#i keep jumping ship to write smaller and smaller moments

[bending-sickle]

girl help i’ve started a third wip and it’s on 1259 words

#i keep jumping ship to write smaller and smaller moments #i shall return to the others tho #they're just...AUs of AUs of...AUs #the au of the au that i was only going to bullet point is at 11700 words so...frickle frack fuck #although this one isn't exactly an AU and might even be posted as a Regular Fic #(i know i'm shocked too) #it's...it's mainly PWP #randomness

[tinydefector]

*jumps in again* i love how you write and im starting to feel like a bother to request some more😭 but but if you don't mind, ultra magnus x gn! reader where he's scolding them for being reckless and sneak off to go meteor surfing with Rodimus. He's not mad, just worried sick for em then reader just storms off and he didn't bother to chase after em, wanting to give them space.

Later, he bumped into Megatron and had a lil chat when Megs pointed out how Magnus is treating reader like his kid(sparkling). Mags denies it but then later connects the dot, like "omg, he's kinda right" que to him went off to find reader which in their room, distracting themselves with some work and he apologize for yelling and vice versa with reader for sneaking out.

Also, if you want, you can add like a bonus bit at the end where Mags praise reader for the excellent report they turned in and reader accidentally say "thanks dad" make it worse if some bot was around when they said that *cough* roddy *cough*

RULES OF PARENTING

Took me longer than expected to write this out.

Platonic/ Parent and child with Ultra Magnus and Cybertronian Reader. Slight hints to Megatron x Ultra Magnus as a treat.

Other information I decided to write the reader as an Outlier but their ability, form and everything else is left up for the reader to decided themself. Other than the fact they are the youngsters on ship and smaller than the larger bots nothing else is stated.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: none

Request and ask open, read pinned post

______________________

laughter comes from around the corner, Rodimus and his friend bolt through the ship. "Keep up Rods!" The younger bot yells out. Their hoverboard is servo while they both bolt towards the shipping bay. It wasn't often the two got the opportunity to go asteroid surfing.

Rodimus hurries after, pushing his engines to keep pace through the twisting ship corridors. His intake splits in a fierce grin.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls back, At the threshold they transform, Rodimus jumps onto his board, taking off into the asteroid field. "Alright runt, you asked for it!" Blue optics glint with loving malice. "First to finish a loop and back wins! Loser takes the others reports."

He peels out with a throaty roar, engine howling, not waiting for the start. Cheating? Maybe, but racing was war, and all was fair in love and circuits blown! Let the games begin.

"Your on Roddy!" They shout back at Rodimus before taking a leap out onto their hoverboard. "Wooooooohhhhhoooo" the shout out. They both tear out of the shipping bay on their hoverboard, darting nimbly between support struts like a razorwing on the hunt. Their wild grin is audible even without comlink.

Rodimus bellows a rival cry, engine snarling as he rockets through the asteroids in a shower of blue sparks. Every sensor hones to the night-shadowed chase before him, picking out the board's glints between outcroppings as their rider zig-zags across the field like liquid mercury. Shouts of challenge fly between them over the comms, goading fierce competition.

Adrenaline sings in Rodimus' lines as he closes the gap, swerving within reach, laughter falls from the two as they race and chase each other. Two kindred spirits living utterly within the moment, simply living for the speed and freedom the stars grant.

From the command centre, Megatron observes the asteroid field feed with keen optic. Movement on the edges draws his gaze - two familiar signatures darting nimbly amid the tumbling rocks, weaving hazardous loops and stunts with the heedless abandon of youth.

A low growl rumbles in his powerful frame at their recklessness and endangerment. But watching closer, caught by flickering motions on the monitor, even his hardened spark must soften.

Laughter crackles through the open commlines as they toss chunks at each other in joyful battle, dancing dangerously along the rim. It sparks memories of ages past, when he himself was prone to such reckless ventures in the mines.

