Archers from above lined the cliffside.

The Crab checked the skies for any sign of a dragon - finding none. He felt the surrender was true, and the Targaryen ruse was working.

Three men climbed the hill; one approached Dameon, the other two standing post. His eyes shut and hands offered his beloved sword, almost as if he couldn't bare to watch his own actions; and when the soldier turned to regard his companions, Daemon took his lunge.

Dagger yanked from his belt, he stabbed and slashed the man before him in order to regain control of Dark Sister - before setting out at an unstoppable, anger-fueled bolt towards the other soldiers.

In the future, she would ask him again and again to tell the story of how he took the beach almost by himself - but for now, he was purely running on adrenaline as the tides were soaking into her hips. Daemon ran faster than he's ever run, and only when two arrows struck his chest and one more to his calf did he go down, and require shelter.

Delirious with pain, Daemon wriggled for a moment as his mind flooded with images of the woman laid in the surf. He heard the rest of their Army and even Laenor's dragon taking out the archers, but he knew this couldn't be over until he ended it.

Her words rang in his head - about passing into legend... And Daemon was leaping to his feet, sprinting for the caves as the rest of the armies were distracted and engaged with each other. Daemon had a clear shot for the Crab, and while he was a fierce competitor, nobody could stand against the Rogue Prince when his woman had been put in jeopardy.

Killing any who sheltered the Crabfeeder, Daemon snarled as he swung his sword and literally cleaved the man in half. Taking hold of his wrist, Daemon drug the corpse's top-half out of the cave; blood soaked as the day he came into this world, and standing on a dune to prove the war had finally come to an end.

Only, Daemon dropped the corpse, and turned to race back towards the shore; the tide fully in, and lapping crabs and ocean water up the prisoner's bodies.

She was struggling to keep her nose above water, but it was becoming futile. She gasped and coughed, losing consciousness, when he dropped to his knees.

"Daemon," she gargled, his body turning to straddle her and attempt to block the ferocity of the waves crashing over them.

"I'm here, I'm here, my dove, I've got you," he panted, dagger used to slice the ropes tightened around her wrists; instantly dropping his arms to curl under her own and pull her up some - just as another wave rolled in. She gasped in pain, trying to cling to him, but mostly crying in pain from the tenderness of her arms.

"I-I thought - I thought I was a goner," she choked into his neck, letting him support her full weight as she was grateful to be above water. "D-Did anyone e-else survive?"

"I do not know, nor do I care," he rushed, caressing the back of her head. "I cared only for you - "

"There could be survivors, Daemon - "

"Not anymore," he muttered softly, pulling her into his arms as he got to his feet. "You are safe, and that's all that matters."

"Daemon," she begged, tears collecting in her eyes.

"Sh, do not worry over this - not now," he spoke quickly, "we've got to get you out of here."

"I don't think - "

"Do not - "

The two were cut off when the ground trembled, Laenor landing his dragon before them. "Get on!" He called, and the Prince wasted no time in clinging to his woman to pass her up; following swiftly, and holding her tightly as Laenor directed them to the Driftmark.

On the way, he told the bloody Prince of the battle, assuring they won this battle, and due to Daemon, the war. He barely reacted, carefully shifting the woman in his arms as he was more worried over her than anything - even feeling elated at the end of the war.

No, he could feel nothing but sorrow and worry.

When they landed, Laenor took them straight to the infirmary, and the once mighty general was taken straight away. Daemon was tended to, but only with great difficulty and convincing. The three days it took for medics and Maesters to work on her, Daemon didn't move from pacing in front of her door after being released from their care. He did not eat, he did not sleep, he did not visit Caraxes; he waited. Impatiently.

Laenor was there second to most, wondering what was happening, but neither receiving an update. His mother forced him to bed, but nobody could make Prince Daemon abandon his post; so, they brought him a chair, blankets, and meals. Though, he seldom ate.

"Prince Daemon?" One of the Maesters called, opening her chamber door. "She is asking for you..."

