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lovifie · 5 months

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Her Royal Highness Pt. 1

Masterlist

The palace gardens.

Thousands of flowers, trees and weeds grow all together. Every one of them, their own use and their own mission.

Growing delicious fruit, being used in medicinal infusions… decorating the burning chapel of the late Queen.

The hundreds of chrysanthemums that decorated her coffin is a sight you would never forget. On any regular funeral, the flowers would have been white. But not on your mum's, everyone from the kingdom who arrived to give their respect to the deceased royal brought flowers. Every flower of different colours, making it look like a rainbow, making it look like a painting.

A gruesome painting.

But now, as the autumn winds circle your body in the garden; you look around for the chrysanthemums. As in trying to go back to that day, take another look at her face, and try to memorise her better.

But it's not her face the one you see, but of a man you have never seen before.

High in the tower, looking down on you through the window of your father's office. Blue eyes lock with yours, and a kind smile appears through his beard.

At that moment, Alissa, one of the maids, calls for you.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in the Sun Room.”

The Sun Room, the stance where you would spend all those sleepless nights looking into the telescope. Visiting all those faraway galaxies, until the sun would come up.

Now, it has been provisioned with a table and chairs, and it was your father's favourite spot to have breakfast.

So you didn't think anything else of the request, making your way up to the Sun Room. Blue eyes already forgotten until you enter the run, and meet them again. But he was not alone.

Five men were seated around the table, only one of them you know.

Right in front of you was your father, smiling at you while pointing to sit on the chair opposite to his.

On his right, was sitting the man you saw on the window. Around the same age as your father, with blue eyes, a beard and a smoking pipe on his lips.

Sitting on the left of your father, was a man wearing a hood and a veil-like fabric covering the lower half of his face leaving only his eyes exposed. You thought he was looking at you for a second, but when you tried to meet his gaze you realised he was looking at the man sitting next to the first mysterious man.

You follow his gaze, meeting bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile looking at you. A bit of stubble surrounded his mouth, only interrupted by the small scar on his chin.

The last man on the table caught your eyes as he left the cup he was just using on the table. Tan skin, brown eyes and just as kind smile as everyone else on the table met your eyes.

Everyone on the table except for your father quickly got on their feet as you entered the room, bowing to you as a sign of respect.

You bowed back, almost on autopilot after so many years of training.

The brown-eyed man quickly makes his way towards you and moves your chair back to make it easier for you to sit, and once you do he pushes you closer to the table.

“Thank you…” You say, a bit surprised by the action and follow him with your eyes until you look back at your father. “Morning, Father.”

“Morning, angel. Let me introduce you to King John Price, he has come all the way from his kingdom with his son and his two best knights just to meet you.” He says pointing to the older man on his right.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess.” The sudden deep voice from the foreign king quickly gains your attention as you smile at him courteously.

“The pleasure is mine, your Royal Highness.” You answer by bowing with your head and picking up the cup of tea on your right. “May I ask the reason for such an odyssey?”

“Well, my son here, Prince Simon is still unmarried and as my only heir, I would like to meet my grandchild before my passing to die in peace. So when the news that the young princess was of age to marry, it sounded like the perfect opportunity. And now, having met you, I can rest assured that my grandchildren will be handsome.” The king jokes laughing softly but gets interrupted by the choking sounds that erupted from you.

What news of you being of age? Marriage? Grandchildren? As you try to get back to breathing you cover your mouth with the napkin and try to figure out what is happening. But it is not hard to figure it out, your father is using you as spare change to keep the kingdom safe. A marriage between kingdoms means a bigger territory, a bigger army, and a bigger treasure to live in peace.

It quickly downsides to you how little your opinions matter to the kingdom affairs, it doesn't matter whether you want to get married or not, whether you like the prince, your soon-to-be husband, or not, any of that matter, because you are just like a horse being sold to a bigger farm.

Even though you can barely remember your mother's face, you can almost hear her screams of rage inside your head, the impotence flowing through your veins. She would have fought your father on this, completely against this interchange. Giving away her only daughter to the first man who knocks on the door, completely unaware of his real intentions.

But your mother is dead, your father is getting old, and you are just a princess sitting between two royal knights of a foreign kingdom.

So you do what you must, you stop coughing, get your breath back, stand up apologising for the rumble and excuse yourself by letting everyone know that there is a task that cannot wait to be done that you forgot to do this morning.

You make your way out before any men in the room can say anything and walk to your room as fast as you can, hating more than ever living in such a big palace.

Once inside and with the door locked, you fall to your knees letting the tears flow. You should be ashamed really, of getting knocked out this easily after your first royal mission.

But you can't help it, the fight that ignited inside your soul. You knew this would happen, ever since you were born your duty has always been to be married to some foreign prince, the easier way to make allies. But your poor romantic heart, which would keep you awake at night, dreaming of how a kind prince would appear to court you, how you would fall in love with each other, finally marrying and living happily ever after.

Those dreams get shattered in such a brutal way, leaving you no time to try and conceal your feelings. So you indulge in those feelings, suddenly taking notice of how little freedom you have left, you decide to not conceal your feelings. So you move onto your bed, and you cry. You cry until you no longer feel your mother's rage inside your heart.

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The knock on your door wakes you up, not having noticed falling asleep. You make your way and unlock the door coming face to face with Alissa, who looks at you with a worried look.

“Your Royal Highness, your father requested your presence in his dormitory. You should come quickly.” She says as she starts to walk looking back to make sure you are following her.

“Did something happen? Why the hurry, Allisa?” You ask trying to get next to her and when she doesn't answer you grab her arm making her turn to you. “Allisa, what's wrong?”

“It's better for you to see yourself, Princess” Allisa says grabbing your hand back and walking with you to your father's room door.

She opens the door and looks at you waiting for you to enter but without moving herself. She avoids your gaze almost as if she feels guilty about having you in the situation.

Both the curiosity and anxiety of the moment make you enter the room without another thought.

The smell of chrysanthemums invades your nostrils, but there aren't any flowers in the room. But the sight brings you back to that grotesque painting of your mother's funeral.

Your father lays on his bed, breathing with difficulty and his eyes closed. He looks weak, a sight you thought was impossible now was right in front of you.

You run to your father's bed, kneeling at his side and grab his hand with your shaking fingers.

“Father? Please talk to me, what has happened to you?” You ask with your vision getting blurry with tears.

“Oh, my sweet bird.” Your father says opening his eyes and smiling weakly at you. “Why do you sound so worried? Don't you ever worry about me, it's my duty to worry about you. Something I ate must me fighting back, but it is nothing I can’t beat.” He caresses your cheek, feeling the cold of his fingers making a tear fall on top of his hand. “How are you feeling? You looked upset before when you left, do you not like the Prince?”

Like the Prince? The Prince you didn't hear say a word? The Prince you didn't even see his whole face? The Prince that didn't even look at you? That Prince? Did you even have a say in whether you like him or not?

“I was just… surprised.” You lie.

“They are nice people. They have a big kingdom, bigger than ours. They will take good care of you, birdie.” Your father says and you see him begin to close his eyes. “I'm gonna try to sleep again, alright? I'm sure I will wake up feeling better. You should try as well, it's been a strange day, hasn't it?”

You smile at him as you see him close his eyes but you don't move. You stay put while holding his hand, and only look up when you hear the door open.

The King Price enters accompanied by the brown-eyed knight, who is grabbing a tea set on a tray.

“Leave it on the nightstand, Kyle.” Says the king without noticing you are inside and when he finally does notice his expression changes. The more crude and stone-like expression he was using, changes into the kind one you saw before. “Oh, greetings, Princess. Your father requested some tea to ease his sleeping.”

Kyle, the knight, puts the tray on the nightstand and gives you a smile when you look at him. Feeling your throat dry after crying the whole day, you stretch your arm to grab the teacup but before you can do it, the knight grabs your hand.

“Apologies, Princess. But it is for your father.” He says while looking at you with a smile but without letting go of your hand.

“I'm sure my father wouldn't mind sharing a cup. I only want a sip.” I say trying again to grab it but meeting the same luck again. The knight moves his hand to grab my hand more softly instead of my wrist and moves it up to his lips leaving a kiss on my knuckles.

“Your Royal Highness, with all due respect… I wouldn't recommend drinking the tea.” A shiver runs down your spine and you feel the king put a hand on your shoulder making you look up at him.

“Princess, why don't you go back to your room? We will take care of your father, don't worry.” King Price says and you feel like screaming, shouting, hitting, biting, fighting them until they leave the palace and never come back. But you don't, you stay looking at them like a dumb child.

You look back at your father. His skin looks almost grey, a pained expression on his face and cold hands meeting yours. Just this morning, he was fine. Having breakfast with everyone, joking, talking about marriage with the other king. And now, this.

“This is your making, right? You have poisoned my father. You are trying to murder my father’’ You say with a shaking voice looking between them and you hear the king sigh.

‘‘Princess, you are far too young to understand. Your father's kingdom has way too much potential for it to go to waste under such a careless king. He is already too old, and he was never that bright to begin with. When your mother was alive this was a great kingdom, but it has only been getting worse. Is the best for everyone, once you and my son get married, you won't have to worry about anything anymore. You are clever like your mother, aren't you? So prove it, leave your father to rest and let me make everything easier for you.’’

You feel your head throb, so much information all at once. The shameless way he just admitted to the murder of your father, how he let you know that this has been his plan for years even knowing your late mother, the way he expects you to just accept this reality.

You know you need to fight, but you know you would never be able to fight them alone. You think about different things would be if you had any siblings, maybe an older brother that didn't need to get married in order to reign. How things would be different if you were not the next in line… and then you remember. Your uncle. Your mother's brother is the next in line to your throne after you.

But only if anything happened to you…

What's more important? The kingdom? Or yourself?

The blade on Kyle's waist suddenly seems too close to ignore. And you don't fully register what you are doing until you see the fear in the knight's eyes.

The blade feels heavy on your hands when you raise it above your head, and Kyle jumps in front of the king to protect him of your attack.

But you are not aiming at the king, you are aiming at yourself. And before they can prevent it, the blade is already through your torso.

‘‘If there is no marriage, the kingdom is for my uncle not for you.’’ You say barely above a whisper, feeling cold. A wide contrast with the warm blood covering your hands.

Your ears feel stuffed and it is more and more difficult to stay kneeled without falling. You hear the King curse and order the knight to go for the sages.

You feel the cold floor against your temple, not having noticed being lying on your side. You never thought about dying in a battle, or poison, or murdered. You always thought that's how powerful people die, and unimportant princesses like you would most likely die of old age somewhere alone.

But dying in order to save the kingdom seems noble enough.

In your last moments, you think about your father. Lying on his bed behind you, still breathing but already being given up on by everyone. Even his only daughter.

What would he think if he got better? If he woke up right now? And saw his child, lying on a pool of her blood inserted on the visiting knight’s blade by herself.

Useless.

You were supposed to help the kingdom and didn't even try to fight. Gave up before the fight started.

Coward.

Leaving the job for your poor uncle, as if he was not already busy enough.

Selfish.

Dying.

Alone.

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Since I uploaded the little something I did yesterday I couldn't stop thinking about it.

hehe

I hoped that you liked the first chapter <3

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hookhausenschips · 3 days

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The Flame & The Throne {MV1}

500 Follower Special!!!

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Summary: Y/N becomes the new queen, but will she fall to the crown?

Taglist

Warnings: character death, historical accuracy, cheating, angst, mentions of treason, hints of miscarriage if you squint

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Y/N’s POV

In the cool, lingering dusk of a Belgian autumn, I first stepped into the court of King Max Verstappen—a world draped in the grandeur of silk and the glitter of court intrigue. My arrival from England had been much anticipated, and not just for the alliances it symbolized, but for the change I was expected to bring to a court laden with tradition and the heavy scent of political maneuvering.

King Max was a figure of youthful vigor, his reputation as a dynamic and ambitious ruler preceding him. His court in Brussels was alive with whispers of his exploits on the battlefield and debates over his rule, which, though strong, often teetered on the edge of tyrannical. I knew that joining his court would place me at the heart of immense power, but also at the crux of potential peril.

Our first meeting occurred during a banquet, under the opulent chandeliers of the royal hall, filled with the elite of the kingdom. Max's presence commanded attention, his sharp eyes surveying his domain with an air of undisputed sovereignty. When his gaze met mine, there was an unspoken challenge in the depth of those blue depths-here was a king used to being both revered and feared.

As the weeks turned to months, the king's interest in me deepened. Conversations that had begun with curt exchanges of pleasantries evolved into intense, private audiences where we debated everything from the arts to state policies. I learned that beneath his crown of intimidating jewels— each a grim trophy of his conquests-lay a mind as astute as it was ambitious, and a heart yearning for a companion that matched its fiery beat.

By January 1533, whispers of romance transformed into the clarion call of scandal as Max declared his intention to marry me.

His marriage to Queen Kelly of Aragon, a union mired in political convenience rather than affection, still held legal bind, yet he pushed for our marriage with a fervor that bordered on obsession. Our wedding, a lavish affair, was celebrated with grandeur that rivaled the tales of Camelot, but the joy was marred by the undercurrents of dissent and the silent disapproval of the church.

The subsequent months unfolded like a game of chess played with human pieces.

Caught between the allure of power and the principles I held dear, I made a choice that would alter the course of my life forever. With a heart conflicted yet captivated, I accepted his proposal, agreeing to become his queen and consort in his grand design to sever ties with Rome and forge a new church.

The coronation was a spectacle, the realm watching as I was crowned alongside King Max, my crown a twin to his, studded with jewels that shimmered with the weight of history and conquest. As I stood there, the weight of my crown felt like a tangible reminder of the compromise I had made—power in exchange for a piece of my soul.

My position as queen required not only grace and intelligence but a steely nerve to navigate the alliances and enmities within the court. However, the burden I carried was not merely to be a queen, but to provide a male heir-a duty that became my undoing.

As seasons passed without the cry of a prince to echo through the palace halls, the king's affections cooled, replaced by frustration and then by suspicion. Courtiers who once bowed low now whispered of curses and ill omens, and I found myself increasingly isolated in a gilded cage.

The final act of my tragic play began when Max, driven by desperation and goaded by his advisors, turned against me. Accusations of treason-fabricated and fantastical-were levied against me. I stood before the king, my once beloved, as he donned the mask of a judge, his crown now a halo of betrayal.

"Will you not confess and beg for mercy, Y/N?" Max's voice was a cold echo in the vast, shadowed hall, his eyes distant.

"Kill me if you must, Sire," I said, my voice steady as I met his gaze, defiance woven into every syllable, "but I shall not bow to a king who wears a crown studded with the jewels of every life he has ended."

There was no mercy in his eyes, only the hard glint of a decision made. The silence that followed was deafening, the courtiers' eyes averted, their whispers hushed as if the very walls could betray their thoughts. The trial was a mere formality, the verdict preordained by the whispers of those who sought my downfall.

The charges were numerous, each more absurd than the last: witchcraft, adultery, and conspiracy against the king—each a desperate attempt to undermine the love and loyalty I had once commanded. The so-called evidence was presented by men whose honors were as tarnished as the iron chains that now bound my wrists.

As I was led from the great hall to the cold confines of my chamber, I pondered the fickle nature of the court's favor. I had risen high on the wings of the king's affection, only to be cast down into the shadow of the executioner's block. The king had once professed to move heaven and earth to have me, but now he would move the executioner's axe to remove me.

In those final days, I found an unlikely solace in the words of a poet I had once cherished, who had spoken of the wheel of fortune, ever turning, lifting the lowly to great heights and casting the mighty down. Such was the game I had played, a game where the stakes were the highest, and the king had been both my fellow player and the arbiter.

When dawn broke on the day of my execution, the sky was a tapestry of crimson and gold, as if the heavens themselves mourned the injustice of my fate. The scaffold was erected in the courtyard, a grim stage for the final act of my life. The crowd gathered, a sea of faces, some somber, some eager for the spectacle.

As I approached the scaffold, my steps were measured, my head held high—not out of pride, but in quiet dignity. I addressed the crowd, not with words of bitterness, but with a plea for remembrance, for history to look upon me with truthful eyes and not through the lens of the king's twisted narrative.

The axe was swift, and with its fall, the chapter of my life closed. Yet, in the annals of time, my story would persist, whispered in hushed tones by those who seek the truth amidst the lies. For in the end, I was not simply a queen who fell from grace, but a symbol of the price one pays for daring to reach beyond their station—to challenge the traditions and the powers that bind us.

And though my life was taken by the blade, my spirit would never be silenced. It would rise, a phoenix from the ashes of my demise, inspiring those who would come after to live with courage, to love with passion, and to always, always reach for the stars, even when ensnared in the thorns of a rose.