He returns grimly to his charts. But the ghost of a smile still plays about unyielding faceplates, echoing wild laughter across the stars. The loud steps of Ultra Magnus making his way towards command has megatron debating. "Rodimus, I'd recommend you both make your way back to ship, less you want Magnus to lecture you again" He calls out, trying to make sure Ultra Magnus doesn't catch them.

Through the open comm, Rodimus and the other bot share a look of mingled dread and mischief at Megatron's ominous warning. Their daredevil games come with risks.

"Slag it, it's Mags," hisses Rodimus. "We better scram before he throws the book at us!"

Their laughter follows, swerving nimbly aside as Rodimus roars past in a spray of grit. "Like he ever lets us have any fun! Race you back, slowpoke!" With that taunt, they gun their board, kicking up plumes of dust under newly ignited thrusters.

Rodimus snarls a challenge, punching his engine into overdrive to give chase. Though his massive frame handles with ungraceful power, the Captain drives with a fearless intensity rivalled only by Megatron himself in his glory days. "You're on!" He shouts at them.

From the bridge, Megatron watches their mad dash with a derisive snort. Fools to the last, but at least they snatched excitement where they found it, consequences be damned. A trait he can almost respect, Rodimus is a wild sparked bot and the young bot wasn't much better taking after the Prime as if they were batch mates. But Rodimus was fiery protective of them and that's all Megatron could ask.

As Magnus walks in he glitches out when he sees the two bots bolt across the asteroids on hoverboards. Magnus' commanding boom fills their comm channels, causing them both to flinch. "By Primus What are you two doing!, Do you understand the danger you are putting yourself in, not to mention protocol!" He shouts

"That sounds like Big Mags alright," chuckles Rodimus, danger-circuits alight. He guns his engine recklessly, tempting providence with stunts that wring pained static from Magnus' voice.

Beside him, the other bot is all bravado, doing tricks that ought to terminate mere mortals. "Lighten up Mags, we're just having fun!, Megatron's providing supervision" Their laugh is wildly carefree as they swerve through spiralling space debris, back to the shipping bay.

Magnus' reply is a wordless warp of wrath and protocols violated. On the bridge, Megatron observes with sardonic amusement.

Their elated whoops echo into the sullen ship as the two bots land, laughter is passed between them both, they knew they were in for a lecture but neither of them could really care at that moment. They both make their way through the ship.

Megatron watches as Magnus starts having a meltdown, seeing the smaller bot out in the asteroids.

From the command deck, Megatron observes Magnus' escalating tirade with sardonic amusement.

The security director paces like a caged turbofox, field frothing with protocol violations as he excoriates Rodimus and his cohort.

"Reckless endangerment of themselves! Disregard for safety protocols!, I expect this from Rodimus but not from them!" Magnus huffs, massive hands clenching and unclenching. His plating vibrates with barely contained voltage.

Megatron's red optics follow the scene with cynical mirth. It seems some things never change, no matter the millennia - law-bound enforcers and daredevil upstarts will always clash.

He cuts off Magnus' tirade oft. "Let the youngsters play. A little uncontrolled chaos now and then builds character. They aren't causing any harm, primus knows they could be doing worse things, circuit boosters, waging wars" His chuckles.

When Rodimus and the young bot make their way through the halls Megatron and Ultra Magnus are making their way towards them. And Rodimus decides to tease them over getting in trouble.

"Well well, look who's in trouble now," he rumbles, teasingly as he nudges the other bot. One massive hand snakes out to gently tweak an audial fin, eliciting a stubbornly stifled giggle.

They try to swat him off, armour fluffing out in a mock display of aggression. "Back off toaster, you're one to talk!" But their field reflects only playful antagonism toward their mismatched partner in crime.

Rodimus laughs, low and smooth. "Oh, I'm not the one Magnus has his pelts in a twist over. You're the lawbreaker here, delinquent." He buffs their chevron condescendingly with a knuckle plate. 

