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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 9 months

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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 1: Sunrise

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the very first instalment of this series, featuring baby!Babey and teen-uncle!Daemon! This prologue will be the only Daemon POV of this instalment (or at least that is my current plan), and there will be several time jumps in keeping with canon. Please keep in mind that, as canon diverges around Episode 5/6 in this series, much of what occurs in the show will also occur as-is here, so don’t expect anything particularly innovative in terms of plot, lol. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to establish Babey as a firm part of the storyline in a manner that is a little less ambiguous, and will also serve to provide more wholesome Babey/Daemon interactions to foreground their later shift. A couple things: there will be NO ROMANCE in this fic, because Babey is a child. Ew. There may be mentions of romance between other characters, but this story will be told firmly through Babey’s eyes and thus events are limited to her own interpretations.

Anyway! Enough from me - on with the show!

TRIGGERS: mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth, mentions of childbirth trauma, blood.

“And so it was that, in the summer of 109 AC, Queen Aemma took once again to her childbed, remaining there for near two days for what would be a difficult and taxing labour. In the early hours of the morning, King Viserys and his lady wife welcomed a living babe—but not the babe they expected. The arrival of a second daughter took both by surprise, for they had come to believe the child in the Queen’s belly had been their longed-for son. It was nonetheless announced that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy girl, and a great relief was struck up across the Realm, the bells of King’s Landing being rung from dawn to dusk and the people gathering on the streets in praise of their new Princess.”

- ‘Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

It's quiet this time, he thinks. No snivelling midwives, no wailing… A good thing, surely.

Still. The silence, in all of its peculiarity, is unnerving. After the last occasion—the frenetic activity bustling up and down the halls, the yelling, the sound of Aemma’s screams, the stench of blood thickening in his nostrils as he stepped forth to take his first and last view of the purple, unmoving babe in the cradle he would never outgrow—the absence of sound seems almost foreboding. Should he not hear the child cry? Should he not be within by now? He would venture to knock on the door, but he dare not risk disturbing this fragile peace—especially if it is not fated to remain so.

Thus, Daemon Targaryen, eighteen summers of age and the King’s very own brother, waits in his seat opposite the entry to the Queen’s chambers as he has done for hours. And, as he sits, he prays.

Well—not pray, exactly. He’d have to believe in gods to do that. But, should a higher power exist, it cannot hurt to lend his own voice to the masses that even now attempt to muster enough mercy to grant the survival of his cousin and the child she has worked so hard to bring forth these past moons. Let them live, he urges, pressing the thought out into the air around him, into the sky far above the Keep. Let them both live.

“Any news?”

Daemon snaps to attention, head tilting automatically to the intruder. He suppresses a sneer. Now is not the time.

“Nothing,” he says, taking care to keep his tone even.

Otto Hightower sighs. “Well”—the Hand of the King moves closer, towering over Daemon with his hands clasped behind his back—“no news is good news, I hope.”

“Hm.” He’ll not dignify that with a response.

Hightower’s eyes narrow in on him. “There is no need to sound quite so downtrodden, Prince Daemon. I am sure the King will find some use for you… now that you are no longer his heir.”

He knows what the man is after. A display of anger, perhaps—maybe even hot-headed insistence on his part that his position stands as it has since Viserys won the throne, that the child is dead, that the Lord has every reason to fear him still. He won’t give him the satisfaction, though. If his brother ventures out to see Daemon once again railing at his most trusted advisor…

Daemon’s desire to meet his nephew outweighs his need to put this upstart in his place.

“Never fear, Otto.” He smiles, lips stretched wide with too much teeth, threatening more than welcoming. “I’ll always have a place by Viserys’s side. I am his brother. And you…” He looks the man up and down. Even now, the pin of the Hand is attached to the cunt’s lapel like a sycophantic badge of honour, gleaming in the golden torchlight. “What are you, exactly?”

Hightower’s jaw clenches. “I am the Hand of the Ki—”

“For now,” Daemon says, a smug half-smirk playing at the very corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget that. For now.”

What he doesn’t say is plain to read upon his face. One day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll see you for what you really are. A leech, one who latches onto power and drains those who truly wield it dry.

The reminder makes Otto pale. “I—”

The door creaks open, the flushed face of one Viserys Targaryen appearing in the space between wood and frame. “Daemon.”

Daemon rises. “Is—how is—” He cannot get the fucking words out.

His brother grins. “Aemma is well, and the babe is healthy.”

He lets out a relieved breath, surprised to discover exactly how tense he had been since the messenger had roused him from sleep at the hour of the owl. That tension releases itself with the air he pushes from his lungs, his shoulders sagging from the freedom of it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer feel so wide, so fear-bright, and fatigue sets in. He is tired. But first—

“May I see him?” he asks.

At that, Viserys pauses, whatever he had intended to say to Otto left unfinished. He clears his throat, all joy fleeing his face. “Ah… About that.”

“Is the boy… crippled?” The Hand’s voice is hushed, apprehensive.

“No, no!” Viserys insists, shaking his head. “Only… she is small, quiet. Nothing at all like Rhaenyra was.”

“A girl? But Runciter was so certain!” Otto says, mouth parted in shock.

Runciter’s a fucking fool. Anyone who sets stock by his theories ought to be burned alive, Daemon thinks, rolling his eyes. He’d never liked maesters—any of them, least of all the doddering fuckwits appointed to the vaunted station of Grand Maester. That Runciter had gotten this wrong is hardly surprising. None of them seem to know what they are doing.

He pushes around his brother and leaves him to his latest inanity, moving onward to where his newest niece lay.

The Queen’s chambers are stifling, unbearably hot, the windows closed tight and the fires blazing in spite of the warmth already pervading the early hours of the morn. Another ridiculous notion, he suspects, though whether it be Westerosi custom or Targaryen superstition, he knows not. Perhaps dragonbabes can only be born into the fire they are made from.

Last time he was here, Aemma had been gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and near hysterical from the passing of her first, her only son. She’d laid weeping in her bloodied shift still, bedraggled hair sticking to slick skin as she’d mourned the child, insensate to kind words or reason from any who had approached her. Eventually, Viserys had demanded all who were not the blood of the dragon to remove themselves from the room. Together, he and Daemon had borne Aemma from her childbed, had taken her to the bath still waiting, had disposed of the last markers of gloom and tragedy marring the space.

Only those of Valyrian blood should ever bear witness to weakness from one of their own. Only those of Valyrian blood could ever understand the magnitude of such a loss. Their line had been dying out since the Doom—every death since only ever added salt to the wound.

What Daemon walks into this time is different. So very, very different.

Aemma is gaunt still, overcome by weariness, no doubt sapped greatly by the trials of such long labour. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath her eyes, skeletal, made almost sinister by the flicker of dim light, and her mouth is pale and cracked. Yet, there is naught but a buoyant sort of lightness adorning her face, shining more brilliantly than a crown ever could.

The chamber bears none of that ominous atmosphere that pervaded that night, instead filled with the heady scent of frankincense clogging each breath he draws, earthy smoke settling warm in his gut. The sheets are clean. The midwives calm. The Grand Maester, asleep in the chair by the fire.

And, in the Queen’s arms, the smallest wrapped bundle he has ever seen.

“Is that…” He swallows, dazed and speechless.

His cousin beams. “Come,” she says. “Come and meet her.”

Wordlessly, he approaches, taking care to make his footfalls light so as not to disturb the delicate creature enshrined in a mother’s embrace. As he draws close, he sees that the babe is not asleep as he had thought. Instead, open eyes look upward, deep dark indigo with the merest hint of lilac-violet-amethyst, the promise of Old Valyria in that muzzy, unfocused gaze.

This is the moment he meets you.

Aemma graciously accepts his silent question, relinquishing you to your uncle with naught but a gentle sigh and a stroke to the cheek. So little are you that you settle easily into the line of his arm, head to the crook of his elbow and rump to his cupped hand, light enough that it would be easy to forget you are even there. You let out a soft bleat, feet kicking beneath your swaddling—but that is all. For when that blue-nearly-purple stare shifts, locking with his, you fall silent, still. And so does he.

You are beautiful.

Of course you are. Viserys is hardly the handsomest of men, and Aemma comely enough though of no great noteworthiness, but their firstborn is about as lovely as any girl of nine summers can be. Your sister.

Gods, he thinks. Rhaenyra, an elder sister. The very notion of his spoiled little niece playing such a part seems unwittingly hilarious in this moment. She will not like being made to share her mama and papa—her uncle—with you.

Right now, that is irrelevant. His attention returns to the slope of your nose, the rosebud bloom of your lips, the blush of your rounded cheeks, tracking the near ethereal features of your face with a delicate fingertip. Newborns are dreadful looking things, usually, squished and red and misshapen. You look like a painting, or a doll made by the finest artisans, a sculpture rendered by magic rather than mortal hands. He wonders if it is love for you—and it is love, he has no doubt of that, for his love of family is perhaps the one true redeeming quality he possesses—that blinds him to any imperfection, or if you really are as lovely as you seem.

“What will you name her?” he asks, smoothing the cloths off your fragile little head to take the briefest peek at your scalp. Ah—there it is. Targaryen silver. With an Arryn for a mother, one could never be certain.

“Rhaenyra’s insisted on naming her sister Visenya.”

Daemon glances toward the foot of the bed. Viserys has returned, absent of his loyal hound, drawing near without his notice.

He snorts. “How very like her.” ‘Tis true; Rhaenyra has always been fixated on stories of the Conqueror and his wives, in particular forming a fascination for the elder of Aegon’s Queens. It is a powerful name. A warrior’s name. He frowns. “A fine name—but not for this little thing.”

Visenya is anger and retribution; violence and chaos; death and destruction. Daemon can find nothing of the sort in you. Every part of you—from the tips of your fuzzed palewhite hair to the petite softness of your wiggly little feet—seems fit for a destiny of another kind. One of peace, of calm, of joy and goodness.

Aemma hums an agreement, wholly preoccupied with gazing at her newest child. “If she were a son, her name would be Baelon.”

“Hm.” Viserys steps forward, palm brushing featherlight across your side as he passes to sit by his wife. “Baelon and Visenya. Those are the names we had prepared. But alas, Baelon was not to be. And Visenya is not… right.”

Daemon stands, bringing you a scant few steps toward the window. Dawn is approaching. The sky has relinquished the darkness of night, and there, on the horizon, the faintest of ambers illuminates the locus where the heavens and the earth meet, silhouetting the city below. As he watches the sun rise, he just barely hears the staff behind him make their final exits, awash in a rustle of equipment and a hush of words offered to their mistress and exultant ruler.

A tiny noise below draws his interest. Your eyelids have drooped, soft lashes framing lavender lids that sweep across the skin of your cheeks. When he dips his finger into the parting of your mouth, you begin to suckle at him, reflex rather than need.

“What would you call her?” Aemma asks after seconds, minutes, hours. He turns, brow arched in surprise. She seems genuinely curious, though she is admittedly not one for mean-spirited japes as it is. His cousin has always valued his opinion more than his brother ever had, even if was she who had forced his bitch of a wife upon him. “If you could,” she adds, “what name would you give her?”

He looks to Viserys, wordlessly asking for permission. A dip of the chin is his response. Letting loose a soft grunt, he peers down at his small charge.

Visenya is too fierce. Gael too glum. Too many fucking ‘Rhae’ names, so no Rhaenys. Daella too bland, Saera too provocative, Alysanne too common.

And then, he thinks upon it. The perfect name. Your name. When he says it aloud, he is met with a shine in Aemma’s eyes, a gleam in Viserys’s grin.

“That is it,” the King says, nodding decisively. “That is what we shall call her.” Rising, he comes forward to clap Daemon on the shoulder lightly, hand warm even through the layers of his shirt and coat. “Thank you, brother.”

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, tipping his head.

There is a tightening in his chest, the sort of feeling that threatens to stop his heart from the depth of his own enduring emotion. As Viserys makes his way to the door to deliver the announcement—to proclaim your birth, to order the ringing of the bells, to declare your name for the entire world to hear and know—Daemon gazes down at you.

“What do you think, sweetling?” He says your name again.

This time, he swears that you smile back at him.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48798151/chapters/123097897

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

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cozage · 1 year

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Masterlist💕

Search by Popular Character

Headcanons/Small Stories (oldest writing is first!)

Boyfriends and Birthdays (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) OP Boys and a Sick S/O (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Law) Captured By Marines (Luffy, Ace, Law) Truth or Dare (Ace, Shanks, Luffy, Law) Taking a hit for them in battle (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Festivals with the OP Boys (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace) A Plushie Substitute (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace, Law) I like the way your hand fits in mine (Luffy, Zoro, Kid, Shanks) A New Home (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Forgotten (Zoro, Luffy, Law) The Pain of Healing (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Pain of Healing Part Two (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Pain of Healing Part Three (Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace) Rich S/O HCs (Law) Oblivious Flirting (Law, Luffy, Ace) Flustered HCs (Buggy, Law) Flustered Situations (Sanji, Zoro, Ace) Sleepy Afternoons (Strawhats) Fever Pains (Law and Chopper) Pampering the Prince (Sanji) "I'm Late" (Luffy, Sanji, Shanks, Law) Beauty Scars (Kid, Law) Hate is Such a Strong Word (Luffy, Sanji, Law, Zoro) Rescued by Pirates (Luffy, Law, Ace) Kabedon (Robin, Vivi, Boa, Zoro, Law, Shanks) Silent Treatment (Shanks, Zoro, Sanji) Silent Treatment Pt. 2 (Sabo, Law, Ace) Over-affectionate Love HCs (Law, Zoro) Graffiti on His Heart (Sanji, Zoro, Law) Baking for the Boys (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Old Wounds (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) Enemy Control (Zoro, Ace, Law) Extra Clingy HCs (Luffy, Law, Kidd, Shanks) Prank Text (Luffy, Ace, Shanks, Sabo) Don't Leave (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji) (Not) Just a Boyfriend (Law, Luffy, Zoro) Karaoke Night (Strawhats) True Love's Kiss (Law, Luffy, Zoro) Panic Attacks (Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law) Intimidating Nerd (Sanji, Zoro, Usopp) New Perfume (Shanks, Sanji, Ace) Helping them Through Panic Attacks (Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law) Indirect Kisses (Zoro, Luffy, Law) Bratty Consequences (Shanks, Ace, Kid)

She's Kind of Stupid, but... (Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy) Fire and Water (Ace, Sabo) Kinks-NSFW (Ace, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law, Kid) Teaching Moments (Ace, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy) Children Crushes (Zoro, Sanji, Shanks) Confession (Zoro, Sanji) From Friends to Lovers (Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Shanks) A Hand to Hold (Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law) Scandalous Reading-NSFWish (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Law)

One Shots

The Language of Love (Ace x m reader) Push and Pull (Law x gn reader) Five Stages of Grief (Ace x gn reader) A Life of Adventure (Beckman x gn reader) Transmission (Law x female reader) Settling Down (Shanks x female reader) A Painted Dream (Sanji x gn reader) A Lifetime Promise (Law x female reader) Home is Where the Heart is (Luffy x gn reader) There When You Need Us (ASL family x female reader) Wings of the Pirate King (Luffy x female reader) Dreamland (Sabo x female reader) Comic Books (Law x gn reader) Love Marks (Zoro x female reader + familial ASL) Red Nose (Buggy x gn reader) A Cold Cola (Franky, Sanji) Fairytale (Sanji x gn reader) How to Save a Life (Luffy x gn reader) Winter Island Blues (Law x gn reader) Leaving (Law x gn reader) Missing Ingredient (Sanji x fem reader)

Made for Two fic (Sanji x gn reader) completed :)