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MV1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @evie-119, @dhanihamidi, @leclercdior, @ilivbullyingjeongin

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

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lorcandidlucienwill · 1 month

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inspired by a post from @clockwork-ashes Eris walked into the ballroom, already bored. The same shallow people he'd appeased a thousand times, he had to entertain again. Paste on his perfect courtly smile and pretend he didn't hate their guts. Pretend to be perfectly unaware that most here wished death on him and his family. Even wished death on the youngest in the family, who was just a kid. Lucien was the only bright spot in all this. It was his first event of the sort, and he'd been very nervous. "But, Ewis, what if they hate me?" Lucien had asked, staring up at him with his big brown eyes. Their mother's eyes. He stood on a little stool in front of the mirror in a little blue tunic, body language filled with uncertainty. Eris sighed, kneeling before him. He pulled out a little gold bow tie and began to place it on Lucien. Lucien squealed and wiggled away, but Eris put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on now, Lu. The bow tie will finish the look. Make you look very smart." Lucien grinned at that, showing his baby teeth. "I am vewy smawt!" Eris chuckled, patting his shoulder. He had had a hand in all of his brothers' childhoods, but none more so than Lucien. Beron had practically thrown him into Eris's arms as soon as he was born. As a result, Lucien barely even knew his father. "Come on, little man," Eris said, offering his hand. Lucien took it, so very small compared to his.

Even now in the ballroom, Lucien refused to let go of his hand. "Lulu, you can let go," Eris said a little exasperatedly, but he secretly adored it. Children were so much more genuine than fully grown Fae; Lucien clung to him because he wanted to be with him. He was the cutest. "I don't like all these stwange people looking at me, Ewis," Lucien complained. "They don't look nice." "That's because they're not, Lulu. Many of these people are very mean, in fact. Don't trust them." Lucien stared at Eris, and there was real fear in his eyes. So, Eris scooped little Lucien up and placed him on his shoulders. "There, you're king of the world now. No one will dare question you," he soothed Lucien. That wholesome smile returned. "I am Lu, High Lowd of Autumn! Bow befowe me!" Eris went around greeting all the courtiers, who all beamed at his baby brother residing on his shoulders, cooing at him. Lucien was the perfect little courtier, grinning at them all and even offering a hand for a handshake above Eris's head. Later, Eris felt a little tug in his hair. "What?" Eris asked the little rascal on his shoulder. "That lady is pwetty! You should dance with her!" He pointed to a bronze-skinned brunette in a red dress across the room laughing with some folks of the High Fae. Eris sighed. Already trying to get Eris to dance; the courtier incarnate, indeed. "It's rude to point, Lulu," he said, but he listened to him, walking towards the beauty. "Hello, miss. I am Eris Vanserra, and this little man above me is my brother, Lucien. May I have a dance?" The woman stared him down appraisingly with her near-black eyes. "Melody Visvadara. And yes, you may." She winked at Lucien. "Especially you, Lucien." If people thought it was odd that the High Lord's heir was dancing with a lady while his brother still sat on his shoulders, no one dared question it. Especially when his dancing was still absolute perfection and Lucien giggled in delight at every twist and turn. No, all they could do was watch and admire the Vanserra brothers with envy in their hearts.

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #big brother eris #vanserra brothers #fanfic

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sollsmith · 3 months

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Fire in the Flesh

Chapter Four

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: mentions of abuse/injury

Summary:

After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon’s actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.

“No luck?” Marra shouts over the noise of the gushing water when she hears the door to the chamber open.

“No.” Daella shouts back, kicking her shoes off, before hiking up her skirts to remove her stockings. She had taken to wearing stockings under her dresses for warmth. She and Marra had decided back in Volantis to wait until they had arrived in Westeros to order some new dresses, as they were unsure of the style in the capital. So she had been wearing her dresses of silk and cotton for the last number of days since they arrived, learning the hard way that they were not made for the Westerosi autumn climate.

“How many is that now? Six? Seven?”

“Only five. The one yesterday was with Rhaenyra.” Daella reminded her as she removed her necklace and rings. “And they only set up the one with her, as they thought maybe he would appear if she was there.”

“Well at least you and the Princess seem to get along, she invited you for tea tomorrow again. Perhaps a friendship with Rhaenyra will convince him to show up before the 17th day?” Marra said, testing the water in the bath, before reaching for the oils.

Daella doesn’t answer straight away. Her meeting with the Princess had gone surprisingly well. After a couple of minutes of polite smiling and picking in silence at their cakes, the girls began slowly striking conversation with one another, by the end, they had sat for nearly three hours.

“Rhaenyra said I have nothing to worry about, that he’s just sulking, but I doubt he will even show up on the day. He does not want me.”

“The King will have his head if he does not. He has a dragon, he would have left if he was so opposed to the match. The Princess is right, he will come around. He just needs to meet you.” Marra smiled as Daella finally came into view. She jumped to her feet, rounding the metal tub, helping Daella remove the dress they had chosen for her unsuccessful meeting with the Prince.

“I suppose so.” Daella shrugged, dipping her fingers into the steaming bath to ensure the water was hot enough, before stepping in and sinking down into the water. It had been a long day and she was finally able to stomach food for the first time since arriving at dinner. She was cold, tired and full, and all she wanted was to be warm in her bed. Closing her eyes, she let out a satisfied sigh before opening her eyes again at the sound of Marra crouching down beside her.

“What did you get up to while I was gone? Have you eaten?”

“I have. I finished unpacking for Maelor, and I visited the kitchen. I asked if they had anything other than venison, they offered duck if you think that would suit you better?”

“Perhaps, there is no harm in trying.”

“Also your father dropped by said he visit before bed-”

“What? Did he say why?” Daella shoots up in the bath a little. She had barely seen her father since they had arrived. She knew he was lingering on the balcony of the courtyard where her meetings with the Prince were meant to take place, watching as she sat either alone or with the King for several hours at a time.

“No, just to prepare for him to be here.” Marra reassured as she began to watch Daella’s body with a soft cloth and soap. “He didn’t seem angry or upset.”

“Mm, will you ensure some wine is left, I’m not sure I can face him without it” Daella leaned back again, closing her eyes and allowing Marra to continue her job.

“Of course.” Marra smiled softly. “Oh and I saw the Queen today.” Daella’s eyes shot open again. Neither of them had seen the Queen since they arrived. Viserys had briefly spoken about her when they were lunching waiting ro Daemon to show, but she had never accompanied him and they had not been formally introduced. When she had brought the Queen up to Rhaenrya, she had reacted oddly, so Daella dropped the conversation.

“Pretty, must be your age.”

“Really? I knew she was younger than him but I didn’t think… Viserys didn’t strike me as the type.” Daella wondered aloud, lifting her leg for Marra.

“Mm, she was just walking by with the children. Lovely little things.” Marra hummed, moving behind her to start on Daella’s hair. Daella slid forward a little to give her room to work.

“It’s a little odd don’t you think? That we never see her? Never attended a lunch with Viserys? Also if she was my age, wouldn’t that mean she grew up in court with Rhaenyra? They don’t seem friendly to me, Rhaenyra nearly shrivelled up when I mentioned her at lunch yesterday”

“A little. Maybe she is just busy, and I’m starting to realise this court is very complicated and confusing. Do you want to hear what I heard about one of the Northern Lords while I was in the kitchen?”

“She’s very pretty.”

Daemon rolls his eyes. They stood in the bowels of the Red Keep, the candles from Balerion's shrine a few feet away the only light.

“She is. Prettier than any girl at court.”

“So are many of the whores on the street of silk.”

It was Rhaenyra's turn to roll her eyes now. Daemon had convinced her to go to tea with his betrothed, and now he will not hear any feedback she had.

“She was sweet -

“Sweet!” Daemon snorts.

“Why did you insist I go if you have no intention of listening to anything I have to say?”

“I am-”

“No, you are not.”

“Fine. What else? Make it quick, I’m on watch tonight.”

“I do not understand why you do not go yourself if you are so curious. Father has given you several options; teas, lunches, dinners, walks. You have taken none of them. She would like to meet you at least once for the wedding day. She will not admit it but she is scared, Daemon.”

“I didn’t want this.”

“Neither did she. Or I. But you cannot and will not take me to wife-”

“Who says I won’t?”

“If you wanted to you would have already taken me to Dragonstone and done it.”

Daemon doesn’t have a rebuttal for her. She was right, as much has he wants do, he could not bring himself to do it.

“I have to go.” He says coldly, wanting to be done with this conversation. It begins to stalk off into the darkness leaving Rhaenyra standing.

“The final arrangements for your wedding are being discussed at the small council tomorrow. Go. She will be there.” She calls after him.

She felt foolish, knocking on the large door of Mellos’ room. She had turned her room upside down looking for the ointment that Marra gave her two years ago the first time she had seen Daella’s red cheek after returning from her father's room, but it was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to wake Marra, she seeked out the Maester herself. Maester Mellos was an old man, but kind. He had opened his door immediately for her, and asked what had happened.

“Slipped on a wet floor, hit the bedframe on the way down.” She had meekly replied, wincing as he prodded lightly at her swelling cheek. It was not the truth of course. Her father had come, and at first the conversation was pleasant, but quickly turned sour, Daella spoke out of turn and paid the consequence for it.

“Sit. Arnica ointment for the cheek. It will take out some swelling and colouring. I’ll mix some lint, grease, and honey for the cut as well. It will heal in no time.”

He had left the main chamber room, shuffling through an arch walkway to fetch what he needed, leaving Daella sitting alone on the small wooden stool Mellos had procured for her. It was then she finally allowed herself to cry a little, the ever growing feeling of misery finally coming to the surface.

“Rhaenyra, what are you doing her..”

Daella turned her head to look up at the silver haired man that had entered the room and now stopped in his tracks. He was taller than she remembered. Broader too, but that could be the bloodied and dirt clad armour he was wearing. The silky long hair she had remembered from her childhood was now cut short and his face was harder from age.

Daella stared up at him speechless from her stool, tears still falling from her eyes. The Prince stared back, not giving much away, but Daella noticed his eyes flicking from her swollen cheek to her bloody lip.

“Maester Mellos?” Daemon spoke first. Daella quickly wiped her eyes, and sniffled a little, straightening up in her stool.

“Oh, he has gone to fetch me some ointment.” It came out more timid and pathetic than she had intended, her voice still shaky and hoarse from crying. Daemon continues to stare at her, before moving towards her, hand reaching out to lift her chin and turn her head. She flinched a little when he touched her. The smell of dirt, sweat and iron lingered on him, his thumb pulling gently on her bottom lip to assess the damage.

“Mm, what happened?”

“Fell and hit the bed frame. Wet floors.”

“Old Mellos believed that?” He let her chin go, his rough hand softly leaving her face. Taking a few steps back, he distanced himself from her.

“It’s what happened.”

“You can lie to the Maesters all you like, but assume you know better than to lie to your husband.”

“You're not my husband.”

Daella swears she saw his lips threatening to curl up into a smirk. He continued to stare down at her, leaning back against a wooden table. Daella suddenly became aware she was just in her nightgown, arms folding over her chest.

“Saying a couple of meaningless vows before God’s we do not believe in front of a crowd of old fat lords does not make us married. You’ve been mine from the day they made this betrothal.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” She whispered. Daemon almost snapped back at her, but noticed the tears welling up in her eyes again, he decided to let her off, not wanting to deal with any hysterics.

“Why are you here?” Daella sniffles.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Your health is not the business of your wife, no?”

“Very good.” Daemon surprises her by chuckling at her remark, head turning as Mellos shuffled back into the room.

“Oh Prince Daemon, I was locating some items for young Lady Daella, the carron oil is on the table as usual.” Mellos grabbed a small bowl from a shelf before disappearing through the door again.

“Thank you, maester.” Daemon said almost meekly as Daella stared at him. He turned and lifted the small vial of the table. It was at that point Daella noticed the slightly raw burn marks on his neck.

“Is it helping?” She asks softly.

“Hm, but not quick enough.”

“Next time ask him for a mix of honey, aloe and tannic.”

“A maester now are we?” Daemon teased dryly.

“No, I once burnt my fingers on a fire as a child, it’s what the healers back home used on it. Healed in three days.”

Daemon grunted in some acknowledgement, before beginning to head towards the door, pulling it open to leave. But he stopped and turned to look at Daella.

“Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

Tag List: @ajthefujoshi @hangmanscoming @papichulo120627

For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #matt smith

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pinkcherryblossom18 · 8 months

Text

Southern Hospitality

Jacaerys Velaryon/Stark!Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages rarely work out but you are sure that what you want out of this is reasonable. Now only if you could talk to him correctly, Cregan and Arra did not prepare you well enough for matters such as this.

TW: Arranged marriage, reference to rape (once, used as a description), a little bit of angst (mostly inner angst), slight fluff toward the end.

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s uncomfortably hot. Sweat covers you head to toe and through your thick dress that is made for the whipping winds of the north and the snow that is consistent on the ground of Winterfell along with the ice that covers the trees throughout winter but melts in the summer. The ground is slick for those few moons and then the ice is back and worse as winter makes its presence known in the most horrible of ways.

It’s still enjoyable though. Memories of playing in the snow and climbing the ice slick trees and kneeling in front of the great weirwood tree in the heart of winter are some of the most enjoyable ones that you have. Cregan had never encouraged you to go out much during the winter moons nor in the autumn where it is not as bad but still prone to a weary brother and bundles of furs stacked on top of thick fabric.

You breath out shakily and wipe sweat from your forehead, cursing yourself and your handmaidens for not thinking of changing into clothes suited for the heat of Kings Landing. Petra Clare sits across from you, the youngest daughter of a merchant who was all too willing to let his daughter stay with the sister of Lord Stark when they had bonded in the course of four days. Her breathing is heavy and a pout mars her beautiful face, with a sharp chin and red hair the color of leaves on the weirwood trees along with bright green eyes; Petra was a kind of pretty that was rare in the harsh north where most features of the women there reflected strength and forces that could knock down the Wall with a simple cold look.

She lets out a long sigh and looks out the wheelhouse window, it’s open but the breeze isn’t enough for you nor Petra who has her face halfway out. She pulls back and looks at you with a dramatic expression and fans herself vigorously. “I’m going to die before we even get there,” she proclaims, slumping in her seat.

A laugh comes from you as you shake your head. “Might save me then.” Hopefully, if it were to happen that you two died of the heat then you wouldn’t have to meet the man you were bound to marry.

It was not so much the man, it was the location. Snakes littered King’s Landing, a new pit of different breeds rested in every corner that made up the Red Keep. With their fancy talk of twisted words that could either mean salvation or doom, not that it matters really. It ended the same either way, reputation torn apart into grains of sand that slipped through untrained fingers or laying face down on the ground, raped and killed and blamed for such a thing to happen with no true justice given for the deceased.

Petra gives you a stern look. More than once had she heard you grumble and groan about the crown prince. Soon he was to be king in the years after his own mothers reign. Already he would need a wife and…heirs. “He’s not horrible,” she tried to say convincingly and with a small smile that should raise hope but only supports your doubt. "From what I have heard at least,” she shrugs, once more leaving against the open window and panting like a dehydrated dog.

You snort and lean back, arms crossed with a mulish temperament that you had gained the moment the betrothal had been announced. It had taken Arra having to bribe you with sweets to have your door open and your good sister had provided the sweets along with a long talk that made you want to disappear.

With her descriptions of the bedchamber you had only heard about through girlish whispers made from sewing circles of eight blushing girls. You were sure that your face was red, the heat on your cheeks warming you from the slight chill that had seeped through the warmed walls of Winterfell. Arra had been thorough in her talk and afterward you found yourself not being able to look at your brother for days.

“You’re little spies are biased,” you pointed out and Petra didn’t bother to disagree, “they come from the south much as you do.”

Nodding, Petra only moves closer to the widow that you now want to close. A putrid smell had made its way in. Ghastly it was and it choked you with a fierce grip but Petra had seemed to not notice the smell. “I had seen him once when we were younger,” she tells you. She had told you this once before with the other girls around the circle, squealing about how he looked and how kind he was. Another thing that you found yourself less inclined to believe, child crushes and the behavior of children—royal children at that—could change to the measures of the extreme. “He had the chance to turn handsome.” She smiles at you wickedly. “Hopefully he is.”

Presentation hadn’t been what you cared for when facing the prince. You were sure that he would be handsome, many said so over the years coming in the form of traders and girls from the Vale and the Riverlands who had seen the second heir to the throne. “As long as he doesn’t raise a hand to me, I wouldn’t mind if he looked like a horse,” you stated plainly.

Petra’s mouth goes wide as she pulls away from the window with a gasp. “Surely you jest,” she said with wide eyes, unbelieving of your words.

You shake your head. “I do not,” you insisted firmly. “As long as he is good conversation and wise enough to not hit me, then I could not care less about his appearance.” It was simple and plain but not a request that was too outrageous. If anything, it was more modest than the most that wished for chivalrous knights and charming princes to sweep them off their feet.

A smirk graces Petra’s features in a cat-like manner that puts you on edge, it always had whenever she did such a thing. “What if he decides that the Streets of Silk are more of his liking than you?” She asks.

It’s a rude question and if you weren't so hot, you might have done something about it. It was also true as you knew that the prince's uncle had a tendency to spend more of his time in the beds of whores than his own wife’s. “Then that is his decision and when the time comes,” now you smirk, “I will go back up North and sully his name forever,” you say and Petra laughs and claps her hands together.