Magnus' grumbles as moves closer. The younger of the two delinquents makes a startled peep, ducking behind Rodimus for scant protection. Their field sparks with mischief and apprehension in equal measure.

Rodimus' engine rumbles a chuckle. "Face your punishment like a mech, squirt. I'll see you in the brig... cause i know thats where im heading" And with that, he steps aside, leaving the young to the Security Director's.

"Rodimus you sell out!" They hiss, Rodimus takes off running before transforming and disappearing around the corner.

Magnus begins going off over both their stupidity and the danger that they had put themselves in.

"Rodimus! When i catch you!" Magnus bellows, at the retreating autobot. His field boils with tightly restrained indignation.

The younger spreads their servos innocently, though poorly banked fires still smoulder behind their smug optics. "What? I was just having a little fun."

"Fun? You call endangering yourself and flouting safety protocols fun?".

"Do you have any idea the liability you've incurred with your selfish stunts?" Magnus huffes, he's not angry just disappointed.

"We were just blowing off some steam. No harm done" they try to defend themself, it was harder when Rodimus wasn't here to back them up.

Magnus optics bulging. "The rules exist to protect life! One mistaken twist could've terminated you both. Do you not understand that" He looms over them, servos gripping their shoulder plating. "Explain yourself. What do you have to say for putting yourself in harms way like that, this is something i expect from Rodimus but you, im drawing a line, no more hoverboard"

"Magnus I'm not a sparkling!, I can have fun, you can't just take my board!." The huff out in anger, "we didn't do anything bad, we just went asteroid surfing, what's the big deal!, Megatron was watching the whole time!" They shout stopping their pedes on the ground as they squint at the enforcer. Magnus' jaw works soundlessly, circuitry spluttering at such blatant insubordination.

Megatron's low rumble cuts through the charging tension.  "Easy there, scraplet. Magnus they are right they aren't sparkling, let them enjoy their youth" he states trying to calm down the situation.

"That is NOT the point!" Magnus hisses through clenched denta, glowering down at the insolent youngster. But the outliers field remains resolute, tiny hands fisted on hip joints. A sigh like rupturing turbines escapes Megatron where he observes, unseen, from command. Stubborn fools the both of them.

Magnus flashes incandescent, but dares not defy a direct order. With stiff, grinding steps, he departs, field boiling.

Only the younger bot and Megatron remain.  "Rules exist to guide, not imprison. Life's greatest lessons often arise from...bending them, on occasion. Try not to give Magnus a spark attack please" Megatron states while standing waiting for them to walk with him.

"I know Megs but he's been up my Tailpipe over everything I do, reports not being right, having fun, primus I can't even hang out with Rodimus without him getting grumbly at me, 'don't do that, don't do this, no you can't go out on this planet it's too dangerous ' he's not my Sire! "  They hiss out in anger, plating rattling lightly from pent up frustration.

Megatron chuckled. He strides the corridor in heavy, purposeful pauldrons, field enveloping smaller frame protectively. "Take it from one who knows - authority stems more from fear, you're the youngest on board, it's only natural that older mech's will try and protect you. Though I do believe Magnus does need to take a step back"

Red optics regard the young mech keenly. "Stand tall. Pursue your passions . And should he overstep, remind him in no uncertain terms who you are. Your strong sparked"

He crouches fluidly before them , digit gentle as steel beneath a chin. "You were made for greatness, little one. Never forget, don't let him stifle your youth, but try not to make him short circuit" A ferocious grin spreads across their face before they take off down the halls.

Ultra Magnus sits in his office, the enforcer's helm is pressed to his servos as he lets out a groan, he has overstepped.

Megatron's mass fills the security office like encroaching gloom, eclipsing what little light permeates the sparse, regulation-bound space. Magnus senses the ex warlord's intrusive field and looks up wearily through digits.  

"What do you want, Megatron?" The enforcer's usually stalwart voice holds only exhaustion. Heavy pedes carry Megatron before the desk, where he looms over Magnus imperiously. Yet when he speaks, his tone resembles dark mirth more than threat.