Daemon stood from his wooden chair so fast, it toppled over, and he shot into the room; all but pushing the Maester from his way. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer being answered, his eyes bulging almost out of his skull as he took note of the bloodied rags left around.

"Worry not for that," the Maester assured softly, "we are still cleaning. She faired well, Prince."

"Yeah?" He breathed.

"She will recover," the Maester clapped Daemon's shoulder. "We will leave you..."

After ushering the other Septas from the room, Daemon slowly approached the bed; where her bright eyes were watching him with a softness. "You're here," she whispered, his hand sliding in hers.

"I did not leave," he assured, kneeling at her side; lips pressing relieved kisses to her skin. "I was too worried."

"So the Maesters told me," she teased lightly, grimacing lightly when her chuckle was cut short.

"Rest, my love," he whispered with a deep frown.

"Daemon," she shook her head. "You cannot linger here."

"You are not well - "

"When I am, I will return to Essos," she whispered.

"You have not lived there in ages," he argued, stare hardening. "Since you were a child of only eight!"

"I know," she nodded. "But I do not belong in the political battlefield of Westeros... I love you," she promised, hand to his jaw and cheek, "but I cannot remain here."

"I will marry you - "

"Not with you still in court," she smiled sadly. "It's where you belong, my Prince, and I... I cannot remain. When I am able, the Master of Tides will grant me a ship so I might go where I need."

"And you need away from me, is it?" Daemon shook his head, refusing to accept this fate.

"I would happily spend my life with you," she smiled, hand to his cheek fully, "but as your only wife, not the second wife."

"I'd kill her for us," he swore, taking her hand from his face in fierce seriousness. "You know I would, my darling girl."

"And then what? You, Prince Daemon, would marry a common nobody?" She smiled sadly, "Someone with no title, nor family, nor lands? No, my love, you could not; for you would be expected to make other alliances, and I offer you nothing."

"You've offered me life, sweet girl," he shook his head. "Do not make me beg. I would have you for our lives, wherever that might be."

"I would never make you beg, sweet Prince," she teased. "But you know you could not offer me the life you want to with all that is going on." Her hand reached up to rake through his hair, "You will return to your place in court, my Prince. And you will live another two lives before we meet again..."

His head shook with confusion, "You mean to leave me so soon? This is our final moment, is it?"

"No," she confessed, "for I am not able to travel."

"I would not leave you until then," he nodded.

"No," her eyes filled with tears, finer tips stroking the skin of his face, "you will return, and leave me here. I will be gone soon after."

This time, Daemon shook his head, "No. I would not leave you."

"You have to, Daemon, for you have to be the one to walk away," she swore. "We will meet again, but we must live apart from each other. You will come to see, I promise you - "

"You think you can cast your flames, and speak the truth?" He demanded. "You think - "

"I do not think, I know what I've seen," she begged him to understand. "And believe me, if we do not part now - if you do not leave now - then our destinies will change. That cannot happen," she reached for him again, "for our future now is bright, and full of possibilities. We will suffer greatly while apart, but for our future, we must endure almost too much now."

His eyes filled with tears that slowly fell down his still-dirty cheeks, "I cannot leave you now. Even you do not know the future - "

"The Lord has shown me, Daemon, please, trust me now," she whispered, pulling his forehead to her own. Her wrists and forearms were bandaged after being shaved of infection, and her neck, torso, and ankle bore more gauze. Her bedding was stained with blood, and it was evident that the moment she was conscious, she sent for him. "Do you love me?" She wondered, gently petting over his lips with her calloused fingertips.

War took anything 'dainty' about her and spat it out again. Gnarled skin, mangled scars, and burns that should have never appeared sat over once smooth plains of flesh.

Her words rattled his soul, and he was confessing as if at an alter, "More than anyone. That, I am sure of."

She nodded, speaking against his lips, "Because our flames are one, Daemon."