She wipes away the tears that had formed at her waterline and then leaned forward, coming closer as if you two weren’t the only ones present. “If he is good enough, then perhaps we could share him,” she says, her voice low and sultry.

Your mouth opens wide with a shocked laugh and Petra giggles as you push her back. “You are horrible, absolutely horrible!” You exclaim, laughter taking your breath away with firm grasps as you two laugh joyfully.

Soon enough, the wheelhouse came to a stop in the courtyard of the Red Keep and from the still open window, you could see five people standing. A white haired woman stood beside a man that looked like her but older, the Princess Rheanyra and Prince Daemon. Standing far away from the was a red headed woman, her green dress stood out against the red and blacks that were adorned by the four that seemed to not notice the space between them.

Beside the two older ones were two boys, both with brown hair and matching eyes but the shorter one didn't stand as still or as sternly with a clenched jaw and hands clinging together with white knuckles along with a slightly tapping foot on the ground below.

The heat of Kings Landing seems to only get worse when you step out of the wheelhouse, now the sun is fully on you. The urge to throw up is strong and resilient but you try to hold on as much as you can through such a thing.

The woman with the red hair stepped forward before anyone else could, a smile plastered on her face with practiced diplomacy and a routined grace in her steps that seemed to heighten her presence in whole. “Welcome Lady Stark,” she says, reaching forward and placing her hands upon your own. You were sure that it was unpleasant, if it was she showed no signs of disgust or displeasure in touching you. “I hope that your ride was pleasant.”

You nod. Cregan and Arra alike had told you of the dangers of the south, of how even the slightest of misplaced courtesy could be placed as disrespect and the consequences that came along with it. “Thank you. It was but,” you laugh at yourself and gently pull away your hands from the woman, though she does not seem angry at such an action, “I had not anticipated the heat.”

A chuckle comes from her. “Yes, many don’t.” Lie. She gestures over to a man standing a few feet away from her, clad in armor with a serious expression on his face. “I can have Ser Cole escort you and your handmaiden to your chambers if you wish to be refreshed,” she offers.

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod. “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Your Grace.”

The silver haired woman steps forward and you look at her, our eyes betraying you for a second as they dart over toward the older boy. The Prince Jacaerys. You betrothed. “How about Jace?” She asks the queen before turning towards you. “He can escort you, Lady Stark, if you so wish.”

You had not wished to be near him so soon and with only Petra as a companion, supposed to make sure that nothing indecent would occur but you knew her better. She would leave you the second she saw the chance, all for the take of a jest that she would laugh about later.

“Oh.” You scrambled for words, not knowing what to say that wasn’t the truth. No, I wouldn’t want to be escorted by your son. I’d rather not be near him at all. “That would be welcome,” once more your eyes darted toward the prince who stood stiffly, uncomfortably, “if the prince is willing.”

He steps forward and walks toward you, stopping right in front of you with a slight smile on his face. Dark brown eyes stared into you with a feeling that you couldn’t place. Contempt or playfulness, opposite feelings but muddled in the brown eyes of Prince Jacaerys. “It would be no problem, my Lady.” His voice was soft and light, not too deep but not squeaky like some could be. Soothing, the type of voice that you could fall asleep to or listen as he read or talked.

A good thing to have in a future husband, you could at least stand his voice.

You nod and grab his arm, firm but so much that it hurts him. Last thing that you wanted to deal with were the rumors that you were a barbarian, that Northerners were barbarians. You weren’t and even if the words were said, the Targaryens weren’t much better and had many more evidence supporting such a thing. “Then it is settled,” you say.

The walk is silent for a while, only with a few history facts that Jacaerys—Jace as he told you to call him—told you that weren’t written down in the history books. They were interesting and even Petra threw in some questions, letting you revel in your interpersonal silence of swarming thoughts and turmoils that hadn’t been patted down in the long ride to the south.

In time, you finally reached your chambers. You nodded a thank you at him and winced when he returned it and went to leave. Cregan did always say that you were more ice than flesh, that it circled around your veins viciously and choked all of those that you did not wish to know. That was another conversation between you and him; a conversation about letting Jacaerys Velaryon in and getting to know the young prince. Jace was only your senior by one year and even then, from the whispers and the talks, he seemed decent enough to warrant some kind of kindness.

You clear your throat, gaining his attention. “Pardon me for asking but I was wondering if you happened to have a weirwood tree?” He nods but his eyebrows are furrowed, seeming to have remembered the traditions of Northerns and the weirwood trees that you pray in front of. Such a strange thing to those like him, perhaps he looks more kindly to those of the Seven or his own Targaryen Gods of Old Valyria. “I have missed a moon's worth of prayers and I rather not test the God’s patience anymore,” you chuckle out, feeling a spark of accomplishment when a smile comes to his face.

It’s a pretty thing, his smile. You find yourself not minding to see such a thing until death, for the years and decades of passing moons and seasons to come.

His hands go behind his back, it makes him stand straighter and look taller than he actually is. “We do, in the Godswood,” he replies, it doesn’t match his small smile the way he says it. His words are plain and rehearsed, boring and dull and you want more than diplomacy if you want everything to work out in the future.

Taking in a small breath, you look him in his eyes and try to give him a warm smile. “If you so wish, you could show me after supper. I have yet to know my way around and I would rather not get lost. Your company will be quite welcomed as well, to get to know you would be…an honor.”

That smile turns into a grin, it’s boyish and bright. You fall into it and ignore the sweat trickling down your back. You hadn’t noticed the heat until now, the way that his voice distracted you was something that made you both scared and pleased. Good stone foundations made for sturdy castles rather than those built from mud and sticks twined together by flimsy straw. “Well when you put it that way, I do not know how I could decline,” he says almost teasingly.

“You truly can’t, my prince,” you say.

A playful sigh comes from him but that grin still remains intact, you weren’t sure if it could be knocked down. “I have told you that you can call me Jace, Lady Stark,” he says.

You raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “You do not call me by name?” You ask.

“You haven’t gave me permission but,” he smiles, it’s all teeth like a snarling dog but you do not feel scared by their presence, “shall I?”

You pretend to think for a moment. “I do not think so,” you tease.

His head tilts, brown hair moving in front of his eyes. You resist the urge to sweep it away with gentle fingers but you were sure that if you did, they would start to trace the rest of his face and further until urges took you by storm. “Why not?” He asks.

“I am not sure if I like you yet,” he frowns and you resist laughing at the pout that has formed on his face, “but I’m sure that fondness will come in due time.” You shrug and move your legs to pivot around and take leave into your chambers. “Perhaps, later tonight even.”

He steps forward and takes your hand in his own, gently with calloused hands from handling swords, both metal and wood alike. “Then I wait eagerly, Lady Stark,” he says, placing a kiss on your hand.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon

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lovemyromance · 3 months

Text

Stop Kicking Elain out of the NC

She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to leave her family. The cauldron turning her into high fae was unfortunate, but in typical Elain fashion (my favorite quality of hers) she made the best of a terrible situation and adapted to her new home, her new body, her new life. She has friends. She glows with health. She is mending the relationship with her sisters. The male she loves is there.

Why would she want to leave?

And if anyone brings up the fact that Cassian said she couldn't pull off a black dress - I swear to god I'll be convinced you've never read a book before. Cassian, the Miranda Priestley of Velaris, declaring Elain doesn't look good in black does not mean she is being rejected by the Night Court.

Do people not read? Did you not read how Nesta had to stand out to be Eris-bait, and if Elain, gorgeous, sweet, with beauty-that-could-bring-a-king-to-his-knees Elain was done up like the rest of them, the chances of Eris following after Nesta would have been slim? They had to make her look muted, to purposefully fade her into the background. That is ALL.

Now let's get into the even worse arguments for booting Elain out of the NC. Specifically,

She belongs in Spring (with Lucien)

She belongs in Day (with Lucien)

She belongs in Autumn (with Lucien)

Do you see what all those have in common (other than being surface level awful arguments)? They all center around Lucien. Who currently, Elain avoids like the plague. But I'm getting ahead of myself, lets go one by one, slow and steady:

Elain does NOT belong in spring

Why is this a thing, even? Because she likes flowers and Feyre said "oh elain would like it here?" That's it? Are we reducing people down to their hobbies now? Nesta likes books, should she also move to Day? Mor likes...wine I guess, should she move into a tavern? Amren likes puzzles, ship her to Dawn? Azriel likes Elain, let's put him in the Prison??

Or, oh wait, Tamlin should lose his court and Elain and Lucien will rule? How. Genuinely, how? Lucien is already an heir to Day Court & Autumn Court. How would the magic pick him of all people if Tamlin somehow dies/gives up his court? Wouldn't it pick someone...of Spring Court descent?

P.S Flowers also grow in the Night Court.

Make it make sense.

2. Elain does NOT belong in Day

First of all, right now, nobody knows about Lucien's parentage except for Feyre/Rhys and LoA (maybe). Helion doesn't know. Lucien himself does not know.

For Lucien to become high lord of Day, y'all realize Helion would have to die, right? Why would you ever kill off such an icon? And even if he just casually lives there while Helion still rules...a lot of things would have to happen for this to occur, like: Lucien's parentage is revealed, Helion accepts him as his heir, likely a blood duel between Beron/Helion over LoA, If Beron wins THEN Lucien becomes HL of Day, but if Helion wins then Eris becomes HL of Autumn...all of this would have to be covered in one book before they can even think about moving to Day and living happily ever after. You know, if Elain ever actually gives him the time of...day.

Don't even give me the "but Elain needs sunlight"!!

P.S. The NC also gets sunlight

Elain is not a plant. She does not undergo photosynthesis and need to go to the Day Court to physically be alive. Elain does not need light she IS the light. What's not clicking folks? Her name literally means LIGHT. Some variations say fawn/deer, but mainly she is light.

3. Elain does NOT belong in Autumn

This argument is more rare, but I don't understand it either. Why would she go live in Autumn as the reluctant mate to the 7th son of the awful Autumn HL? Autumn court cannot be this interesting to y'all, that you would be totally okay with not hearing from feyre/rhys/nesta/cassian/any of the IC, just to read a story about Elain avoiding Lucien in different climate/setting? Autumn exists in the NC too, you guys. She can ignore him when the leaves change color there, just as much.

And all of this, is only centered around Lucien. Because if you just asked this sweet flower child what she wanted, I can guarantee you, her answer would be to stay right where she is: home.

If she weren't mated to Lucien, would you still be sending her away to Spring/Day/Autumn?

This isn't even a ship thing at this point, like...Lucien doesn't currently have a home right now? Why are we tearing Elain away from her home to go live with a mate she does not want? If Elucien ever did get together, it would make so much more sense for Lucien to just move to the NC instead. Because Elain sure as hell is not going to live in her ex-fiance's manor, far away from her sisters, with a mate she didn't ask for and his rude bestie who literally made a r*pe joke about her (yeah, not understanding the Jurian & Lucien friendship here either).

Stop kicking my girlie out of the night court. She's staying where she belongs. If she leaves, it will be her choice. Not because her mate lives somewhere else. Not because she likes flowers. If she stays, it will be because that is her choice.

I thought it was obvious.

#elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #elain x azriel #acotar

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shadowdaddies · 7 months

Text

The Proposal

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

A/N: based on this ask/headcanons, this is Ruhn's proposal to reader

Warnings: allusions to sex

You looked out over the city, the night lights of Lunathion breathtaking from this height. Ruhn had taken you to the top of this skyscraper for dinner, where he’d set up a picnic in the observation room. You could see everything from the floor length window, ranging from the mortal gate to the Istros river. The city was another level of magic at night, the glowing lights creating such a romantic atmosphere that if it were any other male, you might be surprised by the extent of the gesture. But this was Ruhn. The kindest, most thoughtful male you had ever met, who never failed to overwhelm and amaze you with his generosity and tenderness. Who never looked at you as less-than for the poor family you came from. Who gave you unconditional love and support that you had only dreamed of before now.

A ring-clad hand reached for yours, drawing you from your stupor. You turned to see Ruhn looking at you with a passion that radiated love towards you. You smiled as you pushed up on your toes to kiss him. “This is beautiful, Ruhn. Thank you for taking me here.” He smiled, wiping his palms on his pants as though he were nervous about something, before taking hold of your hand again to guide you to the indoor picnic he’d set up by the window. You recognized the food; it was from the restaurant that the two of you went to on your first date. He had ordered everything from that night and recreated your first dinner, up here among the stars. You gasped, holding back a tear, overcome by the love this male could make you feel, unlike any love you had felt before.

Before you could sit down to eat, Ruhn held your hand still, a silent request for you to stand. The world stopped as Ruhn knelt on one knee in front of you and pulled a ring from his pocket. He took a deep breath and looked you in the eyes, “my love, my-“

“YES!” you practically yelled before you could register the word coming out of your mouth. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, “I’m sorry Ruhn, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tried to explain. Ruhn just smiled bigger than you’d ever seen him, clutching his stomach with laughter. You knelt to the ground across from him, mirroring his stance and asked, “Ruhn Danaan, will you marry me?” He laughed softly as he opened up the box and pulled out the ring. “Yes, sweetheart, I will marry you,” he said as he slipped the ring on your finger.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of your dinner, drinking wine and making love against the window as you savored the moment. The two of you arrived back at Ruhn’s home to loud music and cars around the block. “Did you plan an engagement party, Ruhn?” you questioned as the two of you made your way up the steps. “No, sweetheart. I didn’t. But Bryce and Flynn knew I was proposing tonight,” he admitted with a half-hearted sigh. You giggled as you opened the front door to a big party, with a “Congrats Princey and Princess!” banner slung across the foyer.

Bryce quickly greeted you with a hug, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring as she dragged you into the party. You sat on Ruhn’s lap on the couch as you talked with your friends, celebrating and enjoying the evening. You had the sudden realization and turned to Ruhn. “With a party like this, there’s no hiding our engagement from your father is there?” Ruhn gave you a wicked smile, “most definitely not. I look forward to his reaction.” You laughed at the image of the angry Autumn king and nestled into Ruhn’s chest, savoring his warmth as he pressed a kiss to your hair. He leaned down, murmuring in your ear, “what if we went up to my room and started working on providing some heirs, hmm?” You smirked, knowing it would be a long time before you had children of your own, but enjoyed Ruhn’s banter nonetheless. "Lead the way, prince.”

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serenescribe · 6 months

Note

Bit of an odd request but I was listening to a bit of music and I was hit by an idea-

Idk if you know the tale of the Snow Queen, but essentially snow queens powerful ice mirror shatters, all but two pieces are recovered. One shard lands in a boys eye making him turn icey and Queen snatched him up.

However consider- Snow King Silver dragging a “mortal” who has a piece of something that was his. Unaware said “mortal” is actually a fae whose intrigued by this King’s combination of harshness yet tenderness.

the snow prince Twisted Wonderland | 3.9k Summary: A mysterious spell afflicts one Lilia Vanrouge, encasing his heart in frigid cold. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51960883

FREED FROM UNI, I AM! I actually had this written for a while, but put off posting it to save it for a more appropiate season. I really love Snow Queen retellings and AUs, so this was a LOT of fun to write! Thank you, Olive! :D

(An aside: There are extremely minor spoilers for TWST CH7 in here; they're all under the cut and mentioned in passing. If you're trying to avoid every little detail of CH7, I'd suggest passing up on this!)

In the heat of a sweltering summer that sweeps Briar Valley like a storm, Lilia feels a prick of something sharp enter his eyes.

It happens so fast, so swiftly, that had Lilia not been one of the fair folk, he likely would not have noticed it at all. If he were a human, for example, with their sluggish reflexes and oblivious tendencies, lacking a natural affinity for magic in comparison to the fae, Lilia would have chalked up the prick in his eye to a stray lash falling in, rubbing around until he feels as though he’s flicked it out before moving on with his day.

But Lilia is not human. He is fae.

He knows, at once, despite trying and failing to dig out whatever it is that has entered his eye, that it is not a stray lash or a speck of dust. There is a strange magic emanating off of the tiny sharp splinter, an aura he picks up on in an instant. It’s peculiar, the way it makes him shudder as he brushes against it, the sensation likened to the cold of a dead winter. It is unlike anything he has ever felt before.

But gradually, Lilia has to put a pause on his efforts. He is out on a journey to meet with humans for talks of peace, for their centuries-long wars are slowly crawling to an end. His soldiers look at him in concern, clicking their tongues as they ask him, “General, are you alright? Do we need to stop for a while?”

“I am fine,” Lilia says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I simply got something in my eye, is all.”

It is not wrong to say that, for it is not a lie at all. But Lilia knows as well as anyone else that the strange prick of magic infesting his eye warrants further inspection.

Later, he tells himself, as they continue on with their journey on horseback, for the stalemate in their war has allowed for easier travel through ways of steed.

Time ticks by, the lazy heat of summer dipping into the beginnings of a chilly autumn. But despite the changing seasons, the months that have passed since that fateful summer day, Lilia comes no closer to discovering what it is that ails him so deeply.

He is not oblivious to the changes occurring to him; quite the opposite, in fact. Lilia has carried about him a strange self-awareness about his shifting attitude, only realising the differences in how he’s been acting when he reflects on the changes in hindsight. He’s never exactly been the pinnacle of warmth, and especially not after his beloved friends died, but he’s always held a fondness in his heart for the few he opens up to — namely his second in command, Baul Zigvolt, and the young heir to the throne and son of his deceased friend, Malleus Draconia.