"Come now, Director. Is one impudent youngster truly more than you can handle?" Crimson optics gleam with sardonic amusement. "Your methods lack finesse. Rebellious sparks respond better to understanding than oppression."

Magnus' field flares defensively. "With respect, keeping order is rather outside your expertise. Some of us prioritise crew safety over spectacle."

One of Megatron's digits raises Magnus' chin, forcing optic contact. "Order through fear is a leash, not leadership. True power stems from willing allegiance, not force alone. It took me along time to learn that Ambus"

"Energon for thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more orders I need to read through to make sure Swerve isn't trying to order EnerGULP or Biofuel to try and fake as Energex " he states while beginning to type away on the data pad.

"Megatron, they are reckless and going to get themself off-lined or worse" Magnus tried to argue back.

"Ambus you'd be rather harsh to them, they are young, I'm aware of that, but you're treating them as if they are your sparkling" Megatron states. As the enforcer's optics go wide Megatron stifles a chuckle.

Magnus meets Megatron's scarlet gaze with quiet defiance. "My role is keeping order on this ship, not coddling delinquents." 

"Yet it seems you have been coddling one rather too much, they are at that stage, if you keep a lock and chain on them they are going to rebel,be glad it's only Rodimus, Tailgate and Drift they tend to be with. Would you rather they be around DJD" Megatron asked with a raised optic.

"Absolutely Not!" Magus shouts.

"My point stands Ambus, perhaps spend some time with them, learn what they enjoy doing, they are rebelling because they don't have the option, they are stuck in a ship with nothing to do, they see Rodimus as friend, batch mate." are his parting words. Magnus watches Megatron's departing form with troubled optics and churning processor. His counsel, however cryptic, raises discomfiting points...

With a heavy ex-vent, Magnus pulls up files on the youngsters in question. The youngest and Rodimus - one a scrappy outlier, the other a wild spark flouting authority at every turn a prime. Opposites yet drawn together like magnets. Why was he so invested in protecting this little outlier

They young outlier sits in their suite, sulking. After the fight with Magnus they had decided it was easier just not being around other bots, they had shot Rodimus a quick message stating that they wanted to be left alone for the rest of the cycle.

They fidget with their data pad huffing in annoyance as they try to fill out their reports.

When the doors open and they see Magnus they grumble. "What do you want?"

Magnus stands silent in the doorway, emanating not wrath but uncertainty. His field broadcasts a cautious olive branch amid pulsing regret. "May I enter?" His tone holds none of the usual stern command, 

When they shrug off tired assent, Magnus steps within cautiously, a massive frame filling the space.

Optics rove the bare walls and solitary form, glimpsing an existence circumscribed not by choice but necessity. His tanks churn anew. How had he failed to see the cages, invisible yet profound, binding errant sparks aboard this vessel?

Gingerly Magnus lowers himself to one knee, meeting their averted gaze evenly. "I came to apologise," he rumbles slowly. "My conduct toward you and Rodimus has been...regrettable, I'm sorry."  

The young outlier watches guardedly, searching that earnest regard for signs of tyranny or deceit. Magnus also acknowledges his protectiveness and worry over the younger cybertronian.

A sigh escapes Magnus' vents, massive shoulders slumping. "You must understand, my role demands ensuring all under my protection remain safe and functional."

"Then why do you treat me differently?" They shoot back. Magnus goes quiet for a moment. His optics hold a gentle light as they find the younger bots. " When I see you, youthful audacity, venturing into dangers I endured long ago...it stirs memories best left buried. I watch the war wipe out so many sparklings,  outliers taken and used for war"

His field pulses rueful ghosts of harsher times. "I never meant to curb your spirit, only shield you from hard lessons learned too soon." Massive fingers lightly brush an audial fin in a gesture both paternal and penitent.