Prologue: Sunset for One Set for Two Recipe for Two Dance for Two Dessert for Two

The Moss that Grew in Gloom (Zoro x female reader) (ongoing)

The Fall of a Swordsman Honor in Asking for Help Training and Teaching Celebrating the Little Things A Secret Code

The Daughter's Return (Ace x female reader) (ongoing)

On Tumblr On AO3

The Meaning of Justice: A short fic (ongoing)

Chapter One: Loguetown Chapter Two: Nanohana Chapter Three: Alabasta Desert Chapter Four: Yuba

#masterlist #cozage

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joy-laufeyson · 1 year

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One Piece fics recommendations

(Reader inserts) Recommendations of my favorite headcanons/imagines/fics/scenarios (I don’t own any)

・・・・・・

@ cozage's masterlist

@ doctorgerth's masterlist

@ dxestyi's masterlist

@ laawlesss' masterlist

@ okkiku's masterlist

@ sanjisprincesswifey's masterlist

@ some-piece's masterlist

@ zaimta's masterlist

@ zoros-bandana's masterlist

・・・・・・

fluff / not saying "I love you" back ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law & Shanks

sfw / when you randomly touch their butt ⟶ w/ Zoro, Law, Ace, Luffy, Sanji, & Shanks

angst / losing an arm to protect them (part 1) ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Robin & Law

angst / losing an arm to protect them (part 2) ⟶ w/King, Ace & Smoker

fluff / mermaid s/o ⟶ w/Marco, Luffy, Sanji, Zoro & Law

fluff / making their s/o smile ⟶ w/Law, Kid & Aokiji

fluff / trying to win their crush over ⟶ w/Mihawk, Law, & Aokiji

fluff / nicknames that stuck ⟶ w/Zoro & Law

fluff / leaving lipstick marks ⟶ w/Shanks, Nami, Law & Mihawk

fluff / when the s/o can cook ⟶ w/Ace, Sabo, Luffy & Sanji

fluff / with a girlfriend who calls them “boyfriend” ⟶ w/Ace, Sanji, & Shanks

fluff / girlfriend who spaces out ⟶ w/Ace, Sanji & Law

angst fluff / "because I love you" ⟶ w/Zoro, Law & Marco

angst / when they accidentally hurt you ⟶ w/Luffy & Shanks

angst fluff / a new home ⟶ w/Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law & Ace

fluff / a plush substitute ⟶ w/Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Ace & Law

angst fluff / you being sick on the ship ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace & Law

angst / captured by marines (part 1) ⟶ w/Luffy, Law & Ace

angst fluff / rescued by pirates (part 2) ⟶ w/Luffy, Law & Ace

sfw / sitting on their lap because of a challenge/truth or dare game ⟶ w/Ace, Shanks, Luffy & Law

fluff / "I like the way your hand fits in mine" ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, Kid & Shanks

angst / the pain of healing (part 1, part 2, part 3) ⟶ w/Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law & Ace

fluff / kissing you for the first time ⟶ w/Zoro, Luffy, Law, Ace, Sabo

angst fluff / panic attacks ⟶ w/Sanji, Zoro, Luffy & Law

angst fluff / beauty scars ⟶ w/Law & Kid

sfw / indirect kisses ⟶ w/Zoro, Luffy & Law

ansgt fluff / helping them through panic attacks ⟶ w/Sanji, Zoro, Luffy & Law

fluff / meet cute ⟶ w/Luffy, Law & Kid

⚠️angst fluff / reacting to your self-harm scars ⟶ w/Lufffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kid & Killer

angst fluff / true love's kiss⟶ w/Law, Luffy & Zoro

sfw / saving from drowning ⟶ w/Kid, Law, Marco & Robin

fluff / a hand to hold ⟶ w/Zoro, Sanji, Luffy & Law

fluff / from friends to lovers ⟶ w/Ace, Sabo, Luffy & Shanks

fluff / child crushes ⟶ w/Zoro, Sanji & Shanks

・・・・・・

fluff / turned into a baby ⟶ w/Zoro, Law, Kaku, Ace, Sanji, Ussop & Luffy

fluff / heartstopper ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, Sanji & Law

angst fluff / rescuing you (part 1) ⟶ w/Law & Zoro

angst fluff / rescuing you (part 2) ⟶ w/Sanji & Kid

STRAW-HAT PIRATES

Monkey D. Luffy • Roronoa Zoro • Sanji

nsfw / you use your safe words ⟶ w/Zoro, Luffy & Sanji

nsfw fluff / friends with benefits ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Sanji

nsfw fluff / when you pamper them in the bath ⟶ w/Nami, Zoro, & Sanji

fluff / with a s/o insecure about their smile ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro, & Sanji

fluff / catch me ⟶ w/Zoro, Sanji & Luffy

angst / taking a bullet for them ⟶ w/Luffy, Sanji & Zoro

angst fluff / they make s/o cry ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Sanji

fluff / kissing their scar ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Nami

fluff / taking care of them when they are sick ⟶ w/ Sanji & Zoro

fluff / calling you their wife ⟶ w/Luffy & Zoro

fluff / birthdays ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Sanji

angst / taking a hit for them in battle ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Sanji

fluff / baking for the boys ⟶ w/Luffy, Zoro & Sanji

angst / dying in their arms ⟶ w/Luffy & Zoro

fluff / returned kisses ⟶w/Zoro, Sanji & Luffy

・・・・・・

fluff / confession ⟶ w/Sanji & Zoro

angst fluff / seeing you cry for the first time ⟶ w/Sanji & Zoro

HEART PIRATES

Trafalgar D. Water Law

・・・・・・

WHITEBEARD PIRATES

Portgas D. Ace

・・・・・・

KID PIRATES

Eustass "Captain" Kid

・・・・・・

REVOLUTIONARY ARMY

Sabo

・・・・・・

Updated:16-March-2024

#one piece masterlist #one piece imagine #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #sabo x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader

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wroteclassicaly · 11 months

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Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings: Dry humping, Steve comes in his pants, language, overall NSFW, mild mentions of roleplay with Steve’s old highschool title, some touching, & Steve tasting the reader off his fingers.

A/N: I get extremely thirsty for Steve, especially when we get new JK content (we’ve been fed)! This fic was inspired by this post… Hope y’all enjoy?! 🤭❤️

If you ask Steve Harrington what his favorite smell is, he’s always going to have the very same answer. You. Hell, you accumulate all of his senses; taste, touch, sight, hearing, and smell. When he isn’t looking at you, doesn’t have his hands on you, isn’t buried with his tongue between your legs or his fingers inside to sample, hear your soft whimpers or pleads, loud yells during your sassier moments, your voice crying out for him, when he can’t smell your perfume on your soft skin, maybe even your body lotion - whatever product you like to lather on — he goes insane. So it’s no surprise that your chlorine soaked skin had driven him to his very brink, causing a defined pout to capture his Cupid’s bow as you slighted his advances to go and take a post-pool bath. No amount of that cute little pearly white smirking that he did, promises that he didn’t mind - none of it worked.

Steve had sulked to the guest shower, retreating after in a new pair of jeans, relaxing on his living room couch, nursing a beer and a sturdy irritation. It wasn’t hot, no, the AC worked fine, but as he ran his hand through his fuzzy sternum-clad mane, his imagination had catapulted beyond reason. He wanted you. His tongue was slick but it wasn’t with you, his fingers dry, his nose inhaling his own apple and cedarwood body wash. He’d looked over and it wasn’t you he saw, just a condensed soaked brown bottle overflowing on the coaster.

“Stevie? Is that the last beer, baby?” He perked immediately, the soft pudge of his stomach squishing against his belt as he leaned up to indulge in two senses; sight and sound.

You’d brought your own toiletry bag, and he was smacked in the face with your delicious fragrance. That, and your baggy t-shirt with a faded logo on it that you had thrifted for lounging purposes, complete with your white cotton panties that had a pink daisy on the crotch.

He needed you.

You barely have time to wash down some sips of your boyfriend’s beer and he’s wrapping his arms around you from behind, letting out a growl in your ear as he falls back onto the couch with you. “Jesus, Steve.”

“I know it’s Sunday, but only King Steve is here, honey.”

“Are you still in your glory years, babe?” You snort softly, even though you are aware of what he’s about to respond with.

“You’re the only one that can call me that now, and, as I recall, “— he cuts himself off, leaning into a sitting position, taking you with him, “— it makes you cum pretty fuckin’ hard, sweetheart,” he rubs a calloused thumb behind your ear, trickling down towards the lobe, before continuing, “and you love how mean I get. Just like highschool, but your pussy is all for me this time.”

You let him maneuver you onto him into a straddle, watching him collapse onto his back, his hands on the fat of your thighs, blown hazel scattering those green specks into the black expanding abyss of his pupils. You don’t bother to deny it, you love playing the nerd that he never looked twice at and he takes on that crowned cocky role, letting your old highschool hierarchies stay in the past, but being able to have fun with them. You take his defined digits as he offers them to you, linking together, pushing them beside his head as you press to him, breasts smashed into his naked chest. Steve expected to take control, ravage you first, however — you shock him. Your teeth nip at his stubble bitten chin, licking your way underneath his jawline and across his jugular, just in time for him to swallow against your kisses. Apparently you’ve needed him just as much, if the newly accumulated warmth in your panties is anything to go by.

Steve can feel it sinking through his denim wash jeans, that sopping wet spot in your cute little panties as you begin to roll your hips back and forth, thighs tightening around his trim waistline. You raise to a height, moving above him, tossing your head back and letting your eyes close. His thick cock swells embarrassingly fast, even for him. You give little mewls in response, taking your still linked hands up and sliding them beneath your shirt, encouraging him, but never letting him get his fill without your guiding hands. Steve surrenders to it, sweat already slicking his chest and matting the hair back, his dick painfully pressing on his zipper.

He tries to plead for you to let him get some relief, but you merely shake your head, too caught up to register. He’s so thick and warm beneath you, dragging along your soaking wet cunt just right, his bulge helping stretch your overly damp underwear over your clit on every thrust of your hips.

“Shit, shit… Honey, are you soaked? Feels like — fuck!”

He pushes your hands out of the way and rips your shirt over your head, you helping him discard it with an audible cast off, automatically letting him play with your tits. His thumbs rub, fingertips pinch at your nipples. His tongue is dry, wanting to kiss you, taste the cream from between your thighs, lick your salty skin. Through his quickening pulse that rushes through his ears, the glassy haze in his eyes — Steve looks down between your legs. He whines, giving you a heightened sense of power and pride.

His view is rewarding, aside from his raging need to cum, he sees the saturated, sticky crotch that darkens the daisy decor on your panties. And it’s seeping out all over him. A sudden tightness latches onto his muscles, clings like a vice, tickling him with an electrifying ache. His eyes widen, lips parting, a desperation he wasn’t aware could come from him appears, “Honey, I’m cumming. Baby, please —“

His toes curl, thighs tremble against yours, his back arching into the raw and untouched stimulation, and you push down, rocking in harder, faster. He’s done for. You spread your legs a little wider, right in time to see his orgasm darken his jeans in a rather… large patch. He’s crying out and panting your name, all the veins in his throat tensing and constricting as he rides the last of it out. It beckons you into helping yourself, his combined essence mixing with yours as you pull your underwear to the side and gently rub your clit back and forth across the mess, the scratchy material wet enough to not hurt.

“Good girl, that’s my sweet fuckin’ babygirl..” Steve has found his voice again, releasing one set of laced hands, reaching to spread your lips apart, his other palming your breast, before sliding up your neck to squeeze and letting his thumb press into your mouth. “Yeah, s’ a good sweetheart for me, sucking on my thumb as you rub this little clit in my cum,” he flicks your button with his thumb, “feel powerful making me cum like that, don’t you? Haven’t done that in years, baby. See what you make of me?”

He’s babbling, disbelief that he resorted to being unable to hold it, that fire too strong, his desire too carnal for you.

You lose control now, bowing over and letting his thumb rest at your lips, both hands raising to suction to his wrist. He licks his parched mouth, pushing his hips slightly to tilt you over the edge and into his hold. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it, honey. Holy-fucking-shit!”

The coil in you snaps and Steve sees that translucent cream pour out of your opening and drip onto his jeans. You moan out his name, thighs quaking beyond your control, and you don’t protest him raising up to steal the last of your orgasm in a kiss, his thumbpad slowly working over to your clit to assist your climactic completion. Your heart is racing, lips parting from his with a smack, his finger stilling, swiping through your drenched seam to sample, bringing it up to finally have his favorite taste. You’re grinning, eager to pounce, knowing this night is not over.

Still, you can’t resist the urge to tease, trying to ease the shaking in your jello-fied limbs. “Mhm, looks like you’re gonna need a shower, King Steve, because the nerd just owned you. Can we time travel into 83 to tell you about that?”

With a still heaving, curly and chestnut colored set of tresses, Steve gets that look in his eyes. “You better get your ass upstairs, little girl. You’re wet enough to take me, so we’ll see who truly owns who.”

Mutual parties that belong to one another, but Steve is ready to play and you’re not ready to playfully argue…

// Eat me paragraph //

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brewstersbru · 2 months

Text

More radioapple with ace Alastor (cont. of last 📻🍎 fic) sorry if its a little ooc im sappy

“No.”

Alastor’s voice comes out quick and staticky as he expertly dodges Lucifer’s hands trying to pet down his waistcoat. Lucifer immediately steps back, eyes wide.

“Sorry! Sorry, Al, was that not okay?” He asks, still keeping his distance. Alastor’s expression is inscrutable, nose wrinkled as he smiles at the ground.

It’s quiet for a moment before Alastor shakes his head.

“I need to be alone for a bit.” He grits, then, just as Lucifer goes to respond, his shadows envelop him and he melts from the room.

“That’s-“ Lucifer sighs, “fine.” Leave it to him to somehow fuck this up. “This” being the unspoken, ever so slightly romantic thing he and Alastor have had going on ever since that night in the bathroom.

It started with meals; after figuring out that Lucifer was bearing his wound, Alastor- for lack of a better term- threw himself into feeding him.

Lucifer thought it was sweet that he used his, surprisingly human, ways to care for him through recovery. The food probably didn’t do anything tangible in helping Lucifer’s body patch itself together, but it made him feel warm, loved. Better than he has in an age.

The food, of course, was delicious, but what Lucifer liked most about taking meals with Alastor was the quiet sense of simply being with another person, without expectation. Without an unspoken asking for something in return. Lucifer had already done his part, and the pulsing pain in his chest each night was infinitely worth each peaceful hour.

At first, Alastor didn’t touch him if he didn’t have to, but just him being there, acknowledging Lucifer’s presence and doing his best to care for him through the pain was enough. Lucifer thought it would be over when he was finally healed, that Alastor would consider his debt repaid and leave him to his own devices once the bleeding stopped.

It was almost too much to imagine.

Lucifer has a nasty habit of getting attached, which is really quite unfortunate given his circumstances. Still, he hasn’t been able to shake it quite yet, and in a shameful moment of spiraling weakness, he had torn through his stitches, hoping to elongate the healing window, even just slightly.

He left the three green X’s alone, tried to keep it secret, but somehow Alastor figured it out, like he always seems to.

Furious, he’d marched Lucifer right back to the bathroom and redid his stiches, this time entirely with the neon green thread he is able to manifest at will. The thread was warm, a little biting against his skin, but Lucifer liked it. Liked that it meant Alastor would pay attention to him.

God, what a pathetic thing to do. He still cringes when he thinks back on it, but loneliness will make a wasteland out of you. And Lucifer was desperate enough to bleed for the company, his blood is a mere pittance, after all. He’ll never run dry.