But now?

Lilia stifles a sigh as he reminisces, trudging through the gardens of the castle. The leaves are shifting to warm hues, leaves fluttering in shades of vermillion red and golden yellow, and the fallen leaves give a satisfying crunch when his boots stomp into them.

He exhales, twisting his lips as he raises his head up to the world around him. It looks as it always has, Lilia knows that well. And yet… something about it has felt different since that day.

Everything has begun to feel… boring. Banal and bland at best, wickedly ugly at worst. The crunch of the leaves irritates his ears, the drought of the autumn air makes his nose feel too sore. He turns his nose up at the food the castle staff serve, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell of a dish he used to love, and he turns down whoever offers him a mug of beer, the foam that guzzles over the rim leaving his hands sticky and gross.

Lilia knows he’s changing. It’s not just his emotions, but also in the way he sees the world — everything is so intimately different in the worst way, and every waking hour he spends feels like a chore, an obligation he drags himself through. Where he used to spend time with Baul and his fellow men, or with Malleus most of all, being the one to raise him since he hatched, he now spends it all… alone.

But knowing something logically is different from knowing it emotionally. There are only so many apologies he can force out with his insincere tongue, schooling his expression into a facsimile of sincere regret. At the end of the day — of each day — Lilia truly feels nothing at all except the vacant void of a howling gelidity, frostbite nipping through his very veins.

At the very least, his men have respected this change, regardless of how perplexed they seem to be. Baul had pulled him aside once or twice to ask if he was feeling fine, but had he not been so preoccupied with his daughter’s sudden interest in the Valley’s newest dentist, a peculiar human who’d chosen to move here, of all places, he would have surely pressed the matter further.

On the other hand…

“Lilia!”

He sucks in a breath at the sound of that familiar voice. Once, it had lightened his heart to be greeted to such a cry upon returning to the castle from one of his many campaigns. But now?

“Hello, Malleus,” Lilia greets, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice as he turns to greet the young prince. Malleus has grown a great deal since he first hatched, now towering slightly above Lilia. Still, the boy has an inclination for continuing to call out to him childishly — something that had endeared Lilia in times past, but now only serves to irritate him by no fault of Malleus at all. “Is there something you require of me?”

“Not require, per se,” Malleus answers, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He toys with the chain of his cloak with one hand. “I was merely hoping that you could spare the time to join me today for some tea. It has been quite a while, after all. I understand you’ve been busy as of late, but you do not appear to have anything on today, so I thought—”

“You’re rambling again.” Abruptly, Malleus’ mouth snaps shut. Lilia winces internally at his misstep; why had he interrupted the prince like that, in so cold a tone? He sighs. “Apologies. I have been under… a great deal of stress recently.”

“It is no matter, Lilia.”

Well that’s good, at least, Lilia thinks. Averting his gaze, he says, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can join you today.”

A pause.

“Truly?” He hears it, the surprise in Malleus’ voice, mixing in with a forlorn misery. “I was certain that you had nothing to do today, given your schedule…”

“I—” Pressing his lips together, Lilia thinks before he says, rather stiffly, “It is true that I may not have anything on. But I would like some time to myself if you would be so kind, my prince.”

Ah, another slip up of his. To refer to Malleus by his title rather than his name… the gap between them only widens, and the only reason why Lilia worries about it is because he fears that he may go too far, say the wrong thing when it’s far too late to take anything back. But what’s done is done; Lilia raises his head in time to see Malleus recoil, hurt glimmering in those chartreuse eyes of his.

If Lilia stays longer… will he continue to mess up so miserably?

Before Malleus can speak, Lilia cuts in. “If there is nothing else that requires my attention,” he says, “I would like to return to my walk. Good day, Malleus. Give my regards to the queen.”

And, abruptly, he turns on his heels and leaves.

Oh, Lilia knows that Malleus is displeased. He knows it because, within mere moments, there is a gentle flutter of snow wafting down from the skies. He raises his head, blinking up at the fluttering snowflakes — so delicate and fragile, a byproduct of the prince’s tumultuous emotions, his magic far too powerful for him to properly handle when his emotions explode past his limits.

And yet, when he sets his eyes upon the swirling snow, Lilia feels…

Something.

He raises a hand, watching a snowflake land on his finger — so tiny, so delicate, an eight-pointed speck weaved into such an elegant pattern. It melts almost instantly against the warm flush of his skin — and yet, Lilia is transfixed, mouth parting slightly as he steps back, watching as the snow begins to flurry down faster and faster, cascading through the skies. How long has it been since he’d felt anything other than such apathy, such revulsion, such irritation and disgust? Now, Lilia only feels a sense of childlike wonder.

When was the last time he stopped to stare at the snow as it fell? He cannot remember. Has he ever stopped to observe it like this? Or had war stripped away such inconsequential pastimes from his life?

Lilia does not know how long he wanders around, watching the snowflakes dance until he goes numb, so numb with the cold. He only knows that his fingers are frozen and his lips are blue when he finally returns to the castle in a daze, barely cognisant of the way his entire body is battered, pushed past the natural limitations of his faerie strength.

Winter crashes into Briar Valley like an enemy ambush, a sudden attack spurned from the shadows of nothingness. It is the worst winter they have had in an eternity, everyone says, peering outside the frost-tinted windows as they bask within the toasty walls of the castle grounds; the fire-spells keep everyone warm for as long as they stay inside.

With the thick layers of snow barring any method of safe travel, the ongoing talks of their peace treaties with the humans have been temporarily suspended — more for the children of men’s sakes than that of the fae. If she so willed it, Queen Maleficia could wash away the snow with a flick of her wrist, but such matters, in her opinion, are trivial; nature is not something to be fixed at an instant, so why should she expend her energy for such things?

So during those days, cooped up within the castle walls with little to do, Lilia winds up lounging in the cushioned nook of a window, a little alcove tucked away in a winding tower towards the murky corners of the castle. Few fae ever roam here, save for a scant few servants pattering about cleaning the dusty hallways, and Lilia spends many languid hours with his head pressed against the cool glass, so intensely transfixed on the dancing snowflakes outside.

They are beautiful. Perhaps they are the last bits of perfection he shall ever witness in his life.

He has found no information about the shard that pricked his eye, nor has he found any sort of cure. Lilia has spent many a month searching, sifting through the treasure trove of books in the castle’s library to no avail. He had, at one point, considered going to the queen and telling her of his predicament — “In the month of summer, I believe a magical spell of some kind has afflicted my eye.” — but his own apathy stops him every time; there is simply no point in dragging others into this matter, not because Lilia does not wish to trouble them, but because, try as he might, the larger part of him just doesn’t care.

So, with his head pressed against the cold glass, Lilia closes his eyes and sighs.

The winter solstice is approaching, the longest night of the year. As nocturnal fae, creatures of the night, it is a joyous cause for celebration for their kind. Despite the blizzard that rages across the Valley night and day, many servants, guardsmen, people of their kingdom have been looking forward to the events; the castle town shall be open to all, shielded from the elements. All fae, young and old, can look forward to a night of dancing and festivities, dining on the finest food at the banquets, and celebrating the longevity of the night.

In years past, Lilia would have looked forward to it. But now, like everything else in his life, he feels nothing at all.

“Lilia? Are you here?”

He stifles a groan at the sound of Malleus’ voice. Again and again, the boy continues to scour for him, to seek him out and spend time with him. Lilia tries to indulge him, he really does! But each occasion spent together, needing to force himself to fake sincerity the whole way through — “Oh yes, Malleus, I would like to try the new blend of tea! Thank you kindly for the offer. How is your grandmother doing? I heard she has spent some time with you as of late—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t. It gets harder and harder with each passing day, the chill that permeates his skin sinking deeper and deeper, turning his heart into one carved of ice. His eye prickles with pain whenever he grits his teeth in a false smile; across the table from him, the young prince looks detestable, a selfish beast with far too much time, uncaring of what his servants are subjected to in their indulgence of him.

So he avoids him. As soon as Lilia hears him, he flicks his wrist, a swell of magic surrounding him. Bat-formed, Lilia takes to the rafters, huddling away in the corners of the ceiling as he listens to Malleus come and go. It is only when he hears that familiar voice fading away that he dares to leave, flapping his little wings as he makes a break for another isolated corner of the labyrinthian castle.

The day of the winter solstice arrives, and with it comes the worst blizzard the valley has ever seen.

Cold winds lash against the fortifications of the castle, howling and rattling. Snow crashes from the sky, piling higher and higher upon the dead ground. And yet the castle is alight with the buzz of festivities — the many servants bustle about, wrapping up the last of their preparations, ensuring the banquet is ready with food for all, that the decor floats about in place, that the spells wrapping the castle and its town in a bubble of warmth remain solidly intact.

Throughout the day, Lilia sticks to the shadows, hovering out of sight. Today he feels… he doesn’t know how to describe it. Cold and dead as usual, his heart no longer the warm, affectionate thing it was before — but beneath the thick layers of apathy, there is something nestled beneath: the barest twitch of a muscle, a flutter of something. Lilia finds himself distracted with it the entire day as he meanders about, waiting for the clock to tick to a point when the festivities can start.

And when they do begin, the many residents of the valley teleporting into the castle en masse… Oh, how does Lilia even begin to describe them? Laughter rings freely, the merry melody of music from a string band sweeping the air as dancers circle across the floor. Wine glasses clink as people toast to prosperity and magic, hoping to see the weather ease up soon, and even the queen herself is out and about, walking amidst the crowd, a smile on her face as she mingles with the few faeries bold enough to approach her.

But Lilia—

He feels nothing watching all this. Nothing at all.

And yet… there is something else. That peculiar emotion buried underneath… it sings to him, calls to him, as though someone’s voice were tugging at a string. It only strengthens as the night goes on, likened to an unbearable itch; it is the first blissful thing he has felt in what feels like an eternity, and Lilia—

He misses it. He misses being able to love, to feel something other than apathy at best, and all these horrible, miserable emotions at worst — a repugnance, a rage, an irascibility that sparks every time someone tries to converse with him. Lilia misses being able to love freely, his heart softening as he grows older, brought on by the loss he’s experienced, and the love he mustered up to be able to raise Malleus into the man he is today.

So who can blame him for slipping off, for finding a way out of the castle grounds? Lilia answers the call, sneaking past guards who are far too drunk on wine, laughing and shouting as they play games at their stations. He does not bother with whisking up thick clothes for himself; Lilia merely plunges into the blizzard, battered at once by shrieking winds and a pelting of snow against his face, of a storm so deadly chilling that it would ravage even the strongest of faes.

And yet, he does not feel cold.

He grits his teeth as he presses on, dragging his legs through the thick boughs of snow. Lilia knows not how long it takes for him to trudge, only that it feels like forever — but he knows he is getting somewhere, because with each step he takes, the tugging in his chest grows and grows, the intensity of the emotion exciting him for the first time in months.

Is this the answer to his ailment?

Is there a cure tucked within the heart of the storm?

Lilia takes one step, and then another. He takes a third, and—

All at once, everything stops.

The wind dies away. The blizzard softens to a gentle snowfall. Little flakes of snow dance through the air as Lilia walks forward, head turning to and fro. How peculiar this is! He raises a hand, watching a flake fall into the open palm of his hand and rest there, and it is only the sound of hooves clumping against snow that snaps him out of his reverie.

Lilia turns his head, and sees a child.

A boy, who gazes at him with wide eyes that reflect the northern lights — auroras of shifting veins tinted shades of pink, purple, and blue, lights that Lilia has only gotten the chance to see once during a journey across the world. His hair sweeps across his forehead, locks of the purest silver as though spun from the nighttime stars, streaked with white like the pristine paleness of snow. He sits on a white stag, ice-spun crystals hanging from its glacial antlers, and around him is a fur-lined cloak and hood that swallows him whole, far too big for his tiny body.

Lilia’s breathing hitches—

Because the boy before him is the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long time.

“Hello,” the boy says after a while, a glimmering curiosity in those wide eyes of his. His mount trots forward, bringing him closer. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, looking at Lilia closely.

At that, Lilia laughs. “I could say the same to you, little one.” He rests a hand on his hips, relishing in the joy, the curiosity, the emotions that flood him in full force; it has been so long! “It is a rare sight to see a young boy riding a stag in a storm like this.”

The boy’s face falls, and Lilia feels… worried. Did he upset him somehow? “I’ve been trying to stop the storm for a while now,” the boy explains, auroral eyes flicking to the storm that rages outside the bubble they’re within, continuing to ravage the valley to no end. “B-but it’s my first time really trying such a thing, and I don’t… really know how.”

Ah, Lilia thinks, finally coming to understand. A lost child. A boy with power over the very elements itself, who can control the season of cold and snow. And yet, who would place such responsibility upon a child, one so very young? He feels the fervent urge to lean in and coddle him, to reassure him that it’s alright, you’re trying your very best, I can help you if you just let me.

And why shouldn’t he do such a thing?

“I can help you, if you would like.”

In a flash, those pupils lock on him. “Would you?” the boy breathes. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble you, mister—”

“It’s no trouble at all!” Lilia insists, stepping forward with a beaming smile on his face. He reaches out for the stag, feeling the beast nuzzle against the palm of his hand as he strokes it gently. Why should he return to the castle, to that unyielding, endless void of apathy and misery? Here, with the boy with eyes like the auroras and hair like the stars, Lilia feels something — the warm glow of parental affection, already growing so attached to such a young child.

“Then…” the boy mumbles, “would you come with me?”

Lilia only smiles. “Of course.”

And as he clambers onto the back of the steed, he asks, before they leave, one final question: “Pray tell, little one, what is your name?”

“My name?” the boy echoes, furrowing his brows. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Lilia arches an eyebrow. What kind of a lonely life must this boy live, if he has not even considered his lack of a name? “Then would you mind if I gave you one?” he offers. Oh, it is such an incredibly forward move to suggest such a thing, with how important names are to his kind. But already, he is attached, his very soul bound to this child who gazes at him in wonder at the possibility of wielding his own name.

And the boy nods.

“Silver,” Lilia says, the name coming to him at once. Like the shine of the gleaming moon, the glitter of the stars, the wispy fall of the snow around them. Love blooms in his chest, the warmth cradling his very soul; Lilia curls his arms around the boy, his body so cold even through the chilling fabric of his cloak, pulling him against his chest into a hug. “That shall be your name.”

“Silver,” the boy echoes, testing it out on his tongue. He tilts his head back, a small smile gracing his rounded cheeks as he looks up at Lilia. “Thank you, mister. Could I ask what your name is?”

“It is Lilia, dear one,” he croons, relinquishing his name without a second thought. The two of them are bonded in mere moments, Lilia filled with a fulfilment he has not felt since that prick of a shard entered his eye.

There is nothing left for him here. That is what he tells himself as Silver leads them away, commanding his steed to take off into a prancing gallop, bursting from the tranquil heart of the storm into the raging blizzard, whisking them back to their home.

(Lilia fails to notice the figure that bursts through the clearing, chartreuse eyes widening in horror as a mouth parts to scream his name. He does not notice the horned boy who shivers in the cold, eyes wide as the wind whips at his long hair, watching the stag prance away, the boy who leads it ripping his guardian away from his grasp.)

#twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst silver #my writing tag #writing requests #twst fanfiction #twst writing #uhh i'm gonna start moving my fics to ao3 in the future so. rip tumblr drabbles tag? aha #need to do housekeeping when i have the energy...#anyways hi i'm listening to a 3 hour video of 50+ languages of let it go from frozen while prepping all this #help me :')

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murmel-malt · 4 days

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Hedaera Targaryen - 92 AC

Viserys Targaryen x Hedaera Targaryen (OFC) prev / next wordcount: 1.6k summery: my answer to the question: what if Viserys and Daemon had a little sister? canon divergent dance of the dragons au featuring canon and original characters.

chapter summery: After Aemon Targaryen's death on Tarth, King Jaehaerys names his second son Baelon Prince of Dragonstone and also decides on the future of Prince Baelon's children. His plans are not well recieved by his youngest granddaughter.

A/N: note that english is not my first language so there will probably be some grammar mistakes.

92 AC - Kingslanding

Once Hedaera had thought that changes happened slowly, like the changing of the seasons. It took years for summer to pass into autumn and for autumn to pass into winter. So slowly that one barely noticed it until a raven came from the Citadel to announce it. But now she knows better. Now she knows that things can also change in the blink of an eye; and she hates it.

Just last week they had celebrated uncle Aemon becoming a grandfather. It had been a grand family dinner, where Rhaenys announced her pregnancy to the rest of the family. Grandmother had been thrilled and even Grandfather had looked less sour than he usually did. Everybody had been happy.

Now her uncle is dead, killed on Tarth. Drowned in his own blood by a crossbow bolt to the throat, that’s what the messenger had said as Daera had her ear pressed against the door, eager to catch some of the things the adults never let her hear. Her grandmother always said that she was too curious for her own good.