"Perhaps...I allowed duty to eclipse my function as guardian to all aboard." A bittersweet smile tugs at plating. "Megatron, of all mechs, said i needed to step back"  

Optics meet in earnest appeal. "If you'll permit it, I wish to walk a new path, try and be better, it won't stop my worry but you don't deserve to be caged ." His field pulses only patience, regret and stubborn care worn soft by wisdom's dawning light. Care for the future of this young bot.

"I know I'm a young spark, but I'm not a sparkling Ultra Magnus, I know I'm the youngest on ship but I'm not a sparkling " they states quietly. The two sit beside each other.

Magnus nods solemnly, settling beside the young mech and curling his field around their smaller frame protectively.

"You are right. I treated you as one much younger, when your spark burns as fiercely as any aboard." A massive hand rests gently on a plated shoulder.

His gaze holds Tiny's earnestly. "From this moment, consider me not a jailer but guardian here to ensure your path remains lighted, not bar it. To advise and shelter, if you'll have me, I... I will try not to short circuit over your dangerous activity." A beat of silence as understanding passes unspoken between them. Then Magnus offers a small, indulgent smile.

"I've much to learn as well, little one. I'm sorry, I have been as Rodimus calls it a stick in the mud" he states and it makes the younger burst out laughing.

"Can you help me with these reports, I'm struggling with understanding what you want, the words keep moving around and I just don't understand" they state while holding out the data pad. Magnus leans in closer slowly reading over everything before trying to break it down for the outlier.

Things are peaceful for once between them, he helps with the small things and realises a lot in that time. But when he does eventually leave he catches a small slip up from them. "Thanks Sire" they call out, it makes him stiffen but a smile crosses his face as he leaves, he wouldn't tell anyone how it made him feel. 

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x reader #transformers lost light #rodimus #megatron #ultra magnus #transformers megatron #transformers rodimus #transformers ultra magnus #minimus ambus #tf mtmte #mtmte #mtmte rodimus #megatron mtmte #mtmte ultra magnus #mtmte megatron #idw #idw rodimus #megatron idw #idw transformers #idw megatron #idw ultra magnus

[thdorkmagnet]

Hello all! Got something a bit different for you today. Since I've been gone, I've fallen deep into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom (you can thank Mutant Mayhem for that) and I've created a fanfiction for a truly lovely comic from @indieyuugure known as Indie's Turtles. The actual comic itself isn't out just yet but they've been posting stuff for it and I just knew I needed to make something for it!

This fanfiction takes place during the Space Arc (link here) and deals with Donnie's trauma after the events of the previous arc the Save Donnie Arc (Links here, here, and here). Basically, Bishop kidnapped Donnie and experimented on him and the bros had to swoop in and rescue him. I also touch on some this comic (linkie here too) at one point.

Also please go easy on me if anyone is out of character this is my first time writing any version of the turtles ever! Haha, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any of its variants. Indie's Turtles/ Indie TMNT belong to @indieyuugure.

The door to the ship's bathroom slid open, Donnie stumbling into the room a moment after, his breathing heavy and labored, a hand clenched tightly to his chest. He froze for a second, realizing too late that the bathroom was smaller than he remembered, already feeling suffocated inside. But he was snapped back to reality as the door slid shut behind him, the noise causing him to jump. Using this new wave of panic, Donnie willed himself forward, muttering the command to the ship's AI to activate the door lock. 

He practically fell against the sink, leaning all his weight on it as his knees shook terribly. His hands just dangled there, hot sticky blood dripping onto white marble, Donnie squeezing tighter in some vain effort to stop the bleeding but there was too much of it- there was so much blood- he needed to wash it off. Get it off, get it off, get it off. In order to do that he needed to turn on the sink. Steeling himself, Donnie released his grip, only for a new wave of blood to slide down his hand, pooling in the sink. Donnie shuddered, keeping his right hand turned down so he didn’t have to see. In a single fluid motion he turned the handle, hot water instantly bursting from the pipes. Without a second of hesitation he stuck both hands into the falling stream, wincing as the gash in his hand throbbed. As the majority of the blood washed away down the drain, Donnie felt his breathing start to steady, his mind returning to him. Okay, okay, this wasn’t so bad. He was… he was doing good. He just needed to clean the wound up, slap a bandaid on and it would be over. There was no need to panic. He was safe. 