The longer they spent together, the more comfortable Alastor was touching Lucifer; little brushes against his shoulder as he passed behind his usual seat at the kitchen island, a steadying hand on his side when he checked his stitches.

It was bliss.

There was a starving, gnawing part of him that basked in it; that took the offered touches like scraps from a table and still wanted more. Another part of him, cold and still burnt from the last time, told him not to get stupid, not to ask for more than he was worth.

Never to beg, because begging is unbecoming of a king.

They fell into a rhythm, small touches, loaded glances, oh so subtle forms of care. Lucifer was healed before he wanted to be, but Alastor didn’t stop. Didn’t leave, even when he checked his stitches one day and, grinning, snipped them away to reveal a shining pink scar.

Even healed, Alastor cooked for him. Even on days when he couldn’t force himself to leave his room, a covered plate would be left just outside his door, food incomprehensibly warm even hours after being made. The touches- maddening, lovely as they were- continued, chaste and addicting as ever.

Lucifer began to feel wild with it. Something inside of him- frayed at the edges, and torn in the middle- couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Why? He thought. Why, still? Why me? He never got the courage to ask, too afraid of Alastor realizing his mistake.

So, they continued like that. Alastor got more comfortable touching Lucifer who was more than happy to let him. It seemed like he didn’t get much practice with it. Touching.

The more Lucifer fell into the lull of security, the more he noticed the tentativeness of each touch, the careful laying of each finger against pale skin, as if Alastor were exploring touch for the first time. As if it fascinated him.

Lucifer never asked- always afraid of doing something stupid to make the final shoe drop faster- but he did notice. And he began coming up with a plan. Alastor is not the only person in hell who sees their relationships as transactional. Good deeds must be paid back. They must, or you’re indebted. Or, more frighteningly, at least to Lucifer, they will grow bored of you.

They will see that you are ungrateful, and they will leave.

Unwilling to let that happen, Lucifer devised a plot. Alastor has very obviously never been very intimate with anyone before, which is totally ok, if not confusing given his objectively handsome features. But he evidently, somehow, feels safe exploring intimacy with Lucifer, which is so incredibly heartening (it makes something hot burst in his chest every time he thinks about it). Lucifer can use this to pay Alastor back, slowly introduce him to different touches until he feels more comfortable with them.

It’s perfect. Or- he thought it was perfect. Until today. Until Alastor got that wide, panicked look in his eyes as he shouted “No!” before running off to recover. Father Above. How did Lucifer manage to fuck up this bad? There’s no way they recover from this.

He takes a second to mourn the relationship before squaring his shoulders and heading to his room to write about a hundred drafts of his apology letter. He can’t believe he so brazenly stepped over a boundary, not even realizing it was there!

He’s the king of hell for godssakes, he should know when one of his subjects is on edge, or uncomfortable. More than that, he’s spent enough time with Alastor that he should know his tells, as well.

Some king he’s turned out to be, huh? Fuck.

***

It takes Alastor two days to appear before Lucifer again, and not for lack of trying on his part. Lucifer had forced himself from his room each day, wandering the hotel’s grounds looking for him. Several times he would sit at the bar for hours on end, watching, waiting.

Not for nothing, though, he’s learned something quite interesting about the bartender, Husk, and Angel Dust, the porn star.

Over a series of poorly hushed conversations, and not-so-surreptitious glances, he’s learned that they’re dating. Have been for a good few weeks, and somehow no one’s noticed. They seem glad of that fact, though, so Lucifer resolves not to tell anyone.

More interesting, though, is that Husk has been urging his boyfriend to ‘go for what he wants, for once’ which Lucifer hadn’t really understood until he looked over and caught both of them hurriedly looking away. Super unsuspiciously. It was almost enough to make a grown man blush, the sudden knowledge that he was wanted. That despite what he tells himself in his worst moments, he is desirable.

Angel is an attractive man, Lucifer’s not too insecure in himself to admit that, but something curdles in his gut at the thought of pursuing anything with him while he and Alastor are still on the rocks. Which… Is new, and a little terrifying.

Plus, he doesn’t exactly seem like the type to take charge, if you catch his drift, and while Lucifer is happy to play any role his partner wants, he doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it. Not anymore. He just can’t see himself as a figure of authority, not when he knows what it’s really like to be himself. Pathetic, and lonely. The thought of embarrassing himself like that while vulnerable is excruciating, so he pretends not to have noticed their intentions. Thankfully, Angel hasn’t approached him yet. He’s not sure what he would say, anyway.

Back to the most pressing matter, Alastor knocks on Lucifer’s door late at night, two days after the awkwardness of Lucifer’s unwanted touches. When Lucifer opens the door, he’s smiling calmly, and holding two covered plates, one in each hand.

“May I come in?” He asks. Lucifer nods, doggedly, then flushes when he remembers the state that his room is in, after several nights of wallowing. Being the king of hell does have its perks, though, so he snaps his fingers and the place rights itself.

Not before Alastor gets a good enough look to purse his lips disapprovingly, though.

Lucifer manifests a small table and two chairs, which Alastor makes immediate use of, placing a plate in front of each chair, and pulling one out for Lucifer to sit in.

“Please, take a seat. I think we need to talk.” Great. That’s always a good start to a conversation. Not like that’s ever gone wrong for Lucifer before. Nope.

With a sigh- internally steeling himself against the impending rejection- Lucifer sits. Alastor hums, and follows suit, snapping his fingers to disappear the lids to their food as soon as he’s seated.

It looks delicious, as it always does. Some sort of colored rice dish with meat and veggies mixed throughout. Lucifer smiles and thanks him, snapping to manifest some drinks- a champagne for himself, and a rich red wine for Alastor.

It’s quiet for a bit as they take their first few bites. Lucifer hums his appreciation, which Alastor’s smile ticks up at.

Finally, stomach knotting itself enough to disrupt his enjoyment of the food, Lucifer speaks.

“I’m so sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I did, and if there’s anything I can do- anything at all- to make up for it-“ before he can finish, Alastor cuts in, voice staticky.

“It wasn’t your fault, my dear. You didn’t know. I’m afraid I…” He trails off for a bit, mulling over his next words. Lucifer waits patiently, eyes wide.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that specific kind of touching. I don’t like it.” He’s not looking at Lucifer anymore, head turned to the side as he taps his claws against his wine glass. Lucifer tilts his head.

“By ‘that kind of touching’, do you mean on your torso? I don’t want to mess it up again.” He asks. It’s a little presumptuous to imply that he’ll be able to touch Alastor, after this, but he’s too on edge to censor himself correctly. Alastor scoffs.

“You did not ‘mess anything up’. There was just a simple miscommunication. By that I mean sexual touches. Or anything meant to lead in that direction.” Ah, Lucifer’s hand had been quite close to his navel, and his intention was most definitely to take the touches further if Alastor was comfortable with it. He nods, apologizing once more.

“Got it. Sorry again, Al, I know you don’t think I need to say it, but I still feel bad. Thank you for telling me.” Lucifer- infinitely relieved and brimming with ill-advised hope- smiles up at him and rests his hand, palm up, in the middle of the table. Maybe he can salvage this. Maybe he doesn’t have to lose everything again.

Alastor’s grin softens at the edges as his eyes rove over Lucifer’s expression. He ‘tsk’s but places his own hand on top of Lucifer’s, gently intertwining their fingers and bringing them up to press a small kiss to Lucifer’s knuckles.

A giddy laugh bursts from Lucifer’s chest and he buries his face- or what he can manage to obscure of it- into the palm of his remaining hand. It’s okay. Alastor’s not angry with him, it’s okay.

A few tears gather on his lashline, but he blinks them away before they can fall. Alastor’s other hand leaves his wine glass to brush just underneath Lucifer’s eye.

“Oh, don’t cry, dearest. It’s alright.” He says, voice softer than Lucifer thinks he’s ever heard it. It occurs to him that this must have been hard for Alastor, too, so unused to being vulnerable, but still showing this part of himself to Lucifer, and for what? So that Lucifer feels better? To put his mind at ease?

It’s so stupid.

It’s so kind.

Lucifer shakes his head, “Happy tears, Al. Thanks for trusting me.”

Alastor’s thumb swipes against the apple of his cheek as he hums.

“As if I could do anything else.”

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apompkwrites · 2 years

Text

the broken kingscholar || leona kingscholar

masterlist characters: falena (platonic) genre: angst contains: reader is demeaned a lot, implied physical abuse, verbal abuse summary: the elders of the kingscholar palace drive (name) kingscholar away. away from palace life. away from their words. away from everything. notes: so this fic is labeled with falena as the character but will go under the leona masterlist along with leona's name on the title because leona doesn't really appear but it's still his family name and it is a part of the sibling series. also once again please keep in mind if you comment on a fic, i will only add you to that character's masterlist unless you specify all characters :)) parts: [og post] | [the lesser kingscholar (1)] | [the broken kingscholar (2)] | [the two kingscholars (2.5)] | [name pending (3)]

tired. that was the only word that could describe how you were feeling. except, you weren't tired in the same sense that leona was. no, you were drained. tired of being treated that you were.

it was that time of the day again. time for the elders to demean your very existence. they had the decency to do it in their own room. of course, that didn't matter much when your lessons ended and you were told to wait outside instead of going back to your room.

"honestly, prince/ss (name)... the nerve of that child..." ah, that was your etiquette teacher. she had no issue with insulting you to your face, albeit indirectly.

"oh, what did they do this time?" a voice you recognized as your magic teacher sighed.

"all of my lessons are going down the drain for them!" she complained. she probably threw her hands up in exasperation. she did that often. "each day they forget what i taught them! at this rate, they'll end up tarnishing the kingscholar name all on their own."

"ah, it's the same for you?" your magic teacher hummed. "they have been stuck on the basic lessons for magic. i fear king falena will be sorely disappointed when he visits them tomorrow..."

"basic lessons? as in the lessons that even the slums of the sunset savannah ace with flying colors?"

"exactly."

why...? why were they like this...? why did they find so much joy in your suffering?

...why did you even stand for it? why did you subject yourself to this treatment? you were a kingscholar! right?

the brief surge of motivation quickly left your body. you... could not call yourself a kingscholar. you could not put yourself on the same level your beloved brothers were on. they were leagues above you. they were the beloved princes of the savannah while you were... nothing. just the sand under their boots.

you know what? what's wrong with just leaving? you could start with this door.

you turned on your heels, quietly walking further and further from the elders' room. and the further you walked, the quieter their voices got. thank the seven they got quieter.

leave was all you heard in your ears. leave because it will get quieter. everything will get quieter.

quieter? yes, quieter. that's exactly what you want. quiet those words you could never escape from even in your own home.

leave. leave. leave leave leave leave leave leave.

you halted in your walking, stumbling back to reach your door. you hurried inside, ripping the sheets off your bed. they were torn a bit, remnants of your angered outbursts that were the only thing keeping you calm in the eyes of the public.

they were torn, sure, but they were intact to hold your essentials. laying them out on your bed, you got to work tossing some clothes onto them. you didn't need much, you could find some later.

your drawer was pulled out harshly, rattling against itself as if it were crying out in pain. your wallet was tossed inside carelessly, a few madol had fallen out and you quickly scooped them up. it wasn't much, but it should be enough for what you needed. what else--

"prince/ss (name)!" you jumped at the sudden shout and banging on your door.

"shit...!" you hissed under your breath, throwing your pillow over the sheets. you scrambled to hide the evidence of your plan, hoping that the way you would open the door would be enough to do so. before you could do anything more, your door was burst open.

"how many times must i drill this into your head?!" your etiquette teacher's voice pierced through the air. "a royal is expected to answer the call of their name! and now look! your chambers are unacceptable!"

ah, there it was. her infamous lectures she loved to end her lessons with all because she was unsatisfied with the results. you kept your head down, your chin almost tucked into your chest completely. all you had to do was bear it. bear with it because once they left...

you could leave.

"and haven't i told you that you must wait until you are dismissed?" she growled, leaning down to get at your level. she lifted your head, forcing your nose to line with hers as she stared into your eyes. "haven't i?"

"...yes, ma'am," you muttered, your nails digging into your palms.

"so why do you keep doing this?!" she snapped, her fingers that were holding your chin up moving to shove your head to the side. "how many times must we drill this into your thick skull?! how many times must we tell you this so that you will not be the downfall of the kingscholars?!"

"unless that's your goal," your magic teacher chimed in. "are you plotting to dismantle the kingdom from the inside?"

you...? dismantle the kingdom...? did they truly think that low of you...?

"...i take your silence as an admission of guilt," he snarled, standing beside your etiquette teacher.

this... was different. they were different. not once had they dared put their hands on you or direct magic towards you outside of lessons, let alone offensive ones. they had not dared to raise a hand to you because... that was what your brother commanded for them.

he made them swear to never lay a finger on you, so why? why are they doing this?

did... did falena go back on his word?

"we will not allow you to tarnish the kingscholar legacy," one of your teachers growled. at this point, you couldn't tell which one was speaking anymore. "from now on, we will drill these lessons into your head until you finally understand it."

"your chambers are unacceptable," the other teacher grumbled, kicking one of your clothes that you had tossed to the ground. "get this clean before tomorrow before king falena arrives. or else your lessons will be worse than they already will be."

you didn't know how long it took for them to leave, but they did. they slammed the remnants of the door behind them, uttering a spell under their breath to replace the broken wood.

if you stayed one more day... what would await you? now that the elders were willing to use force, what will they do to you? what would happen when you step into their quarters to begin your lessons?

you wouldn't make it out alive.

with trembling hands, you continued to throw necessities onto your bedsheets. you ended up with a few clothes to last a few days, ones that the elders had deemed "unfit for royalty" that you did not dare part with.

"...tonight," you declared to yourself, tying the bedsheet together to create a makeshift bag.

you could only hope the kingscholar name thrives for the sake of your brothers. your brothers and no one else.

"your majesty?" a voice called from the other side of the door, lightly tapping at the wood. "your majesty?"

"mmgh..." falena groaned in response, tossing in his bed and throwing his arm over his eyes. he dreaded this day, yet also looked forward to it.

for one, it was another day without leona. for all the grief he gave him, falena would miss having him around the castle. having him whisked off in a black carriage to a place he could not follow forced him to come to terms with the fact that his precious little brother was not so little anymore.

no longer could he reminisce on the times when he and his little siblings would run through the castle's halls, avoiding their father with every twist and turn. no longer could he reminisce on times when his little siblings would gang up on him because he always had the best reactions when a beetle was tossed onto his back or a maggot was placed in his hair.

he could no longer have that, but at least he still had his baby sibling. they were yet to reach the age to be eligible to enter night raven college so he could cherish their time just a little bit more.

"your majesty! i... am sorry to bother you but you must get ready for the day! prince/ss (name) is awaiting your arrival!"

ah, speaking of. falena tossed his sheets off his body before rolling off the bed, letting out a groan when his body hit the floor.

"your majesty?!"

"i'm okay!" he called as he pushed himself up. "i'm... i'm okay! i'll be right there!"

it didn't take him long to get ready. it was the same routine every morning. get his clothes from his closet, all of them were the same so he never had a choice. brush his hair, once again, he had a set hairstyle that rid him of choice.

"(name) is in their room, i assume?" he hummed to the attendant outside his door, brushing away the sand in his hair.

"yes, your majesty. they are scheduled to begin lessons after your visit," they informed him, bowing their head.

"so... the longer i stay the later their lessons begin?" falena hums to himself, earning a nod from the attendant.

"of course, sire."