Rhaenys had admonished her for eavesdropping when Daera had gone to comfort her afterwards. While they are not as close as Daera is with Aemma or Gael, Rhaenys is her cousin too and she loves her no less. She had felt silly, stumbling over her words of comfort. After all, what comfort could she - a girl of only eight - offer her - a grown woman of eight and ten and mother to be? But her cousin had only pulled her into a hug and thanked her with a gentle and watery smile. They had talked for a bit afterwards about Rhaenys’ baby and Driftmark, which Daera had only ever visited for her cousin’s wedding two years ago.

They stand together now in the throne room. Grandmother and Rhaenys wear a pinched expression of carefully masked anger and Daera hates that she is too small to be told or asked anything of importance. Grandfather is sitting up on the Iron Throne, this ugly and dark and jagged and pointy thing that is quite dangerous to climb up if you are unsteady on your feet. Not that she had ever tried and nearly tripped over the uneven steps.

But Grandfather had always been sure footed when taking his seat at the top. Just like he had this time. His intense gaze sweeps the hall before he speaks and Daera’s world shatters.

Her father is heir now and she is to marry Viserys.

“My sweet”, Grandmother says gently, reaching out to cup her cheek as she always does. Usually Daera would appreciate any and all gentle affection from the Queen, but not now; not like this. With a small cry she slaps her hand away, ignoring the admonishing warning from her father and furiously rubs at her eyes, trying and failing to keep the tears away. She hates that she is crying like a little girl. They will never take her seriously like this.

“No,”she says in between a sob, “I don’t want to marry Viserys.” She has lost count how often she had told them by now and still nobody seems to listen to her. “I won’t! He is stupid and boring and- and old. He never listens to me and only talks about boring things.” Her hands are fisted in her dress, dark splotches where her tears hit, marking the soft golden fabric. “I don’t want to marry him”, she repeats weakly.

Grandmother smiles gently as she kneels in front of her. Something dark and angry in Hedaera wants to make that smile drop from her face.

“You are still young, Daera”, Grandmother tells her. “And Viserys is too. He will grow up and so will you. You will come to appreciate each other and when he is King” - Alysanne’s expression twists for the blink of an eye - “you will be his Queen, and your children will be the princes and princesses of the realm.” Her stomach twists at the thought and she suddenly feels sick.

“But I don’t want to be Queen. And I don’t want to marry Viserys”, she screams the way she had always been admonished for and Alysanne and Baelon flinch at the shrill break of her voice. Hedaera continues undeterred: “Tell him! Tell grandfather I don’t want to marry him. Tell him to find someone else. Please!”

“Daera”, her father sighs and she looks to him with teary green eyes. He beckons her closer but her feet remain glued to the ground. There will be no safety in his arms today. She can see it in his face. He had once said he would protect her from anything that would ever try to harm her, but apparently not this. She feels even more sick.

“I know this seems scary but it is for the best. Viserys is a fine young man and your brother”, Baelon says. “He will treat you well and you will be happy together. Just like your mother and I have been.”

Understanding hits her. She will get no help from them. Father and Grandmother won’t listen to her. They will only tell her that she is still young and will change her mind; that she will come to love Viserys and that they will be happy together.

“And how has that ended for my mother?” She watches as all color drains from her Father’s and Grandmother’s faces at the reminder of Alyssa Targaryen’s death. The dark, angry thing in Hedaera rejoices at the pain she has inflicted. And she does not feel bad about it. If they so easily condemn her to a miserable future as her brother’s wife, she will make them equally as miserable.

Without another word she storms out of the room, ignoring their calls and slamming the door behind her as she goes. Outside she finds her cousin and aunt. Aemma and Gael must have been waiting for her and Daera wants to throw herself into their arms and cry her eyes out. They get her, they listen to her. Aemma immediately takes note of her cousin’s mood and tear-stained cheeks and dress and her expression falls. She herself is still grappling with the revelation of her own future.

Just like Jaehaerys has decided that Hedaera is to wed Viserys, he has decided that Aemma will wed Daemon. She knows that her grandfather’s decision has raised some eyebrows as it left his own daughter still unwed but Gael doesn’t seem to mind and Daera is happy for her; and a bit jealous.

“What did they say?” Aemma asks nervously, hoping that maybe, hopefully she has read Daera wrong.

“They don’t care what I want”, she replies bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Daera.” Her cousin tries to give a smile. “It’s going to be alright though. We will still have each other.” It is as much reassurance for herself as it is for Hedaera. Daera knows she is nervous about her match to Daemon. Truth be told, if they had given her the choice between her brothers, Daera would have picked Daemon over Viserys. At least Daemon is fun; very annoying but fun.

She stops thinking about it before the ugly thing inside her makes her lash out at her cousin.

Instead, she goes looking for Viserys. If they won’t listen to her, they will surely listen to him. Her brother is five and ten, almost a grown man, and with their father now Prince of Dragonstone, he is his heir, the future King. They will have to listen to him. The thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. It should be Rhaenys. She should be Princess of Dragonstone. She is uncle Aemon’s only child; it is her right.

She finds her brother, of course, with his new miniature. The model is still small but quickly growing, and will probably be taking up more and more of the room in the coming months as Viserys adds painstakingly recreated building after building. Daera would have been more interested if she hadn’t been bored half to death several dozens of times by him talking about it before.

He barely notices her as she enters, as absorbed in his work as he is and Daera wants to scream at him. Their lives are being decided for them and he just sits here with his stupid, tiny city. Only when she steps in front of the window, blocking out the light he needs to work, does he finally look up with a frown. His mouth opens, undoubtedly to complain but Daera beats him to it.

“Tell him to find you someone else”, she tells him shakily. “Tell them you don’t want to marry me! Grandfather will listen to you.” But Viserys only sighs the way he always does. Hedaera hates it.

“It won’t change anything, Daera”, he says, as he picks up the small sculpture again.

“You don’t know that”, she accuses angrily. “You haven’t even tried!” You never do. You never do anything at all.

“This is not about what I want. Grandfather has made his decision and there is nothing to be done about it.” There is no regret in his voice, no sign that he is unhappy with this; because he isn’t, Hedaera realizes with a sinking feeling.

It’s not defeat that keeps her brother from doing anything about this, it’s complacency. He doesn’t mind that they are going to be married and he doesn’t care that she doesn’t want to. He thinks they are going to be their parents some day just like Grandmother and Father told her; that she is going to be his Alyssa: spirited and stubborn but happy - no, eager - to do her duty and ‘give him a thousand sons’.

“It will be alright. You’ll see”, Viserys tells her and Hedaera wants to smash his stupid model to pieces.

a/n: cannot believe I am actually posting this. the only other thing I ever wrote and also published was the first four(?) parts of my Daensa Skyrim!AU.

#my writing #oc: hedaera targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon oc #hotd oc #fyeahhotdocs #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #fic: hedaera-verse #the effort it took to press that button actually post this. i am still paranoid that i missed some obvious spelling mistake #so uh please be kind?

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kaiju-art-for-the-heart · 12 days

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An Heir to the Throne: New Beginnings

Chapter 2:

It didn't take long for the couple to cozy into their new dwelling. Godzilla especially took his time to explore the waters around the island, along with making his presence known to anything that may be inhabiting the land with them. Mothra happily sang to herself as she spun a wad of silk. The island had a large crater in the dead center, one of the main reasons she chose this as the perfect home. The tall rocky terrain that surrounded the crater gave them some extra security, while the depth was a perfect cradle to hold them both. As she finished laying down the last layer, she chirped contently before lifting herself into the air. The nest was finally ready for the both of them, and she couldn't have been happier to share such a spot next to her king.

As she placed herself at the entrance of their new home, she turned to see Godzilla emerging from the waters to greet her. After a few months the island had become their known territory, along with them forming a sustainable routine together. Godzilla would wake early in the mornings to hunt for them both as Mothra slept during the day from being on night watch. Once he returned with their meal, Godzilla would leave again to make sure there's no trouble happening around the humans. Once the day was over, they will reunite to share dinner together and enjoy each others company.

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One particularly calm autumn evening, Mothra sat at the mouth of their nest looking towards the setting sun. She enjoyed looking over her territory around this time, as many different creatures became active with the rising of the moon. Though something had been on her mind. Something she knew she couldn't keep to herself any longer, and needed to talk to Godzilla about sooner rather than later. There was no problem with communication with him, but she had no way of knowing how he would truly feel about this sensitive topic. In the midst of her thoughts, Godzilla surprised her with a large blue whale, plopping their meal directly in front of her. Once being thoroughly startled, Mothra quickly regained herself before looking up to him with a chirr of excitement. "Did I scare you?" Godzilla teased, taking his place next to Mothra at the entrance. Mothra playfully nudges him, before shaking off her previous thoughts. "Let us enjoy this gracious meal." she cooed, watching Godzilla rip the tough flesh open to share with her. She wasn't particularly fond of meat, but ate anyway to share the bonding experience with her carnivorous mate.

After finishing their meal, Godzilla hummed in a low tone that instantly catches her attention. "What's on your mind?" Mothra asked curiously, watching Godzilla lick the blood from his claws. He pauses for a moment before looking back at her. "Since you've been gone, I've been in all sorts of trouble. This is the first time I've been so calm around another kaiju." he admitted, thinking back to all the other encounters over the past few years. This takes Mothra by surprise as she questions who exactly has been causing so much trouble. Godzilla hesitates, knowing the answer wasn't going to please her. "Well lets see.. after Ghidorah there was Kong and a metal me. Then I had to take care of Scilla.. followed by Tiamat. And lastly Kong again with Scar King. Did I mention that Kong and I fought both times before working together?" Godzilla said simply, looking back down to Mothra to note her currently confused features. After a brief session of questions and answers, she finally understood the intensity of each situation and the reason for a fight. Though, she was a bit angry over Tiamat's unnecessary death. Him needing the energy to fight a tribe was understandable, but that didn't happen. And now the world is down two kaiju that had high impact on the environment.

Godzilla sighed, knowing that at the end of the day Tiamat's death may have been a bit excessive. Lowering his head he gently nudged into Mothra's neck fluff, reassuring her that there are still others that can take their place if necessary. This was enough to calm the queen, as she nuzzled him back to accept his obvious apology. "At least try to talk them down before reverting to murder." she chittered tiredly, getting an amused snort from Godzilla. "I'll try that on the next kaiju that attempts to rip my head off." This gets Mothra to laugh as she nuzzles harder into Godzilla's snout. "That would definitely ruin the new look you have going on."

At the mention of his new look, Mothra lifted her head to admire the new color of his dorsal plates. When she saw him for the first time in a while, she was shocked at his total transformation. Expressing her joy for his new look, she also had slight disappointment as she wasn't around to witness it with him. Breaking from her thoughts again, she began to groom around Godzilla's mouth and cheek. The king was a bit confused at first, but soon melted into her affection as a slight purr rumbled from beneath him. He also quite enjoyed Mothra's new look as well. Though to him, she has always been beautiful.

As the night finally settled, the two prepared themselves to rest after a long day. Godzilla laid comfortably on the silky wraps created by his queen, it was a much better feeling than the usual rocky terrain he liked to nap on. Mothra hastily settled in next to him. Even though she would be keeping watch most of the night, she enjoyed doing so next to him. Her crystal blue eyes twinkled endlessly as she stared up into the night sky. "I wonder if Kong is happier now?" she questioned, getting a small snort from Godzilla. "Why wouldn't he? He now has a tribe and basically his own family." he yawned, getting a nod from her. "You're right.. he also has Suko now. He's going to have his hands full for a while." Godzilla shifts to look at her with a raised brow. "Suko?" he asks simply. Mothra thought for a moment before being hit with sudden realization. Godzilla only met Suko briefly during the fight, and did not get much of an opportunity to be introduced. Mothra briefly explained before adding that Kong has adopted him as his own, getting a short silence from Godzilla. "...Oh! I remember now. The small red one. I just assumed he was with Kong anyway. Well, congratulations to him on becoming a father. To raise your own is no easy task." He yawned again. Though it didn't sound like it, Godzilla was somewhat happy for Kong. Which is something he would never say out loud.

Mothra pauses again, her mind now filling with the same thoughts from earlier. Though this time was much more intense as she debated bringing it up to him. "Is something the matter? You've been vey distant today." Godzilla spoke up. He could sense that something had been bothering her recently, enough so that she would sit and linger in her own world.

Mothra snaps out of her trance at the sound of his voice. Now was the perfect opportunity to present the ideas she's been bottling up.

"I.. have been thinking since being down in Hallow earth.." she starts, getting Godzilla to turn his full attention back to her. He eggs her to continue, now interested in whatever proposition she was going to bring up. After a moment of hesitation, she thinks carefully on how to word her next statement. "I was able to witness many things while down there. Life, death, birth.. the happiness of other Kaiju and being with their hatchlings and families. I was wondering.." She trails off, looking up to Godzilla with the same sparkling blue eyes. "If we should try to make our own family?"

Godzilla thinks for a moment before tilting his head. "You mean.. like adoption? Did Kong give you this idea?" he started, getting somewhat annoyed at the idea of Kong conversating with his queen. Mothra chirps nervously before correcting him, leaning in closer. "No.. I mean having a hatchling between us. Our own offspring."

Godzilla perks up at this, blinking once or twice as the idea processes through his mind. He repeats the question back to her, getting a nod in return. He pauses again to stare at her blankly before shaking his head, asking her why.

"Why what?" she questions, getting him to move even closer. "Why are you thinking of the impossible?"

She chitters impatiently, asking how exactly would it be impossible. Godzilla sighs before sitting up, his large body lifting out of the comfortable cradle to stand at his full height, towering over her. After a moment of shared silence, Mothra's antenna droop slightly as she catches onto the implication. Godzilla sighs again, laying back down in assumption that the conversation ended there. After getting settled back in, Mothra spreads her wings to lift herself up, hovering over his face. After attempting to find a new reason, she looks to him to see he is already falling asleep. Chittering again, she flaps a bit harder to ease him out of his short slumber.

"Godzilla please, we are the last of our kind. Don't you think we should at least try? This might be our only chance." this gets him to open an eye, looking up at her to signal that he is listening.

"If we are successful, we will have new powerful heirs to our bloodlines, new protectors to this world after we depart. And most importantly, our offspring will be that of a new hybrid of kaiju!" Godzilla huffs before closing his eye again, sending her to think of something better that he might like to hear.

"And.. we'll finally have our own family.."

Without a moment of hesitation, Godzilla finally chimes in. "Mothra, I understand what you are saying, but I can not form a decision based on a dream. The odds of us conceiving are near impossible between our species. Even if there was a sliver of a chance, we cant be sure the hatchling will even live long enough to reach adulthood."

Before she can speak again, Godzilla's tail wraps around her, pulling her down to the nest and pinning her against him. He spoke softly, nuzzling into her head. "It is late now, this is something we need to think on later. Let us rest, my queen." She finally gives up the topic before cuddling into Godzilla's chest. Though her mind was now filled with worry.

#mosugoji #mothzilla #mothra x godzilla #mothra #godzilla #godzilla x kong: the new empire #kotm #king kong #fanfic #kaiju #gojira #mosura

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raayllum · 8 days

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for snake boy callum 2.0 week day 2, snakes + stars

It takes time, but eventually Callum is pieced together enough, and Ezran can't evade enough, that Soren sits them down to have a conversation on castle security. About assassinations.

One of the guards who'd stuck around through everything—had deserted Viren's army, had fought in the tower with Soren and survived the night, had sworn true service to Harrow's heir—sits with them. A familiar face as any, but Callum still eyes her warily.

She's not his family, and she's not even Soren, and...

"There are enchantments I can set around the castle," Callum says. Sky spells are sound like alarms when sound pings off. Sun spells he can craft with help from Aunt Amaya's resources for lights and morse code, shadow traps and truth crystals, just to make sure everyone is being honest.

"Won't some elves maybe know how to undo them, though?" Ezran inquires. He's sitting in a regular chair and his feet can't touch the floor.

He's so tiny, still, and while Callum has seen first hand how capable his brother is, how much he shouldn't be underestimated—He's strong and brave, he'll get it, he'll save the egg!—Callum shakes his head.

He hates the circumstances that led them here. The assassination, the murder, and there's peace now, but their family—and the silver lining of it all isn't even here, now, and—

"It's not elves we have to worry about now, Ez," Callum says darkly. "The other human kingdoms aren't happy with you or Aanya. Even our own is..."

"At least we do not have to worry about more Moonshadow elf assassins," the guard says with a tiny, joking smile, not seeing the warning signs Soren makes with his hands, and it takes all of Callum's self control not to demand she be thrown out of the room.

In the end, he sulks and studies in his new office. Viren'd had a primal stone too once upon a time. There has to be something in his notes, loathe as Callum is go through them of course, that could be a worthwhile measure to implement. Or maintain.

Not that any of them were enough to protect his father from Moonshadow assassins in the end, but... Ez will be different. He has to be different.

Eventually, he turns to a book that's propped half open in the corner of a bookshelf he hasn't really explored yet. The sketch of a soulfang serpent pokes out, and Callum goes and pulls it from the shelf, cracking the tome open.