But as he flipped his hand over to examine the gash, a new wave of terror clenched his heart. The entirety of his middle finger had been split open, endless waves of blood spurting from the cut and Donnie was pretty sure he could see the bone. A wave of nausea hit Donnie all at once and he gagged, pressing his good hand over his mouth to try and keep it down. Hot water soon poured into the gash, a muffled hiss escaping Donnie’s lips at the pain. Pain, pain. It hurt so bad. Make it stop hurting. Donnie’s breathing became raw and raspy, struggling to pull enough air into his lungs. He was dying. The pain was unbearable as the pressure of the water cut into the wound. He could feel the blood flowing from his body, leaving a horrible, hollow feeling behind. The water was too hot, every drop felt like needles being jabbed into his skin, over and over again. Get them out, get them out. 

He tried to remember the breathing technique dad had taught him but he couldn’t find it in the cacophony of thoughts screaming in his head. Stop, stop. Pain. No more. Brothers. Need my brothers. Donnie let out a wail, thankful the sound was muffled by his hand. It was too much. The blood was everywhere. He was dying.

“Oh relax turtle, you aren’t dying.” 

Donnie whimpered and squirmed as the needle was jabbed into his arm just below the elbow. It hit a vein, he could feel it. He felt the blood being drained out of him. It burned. He squirmed, trying to break free, trying to escape but he couldn’t. He was trapped. He was helpless. Where were his brothers?!

“STAY STILL! Unless you want it to hurt more.” The threat made his blood run cold. Even though it burned. He hated this. He hated this place. This was agony. 

Finally, the needle was ripped from his arm and Donnie hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the forming tears. The man didn’t even bother to clean or cover the puncture wound, a stream of warm blood dripping down  Donnie’s arm, echoing the tears that slid down his cheeks.  

“All that fuss over one little needle. You are making this so much more difficult than it needs to be.” Good. If Donnie was going to go through this he wanted to make it as painful for this monster as possible. He was about to make a witty retort but before he could the man spoke again, his voice cold and cynical. “You might as well get used to it, y'know. We’ll be at this for a while.” 

Donnie didn’t even have time to scream before he felt the stab of another needle and the whole painful process started over again. 

Donnie was trembling head to toe now, his body drenched in sweat as the flashback ended. Or paused really, since he was currently reliving the nightmare in real time. Tears dripped down his face as he sobbed brokenly. He shoved both arms entirely under the running faucet scrubbing at them with his good hand and his bad, dripping blood all over him. Everything itched. Everything hurt. He was coming undone. The sobs wracked his whole body, his tears mixing with the blood and water, a flood of pink filling the sink before swirling down the drain in a hypnotizing dance. Donnie felt his attention pulling away from the wound and onto the drain, watching it with a kind of mindless fascination. 

He felt light-headed, like his brain had detached from his body floating freely above, an observer in his own skin. He could hear his thoughts roaring in his head, feel the knots in his stomach and the tears on his cheeks, the throbs of pain in his hand, but it was like he wasn’t there. He was separated, disconnected. The logical part of his brain told him he was losing too much blood. He needed to stop the bleeding. But that part was so far away. He couldn’t hear it through the fog. He fell to his knees. He wanted to lay down. He wanted to lay there and drift away. Maybe he would find a new self to inhabit. One that wasn’t so broken. One that didn’t hurt like he was hurting. He could just drift away and…

Footsteps. Footsteps down the hall. Someone was coming. Something about that grounded Donnie, pulling him back into himself. His head still spun but he was there again, in his own body. He tried to stand, using the sink for support, feeling his knees wobble but somehow keeping his balance. Who was it? Who was coming? His brothers? Fugitoid? Were they coming to check on him? How long had he been gone? They couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to be touched. If they found him here they would make him go to the medbay and the thought of that alone made him nauseas all over again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go in there, no matter what. 