"perfect!" before the attendant could continue, falena was already rushing down the hall. every day he had passed his sibling's room, hoping to fit time to visit them. alas, nothing had gone his way. every day the elders had more tasks for him to complete that took up a majority of the day. and when he did have time off, (name) had already been whisked away to complete their lessons for the day.

"your majesty!" he heard as he ran down the halls. he ignored their desperate calls, a bright smile already plastered on his face. oh, it had been so long since he had seen them and, hopefully, it would not be the last.

"(name)!" he called excitedly as he reached their door, hurriedly tapping his knuckles on the wood. "wake up! i'm supposed to check on your progress, but maybe we could sneak out into town like we used to! how does that sound, huh?"

he continued to ramble his plans as he reached down to grasp their doorknob, twisting it and pulling open their door.

"or how about we take a walk around the gardens? leona isn't here with us but i'd like to think i can give enough "brotherly advice" if you need..."

what he was greeted with was not his sibling awake in their room or their body curled up in blankets. what he was met with was their disheveled room. their blankets and sheets were missing from their bed and their pillows were tossed around. their cloest was wide open with a few clothes scattered about the floor. it looked as if it had been ransacked.

and most importantly, there was no (name) to be found.

"...(name)?" falena managed to utter, slowly walking into the room. he stepped around the articles of clothes on the ground towards their desk. the items on top were left undisturbed while the drawers were wide open. a single piece of parchment paper was placed there with a single message written hastily in ink.

don't look for me.

as falena stared at the message, all he could hear was the shrill voice of his beloved sibling. their high-pitched squeal of laughter when they were children echoed in his mind and their bright toothy smile that was only just growing in their sharp canines was all he could see.

"falena! you should have seen your face! it was just a beetle! it won't hurt!"

"falena! leona! can we go to town again? we can sneak out tonight!"

"wha?! you're gonna be king already, falena? you won't forget to spend time with leo and me, right? promise?"

"(name)!" he finally cried out, running out of their room and towards the entrance to the castle. he threw the doors open and yelled out to them once more.

never before had he felt this panicked. never before did he think that there would come a time when he was alone in the castle, none of his precious siblings to be found.

and yet here he was, all alone because one was off to school and the other was... only the seven knew where.

"(name), g-good joke!" falena stammered as he paced through the streets, ignoring the calls of his attendants behind him that begged him to return to the castle. "haha, very funny...! leona isn't here, s-so you can't laugh at me with him!"

his cries were only met with shocked and pitied stares from his subjects.

"this... this is getting out of hand, (name)! father... father would scold you if he were here right now! but... but i won't tell him if you come out now! i promise!"

more silence.

gods, he couldn't stand this silence.

"(name)! please come back!" he sobbed into his hands as he fell to his knees. he had so much he wanted to say to get them to come back.

i'll do anything! just come back! i'm sorry! i'm sorry for not being a better brother! i'm sorry for being so busy! i'm sorry you've been alone all these years, so please! please come back!

quiet... they had left and it was so quiet.

falena hated how quiet it was with them gone.

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hllywdwhre · 3 months

Text

Dreamer, Queen, Prince - Prologue

Pairing: Daemyra x fem!OC

Warnings: Please check masterlist for warnings. This is an 18+ fic, MDNI

Masterlist

*97 AC

Prince Aegon kneeled next to Princess Adlyn Stark’s pale form with her hand in his. A fever had set in soon after the birth of their daughter, Viserea, and in three days it had taken her. Aegon couldn’t bring himself to leave his wife’s side yet, in disbelief at the sick twist of fate. They had convinced her father Ellard, the Lord of Winterfell, to allow them to be wed. They had traveled to King’s Landing and had a royal wedding. Less than two moons later Adlyn found out she was with child. Their happiness had lasted less than a year.

It was Aemma’s touch that broke him out of his trance and caused him to finally look away from his dead wife’s body. Behind her stood his older brother, Viserys, and each of them held a baby bundled in blankets. Viserys held his own daughter, Rhaenyra, wrapped in a blanket of Targaryen red and Arryn blue, while Aemma held Aegon’s daughter, Viserea, wrapped in a blanket of Targaryen red and Stark grey. Both of the blankets were gifts from the girls’ uncle Daemon.

“Brother, you have my deepest condolences,” Viserys said, his face showing just how truly sorry he was for his brother, “You must leave her side now. Viserea needs you.”

Aegon can read the true meaning behind his words. They need to take her body away now so that she can be prepared for the funeral. That was why they truly needed him to leave her side.

“I want her sent back to the North. She deserves to be buried next to the rest of her family. She wanted us to return there to raise our family after our grandsire passed, she would want to be buried there,” Aegon told them. He knew that traditionally a Targaryen’s partner received a dragon rider’s death, but traditionally one didn’t marry for love and instead married out of political advantage. Their marriage was not traditional.

“Of course, Aegon. Her wishes will be honored,” Aemma said, not bothering with any titles. She was one of the only in the Keep who did not use them unless absolutely necessary, and while most would see it as disrespectful, Aegon knew that Aemma meant it as a show of affection. She had always found titles to not be personable enough when speaking to those that she loved.

Aegon kissed Adlyn’s hand one last time and wiped away the rest of his tears before standing. He turned to face his brother and his brother’s wife and allowed them to guide him out of the room where he could hear the handmaidens covering her body.

“How is Viserea?” Aegon asked, forcing himself to focus on the last bit of Adlyn he had left.

“As strong as the woman she was named after,” Viserys said as Aemma gently handed the newborn girl to her father.

Aegon let the smallest smile crack across his face at the sight before him. While she possessed the silver hair and violet eyes of a Targaryen, Viserea’s face was that of her mother’s. As much as he wanted to return to the room they had just left and lay beside his wife’s body and waste away until he joined her, Aegon knew he could not allow himself to do so. He would not leave his daughter alone in the world without a parent.

“Are you ready to pick an egg to join her in the cradle?” Viserys asked his brother.

“I’m assuming you have already placed the gold one in Rhaenyra’s cradle?” Aegon asked, though he knew the answer. It was the egg Viserys had been watching for weeks, just waiting on Rhaenyra to arrive so he could choose it. Viserys let out a laugh and nodded,

“Tell me that it isn’t fitting for her,” Viserys said and stepped next to Aegon, letting him see his daughter’s face. Aegon couldn’t help but see what Viserys meant.

“Well, let us see if we can find one as fitting for my Viserea, shall we?”

Aegon and Viserys allowed the wet nurses to take their daughters and made their way to the dragon pit. Aegon looked over the eggs for only a couple minutes before deciding on one. It was a deep purple so dark it almost seemed black with the tips of each scale colored silver. He ordered for it to be placed in the cradle with Viserea and to only be removed when necessary.

6 months later he would find a purple dragon with small talons of silver curled on his daughter’s chest while a golden dragon slept soundly next to his niece.

*100 AC

“Dracarys,” Jaehaerys shouted, watching as Vermithor’s flames covered his grandson’s body where it lay on a pyre.

Rhaenyra and Viserea clung to each other in front of the small crowd gathered for Aegon’s funeral. Daemon stood directly behind the girls, gently resting one hand on each of their heads. At only three years of age, neither of them should have to be introduced to death, yet Viserea was saying goodbye to her father and Rhaenyra to one of her uncles. He hurt for them both. His brother had always been the nicest of them, truly encapsulating the lessons their grandsire had tried teaching them. Daemon always knew that Aegon would have made the best king out of his siblings, but it seemed the gods had a cruel sense of humor.

That night when it was time for the Princesses to go to bed, no one stood any chance of separating them. They refused to leave Viserea’s bed and, eventually, Aemma and Viserys allowed them to spend the night together tightly wrapped in the red and black silk blanket brought back by Daemon.

*102 AC

“Tessarion!” Viserea said, as firm as a five year-old’s voice could be.

“Syrax!” Rhaenyra said in the same commanding tone.

The two girls had finally chosen the names of their dragons and had spent the entire day away in the dragon pit teaching them their names. Rhaenyra had chosen Syrax, named after the Valyrian goddess of fruitfulness. Viserea had chosen Tessarion, after the goddess of prophecies.

The dragons perked up, looking at their respective riders and tilting their heads. The two girls let out giggles of excitement. The dragonkeeper grinned proudly at the two of them.

“Now that they know their names, try giving them a basic command. Princess Rhaenyra will tell them to sit and Princess Viserea can tell them to stand.” He said, allowing each of the girls to take a step forward to the dragons.

“Demās,” Rhaenyra said clearly, smiling as both of the small dragons sat down. Rhaenyra turned to look at Viserea.

“Iōrās,” Viserea said next, causing both of the dragons to stand up. Both turned to look at the master, “Can we, please?” She asked. Moments later two goats were brought into the pit on opposite sides.

As soon as each goat had each dragon’s attention, they were given the okay by the dragonkeeper to give the command.

“Dracarys!” Rhaenyra and Viserea both said in unison, watching as their dragons’ stream of fire left their mouths.

*103 AC

“I present King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Aemma, Rhaenyra, Viserea, and Daemon kneeled at the foot of the Iron Throne, facing the new King. Viserea and Rhaenyra both wore traditional Valyrian headpieces that Daemon had gotten made for both of them directly after King Jaehaerys had named Viserys his heir.

The first thing Viserys did as King was make Viserea a legal part of his and Aemma’s family. It was to be declared and documented that she was his daughter as much as Rhaenyra was and would receive the same treatment as though she was the King’s true born daughter. Viserea would grow up knowing who her parents truly were and would be taught about them and both sides of her family’s history, but by law, she was Viserys and Aemma’s daughter.

This declaration did not change the family dynamic that had been built over the past three years since Aegon’s passing. Rhaenyra and Viserea had been inseparable since birth; where one went, the other followed. Aemma had always been a mother figure in Viserea’s life. In fact, she had called Aemma her mother for the first time at four years old and it had taken a lot of delicate explaining to try and get Viserea to understand that Aemma was actually her aunt. It took even longer to calm the crying girl down when she was told that her mother had died. It was Rhaenyra that got her to calm down when she said that they could just “share” her mother. Viserea received the same treatment from Viserys that Rhaenyra did, even before Viserea’s own father had passed and in the three years between her father passing and Viserys being crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

*104 AC

The dream started out as many of Viserea’s did. Flashes of her and Rhaenyra with their dragons, flashes of them learning Valyrian, flashes of the couple memories she still had of her father. This one took a turn halfway through. The colors weren’t as clear; the sides of them blended together as if it was a painting left in the rain. A golden dragon flew in the sky far above King’s Landing and moment’s later a deep purple dragon with silver talons arose next to the golden. On the backs of the dragons were Rhaenyra and Viserea themselves. A dragon’s roar could be heard over the sound of wind and then Viserea was sitting upright in bed.

Viserea pulled on the large door to her chambers and came face-to-face with her own member of the King’s Guard, Ser Ryden Tyrell.

“Princess, what are you doing awake?” Ser Ryden asked, a kind look on his face.

“I need to see Rhaenyra,” Viserea told him politely, “It’s very important.”

“My Princess, the sun has not risen yet. Princess Rhaenyra is still asleep in her chambers,” Ser Ryden told her.

“I need to see her! We will ride our dragons today and I need to tell her,” Viserea said as if it was as common a piece of knowledge as any.

“How are you so sure of it, Princess?”

“I had a dream of it and when I woke up I heard Tessarion’s roar. I know it is a dream like Danys the Dreamer!” Viserea’s voice rose in volume and became more demanding, needing him to understand the urgency she felt.

Ser Ryden’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the Princess’ statement. He glanced around the hall and then back at Viserea,

“How about this, young Princess? We don't disturb anyone while they sleep and you go back to your chambers. I know about your dream and I will make sure you have your time with Syrax and Tessarion first thing in the morning so you can tell Princess Rhaenyra. If Princess Rhaenyra mounts Syrax and you mount Tessarion, you and I can go to the King together and tell him about it. Is that a good plan?”

Viserea pondered the idea for a moment before nodding and shaking his outstretched hand.

The next morning Viserea told Rhaenyra about the dream and Ser Ryden’s promise while they were escorted to the pit. Ser Rydan stood with the dragonkeeper, having already told him about Viserea’s dream and what he had promised her. After a review of all the commands they needed to know, the master allowed them to attempt to mount their dragons.

“Lykirī. Rȳbās. (Be calm. Listen.)” Viserea said as Rhaenyra did the same. Viserea approached Tessarion and gently stroked her neck, smiling as the dragon seemed to hum underneath her. Her hands shook on top of the dragon, but she did not let her nervousness show.

Viserea gripped the saddle of the dragon and began pulling herself up. She carefully placed her foot on the part of the wing they had been taught to use to help themselves mount and let out a yelp when Tessarion lifted the wing and helped her the rest of the way onto the saddle. Once she was seated, Viserea looked to Rhaenyra to find her already seated on Syrax. Both of the girls smiled widely at each other then turned their attention back to the dragons.

“Naejot. (Forward.)” Viserea commanded and she tightened her grip on the reins as Tessarion began moving from inside the dragon pit and out into the training yard. A breeze blew past them and a flash of golden was already making its way to the air. Wasting no more time, Viserea gave one last command,

“Sōvēs, Tessarion. (Fly.)”

Within moments, Tessarion was next to Syrax again and Rhaenyra and Viserea were cheering loudly. The two guided their dragons above King’s Landing, showing off as they did so. The small size of both them and their dragons made it so they could dip down into the larger spaces between buildings and be back above the rooftops in moments. They flew to the Red Keep all the way down to the Silk Streets then back to the pit again. When they finally landed, both girls wore great smiles and their dragons were chirping and clicking away happily.

After the dragons were taken care of and back where they belonged, Ser Ryden kept his promise and both the girls were brought to the King where Ser Ryden and Viserea told her uncle of the dream and then about how she and Rhaenyra had flown that very morning.

Viserea and Rhaenyra were now the youngest dragonriders in Westorosi history. Viserea was the first dreamer since Aegon the Conqueror.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targeryan #daemon targeryan #rhaenyra x oc #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x y/n #daemyra #daemyra x OC #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic

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dulcewrites · 11 months

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Fool Me Once (part 10)

Summary: As tensions arise in King’s Landing, you make moves to assure the safety of your children. Final breaths are taken, pacts are made and broken, steel is drawn and the dragons dance.

Warning: mentions of stillbirths/pregnancy issues, allusions to self harm, some unreliable narrator if you squint. In our f&b bag fr!

A/N: you guys 🥺 we are finally on the last part. First, I want to say I am sooooo sorry about how long it took to get this one out. By the time I’m posting this I’m sort of like, do people even still care lmao 💀. Life has been hectic and tbh I’ve been putting some focus onto other things. Shameless plug to my other, more happy Aemond x oc series, on ao3. As well as I’ve gotten so much amazing feedback and interactions about this fic that I was slightly worried about how people would take the end. Speaking of feedback, and moving on to the more sappy stuff. My writing side blog has grown exuberantly since posting part 1 of fmo last year. It genuinely makes me emotional thinking about the little community that’s come from it. I hope to continue to make more stuff that I’m not only happy with, but further pushes said community ❤️❤️ if y’all have any hotd request let me know. Please reblog, like, and comment. As well as come chat in my inbox if you see something you like.

Slight housekeeping, though if you made it this far you probably already know. This fic does change the dance for self indulgent reasons (lol) and for the narrative of it all. This started as a cheating story and has sort of spun into something entirely else.

Fmo masterlist

Blog masterlist

Ninth moon of 129 AC

Rhaenyra’s voice could be heard from down the hall.

You wanted to reassure yourself that you had heard those screams before from Helaena, or even from yourself giving birth. But there was something so terribly guttural about the ones Rhaenyra was making.