It hits like a blow to the chest, to be reminded of the Midnight Desert after—he focuses on the eery green glow of their eyes, the shimmering grey of their scales. They look nothing like dark magic chains at least. A passage is circled about their connection to the Moon arcanum and souls (that's almost enough to make him put the book away) and Viren's cramped handwriting: Two head — switch?

I'd switch places in a second, he'd said to Claudia that day in the library, and she'd run off with an excited gleam in her eye.

It curdles his stomach now to wonder what it was, but... They'd found a basket with snake feces in it in King Harrow's room afterwards. Opeli had shown them the court records once she'd thought they could bear it.

Maybe Viren had...

But it's awful, from the sound of it. Wearing someone else's face, your soul in a stranger's body. It's not as though Katolis doesn't have surgeries—there's the baker's son who'd needed a new kidney, a few years back—but to take a wholly healthy body and... It's the worst kind of dark magic.

Ez finds him out on one of the balconies later, feet slipping just like Callum's had on the climb up. (He can't quite manage to summon his wings again, yet, but... he's working on it.) Callum grabs his hand to help haul him all the way up. It's a moonless night, clouds obscuring the slim crescent that is there. Stars twinkle in between.

"I'm not going to get assassinated, you know," Ezran says, nudging him in the shoulder.

Callum exhales. "I know," he says, because he won't let it happen. "I just..." Tears build, cold on his face in the mid-autumn air. "You're all I have left, Ez."

"She'll come back."

Callum looks away and wipes at his nose with his scarf, sighing when Ezran wraps an arm around his shoulder. He's the big brother, he's supposed to be comforting Ezran, not the other way around.

"I saw the notes you left," Ez continues quietly. "Well, the ones Viren left, I guess. About the soul fang serpent." He runs his fingers over one hand thoughtfully. "D'you think Dad...?"

"I don't know," Callum says. "But—there's no way Dad would've agreed, even if he was given that kind of deal."

The magic was awful. It wasn't precise enough. If the spell could swap souls and bodies, maybe—let the corpse fall and then put you back in, heal up the wounds—let you be yourself, and the other person's soul and body would be severed but buried, then—

Callum pushes those thoughts away. No. No, even if Harrow could've kept his body, even if he could've kept his face, it still wouldn't be fair to whosever soul died on that blade. Not fair to the family, or husk left behind, or...

Callum buries his fingers in his hair and breathes through his nose, in and out. Ezran rests his head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're High Mage now," his little brother says, stifling a yawn. "I wouldn't know how to handle all this magic stuff without you."

Someone had to make these kinds of decisions, Callum reminds himself. Or at least consider the possibilities, the paths spreading out before them, even if they weren't all going to be—shouldn't be taken.

He has to be more than Ezran's high mage. There are humans, and dark mages, and someone has to know what they might be up against from the Pentarchy. Ezran needs a shield, from whatever he can still be shielded from.

And that person is him.

"Hm." Callum kisses him on the forehead once Ezran he's asleep, then shifts and picks him up.

Ez is getting heavy for this, but—Callum manages to make his way down, carrying him all the while. He passes Ezran off to Soren in the hall, the king snoozing as the crownguard hefts him up and then heads down the hall to the king's tower.

Callum hauls tome after tome off the shelves after, full of dark magic—grotesque images and wicked spells—carrying them up to his spot on the balcony, a primal flame in his hand as he begins to read. The stars have nearly blinked out by the time he stops and goes to bed.

He had to know what his brother's enemies could be capable of if he wanted to be able to stop them, after all.

(Later, he will know what he's capable of, too.)

#tdp broyals #tdp callum #snake boi callum #castle kids #snake boi callum week #minus claudia sorry claudia #ficlet #tdp #the dragon prince #bc the actual broyals twoshot i want for this will take more time but. i can do the same prompt twice in different ways #broyals #headcanons #timeskip shenanigans #snake boi callum week 2.0

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fieldofdaisiies · 29 days

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azriel x eris | 2,9k words | warnings: sometimes a little vulgar wording | masterlist

“Why did you ask for me to come here? Cassian is now the one tasked with these sort of things…” Azriel folds his hands in front of his body.

“Maybe I wanted to see you,” Eris answers in his polished voice.

A flicker of surprise passes over Azriel’s face before he catches himself. “Why did you really ask me to come here? Did something happen? Something that concerns me?”

Eris chuckles. “So talkative, Shadowsinger,” he purrs, “normally I am always the one asking the questions.”

The heir to the Autumn Court kicks away a branch and moves closer to the spymaster of the Night Court, pebbles and dry leaves crunching beneath his polished shoes. “I have news that your High Lord is surely interested in.”

Azriel raises a brow. “Go on then.” He seems impatient, on his face nothing but nonchalance though.His shoulders are squared, large wings tucked in behind his back, his booted feet planted in stance on the leaves-covered ground.

But it’s his eyes that betray him. They don’t stay on Eris‘ face — they wander, silently assessing the Autumn Court prince, and in them there are many emotions, none of them anywhere close to nonchalance.

“Beron truly thinks he has a claim to the High King title.” Eris takes a step closer to Azriel, shoulders slightly drooping. “And he is in contact with Koschei, looking for ways to free him.”

“We already know that.”

“I know you know that, Shadowsinger.” He meets Azriel’s gaze and pins him with a look. Azriel offers him no answer, his face expressionless as usual.

“But what you do not know is that is actively planning the elimination of Night and Day and an actual meeting with the Death God. He is already thinking of ways to break the Night Court and that with the help of the father of my former betrothed." Eris swallows. “His next goal is to become High King. Eliminating Night and Day first will make assuming kingship a lot easier. He counts on Tamlin as a supporter and–”

“Will Tamlin support him?” Azriel’s question is sharp, his jaw flexing. It almost seems like every muscle in his body tenses and he doesn’t even realise he interrupted Eris.

“I don’t know,” Eris says, voice shallow, eyes turned toward the distance, like he can almost see right to Tamlin’s castle. He has no idea if Tamlin will ally with his father. Eris doubts it, but he has no confirmation, so the last letter he sent the other day went out to the High Lord of Spring. Once they used to be something like friends, now he will find out how much that truly meant to Tamlin.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

Azriel seems surprised, “You will?” The shadowsinger narrows his eyes. “Alone?”

“Of course, alone, or do you suggest bringing my father along? The three of us could have a wonderful talk and maybe we decide that we are all going to support Beron’s endeavours." Eris frowns at Azriel.

The shadowsinger’s nostrils flare and he gives Eris a withering look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” Eris raises a brow, his eyes darkening a little at the feeling that Azriel radiates. Jealousy – hot and pure, although Eris doesn’t quite understand why he would be jealous now. Is he envious of Tamlin? Of Eris meeting up with Tamlin?

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Are you worried?”

“No.” The answer comes too fast and seems fishy.

Eris raises a mocking brow and then chuckles. “You are—”

“You know what Tamlin is capable of.” Azriel’s brows bunch, darkness filling his gaze, his shadows slowly sliding down his arms, almost like they are an extension of his emotions and seek to reach for Eris.

“So, you are worried,” Eris mumbles and doesn’t really understand the shadowsinger’s concern. Someone who pretends to hate him so much shouldn’t be worried about him. But then Azriel kissed him in the past, so the hate can’t be that grand and rather a false pretence…

“I have known Tamlin for a long time. He messed up greatly a few times, but he is a good High Lord. I need to talk to him, consult with him. I need his loyalty and his help.”

Azriel huffs and with the shake of his head, says, “You have the Night Court‘s aid, isn’t that enough for you?”

“No, no isn’t. Not when it comes to Beron and what he is capable of.” Eris slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Not when he is planning a trip to the continent. A trip to meet up…with him and that within the next weeks. When he returns he already arranged a meeting with Keir. I need support and loyalty from more than one court and I need–forget it. ” He shakes his head.

Shock passes over Azriel’s face and a heavy silence, almost like a thick veil of eerie darkness, falls upon them. It feels like every living being in the forest holds its breath, and time comes to a standstill.

Eventually, after a moment, Azriel says, “You need to put an end to this, Eris. You can’t wait any longer. You have been waiting for so long, if he is planning the trip now, you need to act.” There is no accusation in his tone, it sounds more like genuine helpfulness. Like an advice.

The prince begins to nod, slowly dipping his chin. “I know this. I just…I just need a bit more time. I need to arrange everything…”

He needs a place for his mother. For his brothers. Somewhere where they can go if things go wrong. He needs to arrange that first and then he will take care of Beron.

“Why wait for so long?” Azriel‘s arms twitch almost like he wanted to throw his hands up in despair, but stopped himself from doing so.

“It‘s not that easy, Azriel,” Eris snarls. “I‘m planning my father’s execution after all.” He keeps his voice level although he wants to shout.

He remembers the talk he had with Cass and Rhys in the birchin. Then the right corner of his mouth tips up. “You can always give me the go and I‘ll do the job for you.” Azriel’s scarred hand slides over Truth-Teller and Eris' eyes follow.

“What?” the prince finds himself asking, not fully focused now that he once again starts to wonder how Azriel got the scars. Who had done that to him. Who had hurt Azriel like that. Those scars can’t be battle scars…

But it is the spymaster’s answer that rips him out of his thoughts. “Kill Beron.”

“What?” Eris gapes. “You want to kill Beron?” For me, he leaves unsaid.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, it isn’t what I want!” Eris’ growl sends a lick of heat through Azriel. Of course it isn’t. Eris won’t let anyone else do the job and that for two reasons. He has to do it, he knows it and he can’t risk anyone else’s life.

“What is it that you want?” Azriel then asks.

Eris moves closer, so close the tips of his polished shoes touch Azriel’s leather boots. “What is it that you want, Shadowsinger? Have you finally figured it out?”

His velvety voice lets Azriel’s skin grow taut, secret, sudden desire seeping into his veins. Eris shouldn’t have this effect on him but he does and absolutely nothing and no one can change anything about that.

“This,” Azriel says, his scarred hands grasping Eris face, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble on his jaw beneath his calloused palms. “I want to feel your lips on mine.”

“Is that really what you want?” Eris’ hot breath tingles Azriel’s lips.

Azriel hums in answer, but Eris clicks his tongue. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want to kiss you.”

“I thought you hated me, it seems quite a paradox that you still always want to kiss me.” Eris’ lips curl.

“I can hate you and want you all the same.” Azriel places his lips on Eris’, knowing his words don’t quite make that much sense, so he continues. “We danced Eris, and we almost ended up fucking that night, and I have been crazy with desire for you every since – that’s enough of an answer?”

“We almost ended up fucking?” Eris is so smooth, seems so unaffected about Azriel’s declaration it angers the shadowsinger. He would love to punch him, or kiss him so damn hard he forgets his own damn name. Azriel decides for the latter.

“I could scent your arousal, I could feel how hard you were for me. You want me just as much as I want you.” Azriel’s lips part to capture Eris’s top lip. “Say it. Say that you want to kiss me.”

“Kiss me.”

Azriel pulls Eris closer and their lips clash, a gasp escaping through the mouths of both males.

The shadowsinger kisses him deeply and their souls come alive, finally united after being apart for so long. The yearning has become nearly unbearable, but somehow it seems like it is coming to an end. Their souls have finally found their equal, the other half. “I want this. And I wanted this the first time I kissed you. Feel you. Taste you. Learn all the beautiful sounds I can elicit from you.”

Azriel’s shadows stretch out and curl around Eris, wanting to keep him here. To keep him close, to savour his warmth. “I kissed you because it was what my heart told me, what my soul begged me to do.”

Neither of two males is sated after the quick connection of their lips, so Azriel slams his mouth against Eris‘ once again, kissing him harder, with new-found vigour, one scarred hand leaving the heir‘s face, sliding down his toned chest.

“Fuck.” The curse that leaves Eris as a breathy whisper tingles Azriel’s face. He relishes the feel of Azriel kissing him, how the shadowsinger‘s hand slowly glides down his chest and around his waist while Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of Eris’ lips.

“I know you might not feel quite the same, but I want you,” Azriel admits, being honest about the situation the very first time. “I fucking want you, alright? That is why I kissed you back then. Because I want you, I want to feel you. I want to know what it is like to be with a male and I feel drawn to you, Eris Vanseera. Now you have your damn answer. And I know you might–”

“You don’t know what I want, Azriel,” Eris drawls, sliding his hand around Azriel’s waist and down to the spymaster’s rear. Their teeth clash with the next kiss they share, lips melding, noses pressing into the other’s face. “But you should have an idea, since not one time did I not kiss you back.” He feels how a blush seeps into his pale cheeks, heating up even his ears.

“Azriel,” the Autumn Court heir growls when they part. “Let me show you how much I want you.” Eris tugs at Azriel’s hand until the shadowsinger’s palm is flush with Eris’ groin, feeling the hard ridges of his engorged cock even through the fabric of his breeches. “This is what you do to me.”

Azriel nearly moans at the feeling, at the feeling of Eris‘ arousal pressing against his palm. It nearly has him come undone. Fantasies spark inside the shadowsinger’s mind that make his lids feel heavy. He wants to palm Eris through his pants, pull them down and stroke him, truly feel Eris in his hand. Wrap his mouth around him, feel him inside him.

Hell, Azriel just wants him. On him, in him, all over him. No one stopping, no more just kissing, just acting like they actually hate each other. There is something between them, and though neither will ever accept it, it is undeniable that there is more between them than just the mutual hate.

“I want you, Azriel. Morning, noon and night, I think about you. And I want you.”

There it is, his declaration. And it catches Azriel in a stupor. The shadowsinger doesn’t know how to react, or breathe, or speak. He only stands there, looking at Eris.

A gust of wind blows across the mostly barren landscape, tousling the spymaster’s hair, tingling his skin and bringing him back into the moment.

Azriel fingers curl, and he moves his hand which elicits a groan from the Autumn Court prince.

“Why won’t you have me then.” He once again closes the distance between them, kissing Eris so hard, their teeth clash. Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of the male’s lips, asking for entrance and when Eris grants him just that, the shadowsinger pulls back. Eris groans, a purely male sound that makes Azriel grow even harder within his pants. But he is also angry, frustrated, and in this moment it outweighs his desire.

“Why don’t you kiss me? Why is it always me who has to take the first step? Why won't you touch me properly? Fuck me? If you want me — no, need me so badly— why won’t you fuck me then?”

Eris‘ broad hands slides around Azriel‘s neck, fingers twining into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shoves him backwards, so that the shadowsinger‘s back collides with a tree, his hand still on Eris, but the Autumn Court heir now wedges his knee between Azriel’s legs, dragging it up the inside of his thigh until he touches him.

Their mouths meet in a ravishing kiss, a collision of lips, tongues, teeth, bruising their skin. There is nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing soft or loving. No, it is ravishing, like Eris can’t get enough. Like Azriel just needs a little more. Driven by sheer desire, their lips and tongues explore, just like their hands do.

This kiss leaves them breathless when they part.

Eris shoves against the shadowsinger, trapping Azriel’s hand between their bodies. He uses one hand to grab Azriel’s free hand and brings it up, pinning it against the trunk atop his head. The shadowsinger allows it, and groans in approval. He enjoys the feel of Eris' hand, soft and a little slimmer than his own, perfectly fitting into his. It must be a beautiful picture, Azriel thinks — the prince‘s hands, pale, manicured, soft-skinned, in his broad, dark-skinned, warrior hand. He doesn’t allow himself to think of his scars, because Eris never seems to mind them either when he touches him.

“You like this, huh,” Eris drawls and nips at Azriel’s lower lip. This is so damn reckless and stupid, Eris thinks, but he can’t get enough. He can’t move away, even with the threat of someone maybe catching them. But who would catch them here? Somewhere in a forest in the Spring Court? Where no one and nothing is around?

“Bastard,” Azriel growls, his head tipping back.

When Eris tightens the hold on his hand, Azriel’s length almost painfully strains against his pants. Hell, yes, he likes it. He fucking loves it — Eris‘ dominance. If the prince now told him to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth he would follow the order without a second of hesitation — a thought that both confuses and intrigues him.

Eris kisses the corner of his mouth. “Say that again and I‘ll take you against this tree so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

“Bastard,” the shadowsinger growls, and can’t help the smirk that appears on his lips.

Eris’ canines are the first things that sink into Azriel’s lower lip, a slight coppery taste filling his senses, but he groans when leans into the kiss, into Eris, relishing in it. He starts to palm the Autumn Court heir through his pants until the snap of a branch makes them part abruptly.

“Someone’s here?” Eris breathes but Azriel gives his head a shake. “My shadows detect no one.”

Still Eris steps away, letting go of Azriel’s hand and face. “I should leave.”

A cold that nearly makes Azriel shiver passes over the heir‘s face and the shadowsinger wants to reach for him, but Eris steps away.

Frustration takes root in Azriel’s chest, a deep crease appearing on his forehead, and he grits his teeth. “A moment ago you told me you wanted me. You told me about fucking me against that tree and now you are leaving? What has changed now?”

“Nothing has changed,” Eris growls. “That’s the problem.”

He kicks away a branch. “I still want you. I still want to touch and kiss and fuck you, but I can’t.“

“But you can,” Azriel snaps, frustration thick on his tongue.