"Then do not leave. Come to court with me, as my wife - "

Her fingers gently pressed to his lips again, halting his rambling. "You are returning as more than Prince Daemon now... You cannot arrive with me, there is more at hand. Please understand that this is not what I wanted for us, but what must be. Think of it, my Prince," she smiled, "you were my first friend in Westeros, this strange, strange country that you showed me how to love. I cannot thank you enough, my Prince, for showing me there was always more to life. And for loving me the past decade - "

"Or more," he teased lightly, hands tight to keep her close - almost forgetting her injuries. "You are certain? We will meet again?"

"It will feel as if I am wrong," she nodded, "but I swear to you, I will find you again, Daemon. If you leave me now," tears and emotion flooded her, making him try to pull her closer still; her body on the very edge of the bed, "then I swear to be the one who finds you again."

He was used to getting his way, but the War of the Stepstones had claim much in the years it waged and left all participants unsatisfied. He grew frustrated that she would become just one more thing stolen from him. "If I agree... Would you grant me just a little more time with you now?" She found nothing but fear in his eyes, hand caressing his jaw. "I thought I lost you, for three days, I did not know what was happening..."

"Please stay," she nodded, sniffling her tears down. "For only three days more, Daemon. There's more in motion than I can explain."

He sighed, "It's odd, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"Since you were eight, and I was ten, we have been inseparable. Now, we must part ways?"

Her nose swiped up his, nuzzling closer, "Do you remember when we found out you were to be married?"

Daemon sighed, a small groan escaping him. "Why remind me?"

"Because it was the first time you told me you love me," she purred.

He sighed, letting her pet over his still-stained hair.

The sixteen-year-old Prince escorted his then fourteen-year-old friend through the Royal Gardens, enraptured by one of her many history books that she was fascinated by; balanced on his arm. She did not live within the palace itself, yet, knew it better than some due to the time Daemon invited her around as his personal guest.

He found he enjoyed her company far too much; the young woman was something akin to a firework they sold on boats from Volantis, and created excitement within his heart, mind, and soul. So, when a guard came storming into the courtyard as if a dragon were at his heels, it confused the Prince why he was being summoned during one of his 'tutoring sessions'.

"Go," she encouraged lightly.

"I'll find you right after," he promised, squeezing her hand and turning to take his leave. "Maybe you could... Hang around?"

Truth was, there were a few rafters under construction; providing a decent hiding place to the throne room. He winked as she smirked, waiting until the courtyard cleared before moving in another direction. She went down different halls and secret staircases, leading up and up and up and up, and over, and up, and up, until she was laying on her stomach, looking down to the throne room.

The echo of the room made Daemon's grandmother's words - the Queen's words - to ring loud and clear, proclaiming that Daemon would take a wife, and that would be the end of it. There would be nothing else. There would be no discussion, only an instruction of obligation, and as if to add insult to the wound, he was being 'sold off' to the Royce's - a lesser house that offered nothing to the crown.

She hung there, shock making her blood sing with adrenaline and anxiety as Daemon tried to protest, but was overruled. In a fortnight, he'd be married off to Rhea Royce, a young lady who she thought was pretty enough, but wondered why the Crown would make such a match...

"Might that be it?" Daemon grit, hands dutifully behind his back. He'd been knighted only a week ago, and apparently, with a knighthood, came a wife.

"Your friend is also not to be seen in the castle walls again," the Queen demanded, looking almost...smug about her words, and how devastation colored Daemon's face clearly.

"She has done no wrong!"

"It's is final, Prince Daemon," she sneered.

"The Lady has done no wrong, Your Grace, and your King Husband has given her permission to learn in our walls," Daemon defended. "She will remain for her education, and I assure you, for no other reason. She is a Lady - in all but official title."

"Then be gone," the Queen waved, and she sprung to her feet; the movement sending a light flurry of dust to fall from the ceiling, catching Daemon's attention. He turned and stalked from the throne room, going the long way, in case any servants followed him, until he reached their secret meeting spot.