As if outcome of the birth hung in the air. Lingering with the ghost of the past death that happened in the Red Keep. You try not to focus on the sheer look of panic on Jace’s face once you leave him at the door.

By the time you got to her chambers, Rhaenyra is already surrounded by midwives as she is hunched over, palms spread out against the wall. Midwives, and Alicent, whose face was terribly pale. Almost as drained of color as Rhaenyra. Her normally straight blonde hair wavy and stuck to her forehead with the sheen of her own sweat.

Alicent spots you, and gets away from her position from around her. She pulls you over to the side, but before she can even speak you interrupt her. The midwives begin to move Rhaenyra from her standing position to on the bed.

“Has this happened before,” you watch as Rhaenyra pleas lessen and lessen, her state becoming more sedated than what is probably normal.

Alicent shakes her head. Her auburn curls had been released for the night from the tight updo they were in earlier.

“No, at least not the first three,” she swallows hard before coming closer to you. “I fear - I fear this labor may go awry. I think we need to make preparations for if…”

The words catch in the back of Alicent’s throat. She is here with Rhaenyra; she has always been with Rhaenyra. Even when they were at odds; two ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Two sides of the same coin, causalities of the cruel fate. You want to feel sorry her; knowing that she is watching a close… companion go through this, but your mind has been elsewhere since earlier that day.

“Your son has made preparations,” you cross your arms. “All of them actually.”

Alicent brows furrow in confusion, and it dawns on you that Aemond and Aegon never clued their mother in on their little plan.

“You do not know, do you?”

“No, I do not know what your husband has been getting into. I rarely do these days.”

You and her both.

Rhaenyra lets out another groan.

“Where is Daemon,” you ask as Rhaenyra begins to mumble things incoherently to the midwives.

“He took one look at her, and left the room,” Alicent frowns. “She called for him but he went to get Jacaerys instead.”

And Jace came for you on the behest of Alicent. Tis the way of men you suppose. Often, they are absolute nuisance in situations like this, but you could not help but think that mayhaps if Daemon had stayed to seen her in this state, he would not put her through such things again. But that is giving him far more credit than you know he deserves.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra manages to mumble out the name louder. Her eyes fluttering open and shut.

Alicent instantly rushes over, dropping the conservation she has started with you.

As you watch Alicent coax Rhaenyra through this, her words ring out. Though she did not elaborate on what those plans should be, she was right. Aemond had taken the reigns from your hands plenty times before. Safety will not be completely ensured until any threat is taken out. You have never been to battle nor war, and even you know that. A slightly morbid thought creeps into your head.

If Rhaenyra dies, Aegon could descend the throne.

It was laughable for Rhaenyra, or anyone who supports her claim, to believe known bastards would follow her in the line of succession. Or that Daemon would not bypass Rhaenyra’s first three boy in order to ensure power for her last two. It would mean an all-out war between Aegon and Daemon… but maybe it did not have to go that far. Not if plans were made to undercut whatever moves you know Daemon could put into place.

They are all back in King’s Landing, no longer under the false tranquility they tried to spin at Dragonstone. Amongst their patrons who already have much to say about Rhaenyra’s still short reign.

Aegon on the throne would ensure the safety of all of the kids. And not only the kids, but the kingdom as a whole. A war of succession, especially including dragons, would only bring destruction. Rhaenyra’s boys would have a chance to swear obeisance after Daemon is out of the way, and if not, their presence will not be needed. Bastard blood being spilt is nothing compared to the life your children.

They could go back to Dragonstone and live their lives out there with young Egg and Viserys. With the possibility of Daemon for a father, they would be better off for it.

Your thoughts are broken by the midwives telling Rhaenyra to try and push.

There was already a significant amounts of blood trailing where Rhaenyra had been. Her pushes do little to soothe the position she is in. In frustration and pain, eventually Rhaenyra, much to the chagrin of the midwives and Alicent, shoos them all away. Reaching down to pull the babe out herself.

Letting out an already grief-stricken scream as she does it.

The air is sucked from the room as a gush of blood rushes out of Rhaenyra, followed by a tiny body.

A tiny… silent body. Wrapped in scales and slightly deformed.

No one speaks as they watch Rhaenyra pick up the baby from between her legs and rocks it as if trying to lure it into crying, into breathing. But nothing comes. Just silence, and the aches of a daughter stuck in the self-fulfilling prophecy of a mother that is no longer around.

It is not proper nor lady-like, and you can hear your own mother’s voice in the back of your telling you how rude it is in a time like this, but you just turn and leave. Without a word or peep. Suddenly feeling sick you go back down the hall, back to your chambers. Ignoring Jace who calls your name out in confusion by the sudden silence coming from his mother’s room.

By the time you make it back to the room, Aemond had gotten himself ready for bed. Completely casual as if the events earlier meant nothing to him.

“What’s happened,” he notices your ashen face.

You take one look at your husband, you think of your children away in a place foreign to them, and the stillborn baby Rhaenyra clutched in her arms.

The bile comes up quick. So quick you barely make I to the basin on the other side of the room. The dry heaving reminds you that you barely ate anything today, too worried about the task at hand.

You flinch when you feel a cold hand on your back. Shrugging Aemond’s hand off, you turn head with a glare.

“You made your move,” you mutter. “I’ll give you that. But now we are going to this my way. And Aemond, so help me, a single hair on those kid’s heads is harmed and I am not with them, I burn it all to the ground, you with it.”

You don’t know how and when, but you would do it for them if it came to that. You’d do anything for their safety. It may be time for others to realize that.

— — —

Princess Visenya Targaryen is set on the pyre a day and a half later. A small swaddled body lit on fire once Rhaenyra croaked out the words. Syrax blowing a mighty flame to burn Rhaenyra’s only little girl.

She was advised to stay in bed. Though her outward physical ailments had started to heal, it was clear Queen Rhaenyra was sick. Pale skin still prickling with sweat despite the cool air outside, dark bags starting to form under her eyes as she leans gently against the cane she was given.

You stand next to Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon. The only warm you feel from the fire in front on you.

It was slightly shocking when Helaena came up to you before the funeral with guilt written over her soft features.

“I just had… a funny feeling about the kids being here. I’m sorry.”

She knew.

You were not happy about once again feeling like you’re on the outside looking in with people you are supposed to call family. At least Helaena had the decency to feel ashamed by the omission. The decency to apologize. Guilt and Aemond is laughable being in the same sentence, and Aegon had been avoiding you. A thing that has not happened in months. Helaena was always right about these things; the scary part is that you all never really knew till the outcome already happened.

You run your hand over your black mourning dress. Peering out from under your veil, you make eye contact with Daemon across the fire.

Normally mirth filled eyes, and folly written all over his face had been replaced by an emptiness that scared you. Often, you had felt the unearned confidence and ambition around you was just noblemen living up to an expectation put on by others around them. But a Daemon, already known for his rogue behavior, feeling emboldened by the death of his brother, daughter, and the newly weakened state of his wife, made you nervous.

Only compounded when you think about the conversation shared at Dragonstone. Your loyalty was not expected, but even demanded. You can’t help but wonder if the kids not being around has only put a fiercer target on your back, or even on theirs.

You look over at Aegon - messy hair, bored expression, purple circles under his eyes. But he is no worse for wear compared to Rhaenyra.

If it one thing you have learned since being around this family, it is appearances often make up for everything. Slap a smile and nice outfit on, and people tend to believe what they see versus what is underneath the surface.

The funeral ends, and you make a sharp beeline towards Otto.

“I need to run something past you.”

You rake your knuckles against Aegon’s door, and get reply in return. You do it again, this time with more vigor, slightly embarrassed at Ser Arryk just watching you pound away.

“He is in there,” you question, turning to him.

“The last time I checked, he was my lady.”

The last time he checked?

You supposed not ever sworn protector can be as diligent as Quinton, and not every subject can be well behaved.

“Aegon,” you knock once more.

Blowing out frustrated air through your mouth, you turn to go but the door eventually swings open.

His hair is crumpled on one side, shirt unbuttoned, and reeking of wine. It had not hit you that he may be with someone.

“If you are… predisposed, I apologize. I can come back”

A dopey grin breaks out of face, before he hitched the door open wider. “No one is with me. Oh, dovelet were you worried about that?”

You look over to see Arryk raise a brow at you. You push at Aegon, further annoyed. “Go.” Forcing him back into his chambers.

“Everyone is so touchy today.”

You were there, before the funeral, when Alicent fussed at him about going to it. About trying to look engaged, which he clearly did not. You think about the conversation you had with Otto in his office.

“He is not going to like it. He has long come to terms with not wanting to be king.”

“But his wants are of no concern to you now, are they?”

When put that way, you can’t help but feel a bit bad. But it is true. What Aegon wants right now means little to you. He will eventually learn to like it, and if not like it, he will learn to tolerate it. The way others have to tolerate their fate in life. We are all stuck in the same miserable cycle; the only difference is some of us will not be able to call ourselves King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“We need to talk about some things.”

“Black is one your colors,” he changes the subject. “You should wear it more often.”

“Aegon, I’m serious,” you pinch your nose.

“Is this about the kids? I thought you would be happy they are out of harm’s way.”

“They are not out of harm’s way,” your voice raises, and this is not going the way it was supposed to.

You must push him with a gently hand. A woman’s touch.

There was a something slimy about how Otto ended the conversation. Sending you to Aegon to enact a woman’s touch… whatever that meant.

“But they could be,” you lower your voice. “If - If there was someone else at the helm. None of us would have to worry about their safety. About our safety.”

Aegon give you a funny look before flopping down on his bed.

He is drunk so he may not remember any of this by next morning. You sit next to him on the bed.

“There is no running from this. Despite what you may say, you know you would not be able to live with yourself if you left your family, your kids. Aegon, you are too smart not to know what this is all coming to.”

Though not something you voiced yourself, running was an option that crossed your mind. Finding a way out to Oldtown, grabbing your kids, and running. The logistics seemed all to wash away when the word dragon comes along. Traveling with two young kids would be difficult enough, managing to travel discretely with a giant dragon would not work. You don’t know how you would tell Daella to leave Vermithor.

And then a chill would run up your spine. Where could you go where he would not find you on dragon back?

The two of you sit in silence before Aegon sighs softly.

“Share a drink with me,” Aegon whispers. “Before we all die.”

It makes you laugh. Because that is all you can do at the folly that is your life. You nod softly.

The wine is a Dornish Red. Sweet, warm, and sultry tasting drink. It reminds you of the look Aegon is giving you.

Alicent peaks her head into the door.

“Rhaenyra,” she sees baby Aegon and Viserys sitting on their mother’s bed. Both babbling away over each other. Rhaenyra weakly waves her in. Both Egg and Viserys give Alicent tiny little bows. They do it to everyone, even those who technically do not have the same amount of power toddlers do. Bowing at guards, nursemaids, and court members alike.

The boys are eventually escorted out by one of the maids, but not until they both tell Alicent about the flock of lizards they found in the garden. It’s sweet, Alicent thinks. Reminds her of when her kids were that age. Not yet tainted or disrupted by the life around them. Alicent supposes she also has herself to blame for that when it comes to own children.

Both boys not understanding the position their mother is in. She knows that Rhaenyra is grateful at least two of her kids are not aware of her vulnerable state.

“How are you feeling,” Alicent sits at the edge of the bed next to her, taking in scattering of notes around Rhaenyra. Members of Rhaenyra’s small council have written notes for Rhaenyra to read while she is abed. From things as simple as the mouse problem in the Red Keep to things more serious. Like the Shepherd’s continued teachings; this week sermon’s going as far to say the death of the Visenya was an act of the Gods. That this is Rhaenyra’s punishment. Punishment for the dragon, the incest, the Targaryen of it all.

Alicent makes sure to only visit Rhaenyra when she knows she will not run into Daemon. He flaunted around the castle as if he has never left. Still the same air of arrogance and fire, only now swathed under a layer of coolness. The passing of Viserys, clearly leading him in a quieter path.

So many awful things lead back to that man. Alicent is sure of it.

All Rhaenyra can do is give a small smile and the shake of the head.

“A bit better now that you’re here.”

Alicent just ducks her head shyly.

Rhaenyra was always good at that, making Alicent feel like she was a girl again. Ten and four and completely out of her depth when it came to her feelings. An issue she worries she still has not gained control over.

“I am thinking of naming Daemon protector of the realm,” she then croaks out. “I do not know how much I can get done while in this bed. Watching it all crumble beneath me.”

Naivety. It is the only word that comes Alicent’s mind when it comes to how Rhaenyra handles Daemon. Ironically, it is the same way Otto describes her relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father never forgets a chance the remind her the nostalgia of girlhood, and security she wraps in Rhaenyra. The same way Alicent does not know if Rhaenyra has convinced herself that Daemon’s will head her council above anyone’s else is her true feelings, is the same way Alicent does not know if she holds onto the good parts of Rhaenyra because they still exist. Or because without holding onto them, she would be again flailing and alone. Once again left with the cold, empty feelings that comes with duty above else.

The only person Alicent saw ever cut Daemon down to size is now dead, rotting and finally silent. If Rhaenyra thinks the bond, she had with Daemon is anything more than him trying to hold onto the last semblances of Viserys he could find, she has been sorely mistaken.

“Mayhaps, you should speak that over with the rest of your council,” she pushes the duvet further over Rhaenyra. It is not her job to advise. She doesn’t know if she has it in her advising another clueless monarch. Another seemingly well meaning, but headstrongly clueless monarch. Rhaenyra gets her same propriety from her father.

Rhaenyra is not a bad person. The same way many people would say Viserys was not a bad person. But when all things are said and done, Viserys will be remembered as peaceful. Alicent worries history will not give the same charitable read to Rhaenyra. Who fumbles and doubles down on her bad actions in the way she learned from her father. Terribly misguided in each path they take, paying no mind to the carnage left behind.

Too much trust in Daemon. A fault both will have to live with or die by.

“Everything will be fine, once I recover,” she takes note of Alicent’s distant eyes. “It will be alright.”

You look so much like your father when you lie to me. So much like him with false hope and no tact. They riot in the streets over your reign already, and you are sure it will be alright.

Alicent just squeezes Rhaenyra’s hand. The way she used to when she used to get the urge to pick at her hands. She looks around the room. Rhaenyra, now laying in the same bed her father did before her. Alicent just hopes the morbid memories of Viserys do not haunt her in the way Aemma’s ghost still haunts Alicent to this day.

Aemma was right, and they did not even know it at the time. The birthing bed was their battlefield. And it feels like it is all catching up to them.

It has been a few minutes since your parents welcomed you into their parents, and in those few minutes your mother has done nothing but pick at your hair and fret over your outfit.

The sun was at its height in the sky, brightness peaking through their windows. This morning you woke up, and did what have for the past couple of days. Remember your children are not there for you to kiss and hug, and look over at your sleeping husband. Multiple ways of smothering him popping into your head.

“Wearing your hair back makes you look so severe, my darling,” she fiddles with bun. Your hand goes up the move it way. “And grey is not slimming on everyone.”

“Yes mother,” you try to grin and bear like you have always done. Your resolve faltered when she gushed about how lovely of a father Aemond was for wanting the kids to spend more time with their uncle, the excuse the both of you had parroted whenever someone asked here Daella and Alaric were.

“I think it may be best, if both of you go back home,” you sit both of them down. “I just worry that things may get a bit hectic, and I would feel better if you both were far from it.”

They both give you a curious look. There is only so much you can say without giving all away. Your father gets up and pulls you to the side.

“There has been… rumblings,” he mutters. “About the Queen and her state.”

He chooses his words wisely. As if he was worried others are listening.