“No I can’t!” Eris is almost shouting. “I’m the future High Lord of the Autumn Court and you are an Illyrian bastard and a fucking male. I have more important things to focus on right now. I shouldn’t allow myself to get distracted by you over and over again. I’m the future of this court and not just any male who can casually fuck a brute from another court.”

Eris gives Azriel no chance to answer. Mist appears, smelling of herbs and earth after rain, and then Eris is gone. He winnowed away, leaving Azriel behind. Alone.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x@talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshibitchez @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #azris #eris vanserra

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highladyofdawn · 1 month

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READ ON AO3 Eris and Rhaedyn - Ruthless Tethers, Ravenous Embers Summary: Once, Rhaedyn of Rask was a crown princess, gifted with a power that could bring the world to heel. Now, she was a magic-less assassin, eradicating the wicked to atone for her sins. Despite being chased down by countless ghosts of the past, she narrowly eluded them at every turn. But when she was hunted through the ancient forests of the Autumn Court with nowhere else to hide, its cruel heir came to her rescue, for a price. Forced into an iron-clad bargain with the silver-tongued viper, she had no choice but to serve. One year as Eris Vanserra's personal guard, unable to spill his secrets, ever at his beck and call. His enemies were only deathless gods, conniving high lords, and vicious fae kings. What an easy task indeed.

Quote I: "Eris Vanserra was renowned, for all the wrong reasons. He was cold and cruel, they said. He was heartless and evil, they said. He left an injured female to die and tortured lesser fae for sport, they said. But Rhaedyn knew better than to give rumors too much credit. After all, the entire fae realm believed her a monster. A freak of nature. An abomination."

Quote II: "Rhaedyn wondered if lives in this wretched world were mere candles, perched atop the desk of some all-powerful being, waiting to be extinguished, one by one. Fae or human, god or monster, it was so easy—too easy, to die. This male before her was certainly one such candle, and sadly, she would be the one to extinguish him."

#a court of silver flames #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x oc #eris fanfic #eris acotar #autumn court #pro eris vanserra #a court of thorns and roses #acotar edit #acotaredit #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #back with edits finally

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knifedancer · 6 months

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Hiccups (Part 2 of 2)

Tale of 'Hiccups' from Felix's POV.

Previous AO3 Link

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Felix Graham de Vanily’s alarm went off at exactly 6:00am and he rose to greet the day with a stretch. He did his morning ablutions before heading to his closet to select his attire – his typical grey vest, dark dress slacks, and white long-sleeved shirt. He preferred a more monochrome palette as it gave him an air of authority and maturity. It helped that it also differentiated himself from his near identical cousin. Felix, the heir to the great Graham Films studio, had dealt with his fair share of grifters and manipulators even without – what did they call themselves again? Ah, yes…Adri-stans. He repressed a shudder as he tugged on a shirt cuff to straighten the sleeve.

He calmly went to the kitchen and retrieved his thermos of mint tea for the day. He basked in the quiet morning, the sound of a ticking grandfather clock’s metronome echoing against the mahogany walls was his only company. Felix preferred the quiet; enjoyed these little moments even if Paris was not where he would consider home. He missed the dreary atmosphere of London, which was perfect for curling up in a blanket in his reading nook to enjoy classic literature. Paris was far too warm, even with the autumn chill in the air. Nothing could compare to the warmth of his reading nook back home.

Once the driver had pulled around, Felix left the quiet house and slid into the backseat with a soft hum. He mentally prepared himself for another day at Francois Dupont. A school full of dullards, mountebanks, and potential exploiters. Not that he gave them any headway in discovering a weakness to take advantage of. He was a Graham de Vanily, they did not cave to pressure or manipulation. They were known for their self-discipline, self-restraint, and ruthlessness to those that tried to attack.

Years of would-be thimbleriggers disguising themselves as friends had resulted in impenetrable psychological walls of steel. While others thought he was condescending or disdainful, Felix viewed himself as the epitome of cool composure. His indifferent and haughty demeanor earned him the nickname of Ice King among those that considered themselves his peers. He was happily homeschooled until their move to Paris. Once settled, his mother had insisted that he should have the same public schooling experience as his cousin and, if possible, repair the rift between them. They were family after all.

The car arrived at the collège and he alighted with a swift nod in thanks to the driver. Heading into the still quiet school, Felix sighed inaudibly as he thought of the unfortunate event that occurred only a few months prior. His callous attitude only became worse when his father died of cancer. He had expected Adrien, a scion of the Graham de Vanily tree, to be supportive but was met with silence. He knew now that it was Gabriel’s fault, but Felix had felt abandoned in his time of need. A weakness like that would not be tolerated. He admitted now that his stunt had been cruel but only apologized to his cousin for acting out. Adrien’s supposed friends that were akumatized did not deserve an apology. They could not even tell their friend from a stranger! Little did he know that he would be stuck with them for however long his mother decided to entertain this schooling idea…

The only other person Felix would deign to apologize was Ladybug for his atrocious behavior towards her. From what he had seen online, she received enough unwanted advances from her own cat partner and did not need his ridiculous actions heaped onto that. Not that Felix had the chance to do so. It’s not as if the heroine of Paris had published her contact information! ‘Unlike Batman, she is not summoned by a spotlight with a bug on it,’ he thought with a chuckle. Plus she was professional and no nonsense during the akuma battles, which Felix respected. He could count the number of people he truly respected on one hand…in fact one of them, begrudgingly and unexpectedly, was in this very school.

He had entered Bustier’s classroom and sat at his desk, pulling out a book to look as if he were reading while other students filtered in slowly. He let his mind wander to the only other person at this school he could respect, not that Felix would admit it to anyone but himself. Who could this person be? Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Sure, he had seen that ridiculous confession video and mocked her, chalking her up to simply be yet another Adri-stan. He had scoffed at the thought that this wisp of a girl was class representative and presumed French schools had lower qualifications. From Adrien’s descriptions of her, she was clumsy, weak, and lacked confidence. Felix would crush her like a bug under his shoe if she tried to wheedle herself into his good graces.

However, Dupain-Cheng proved to be more than he expected…

~~Flashback~~

Madam Bustier beckoned him into the classroom, motioning for him to speak to the class. “My name is Felix Graham de Vanily, cousin to Adrien Agreste, and I’m not your friend. Do not flatter yourselves into thinking I will stoop to your level,” he introduced. He could see his cousin wince at his words and recognized a couple students that had been part of the incident as they began to protest his inclusion. The rest were making faces with varying degrees of anger or shock, except for two students. One was a sausage haired girl in the back that looked entirely too pleased and the other was a familiar dark-haired girl in the second row who seemed to be trying to plaster a polite smile on to her face.

Their teacher’s smile became tight and forced, “Marinette, would you please make sure that Felix is caught up on the notes and give him a tour of the school?” The dark haired, pigtailed girl stammered a bit but was cut off by the teacher before she could form a response, “Great! Felix, Marinette is our class rep and will make sure to take good care of you! Please take the empty seat behind her. Now class, if you will take out the reading…” Felix took his seat and settled in with a small, resigned sigh.

At first break, the bluenette girl met him at the door with an unreadable expression. “Welcome to Francois Dupont, Felix. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but please call me Marinette. If you will follow me this wa—”

“You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?” Felix interrupted.

The girl smiled to hide a grimace, “I’m sorry, we have not met before. Now, if you would proceed this way, I would be happy to show—"

“Ah, I remember now! You’re the ‘I love you’ girl from the video,” he scoffed rudely. “Pathetic.”

Dupain-Cheng’s shoulders caved forward a bit, as if she were sinking in on herself. “You…you saw that?”

“Pfft, of course. I deleted it off my naïve cousin’s phone. He doesn’t need some gold-digging charlatan or super fan pretending to be in love with him.” Felix replied as he nonchalantly looked around, not noticing as the girl straightened and whirled around to face him until a finger was rudely jabbed into his chest. He followed the pale limb up until he met the eyes of the furious Franco-Chinese girl at the other end.

“Excuse me? I am not a gold digger, a charlatan, nor one of his crazed fans!” The offending appendage prodded his sternum to accentuate every word. The last had been strong enough to force him to take a single step back. Interesting.

“Really? I highly doubt that. Girls like you are just after fame and fortune. I’ve seen it a million times!” Felix rolled his eyes. “Don’t even bother to try to be nice to me in an effort to get to him or to be noticed by Gabriel.”

“For your information,” Dupain-Cheng stated blandly, crossing her arms and stuck a hip out in a defiant stance, “I don’t need your help. My parents are the best bakers in all of Paris, they do business with plenty of powerful people. And, before you even accuse me of using my parents for clout, I’d like to happily point out that I don’t need them to gain notoriety. I’ve won contests and praise from Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois for my own designs. I get commissioned by celebrities for my skills on a regular basis. I don’t need to be nice to you to gain anything. I’m trying to be civil because I want to be, even if you don’t deserve it for what you pulled with Adrien’s friends. Not everyone is out to get something from you, Felix.” She took a deep breath and shook her head, her shoulders relaxed, and her voice returned to a pleasant tone but her eyes commanded his compliance. “We only have a few minutes left, let’s do this tour and then we can pretend this never happened.”

Felix watched as she spun on her heel and started the tour in earnest, gesturing towards various features of the school while giving a concise run down of services provided. He blinked a few times and followed. ‘Seems there’s some temerity hidden beneath the cloying exterior,’ a small smirk appeared on his face at the thought. ‘Perhaps school will be less banal than I anticipated.’

~~ End Flashback ~~

They had had several intellectual skirmishes since that first encounter and each time he would provoke her until she volleyed impertinent repartee back at him. She was not intimidated by him or his family name and it left him feeling a little thrill as she always seemed to have a biting retort at the ready. Not only had Dupain-Cheng proven to have stronger character than he expected but she was a competent leader and retained one of the highest GPAs in their grade level. From the few stolen glances at her designs, she was talented as well. The only things he could still criticize was her tardiness, clumsy nature, and lingering crush on his cousin that made her a stuttering mess with only a glance.

Felix pretended to turn the page while he glanced toward Dupain-Cheng’s empty seat. It seemed the tardiness was not going to be resolved today… Just then, the exhausted looking girl in question ran into the room and took her seat as the bell rang. As the substitute teacher started calling attendance, Dupain-Cheng made a loud hiccup that echoed through the room. Felix frowned while he watched her slump into her seat. The rest of the class simply laughed at her antics. He rolled his eyes, ‘at least it’s just hiccups. They should go away soon enough.’

Except the hiccups did not seem to be the common kind normal people had. They seemed to be incessant and frequent. Of course Dupain-Cheng would have the most annoying, over-the-top peculiarity! Each hiccup felt like someone was grating on his nerves; the sound becoming the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard in his mind. As the day progressed, Felix witnessed their classmates betting on and implementing multiple attempts to scare the girl’s hiccups away. At first he found the whole affair hilarious as he expected the class representative to wear down until she would snap and reveal some of that impertinent wit she kept well hidden. Much to his consternation, Dupain-Cheng seemed to take it in stride with a polite smile and dogged yet affectionate look at their attempts. For Felix, however, the commotion their classmates created had the opposite effect: it only increased his ire. Not wanting to attract an akuma, he retreated into the quiet library at lunch to calm his temper. ‘Just a few more class periods,’ he thought wearily, ‘I can persevere through the end of the day.’

Unfortunately for Felix, the hiccups from Dupain-Cheng only continued after lunch and quickly wore down his waning patience. He was ready to snap at her during Literature when her hiccups repeatedly distracted him from his book, he barely managed to smooth out the angry scowl he directed her way before he said something too harsh. He just had to remind himself that these hiccups were ultimately not her fault. She was not doing it with the express purpose of driving him mad. Felix focused on the words of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, once again set himself to the task of ignoring the girl while she huffed in her seat.

At least he tried to do so until free period, when every other student in the class seemed to crowd around and make even more noise than before. Felix nearly ripped the book in half in frustration. They were making Dupain-Cheng do the most ridiculous exercises and tasks in an effort to find a cure for what was ailing her. Was she really standing on her head and drinking water? Lê Chiến even tried to suggest running a marathon! Even Felix was slightly concerned when she tried to hold her breath and nearly fainted, catching herself on the edge of the desk before she could split her head open. Seemed these “cures” were hindering more than helping. It wasn’t until she spilled water on her shirt that she was able to get them to stop. She left during the afternoon break and he basked in the hiccup-less classroom for a moment, for once not minding the usual background chatter of Rossi and Bourgeois. Dupain-Cheng returned right before the bell rang and Felix gripped his pen with each hiccup, his eyebrow visibly ticking with irritation.

~~ Fast forward to the end of school ~~

The final bell rang, Felix delayed his departure in hopes that Dupain-Cheng would leave the school grounds before he needed to meet his driver out front. He held on to his patience and composure by a mere thread. It would not reflect well on his family if he were to overreact or attack the girl in front of the rest of the school for nothing more than a simple annoyance. It was just not done; he was a Graham de Vanily. He finished off the last of his mint tea before replacing the empty thermos in his bag. Taking a deep breath, he exited the classroom and was relieved to not see a pair of dark pigtails anywhere in sight.

Felix walked past Césaire, Lahiffe, and his cousin as they chatted about the Ladyblog. Truly, he could not fathom why his cousin wanted to be friends with these simpletons. As he had already completed his homework at lunch, he did not need to exchange books but he did want to place his borrowed novel into his locker so he could return it in the morning when the library reopened. As he was about to head out, he was disturbed once again by a hiccup and then a soft curse. Felix came around the corner to witness the bane of his existence stuffing a book back into her locker while still hiccupping.

Felix slid closer to Dupain-Cheng as she sleepily shuffled books in her bag and crinkled her brow. He decided to mess with her a little as she had unwittingly vexed him all day. His heart rate sped up; perhaps he could exasperate the girl enough to verbally spar! He slowly stalked towards his prey, keeping his footfalls as silent as possible. ‘What had Adrien called that move from the anime he forced me to watch? Ah, yes, the kabedon maneuver. Let’s see if this will rattle those hiccups out of her.’ He slammed her locker shut with his right hand and watched as she jumped back with no further reaction than a hiccup. He smoothly boxed her in with his body and leaned into her personal space. Surrounding noises seemed to drop down to a dull buzz from their close proximity, like distant cicada songs in summer.

“Your hiccups have been interrupting my peace of mind all day, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he dropped his voice down low enough so that others would not overhear. With his right hand still firmly planted against the lockers, he lifted her chin with the tips of the fingers from his left. He was close enough to see the tiny smattering of freckles that graced the bridge of her nose and seemed to dance charmingly across her cheekbones. Felix stared into her bluebell eyes, noting for the first time that she had a slightly darker limbal ring around the iris and little flecks that sparkled like silver in the afternoon light. He would bet they would twinkle like stars when she laughed. Her long, curved eyelashes were as dark as her hair and her bone structure was delicate. Dupain-Cheng may not be a refined beauty like his mother, but he would concede that she was beautiful enough to tempt a lesser man. He murmured teasingly, “perhaps there might be one solution you have not yet tried.”

Felix’s gaze flickered to her lips to hint at his meaning, looking deeply into her eyes with the expectation that she would scoff and shove him away at any second. Dupain-Cheng’s breathing seemed to hitch with the smallest, cutest hiccup she had made all day. He watched as unreadable thoughts seemed to flicker through her eyes before she truly did something unexpected: her eyes closed in assent. ‘Is she… Is she calling my bluff?’ Felix wondered with mild dismay. ‘Or perhaps she wishes to make my dear cousin jealous of a little kiss?’ His lips stretched into a small, conspiratorial smile at the thought. ‘Either way, I’m not one to back down from a challenge!’

He leaned in and, for a fleeting second, her warm breath brushed against his face and wrist. With it came the scent of something irresistibly sweet. He felt the tingling sensation of gooseflesh running down his clothed forearm as the very air around them seemed to still with anticipation. With one last push he closed the gap between their lips and Felix felt a jolt of electricity through his whole body. Reality fell away and all that remained was the two of them in this moment. Felix’s whole world seemed to narrow to the girl in front of him, as if he were a compass centering on true north. Dupain-Cheng’s lips were softer than rose petals and the sweet scent seemed to overflow all his senses. It spurred a warmth that seemed to grow within his chest until it enveloped his entire being. It was as if his whole body was wrapped in a cozy blanket. He felt the overwhelming need to bury himself in this feeling!

Felix gave up all pretext of composure and pushed forward with a whisper of a moan, unable to resist seeking out that inexplicable feeling. His lips teased hers as if nibbling on a treat until his teeth raked across her bottom lip. She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it eagerly, tasting something that was so indisputably her along with the sweet, beguiling scent that was driving him crazy. Felix supped on her lips like a starving man; savoring her like an exotic tea made of the most fragrant flowers. His hand slipped down her jaw to cup her cheek while his arms begged to pull her against him, to give in to this magnetism he felt deep in his bones that pulled him towards Dupain-Cheng. He would wager his entire family fortune that her slender figure would conform to his own, like two neighboring puzzle pieces. He wanted more…

Just as he was about to seek out the tantalizing taste of her mouth, a scandalized noise from the periphery startled him into releasing her. Felix watched as she slowly opened her eyes, noted that they had darkened into the color of the stormy sea and the silver specks flashed like lightning. Oh, how he wanted to drown in their depths! His lips and skin tingled from where he had touched her, as if lingering electricity was arcing between them. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, tasting the residual sweetness captured there. “You taste like strawberries…,” he murmured absentmindedly, not realizing he had said it out loud.