Daemon liked pushing envelopes, and the two often would crouch in the hollowed dragon skulls decorating the bowels of the Red Keep. Vast candles decorated the walls, and there, in the fire light, she stood - waiting for him - with matching emotion in her eyes.

They reached for one another the moment they were close enough.

"They cannot force me," he spoke rapidly, taking her in his arms like a man taking hold of water after wondering the desert for days and nights. "They cannot force me to marry her, I won't do it - "

"Your Queen has spoken, Daemon," she whispered meekly, trying to smile; hands flat to the front of his bicep, fingers splaying up to his shoulders. "And what an honor she's bestowed, you should be grateful for such a match."

"No, I will not be grateful for this is not an honor, but a horror," he shook his head, cradling her face in his hands. "Just come away with me now, we can leave on Caraxes - "

"And go where, Prince?"

"I don't know - "

"Exactly," she shook her head, pressed against his chest. "Your name holds no weight in the world apart from here, in Westeros. We wouldn't get far, my Prince, but you should be grateful that your future Lady-wife will make a fair bride."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend this does not affect you, too," he shook his head at her. She sighed gently, making him blurt, "Tell me you don't love me, too, and I'll marry the bitch gladly. But if you can't - "

"You would never be so stupid as to sacrifice duty, service, and honor for a girl," she snapped. "Do not put that on me, Daemon," she begged, panting as the situation settled on her soul. "But you need to know, that I love you, too. And it pains me to know you're to marry someone not me."

"Then tell me not to."

"I cannot," she sniffled, holding his hands over her cheeks. "If I ask, you would do it, and you have a duty to uphold... I am simply in the way - "

"You will never be in my way, for you are always at my side," he rushed, pressing their foreheads together in a sign of love that would come to pass many times between them through the years. "Do not part from me, we can work this out - "

"I will not be a mistress," she refused.

"No," he agreed. "You are my heart, and you will have more honor than that."

"For now, I am just a student," she whispered fore lonely.

"For now," he agreed, lifting his lips to her forehead, "because you and I are going to figure this out, my Lady love, I swear to you."

She giggled lightly, "Lady love?"

"Too much?"

She hummed, "Just right, my Prince."

Young Daemon smiled down at her, leaning in to press his lips to hers in a heated exchange of passion; hands smoothing over her hair as her own pushed into his silver locks.

"You need to wash the blood out," she whispered, hands sticky from the blood soaked in his hair.

"In a moment," he promised. "I need this for now, if I am to lose it."

"Not forever, my Prince," she whispered, letting his lips press to hers after. "The war is won, but there is something more brewing - "

"And you want us to part ways? Be far from me, where I cannot protect you?" He huffed, bowing his head to rest on her lap as she sighed and leaned back. Hands going to his tangled mane, she assured,

"I don't want this, my Prince. But it must come to pass. Besides, I do not often require saving, this past time being a mild exception."

Daemon sighed into her lap. "I know... I know, sweet girl, you are right, but I am going to miss you. You are here with me now, still under my hands, and I miss you."

Her hands thread through his long locks, gently picking at bloody clumps. Her voice quivered and the sands of time slowed to allow the couple a few moments more as she promised him, "I'll miss you, too, my love. But I will find you."

Three days later, Daemon, with shortly cropped hair hosting a crown of mangled driftwood to symbolize both his victory and loss in the Stepstones, where he won the war, but lost the girl, departed by himself on Caraxes' back. From the Drfitmark, back to King's Landing, Daemon flew alone - and forced himself to get used to the loneliness her absence created.

For years, despite the marriages he found himself bound in, he would dream of her face; smell her plaguing his nostrils; and phantom touches of fleeting flesh warming his own before he realizes he's woken up with the Lady Laena, or years later, his Lady niece-wife. He would wake with an ache in his heart, never telling his wives what weighed his soul down; never knowing when he'd see her again, but letting the desire drive him forward.

part two: The Battle Above the God's Eye

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones imagine

577 notes · View notes