“I want you to know that whatever path may arrive. The full backing of the house is behind it. Your uncle and I will make sure of that. If there was a change in power.”

Tears pinch and sting your eyes. It should be reassuring but it only makes you realizing that backing comes at the whim of others. This will always come back to who is ruling, and who people think should rule.

That is why you married Aemond right? To be put in the best position for your house.

“Thank you, father.”

He kisses you on the cheek, before leaving. You turn towards your mother who sits on the bench in front of the bed.

“I do hope your little excursion has renewed your spirit,” she gets up. “Your husband seemed just beside himself after you left. No wife, no children around. I can only imagine how hard that was for him.” You just stand there as she comes towards you. She stares at you for a moment, taking in your new dark dress, and hair. You cannot tell if the look is unimpressed, or filled with sadness. Your mother’s faces tend to blur together into nothingness.

“Of course, that is what you took from it,” you mutter.

“What was that, lamb?” Another hand runs over your hair.

“Nothing, mother.”

Your mother laughs a bit, in that cold, jilted way she does. The joy never reaching her eyes.

“It’s always been that way. Sweet with him, distant with me.”

You stare at her in slight shock, slight mortification when she leans back. Is that how she’s read the situation? You choosing your father over her. Not the paralyzing fear that came with having to please her. The heart arching want to make her proud of you, even at the expense of your own wants.

“You made it that way. I - you sent me away to - to this place and -“

“Oh, here we go. You got married to a Prince, you had your babies, and I am still the evil mother.”

She bows her head as is she about to cry. Initiatively, you put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not evil,” you don’t understand how the conversation how switcher so fast. How now you have to the one to comfort her. “We just don’t see certain things the same way.”

An understatement.

“Mayhaps, I was never meant to be a mother,” she looks up, eyes dry. She says it so casually.

“What?”

“I should have taken the hint after the first miscarriage. But your father just begged and begged about wanting a child.”

You just watch in horror.

She runs another hand over your hair, nagging on the bun and frowns.

“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. Too headstrong for it, too weak for it,” there is an air of pity when she says it.

She leans in, and her breath hits your ears. “Be careful, my lamb. The softer the heart, the harder the fall.”

You swallow hard. She’s fed a poison that is hard to be weaned off.

— — —

Leaving the room, in a slight daze. Softly shuffling the opposite way of your chambers, and up the large stairs. You had promised Rhaenyra you would come see her soon.

The only thing that breaks you out the trance is the heavy footsteps of Daemon. You stop and lower your head in acknowledgment.

“My prince, I have not been able to catch you to give my condolence.”

Daemon hums. You’ve noticed how he walks around with Dark Sister attached firmly on his hip. Sometimes sheathed, other times unsheathed as he leans against as some sort of crutch.

“I suppose I should be sending you sorrows too,” a small smile on his face. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Your children.”

Your blood runs a bit cold.

“They are just with their uncle. Taking it the beauty of Oldtown. We want them to see many parts of the realm.”

“With Vermithor?”

You just nod. “You must know how important the bond is between dragon and dragon rider. More importantly during these early stages.”

Daemon’s mirth grows as he comes closer. “I do remember our conversation. About how your loyalty would be not only expected but rewarded. I would absolutely hate to see anyone get hurt, especially as our queen is recovering.”

You smile, brightly and sound.

“Of course, it would be quite a shame if anyone was putting their own needs ahead of Queen Rhaenyra’s. Those close to her must be diligent, and kind.”

The two of you exchange more fake smiles before he steps around you, sword glistening under the flicker of flames in the hallway.

Trying to compose yourself as you make your way to the master chambers. You are slightly relieved by the changes that were made by the time Rhaenyra arrived and settled in. The model Viserys spent even his last days speaking about that collected dust had been removed. Different drapes that let the sun in, the furniture moved around a bit, and the smell. Thank Gods, the smell was different.

The smell of rotting, and noxious air replaced by something a little sweeter. You know that Alicent would come in daily and light different incense for Rhaenyra.

The guards let you in, and she is still in the same place she, day after day, the large canopy bed. The bed you see Viserys lay in as you visit him with Daella and or Alaric.

“Rhaenyra,” you pull back the certain a bit, to let light in. “Have you eaten today?”

You walk over and lay a hand on her forehead. She is burning up. Her fever spiking again. All you get is a groan and the shake of the head.

“Rhaenyra, you need to eat something.”

She just gestures toward the table. Different tonics, drinks, and glasses on top of it. You walk over to see tea as well as a familiar milky substance on it.

You remembered seeing how Viserys was when he was on milk of the poppy. Hells, you understood the strength of it, and you only took it while having Daella and Alaric.

It was the beauty and ugliness of the drug once it was taken too much. The pain was gone, but then came a new problem - the grogginess of the mind and withdrawals.

“The Queen only needs five dops of it,” said the maester, a sour look on his face once asked to leave when you visited her a few days ago.

In all her paranoia, Rhaenyra had asked only those closest to her to help administer it. Not trusting the maesters the very same way she did when it came to Viserys. Out of part guilt of what she just went through, and frankly fear, you agreed when she asked you. But now, as you feel the tides changing once again for the battle for power, your hands shake a bit applying the remedy to her tea.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five….. Six. Seven. Eight.

Before you can change your mind, you a twist cap back on the milk of the poppy.

You walk back to the bed, giving a pale Rhaenyra a strained smile. “Let’s sit you up.”

Rhaenyra winces, eyes in a faraway stare as you help her lean up in the bed. The same bed she had been beholden to for the past week. You bring goblet to her lips and watch her all but chug most of it.

A part of you wants to say a prayer to the Father. Perhaps he will forgive you for all that will happen beyond this point. Understanding how stray animals often act when they are backed into a corner. Teeth bared and fighting for their lives.

She will name him Protector of the Realm if she stays abed any longer. Despite the mistreatment, Daemon has always had a way about him when it came to Rhaenyra. I have no way to stop it. Did not back then, and do not now.

Guilt only mounts when you think about the sadness in Alicent’s eyes when she said that. But then you think about your daughter’s laugh or the wide-eyed innocence of your son, and the guilt fades. All that is left is resentment. A deep hole where you think your heart used to be.

You have to shudder thinking about anyone from this family sitting the throne but at least you know some options are more… malleable than others.

“I can come back to give you more when you need it,” you brush a stray hair behind Rhaenyra’s ear. “Maybe I can read to you too.”

She gives you a tired smile, and nod before her eyes begin to flutter. You watch as her breathing labors as she drifts into a hazy state. In and out of sleep. Here she lays, a victim of the birthing bed like her mother. Ill equipped, and far too foolish to see the damage she will leave behind like her father.

“What is all of this?”

You walk into your chambers to find a table of food in the room. Aemond hops up from the bed. You take a look at the array of breads, and sweets on the table.

“All this for me,” you question, popping one of the lemon candies on a lemon cake in your mouth. “How romantic. The last time I had the pleasure of such a spread, you were telling me you got your mistress pregnant and it sent me into excruciating labor.”

Aemond face falls, and for a moment you understand what it has been like for him the past few years of marriage. To hold power over him, even if it is small and fleeting in the moment. Dangling kindness in front of his face to rip it away for no reason other than you can.

You continue to pick at the food, as Aemond just stares.

“Are you gonna say what this all about or just stare with that silly look on your face?”

His face flashes from sad stoicism something a bit angrier. Ah, that’s your husband.

“I am trying to mend things with you, and all I ge-“

“Oh, that is your first mistake,” you hold up a finger. “Well, not the first. You know your first. But trying to mend something that was never there to begin with? And with food that I could get myself. You’re smarter than that Aemond,” you tut at him.

“So, what now? We spend the rest of our days hating each other?”

If we even get that far.

“It has worked for others,” you shrug.

“It won’t for you,” he rebuts. “The hate will eat you alive. You’ll be miserable.”

Promise?

He speaks as if he is so sure of it. As like Helaena does at times, he has seen into a murky future, and pulled this out. You utterly miserable as you let that dark voice in your head play out all your morbid desires.

“But you would like that, wouldn’t you,” you think about the look he gave you when you wanted to reach for his knife. “Why else would you put through all of this but to make me as miserable as you are?”

It hang on the tip of your tongue. You could push you luck again, and tell him that she is gone, and never to be seen again. Twist the knife that you already have point at his back. But then you would have to be sure of things yourself. Dreams have dissolved into nightmares. Blood mixing the salty water of Dragonstone.

Then you wake and Otto’s words ring in your head. He took care of it. Now you are left trying to sort out the mess of memories that makes up your head. Guilt, anger, and sadness all managing fuck with your head in ways you could not imagine.

You eye the wine on the table. As much you admonish Aegon for it, you do get why he turned to it from such a young age.

The few hours of solace it gives is wonderful. Fleeting but necessary when everything else becomes too loud. Too much.

“It was not an absence in you. It was one in us… in me,” he looks so young when he says it. It almost reminds you of him when he ten and five. Fresh off a growth spurt. Terribly shy, terribly distant. But that was before. Before the expectation of marriage, of children and semblances of loyalty and care.

That boy is gone, and you are surely not the girl you were once you came to King’s Landing. You mourn that girl, the way you mourn the boy Aemond was before he lost his eye. You did not know him then but you always wonder what strings in him broke when that happened. An unjust act with no reconciliation to follow. If any of that led up to the man standing before you today.

“Well, at least that is something we can agree on,” you look down, trying to get rid of the hot tears in your eyes.

You have spent time trying to build up an armor in front of him. You’d hate to have it crack now.

“My grandsire told me about your little plan.”

It makes you look up. Aemond’s arms are crossed in skepticism.

“Your sister’s health is declining rapidly. Aegon needs to ready himself for this.”

“And he has agreed?”

“Your brother will fall in line as he realizes this is the only way to keep those dear to him safe,” you fiddle with the chocolate tart. “He already has actually.”

Helaena and him took a trip to one of the orphanages down in the Red Keep. It is about time people outside of this castle get a look at those in power. Aemond still does not look convinced.

“Does that upset you? The thought of him being king?”

“No more than it does having my useless sister or foolish nuncle on the throne.”

“What, no mention of the bastards technically in front you for the throne right now,” you think the joke falls flat till Aemond narrows his eye, and tilts his head to side in merriment. You have to do a bit of double take at the slight smirk on his face.

“You danced with one of those bastards.”

So, he remembers that.

“A tactical move,” you roll your eyes. “And when I advise Rhaenyra and Jacaerys that he should go back to Dragonstone as the new heir to the Irone Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, it would have payed off.”

“Leaving Rhaenyra as she’s abed, and stuck with Daemon? How would you manage that?”

“I can be quite convincing,” you shrug. “Not that you would understand.”

He takes another dig on chin, uncharacteristically good natured this day, but he gives you that look. The look where you don’t know whether he wants to skin you or kiss you. No one really has ever looked in the way Aemond has. As if he sees nothing of what you’re really made of while managing to look right through you at the same time.

“Better yet, I may even tell Baela and Rhaena that they should take this time to be with grandmother and grandfather, especially as Corlys may stand a similar fate as Rhaenyra.”

“What about the other one,” Aemond frowns.

Your brows furrow in confusion before it dawns on you. Both him and Lucerys had done a good job of avoiding each other since you all came back from Dragonstone. But you can tell the tiptoeing has created strain and awkwardness for everyone.

“If Baela and Jace are gone with Moondancer and Vermax in toe, that just leaves a clearly petrified Luke and Arrax. I think Vhagar, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre can handle that, no?”

Aemond raises a brow. “You want them to die?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” well that’s not entirely true, and the look Aemond gives you lets you in that he does not believe that as well. “As few casualties as possible is the goal. They can swear to Aegon when the time comes or be put the King’s Justice. As of now, we should take advantage of the uncertainty that rest amongst everyone.”

Aemond laughs, like really laughs. It takes you for surprise, and only upsets you. He laughs as if he finds your thoughts funny in the way seeing a squirrel run up a tree is funny. “What?”

“Nothing…. Lady Hightower.”

You scoff and throw the pieces of the fruit on the table at him. “Fuck off.”

“You make those faces and turn up your nose at Aegon being king, but you and I both know you will be the first to defend his throne,” you throw a strawberry at him but this time he catches it and eats it. “This is all for the kids, right? It is why they are not here, away from their mother?”

“They are away from their father as well. For their safety.”

You just hum.

“I want to write to them. They did not even get to say goodbye.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“I do not care, Aemond,” you raise your voice.

There is a knock at the door and Quinton comes in with a note in his hand. He eyes the food on the table as you read the note. It is from your father, assuring you about your parents soon departure back to the Riverlands.

“Are you alright,” he whispers. You nod softly. Quinton had been hovering somewhere in the background whenever Aemond was around, especially with the children gone. Clearly not trusting him around you.

Quinton should probably be more worried you around him. His cape swishes behind him when he goes to leave the room.

“You can write to them when the timing is better,” Aemond continues once you two are alone again.

The timing is never right. Not with him, not the with situation you are in.

The end of ninth moon of 129 AC

As you walk down the hall, a soft hand brushes against your arm.

“Are sure you are alright,” Quinton’s voice rings in your head, and tickles your ears softly.

“Of course,” you give fake smile, tilt of the head. He stops in the middle of the empty hall. Though he is your sworn protestor, you feel it is best to keep Quinton on the fringes unless needed otherwise. The less he knows, the safer he is you assume.

“I know you are not well without your children around,” he sighs. “But I would not want you to… sully yourself with things before you can get back to them.”

Sully. You take a long look at Quinton. There is something sweet about the way he views you. Entirely too earnest at time but sweet. You wish you could tell him he had nothing to worry about, and meant it. The pedastal he puts you on, my would it be a hard and long fall.

“I appreciate the concern, but I am ok,”’you reach up to touch his cheek. “You will be the first to know.”

He gives a half-hearted nod before then both of you continue your way to Rhaenyra’s chambers. When you get there the maidservants are beginning to place lights out in the hall for the night.

When you walk in, Rhaenyra is perched where she has been for some time now. Fiddling with the books on the shelf in the corner of the room.

“Maybe something a bit more upbeat. A love story,” you whisper. You go sit next to her on bed, flipping through the large brown book in your hand.

Rhaenyra begins to mumble as you shush her softly.

“It’s ok,” you reach over for the cup next to her bed. Sniffing the cup, you take note of how differently it smells compared to the tea and milk of the poppy mixture you used to.

The tonic seems different, stronger than usual. You put it to her lips and watch Rhaenyra drink it. You wipe her mouth. Even if this weakened state, you find her tragically beautiful. Like a fallen Angel. She resembles her siblings in that regard.

“I need - I need,” her eyes flutter open and shut. “The Prince that was Promised.”

You frown.

“Aeg- Aegon…”

“Your brother?”

“Tell Jacaerys.”

She trails off. Your back straightens as you watch as Rhaenyra’s eyes close, and her breathing slow.

The Prince that was Promised… Aegon.

You lean down and kiss her forehead. Mayhaps, in another life things could’ve been different for her. For her siblings, for her children, for you… for your kids. Climbing off the side of the bed, you gently tuck Rhaenyra in.

When you walk out, you see Quinton standing at attention. You motion for him to come with.

“I need you to do go get Otto,” you mummer. “We have business to get to.”

You cannot see the look Quinton gives you as move to walk ahead of him, and to that you are grateful.

Sullying is your only other option.

In the tenth moon 129 AC, the bell connected to the Royal Sept tolled for thee.

The death of Queen Rhaenyra, First of her Name, sent ripples through the Realm. But that was just beginning of the great strife that would follow her passing. A years peaceful period of reign for the Targaryen family ended by infighting.