Suddenly the bubble around them burst and he was thrust back into the present. A present where Felix was kissing Dupain-Cheng against the lockers of their school, surrounded by classmates witnessing his complete loss of composure. He quickly slammed down the walls around his heart that had crumbled like sandcastles at high tide. He wrapped himself back up in the supercilious armor that he donned each day to protect against those that sought out any weakness to exploit. He would be damned if any member of the cacophony around them would use the girl as a tool against him.

However, through the whooping and catcalls of the crowd around them, he realized one sound was silent…

Felix pushed away from the locker with great reluctance and stood straight. He addressed the stunned Dupain-Cheng with a satisfied yet mocking smirk. He forced his voice back into his usual haughty tone, tamping down on the trembling of his insides. “Seems your hiccups are gone, mademoiselle. I would appreciate if you would refrain from causing such a disturbance with your hiccups in the future.” He gripped his bag strap with the still tingling fingers, hoping that his classmates would not notice the way his knuckles turned white with the strength of his grasp. Felix then nodded his head towards her and walked away, forcing himself not to look back. He adopted his usual unaffected air, though everything inside him seemed to protest against the expanding distance between them. He just had to hold it together until he could get to the car.

He watched as Césaire glared at him and roughly bumped into his shoulder before running toward Dupain-Cheng, followed by a concerned looking Lahiffe. He broached the doorway to find Adrien in a bewildered state, a mixture of emotions flittering through his eyes. ‘Seems my dear cousin may be conflicted about his dear friend,’ he scoffed under his breath at the thought. ‘I wonder if his girlfriend, Tsurugi, has anything to worry about now.’ Felix hurried down the front steps and into the safety of his family’s awaiting car.

Back in the locker room, a dazed but now fully awakened Marinette rose from the floor with help from her friends. She murmured her thanks distractedly. Ignoring the excited questions and concerned looks of her peers, she evaluated Felix’s reaction to their kiss and wondered if he had felt even a fraction of what she had. Instinctually she followed the pull that led her out to the front of the school just in time to see Felix’s car depart. Only the small bug kwami saw the mischievous light and the steely resolve in her chosen’s eyes as she watched the car leave her line of sight. However, in the recesses of Adrien’s bag, Plagg sensed chaotic energy and shivered with anticipation…

~~ BONUS SCENE ~~

Having to fight an akuma after the incident at school was predictable, so predictable that Marinette transformed in an alleyway nearby before going home. Lila had stomped off with a screech and false tears, muttering something about Hawkmoth. ‘I swear Lie-la is working with Hawkmoth, I just don’t have the evidence to prove it!’ Ladybug thought as she swung along the rooftops in a faux patrol. There was a loud bang and a familiar screech that announced the appearance of Lila’s newest akumatization mere moments before the akuma alert notification popped up on her yo-yo.

Within a few minutes, a distracted Chat Noir had arrived and they were scoping out the area to make a plan. The Embarrassator was an odd opponent. Her outfit seemed to be luchador-esque but she had gained nothing of semblance to a wrestler’s physique. She was seeking out people on the streets, whom she would hit with a ray from a ring on her finger and bring to life their most embarrassing fears. Some felt especially targeted. Ladybug watched as Alya was hit with a ray, transforming her into a fumbling mess that increasingly tripped over her words as she tried to gain information about the akuma. This was obviously linked to Alya’s desire to be a great reporter but what was up with that outfit? Gone were her typical flannel and pants, replaced by a neon green and lavender tux with tails. She looked like a knock-off Riddler from discount comic books!

“Where is Marinette?!” The Embarrassator demanded. “I want to make her suffer!” Chat seemed to stiffen at the akuma’s words, a fiercely protective look in his eyes. She could swear she heard a faint growl come from his throat but was too far from him to be sure.

Ladybug and Chat were heading to their planned positions when a flash of familiar blond hair caught her eye. There was Felix running from the akuma! Her heart rate sped up as she watched him lose ground, mere centimeters from The Embarrassator’s clutches. She changed trajectory and swung down to intercept him, grabbing him just before he hit the ground mid-fall and launching them back into the air until they were a safe distance away. It was not until she set him on his feet that she took in his appearance while he muttered his thanks. Felix’s hair and face were windblown, giving him a tousled bedhead look, but his normal attire was transformed into an orange and hot pink jumpsuit. And…were those clown shoes?

“Did the akuma do this to you?” she asked with a smirk, barely restraining laughter while gesturing to his whole person.

“Yes, and the – HIC! – these dreaded – HIC! HIC! – hiccups!” Felix managed to get out.

‘It seems my hiccups were inadvertently contagious…,’ the heroine mockingly thought to herself. She heard Chat land softly a few meters behind her, likely due to her sudden departure from the plan. He must have finally seen Felix’s appearance because she could hear Chat snicker.

“You try – HIC! – getting hit – HIC! – by that damned – HIC! HIC! – akuma!” Felix yelled angrily, causing Chat to break out into loud guffaws that brought him to tears. Ladybug could see a shift in Felix’s eyes from embarrassed to displeased. She knew now would be the perfect time to get him back for earlier. Before he could bolt, she slammed her hand down onto the plaster of the chimney he was leaned against and boxed him in with her body. He seemed to jump in shock at her sudden actions.

He pressed himself back as he glanced towards her planted hand with a hard swallow, she used her yo-yo to tilt his face back towards her and meet her eyes. Ladybug leaned in and captured his lips in a heated kiss, pouring into it every emotion and sensation she had felt at the end of school. She vaguely heard Chat’s shocked “My Lady!” but she pressed on, devouring his lips with the same ardor that he had shown her in the locker room. Before the prickly boy could respond in kind, she broke away and watched as Felix dazedly chased after her lips. The rooftop was so silent, you could probably hear a pin drop.

“Just returning the favor, monsieur,” she murmured playfully with a confident smirk.

“I… what…” Felix seemed to stumble over his thoughts. She turned and sashayed over to the stunned Chat, bumping his shoulder to help him recalibrate his thoughts. It was time to get back to business. She nodded her head towards an explosion and screams in the distance. Ladybug glanced over her shoulder with a sultry smile and gave a two-fingered salute before launching herself away, leaving behind two confused teenage boys listening to her cry of “bug out!”

A few rooftops away stood a lone figure in blue and white, sipping her to-go cup of cappuccino. She stuck to the shadows to remain unseen by mini-bug and baby-cat; the less they knew about her mission, the better. Her long ears twitched as she watched Felix Graham de Vanily stumble a bit on the fire escape and mutter to himself as he walked away with a red face. The future hero glanced down at her pocket watch with a wicked grin. “Looks like this timeline is on the correct path again. The probability of Risk has been neutralized.” She called for her burrow and disappeared through the time portal. Bunnyx knew from personal experience that it would not be until much later that evening, after the akuma had been purified, that Tikki would remind her chosen that she was not Marinette when she kissed Felix on that rooftop.

The subsequent freak out could be heard for a two kilometer radius…

~Author's Notes: In the bonus, Risk is in reference to the akuma in the episode 'Risk', where Felix steals/trades the Miraculous to Hawkmoth.

I blame Pamela Aiden's Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman trilogy for inspiring me to write a different POV for this. I wanted to play around with some cannon divergence and give insight into the mind of our favorite grumpy blond boy. Really tried to channel his attitude and superiority to change the tone of the writing. I also wanted to show just how much kissing Marinette wrecked him. I hope you enjoyed it.

PS: This was actually my first ever attempt at fanfiction writing. It caused me to write all the others I've since posted here.

TAG REQUEST: @babylovebug18

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nocasdatsgay · 4 months

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The Price You Pay For Power Ch. 1

An ACOSF AU Neris Fanfic

Summary: Eris revises his bargain with Rhysand: Nesta for Autumn Healers. He agrees and Nesta is sent to Autumn under the guise as Eris’s new bride in order to assist with removing Beron for good. Now she has to navigate a new court and also decide just how much she will trust her new husband.

Author’s Note: I did it. I started it. CWs are posted under the read more. Full list on AO3; more will be added as story progresses as needed.

AO3 Link | Master Post | Ch. 1 Under Read Below

CW: Brief Flashback to a Vanserra Brother’s birth and Lady of Autumn’s (basically) C-Section.

*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhysand’s patience was already at its limit when Eris walked into the office down in Hewn City. An impromptu meeting, requesting only Rhys’s presence. He didn’t hide his annoyance at the Autumn Heir while those amber eyes raked over him.

“You look awful,” Eris flung his hair back over his shoulder with a quick turn of his head. He sat in the first chair closest to the door.

“I don’t have time for your smart mouth,” Rhys growled. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you want. Or get out.”

“I think it’s time to take out my father.” Eris replied, back straightened and staring at Rhys. “He’s been visiting the continent more. With his alliance to that human crone, things are about to get very complicated.”

“We already have a bargain.”

“And I’m calling it. I want Nesta.”

Night fell off of Rhys as his anger mounted. “No.”

“Just until my father is dead.” His eyes rolled and leaned on the arm of his chair. “So dramatic. We smuggle her in under the guise that she accepted my proposal. She helped kill the King of Hybern, she can help kill Beron. She will be safe, my father is terrified of her.”

“No.”

Eris studied him. “I’ll give you anything you ask.”

“You have nothing I want.”

“Not even, say, skilled healers?”

Time stood still for a moment. Rhys knew he gave himself away with silence. But there was no possible way for Eris to know. No one knew but the inner circle.

“Why would I need healers?”

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” Eris smiled wickedly. “There’s something wrong with the babe in your mate’s womb.”

In a blink Rhys was across the table, yanking Eris from his chair by his neck. Darkness filled the room while he held him by his throat against the wall.

“What do you know?” He said through gritted teeth.

“You’ve been searching Prythian for anything and everything to do with birthing children with wings.” Eris didn’t bother to pull at Rhys’s hold. He choked out, “our healers can perform the process to remove the babe safely that you’re looking for.”

Rhys’s eyes were fully black, his grip tightened. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Put me down and I’ll show you.”

Rhysand debated snapping his neck. But a part of him wanted to see. If he could save Feyre- he dropped his hold, letting Eris sputter and cough.

“Show me. Now.”

Rhysand reached into Eris’s mind and clawed hard at the wall. In a moment he was let in.

“The babe is stuck,” a healer- Edith, Eris’s mind supplied, said.

She pulled out her bag and through Eris’s eyes he heard him say, “you can’t.”

“I know what I’m doing boy. Stand back and let me save your mother.”

It was indeed the Lady of Autumn lying on the bed, pale and unconscious. Eris’s mind supplied that the babe stuck was the second youngest son, Leon. His twin had been born without issue but he was not head down. She had also started bleeding profusely. One of the other healers handed Eris his wailing brother.

“Why were you there?” Rhysand asked.

“They called for my father but he couldn’t be bothered.” Eris replied. “Keep watching.”

While Eris held his brother, Edith shook the lady awake. She forced her to down two potions. One was for pain, the other for blood loss. The other healer ripped open part of her gown, baring her rounded stomach. Rhys held his breath while he watched them cut her open carefully and extract the baby. More wails filled the room and Eris had put his other brother in a cradle to be handed the second bloody babe. Rhys nearly fell to his knees. They worked quickly, patching up the wound and pouring a tonic on her stomach to seal it. The lady was awake but showed no signs of pain.

She looked at Eris. “Let me see my babies.”

Rhys pulled out of his mind, nearly stumbling. Eris only watched him, waiting.

“You’ll swear them to secrecy.” He felt like his breath was getting away from him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We will make another bargain. Nesta will help you kill your father under the guise of accepting your proposal. In return, your healers will look after Feyre.”

“I know my father and he will push for a real marriage. I will delay it as much as possible but if I cannot, I will annul it but only at her request.”

“You will annul it,” Rhys growled out. “Whether she requests it or not.”

“You never know,” a ghost of a smile graced his lips. “She may like being married to me. Better than that oaf of a general.”

Night started to pour from Rhys again. “Stop testing my patience.”

“Fine,” Eris held out his hand. “We have another agreement.”

Rhys gripped his hand tight and magic washed over them both. He felt the tattoo from the previous bargain change.

Eris pulled his hand back first. “I want her to be brought here tomorrow. I will come and retrieve her.”

“I’ll bring her to the palace. Now get out of my sight.” Rhys said, throwing out his hand in dismissal.

The moment he felt Eris leave, Rhys sat at his desk and wept. Part of him felt it was too good to be true if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. He could finally save his mate and his baby. He just had to break the news to his brother what it cost him.

—

Nesta didn’t know what to expect when she was summoned to one of the study’s in the house of wind. When she went to leave the library, Clotho had a message for her to meet Rhys in the far end study. She steeled herself before entering, not bothering to knock.

The room was small, just a bookshelf to the right and a few plush red chairs near a window. The only tables were small side tables. A rust oval rug laid on the floor. She stood in the middle of it.

Rhysand was sitting in the left chair and did not look at her when she entered. He had his leg crossed over his knee and a stack of papers in his lap. She almost cleared her throat to get his attention but he finally spoke, still not looking up.

“Nesta.”

“Rhys. You summoned me?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“I did.” Rhysand did not look her in the eye. He sat his papers on the side table and moved his leg. He put his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “I’ll get to the point. I need you to accept Eris’s proposal.”

“Excuse me?”

When Nesta danced with Eris in Hewn City, she knew of his proposal. She even debated accepting it on her own. But to be told she didn’t have a choice?

“You will marry Eris.” He acted as if she had not protested. “You will help him obtain the throne with your powers.”

A flash of anger rolled through Nesta. “You cannot ask that of me.”

“I can and I will.” He said coldly. He still did not look her in the eyes. “There is no debate this time.”

“What about Cassian?” She narrowed her gaze at him. Cassian was his brother. He cared about him more than her.

“Cassian will get over it.” Nesta felt like she had been struck. Rhysand finally looked up at her, tears in his hardened eyes. “It’s to save Feyre, Nesta. Eris has promised me healers in exchange for your hand and aid. Healers who have dealt with difficult births before.”

“How do you know he isn’t lying?” Her breath quickened and the feeling of betrayal washed over her. Her arms fell to her side.

“I’ve seen it. With my own eyes. They extracted a babe from a female and they both lived. Feyre and the baby will live, Nesta. All you have to do is be selfless for once in your life.”

“After the baby is born? Can I come home?” Rhysand did not answer her. “What are you going to tell Cassian?”

“I’ve already told him.”

Nesta shook her head. “He would never allow this.”

“Go ask him yourself.” Rhysand’s stare turned colder. “He agreed to save Feyre. You’ll be sent to Autumn tomorrow. I suggest you pack your things.”

“I will not go.”

“You will,” night flared around him, his violet eyes flashing. Then he reigned it in and leaned back in his chair. “You’re dismissed, Nesta.”

“I want to speak to my sister.” A last ditch effort on her end. “Feyre won’t allow this.”

“You will not say a word of this arrangement to Feyre,” Rhysand’s voice was laced with a command that washed over her. “You will not give her added stress.”

Angry tears welled in her eyes but she held her chin up. Fine, she thought. She would find Cassian. He would make Rhys see reason. Chin still high, she turned and left the study. She went to the kitchen and found Cassian sitting at the table, head in his hand. When she entered, Cassian glanced over at her before looking down at the ground.

“He told you?”

“Cassian, you can’t allow this!” He refused to look at her. “Cassian!”

“It’s to save Feyre and the baby, Nes,” his voice soft, almost a whisper. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“There are other ways,” tears filled her eyes again.

He shook his head. “The agreement has been made. Rhys gave an order.”

“Then fight it.” Fight for me, she wanted to add. He remained silent. “You’ll allow him to marry me to a monster because of an order?”

“I trust Rhys,” Cassian finally looked her in the eyes, his gaze hardened. “It’s to save your sister, the baby, and Rhys.”

“What about me?” She yelled, pointing her own finger at her chest.

“Not everything is about you, Nesta. This is life or death. Do you not care if Feyre dies?”

Something snapped inside her. It was possible the disbelief that he thought this plan would work. It was partly because after everything- after she opened herself up to him, he so easily tossed her aside for Rhys. Tossed her to the wolves because his High Lord said so. If he would harden his heart like this, then so would she. She steeled her features and stiffened her back, holding her head up high.

“You’re right. I’ll go pack my things.”

Each step as she turned and walked out of the room, she chanted in her mind for him to chase her. To change his mind. To prove her wrong. To choose her. She reached her room and when he did not follow, she shut the door and locked it. She willed the house to not allow him in, not that he would try. She barely made it to the bed before collapsing in a sob.

Next Chapter

#the price you pay for power #Neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acosf rewrite #nesta acotar #Chapter 1 #I told y’all you wouldn’t like what i had to do to get her out #I hope y’all like it y’all really hyped this up

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