Histories will say the first problem came the moment the then Princess and heir decided to sire bastard heirs. Others would say it began the moment, Rhaenyra left her succession vulnerable to her young brother. Not ending his line the moment she had the chance to.

Throughout her short reign as queen, there were festering rumors of usurping. That Lord Otto Hightower would hold secret meetings planning for the best moment to strike to get his grandson son on the throne. Others dispirited this claim, saying that the Dowager Queen Alicent’s afflictions for Queen Rhaenyra would never let that happen.

Ironically, it was not the death of the Rhaenyra is not the official start of what would later be called the Dance of Dragons. Instead the death of Prince’s Aemond One-Eye Targaryen’s lady wife’s parents triggered the domino affect. An escalation of plans.

Most would say the overflipped carriage was a tragic accident, but others whispered about something more serious. An inside attack from a member of the Targaryen family themselves. It was this tragedy that led to a public outcry from the members of the house in the Riverlands, coupling with the public crowning of a new king.

It was Ser Criston Cole, member of the Kingsguard, who crowed King Aegon, Second of his Name, in a private ceremony. Only flanked by his new crowned Queen Helaena, Prince Aemond and his wife, and Lord Hightower. King Aegon was crowned in front of the septon of faith, dawning his namesakes crown.

Back on Dragonstone, Jacaerys Velaryon recieved the news of not only his mother’s death, but also the usurping. Except it was not allies with the news, but foes. Jacaerys was slain at the footsteps of the castle.

It is still debated which side has more to gain to having Jace out of the way. King Aegon or Prince Daemon. But in the end, it was the later who eventually set up him home base at Dragonstone. Fleeing under the watchful eye of his spies in the Red Keep. With only two of his sons with him.

Both sides strategizing their moves. Daemon labeling Aegon and his supporters traitors to the realm, while Aegon set out to kill his uncle himself in given the chance. Under the insistence that it was him who accerlated Rhaenyra’s already bad condition.

Support the amongst the realm split as some supporter the efforts of the new king, far more open to his tactics than one of the Rogue Prince or Rhaenyra’s Bastards. While others scoffed at the boldness of Aegon the Usurper.

Those called on the opinions of the sons that remained at King’s Landing. Rumors of the Lucerys and Joffrey Velaryon being chained arriving. But it was not Daemon who negotiated the release of the boys. It was members of House Velaryon.

But there was one condition. It would be Baela and Rhaena, of both House Targaryen and Velaryon, that recieved equal titles after the passing of Corlys. Lucerys would be stripped of title of heir to the Driftmark Throne. It was rumored that this was not a cruel twist of fate from team green, but instead a plea from Lucerys himself.

It was Rhaena Targaryen, in all her wisdom, that worked through the terms. With a heavy heart, and no more bloodshed in her pleas. The more bold sister of the twins, Baela, had other plans. Sensing the release of Lucerys and Joffrey was a trap. She climbed on top of Moondancer, despite the calls not, and made her way closer to King’s Landing herself. But she was not alone. Her grandmother was with her.

Never one to sit from a battle himself, it was King Aegon who climbed his dragon to take them both on. All three dragon and riders fought diligently. Moondancer sustaining life ending injuries, while both Sunfyre and Aegon were injured at battle. But the most costly lost came at the hand of the One-Eyed Prince himself. Taking out Rhaenys and Meleys before further injury could come to his brother.

Enraged at the news of the death of Moondancer, and the almost costly lost of Baela, Daemon began his March. But he also had other plans at play. In efforts to lure the new Prince Regent out of the castle, he sent spies to Oldtown. Where not only Prince Daeron worked with all of Reach to support King Aegon. But also where the young Prince watched over his younger nieces and nephews.

There was an attempt to take the Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Aegon and Alaric Targaryen, son of Aemond. But the plan was thwarted by a terrible beast. Vermithor lurched and lured over Oldtown like a tower himself. His flames as green as the Hightower Beacon. Highly protective over his new rider and those close to her. At just six and seventh month, Daella Targaryen was feared as her father.

Still not wanting to be outdone, Daemon sets his sights towards not only Harrenhal, but another certain house in the Riverlands. His march pillaging those close to Aemond’s wife. Still grieving the lost of parents and seperated from her children, it was rumored the lady became more quiet, drowning herself in her cups.

It was she, with Queen Mother Alicent and Queen Helaena, who pleaded for Aemond to not take the bait. But it was too no vail. After he heard of the attempted kidnapping, he set out with men of his own.

His march mirroring his uncle’s not only through the Stormlands but as well as the Riverlands. There were whispers of inhabitants at Harrenhal. It is still speculated by both Daemon and Aemond did not burn the structure to the ground, when they had to chance. Tales would be written of a certain magic soiling the ground. Keeping safe from harm.

Though those tales are all rumors, what was undeniably true, is that two Targaryen princes breathed their last breaths over God’s Eye on the sixth moon of 130 AC. No one saw the battle, but the sound of snapping dragons and the sight of green and red flames that called attention.

Vhagar and Aemond both fought a valiant effort but it the wounds to both proved to be to substantial. Aemond Targaryen died on top of his crowned dragon. The burns from Vhagar burning Daemon beyond repair.

When their deaths made it back to the Red Keep, the halls recount the Queen Mother tearing her hair in anguish, calling for the deaths of not only everyone who supported Daemon, but Aegon the younger and Viserys alike.

A story of crowns and iron thrones whittled down to death and fire. The grief felt by team green only compounded by the body of Aemond’s lady wife found charred in their chambers. It was Ser Quinton, her sworn protector, who lived to tell the story of having to fight off several guards before it was too late. In a matter of days, Daella and Alaric Targaryen missing from their places in Oldtown.

Both jobs speculated to be last minute plans carried about for Daemon Targaryen, done by his loyal Gold Cloaks. It is said that King Aegon never fully recovers from the death of not only his brother, but his good sister. Punishing those he deems responsible once he comes to.

But there are merchants in Essos that believe they have spotted a beautiful lady hand in hand with her children. One with sparkling white hair, the other with blonde streaks through her dark curls.

taglist: @florent1s @floraroselaughter @afro-hispwriter @snh96@holy-minseok @voniikg @evienorville @tremendouswolfsaladranch @crispmarshmallow @strawbrryquinn @widemiffyhappy @msmarvel-19 @dc-marvel-girl96 @xkennobi @fanfics4ever@hydrationqueensworld @lyra689 @blazzlynch @httyd-marauders@bregarc @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @mercedesdecorazon@flowerpotmage @bstorn @poisonedsultana @papery-maniac @its-sam-allgood @yu3kkii @hvx @leoramage @neenieweenie@stargaryenx @rey26 @lazypinkpig @blackravena @s0urmarvel@elleclairez @rebelfleur22 @inpraizeof @luvremlu @clora95@blacpiink @let-love-bleeds-red @iwanttohitmyself @alastorhazbin@kitkat-writes-stuff @carrielle @aloneatpeace @ensolleildelune@landlockedmermaid77 @deadunicorn59

#im truly screaming crying throwing up about this being done #I hope y’all enjoy this and thank you again #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc

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bluerosefox · 2 years

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Danyal, Danny, Phantom.

Part 1 (Where the idea came from, very bare bones)

Okay wow, wasn’t expecting so many people wanting a part 2 tbh, also thank you for the follows as well (although IDK why you’d want to follow me, I’m random and rarely post sometimes.)

So before I get into this part 2, I just wanna make a few things clear.

I’m still new to DC/Batman most I know if from the animated series and I haven't seen it in ages, I have been able to get bits and pieces here and there though.

ANYONE is welcomed to use these ideas/concepts, just let me know, send me it, allow me to read it please. If anyone wants to draw some the ideas too that’ll be amazing, just let me know! I wanna see!

Also, I might, keyword MIGHT, actually write this idea into a story too, idk yet maybe. its been years since I wrote an actual fic tbh so I’m a little rusty. (You can actually see I used more of my writing style on this one compared to the last one tbh)

Also the reason I split these idea/concept into parts is the fact I tend to ramble and I knew if I wrote it on part 1 it would had gotten so long so here’s a fresh page with the rest of the ideas...

So the reason why I had this idea is because I read some fics where Ra’s always knows about Danny being either the Ghost King or a Halfa, or can fight him cause he has knowledge, I wanted a story where even Ra’s can be surprised and realizes there will ALWAYS be a ‘bigger’ fish even for that old ‘immortal’ (especially if Danny is Ra’s “failure of a heir.”)

Sorry this took a while, I wrote Part 1 at the end of me being sick by Covid, had to catch up on a few RL things, and legit a few days later my AC unit upstairs broke during a CA heatwave and it was pure HECK being in my room.

Danny is a little out of character but this is how I feel he'll be like with a year of being the Ghost King could be, along with the fact he has help from his friends and ghost friends as well. He's learned how to rule and has grown.

Oh be prepared, this is what happens when I’m allowed to ramble on ideas. This... This got rambly. (You should had seen this and part 3 together, it was so rambly)

So, a few things to note about Danny before we begin.

His name was is Danyal al Ghul (Wayne) Daniel “Danny” Fenton.

He was also known as (Ghost Boy, Ghost Child, Ghost Punk, Halfa) Danny Phantom

He also had other names as well such as The Great One, or Savoir of the Ghost Zone

But... for the last year he has been known as...

Ruler of the Infinite Realm, His Royal Highness King Phantom. Or as he would rather be simply referred to as (when he’s forced to have/use a title)...

The Ghost King.

...King Phantom also worked.

Simple yes, but Danny preferred it. (Again only when he’s forced to use a title, which sadly since being crowned the new King is most of the time now and only those close to him still call him Danny or at the very least Daniel (coughClockworkcough).

SO.... Its had been a year since Danny had been crowned the new Ghost King, sure he was still a teen and it was honestly very hard in the beginning. Learning the ins and outs of the royal courts, setting up his inner court (aka those he trusted), dealing with entitled nobles, and how to handle the the weight of the crown he now wore but he knew he didn't have to face it by himself. Well not all of it, there was a few things he did on his own in order to prove he's a fair King, but Danny honestly loved it when he could get together with his inner circle (more like family) and discuss the recent news of the Infinite Realm (which Danny learned was the actual name of the Ghost Zone, he long since switched to using that name over the one his parents coined), problems needing to be addressed, and upcoming important festivals or days (Danny knew of the Holiday Truce but he didn't know of any other Ghost holidays/festivals until his ghost friends explained them to him) along with a number of his Kingly duties. This was just barely touching the surface of what Danny had to do nearly daily and again it took a while but he eventually was getting the hang of being a King.

Funny enough one of those duties turned out to be healing the oozing scars the old Ghost King left on the Mortal Realm during his reign... because those scars eventually became the Lazarus Pits and had they been causing harm in the Mortal Realm.

By the Ancients, the Lazarus Pits.

That was something Danny hadn't been expecting to hear so soon after regaining his memories from before living with the Fenton’s. And when Clockwork explained it to him, a small smirk on the always age changing beings face, that all the Pits would eventually dry up thus they would no longer be able to revive the dead once Danny started healing them...

Danny had laughed when he had been told this information.

He laughed until he had started to cry. He had even laughed so hard he changed back from his ghost form to his living one and then back again because he lost breath from his laughter. (It actually concerned his friends, Dani and Jazz when this happened tbh) It took a while but when Danny’s laughter finally trailed into hiccups, light coughs, and deep breaths, Clockwork merely floated over and asked with all-knowing smirk on his face “Quite done Daniel?”

You see the reason why this was funny to Danny was the fact that he was finally getting revenge on his ex-grandfather for... well for everything. And he was going to enjoy ruining Ra’s al Ghul treasured little Lazarus Pits with pure glee. The amount of pure joy he felt knowing this even surpassed his feelings for when he’s able to mess up Vlad’s evil plans for the month.

As mentioned before, Danny had no memories upon waking up in a hospital after nearly losing his life from wounds no child should ever have on their bodies. It wasn’t until the night after his crowning that as he dreamed of his past, it was in these dreams he had finally remembered everything. When he had woken up he had instantly went flying to Clockwork’s lair to speak with the time keeper, especially when he had remembered the last thing he had saw before waking up in the hospital.

[“Why?” that was all Danny would ask when seeing the ageless ghost, not bothering to say hello or even small talk like they normally would do, if he had been his living form he would had been breathing heavily from the speed he flown to get there.

“It hadn’t been your time, your Highness.” was the only reply before the ticking of clocks in the room filled the silence between them.]

He had been Danyal al Ghul, the second heir to the Demon Head Ra’s al Ghul, the League of Assassins leader and his grandfather, son of Talia al Ghul, and twin brother to first heir Damian al Ghul.

Talia, his mother, was a stoic woman. A true Assassin. Beautiful yet deadly. Someone Danyal could see now who would do anything to stay in power if he was to be honest with himself. But she did love him and Damian in her own way, only showing them this parental love when they were alone, away from servants and other assassin’s eyes. Some of his fondest memories of the woman had been her cupping his face and speaking softly of how much he looked like her “Beloved”, their father. His eyes, and hair (and his 'soft' heart) were the only things he knew about his father, the only thing he has been allowed to know.

Damian, his twin brother, both of them mostly sharing the same face with small differences and build at the time, his other half, the one that he had came into this world together had, was, is the one Danyal would die for. And he did. His brother was the prefect heir, the prefect budding assassin in the eyes of the others in Nanda Parbat. Much like their mother he tended to try to hide his emotions behind an emotionless mask, he always carried himself stronger than Danyal would, despite them both being five years old they had been born into this life and learned very quickly how to survive that place. But behind closed doors the two would often talk in whispers, of the what ifs of their lives, how their day was, etc etc. Danyal’s fondest memories of his brother was them sneaking out to watch the stars late at night and making a promise to always face any problem together as they held hands and lightly tapped each with their fingers.

His grandfather, Ra’s however was a ruthless and cold man. An ‘immortal’ due to the Lazarus Pits that always brought him back to life, and he had always hated Danyal. No matter what Danyal would do it was always a failure to his grandfather, it didn’t matter if he tried his hardest to be a ‘perfect’ little assassin like his brother, everything he did in the older man’s eyes was a mistake. Any mistakes Danyal did was often met with punishment and pain. He had no fond memories of the man, only a deep seeded mutual dislike if anything.

And it was with this hatred for Danyal, that had caused Ra’s to summon both his grandchildren one night to the combat room and demanded for them both to fight for heir ship. A fight that would end in one of them dying, something all of them in room knew it would lead to. A fight two five years did not want to do but had no choice. Not even Talia’s disbelieving single protest to the fight could not stop Ra’s command.

As the Demon Head, his word was law.

In the end, Danyal couldn’t wouldn’t harm his brother (his grandfather always hated how ‘soft’ his heart was, "to much like his father" was often said with a tsk). They were both only five years old, they were brought into the world together, they told secrets behind closed doors and whispered dreams under the endless sea of stars they would sneak out to see, they would lightly tap messages with their fingers when the other would have bad days and didn’t wish to speak about it but wanted some sort of comfort.

He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t harm his brother but Damian... Danyal knew Damian would follow the order to fight despite not wanting to as well, Damian always followed orders with little to no fuss unlike Danyal who always second guessed with whys and questions, Danyal also knew Damian would believe he would fight back in defense at least...

But he didn’t.

Some of the few things he remembered was Damian’s eyes widen in horror, his mother’s uncaring mask and body twitch for a moment, and his grandfather ‘tsking’ at him before he fell onto the cold stone floor. After that his memory became hard to remember, foggy but he knew of this.The pain he felt hurt and he tried so hard to stay alive for a few moments more, he could barely hear anything over his own harsh and deep breathing, his body felt heavy and his hands felt wet from the blood seeping out around him. Danyal could barely hear his grandfather’s voice, and could barely make out Ra’s leaving while his mother guided Damian out of the room, she did not look back and Damian moved like a puppet on a string being pulled away. Danyal barely registered hands lifting him up and carrying him out of the room, his vision slowly fading as he was carried in the dimly lit halls of his ‘home’. His memory became very spotty after that, barely noticing he had been left outside the compound to die and as he took in a harsh breath in an attempt to get air, he could hear two words as clear as day.

“Time Out.” and the only sound following those two words was the ticking of clocks while the last thing he saw was the always changing form of a ageless being.

After that Danyal would be found outside of a random hospital in America, far from his place of birth, far from his mother and brother, barely hanging as doctors rushed to save this five year olds life. He would awake weeks later, with no memories of his own to speak of, and then one night a strange star plush/pillow would be gifted to him with the name Daniel on it. He would be bounced around foster home to foster home after he was cleared to leave the hospital and the cops had no leads on who or where he came from.

Daniel would eventually meet Jazz at the park and later her parents and worm his way into their hearts, he would later be adopted by them and live a somewhat normal life (as one can be with ghost hunting parents but at least he got Jazz as an older sister, even with Jack and Maddie’s rather unhealthy... obsession with ghosts he knew they loved him)

Ra’s failed second heir was no more, his name and life no longer mentioned in Nanda Parbat, Danyal al Ghul (Wayne) was by all intents and purpose dead to the man and to the League.

Now Daniel “Danny” Fenton lived in his place...

Up until that fateful day when he was fourteen, after that he was only half alive and once again became someone kind of new. A halfa this time. Danny Phantom.

And who would had guessed (not Ra’s that's for sure), he later would become The Ghost King, the Ruler of the Infinite Realm.

So imagine Danny’s surprise when as he had left his house for school one morning, he may be a King but hey he still needed his education according to Jazz (and Clockwork), when he had been ambushed and attacked by some assassins from the League and knocked out... (Shush his own assassin training was rusty and he hadn’t had time to practice them too much, his last major battle had been that all out brawl a week before his coronation with him vs his enemies, fun times. He also rarely got kidnapped since his crowning, half awake due to his Kingly duties and studying for Mr. Lancer’s 70% final grade test (Fun fact I had an actual teacher who did this) that Friday and honestly Danny wasn’t expecting assassins from the League to show up since the whole being pretty much declared dead to them thing)

Only to later slowly wake up on the familiar rough stone ground in Nanda Parbat (the smell, the sounds, the stonework. He often saw them in his dreams and memories but knew it was real this time) his hands bound and his body aching from laying motionless on the hard ground for a while. He put on a confused look on his face as he slowly rose and groaned in pain as he subtly took a moment to look around.

Thank the Ancients Danny still knew how to fake an injury, and play dumb/confused from his time tricking some of the his more annoying ex-enemies? (Skulker, Walker, etc.) even though it had been a year since he last had to do so with them (besides Vlad, he’s still his enemy no matter what and still seemed really salty Danny was a King now and was treated like an outcast by most ghosts, none wanting to be the opposite side of their King so hey perks). It had been a good way to make them drop their guards if they thought Danny was still at his ‘weakest’ when they caught him by surprise. It still pretty funny when Vlad tries though, this act always catches that fruitloop off-guard no matter how many times.

It was a Lazarus Pit room judging by the smell/feel of it at first and later confirmed when he noticed the green toxic ooze nearby. Ugh just being on this side of the Realm and sensing that stuff was disgusting, it wasn’t as bad in the Infinite Realm due to the fresh and clean ectoplasm around it masking most of the bad smell but boy did it reek on this side.

Danny blinked a few times to sell his acting, whispering a confused “Where am I?” under his breath, and looked around before his eyes landed on someone in front of him and flinched back a bit, no acting needed this time.

Ra’s was in the room sitting on a throne chair staring at him with that ever burning hateful glare yet Danny could see another emotion, an emotion he was very used to Vlad having on his fruitloop face. His ex-grandfather had a plan and it was gonna be painful or annoying for Danny to deal with, he knew it...

And...AND was that knocked out Batman and Robin also tied up in chains and guarded by few assassins in the room as well?! WHY IS THAT A THING?!

-x-x-

Heyyyyy so... umm I decided to split it into another part cause it was getting mega long again when all together and I was like roughly halfway done with it and just... I wanted to write out so much, also Tumblr almost made me loose the WIP of this many many times so I’m being careful. Good news almost done with it (and it won’t take as long as this part did promise)

This is basically Danny’s side of things of being King, his inner thoughts, his past relationships with the al Ghul’s, and snippets how he had grown into his King self tbh. Probably didn't need to do this but as an old school writer I wanted to make a base so to speak. The best and fun part is up next. and to prove it, here’s the title and a sneak peek for it.

Summoning a King (Or alternatively: It was at this moment, Ra’s knew he F’d up.)

Yeah as said before it took ALL of Danny’s training not laugh in hysterics. Oh the irony. Sacrificing the Ghost King... to summon the Ghost King.... Danny honestly wanted to say something, the words on his lips being a sarcastic “You sure that's gonna work out for you, you moldy old fruitloop?” but Danny bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing so.

TAGLIST:

Also I’m starting a tag list so if anyone wants on it for the next part please let me know asap so I can add you.

[EDIT: Taglist now closed until next update! Sorry!]

@sxnkisses @thenerdycupcake @sealover89 @remydumb @moonscat @fuck-you-too-world @hecate-hollow @ae-vixrose

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savanaclaw1996 · 9 months

Text

Heart of a Lion-Leona Kingscholar x Fem! Reader! (Birthday Fic)

Happy Birthday to our favorite Dorm Leader of Savanaclaw and lion prince, Leona Kingscholar! Happy birthday, my beloved king of my heart!🎂🦁💖 Also, major thanks to the beautiful Miss Raven for lending me her fic as reference and mongpht for the language of flowers. Thank you!

Warnings: mentions of Chapter 2 spoilers!

Word Count: 2,043 words.

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You wandered around the town below the hill where the prestigious Night Raven College sat. Finally, you spotted the place you were searching for: the jewelry shop.

You remembered the day Cater took you, Ace, Deuce and Grim out shopping for some plates and cups since Grim accidentally broke them. As you browsed around the jewelry shop, you spotted a beautiful golden ring sitting in a display case.

There was a regal golden lion's head carved into the ring and you could see the inscription carved inside the ring, "Heart of a Lion". You smiled. "That ring would look perfect on Leona-senpai's finger." you thought. "And it somewhat matches his nobility...in a way."

Even when you arrived home, the image of that ring had never left your mind. "Once Leona's birthday arrives, I'll get that ring for him." you promised yourself. And so, before the month of July came, you worked hard at Azul's Mostro Lounge daily to earn enough money to buy that ring as a birthday present for Leona.

Once you've scrimped and scraped enough money, you didn't hesitate to head towards the jewelry store and purchase the ring. Once you made your purchase, you quickly headed back to Night Raven. Just in time for the birthday celebrations at Savanaclaw.

The party at Savanaclaw was a blast! Balloons of coconut white, muddy brown and charcoal grey dotted the green shrubbery near the waterfall. Beneath the waterfall, glowing leaf lanterns floated idly in the water.

On the buffet table, there were apple fritters, courtesy of Epel, hamburgers, potato salad, shish kebabs, barbequed misuji meat, exotic fruits and in the center, a large, three-tiered cake with white vanilla icing and chocolate and mocha-flavored crispy pearls.

Leona stood at the very center of the lounge, clad in his blue mage birthday robes. You swear you've never seen anyone more handsome than Leona. He looked like a true mage in those robes.

Cater was with him, phone in hand. He was to be his birthday interviewer. As you approached them, you heard Leona answer Cater's first question, "If I'm going there by flight, I'd like a place that's in the middle of nowhere that not many people go to."

When Cater replied that it'll be difficult to enjoy touring and leisure, Leona responded that he just wanted to relax and that in a quiet environment where no one will disturb him, he wanted to sleep calmly.

You felt your heart sink a little when you heard his words. You've always known that Leona wasn't always the social type. He much preferred his own company rather than anyone else's.

Even though you've had a huge crush on him for quite the longest time, you doubted if he'd ever have feelings for you, too.

"A quiet place where no one will disturb you. You're right, that doesn't sound like a bad way to spend the time." Cater replied. Leona smirked. "Right? As a dorm leader and club captain, I usually always have something to worry about." he said. "It means I need time to rest my body and mind sometimes."

You rolled your eyes at that. "Obviously." you thought. Then Cater asked Leona the final question. "What's something you'd like to do in the upcoming year?"

"Not be held back, that's all." Leona replied simply. Neither you nor Cater were prepared to hear that answer at all. Were you going deaf, or did you clearly hear Leona say that he wasn't going to be held back? "Wh...! Huh, that's all?!" Cater asked in disbelief.

You couldn't help but smile at his answer. You heard that he held himself back for over 3 years because of poor attendance and him not putting any effort in studying. But you knew better.

Leona has always held himself back because he didn't want to go through the painful hassle of the palace life. Being the second-born prince, he always got the short end of the straw. Always being overlooked, no matter how hard he worked to be recognized.

You thought back to the time of that inter-dorm Magical Shift Tournament. When you and your friends found out that Leona was the mastermind behind the incidents, you confronted him. And that was when you saw the emotions in his eyes.

He looked frustrated, angry that everything he had worked so hard for had slipped through his fingers yet again. And when Lilia rebuked him, saying that a collar fits him more than a crown would, and that he would never be king, the words felt like a final nail in the coffin for Leona.

Watching Leona become so broken and defeated, you couldn't help but feel your heart break at the sight of him. You even heard how hollow his voice sounded as he spoke. "This agony, this despair. How could any of you possibly understand?!"

And then, his Overblot happened. After you managed to defeat him, you glimpsed at his past memories. Being badmouthed by the servants of his palace, being pressured by his desire to be respected and recognized, trying to best himself against Malleus but failing...

Even though Falena, Leona's brother and King of Sunset Savannah tried his best to support his little brother, Leona just coldly brushed him off, not wanting his pity.

When you both woke up, you saw that Leona was willing to do his best at the tournament. Even after Savanaclaw lost the match, you were somewhat happy to see Leona being determined to win next year's match, even though you don't agree with his underhanded methods.

As time went on, even though it wasn't noticeable at first glance, you could see the steps of progress Leona has made, little by little. Even though he was still lazy, languid and downright arrogant, you could see the bits of kindness, determination and will to live shine through.

Even now, you felt a sense of pride and joy for Leona for making it this far. Tears brimmed in your eyes as the memories flashed through your mind. "Leona-senpai..." you whispered, holding back a choked sob...

"Hey, herbivore!" Leona's baritone voice cuts through your thoughts like a blade, snapping you out of your musings. "How long are you going to stand there?"

"Oh, right! I need to give him his gift!" Without wasting another second, you hurried over to his side with the little black box with a golden bow in your hand. Leona raised an eyebrow as he watched you approach him with something hiding behind your back.

"So, you came to wish me a happy birthday, huh?" he asked with a smirk. "Well, ain't that admirable of you. So, what did you bring me, then? At the very least, you are presenting a gift to royalty. As such, I'm sure you've prepared a very fine gift."

You froze, starting to panic. A fine gift? Well, it is pretty expensive. Will he like it, though? You were starting to get anxious.

"I'll take it off your hands, so show me what you got behind your back, already." Leona demanded, holding out his hand. You gulped silently. "Well, here goes nothing. I hope he likes it." you thought as you handed him the black box.

Leona opened the box and saw the ring. "Huh. A gold ring." he said casually. "I've got plenty of those, you know." You nodded, knowing how much jewelry he has, being a wealthy prince and all.

"This ring is different, though." you said. This was it. It was time to confess how you felt towards him. You took a deep breath before you started to explain. "There's a reason why I picked that ring for you, senpai. I picked it because it reminds me of you."

"Leona, I understand that you've been through a lot over your lifetime. Everything from your childhood to your Overblot episode to now. That ring you hold in your hand symbolizes strength, courage, resoluteness and nobility."

"The words etched in that ring say, "Heart of a Lion". I sincerely believe that you do have the heart of a lion, despite what others say and think of you. Even though you can be lazy at times, arrogant, smug, bossy, snide..." Cater snickered at your descriptions.

"True." he whispered. Leona shot him a quick glare, telling him to shut up as you continued. "...You truly care about other people, even though you never show it outwardly. Leona Kingscholar, please consider this ring as a token of my unchanging love and support to you." you said as you gave him a small bow of respect.

"No matter what happens, I hope that you will be able to go beyond, to be able to reach for the stars, even though they seem very far. I have absolute faith that you will."

Leona was silent as he listened to your little speech. After you finished, a short silence fell upon the lounge. You wondered if he thought your speech was too boring and silly. You lifted your head, and you were about to apologize when you saw the smile on Leona's face.

"So I have the heart of a lion, huh?" Leona asked, admiring the golden lion ring. He looked at the inscription in the ring and smiled. "Guess you've got some taste, herbivore."

Your heart swelled with joy when you saw Leona slip the ring onto his index finger. He held up his hand, the golden ring glimmering in the light. "Thank you. It's a very meaningful gift." Hearing those thankful words coming from Leona, you smiled as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

A soft sob escaped from your throat as you tried to swallow the lump in it. "How embarrassing. Crying in front of Leona on his birthday? What's the matter with you?!" you berated yourself mentally.

You raised your arm in a frantic attempt to dry your tears, but they just kept coming. "Please, just stop crying!" you silently pleaded. You then noticed movement coming towards you and you looked up at Leona.

Your cheeks flushed red. But before you could apologize for putting on such a babyish display, Leona wrapped his arms around you, embracing your body. "Le-Leona?" you asked, feeling your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

"It's okay, herbivore. You're just happy, right?" Leona whispered in your ear. You nodded. "Sorry about that." you apologized. Leona shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Thanks."

You smiled. "You're welcome." Cater held up his phone, capturing that sweet, tender, loving moment on video. Leona will have to deal with him later...

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Finally, it was time for Leona to take off on his broom. As you and Leona walked down the cobblestone path of Main Street, Leona then reached towards his broom's bouquet and plucked out a golden orchid.

He held it towards you. "For you, herbivore, as thanks for the speech." he said. You know what that orchid meant. In the language of flowers, the golden orchid symbolizes love, luxury, beauty and strength.

Leona had all those: strength, beauty, luxury and love. You hoped that one day, with your perseverance, love, courage and strength, you'll be able to stand by his side as his beloved queen.

You smiled as you took the orchid from his hand. "Thank you, Leona." you replied gratefully. "Happy birthday, my beloved king."

Leona gave you one last wink before he hopped onto his broom and flew off into the night, leaving behind a trail of golden petals and sparkles.

As Leona soared higher and higher, he looked up at the evening sky. Thousands upon thousands of bright, shining stars dotted the inky darkness, some of them streaking across the heavens, leaving behind trails of stardust.

Back in his homeland, the stars were said to be the great kings of the past watching over everyone down below. Your words echoed in his mind, "No matter what happens, I hope that you will be able to go beyond, to be able to reach for the stars, even though they seem very far. I have absolute faith that you will."

As Leona gazed at the glittering golden lion ring on his finger, a great spark of hope ignited within his heart. "One day," he silently vowed, "my story will be told throughout the ages. My star will be shining the brightest, the greatest of them all. And (Y/N)'s alongside mine." And he will see to it that that promise comes true.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #fem! reader #female reader #birthday fic #birthday boy #fluff #twst bloom birthday #twst birthday #disney

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