Thinking fast he turned on the showerhead, water bursting from the nozzle and soaking the floor. Steam flooded the room, fogging Donnie’s glasses, rendering him blind. But at the very least it was no longer obvious he had been crying. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around his hand, trying to stop the bleeding or at least try and hide it. Which seemed pointless since there was blood everywhere now. 

There was a soft knock on the door and Donnie jumped. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. Or maybe that was just the heat from the shower and faucet finally getting to him. 

“Hey, Don, you in there?” Leo. It was Leo on the other side of the door and he suddenly felt compelled to run into his arms and hide there until the pain ended. He might have done so if his legs weren’t shaking so much. 

“Y-Yeah,” Donnie stuttered, hoping he sounded normal and not… well, the opposite. 

“How long you been in there?” Leo asked, a hint of concern in his tone. 

He had been expecting that question. It was a normal occurrence for him ever since he had started to shower longer than he should, since Mikey had found him in the middle of his multiple-hour showering sessions, scratching at his arms until they had been rubbed raw. Since then his family and friends had tried to limit the amount of time he was allowed to spend in the bathroom. “J-Just now,” he replied, trying to pull the towel tighter. It was starting to bleed through. 

“Didn’t you get one earlier today?” Did he? Don couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of the confusing mess of his mind, the fog still present and persistent. 

“I, uh, spilled something on me. Needed to wash it off.” It was a weak lie but it was the best Donnie could do right now. 

There was a pause as Leo seemed to hesitate. “...Are you doing okay?”

Donnie felt his chest clench. Had Leo seen through him? Did he know he was lying? What had tipped him off? “N-No, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” Why wouldn’t he just go away? Donnie’s resolve wasn’t very strong right now and he knew with enough pushing Leo could get the truth out of him. Maybe even get him out of the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.  

Another pause before a tired sigh. “Don, there’s blood leading from your lab to here.” Donnie flinched, wondering how he had overlooked something so simple. Wasn’t he supposed to be smarter than that? Leo seemed to be waiting for a response but Donnie didn’t know what to say, his tongue suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth, his thoughts too jumbled and the pain too great for him to form any kind of excuse. Finally, Leo continued, his tone gentle and coaxing. “Look, I know you probably want to be alone right now but, uh, I just want to make sure you're okay. It was… a lot of blood and I know you don’t… handle that well.” 

Donnie swallowed, his eyes flooding with tears yet again, the urge to run to his brother growing stronger by the second. 

Leo’s voice was soft. Calculated. “I won't push you. I just want to help."

“P-Promise you won’t say anything,” Donnie finally managed to get out.

“I won’t, I promise,” Leo’s voice replied, hopeful, relieved. 

“And don’t m-make me go to the medbay. I don’t… I can’t.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Leo sounded a bit confused by that request but still agreed in a heartbeat. That was enough for Don, sucking in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he muttered the unlock command, the door sliding open in an instant. Leo shuffled inside, eyes wide, clearly taken aback by the state of the small bathroom. Then his eyes fell on his brother and Donnie felt the sudden urge to hide. He knew it must be quite a sight to see, Donnie and the bathroom covered in blood, hot steam billowing out of the small room in droves, cheeks damp with fresh tears and a bloody towel haphazardly wrapped around his right hand. But somehow Leo kept his promise, clenching his jaw tightly, forcing his face to stay neutral. Still Donnie squirmed in place, wondering what he was supposed to do or say now that Leo was here. An explanation would probably be nice.

“I-I was tinkering with some of Fugitoid’s tech and the- the metal piece slipped and well…” Donnie felt his skin crawl and he shuddered, the sentence dying on his tongue. He looked away, no longer feeling strong enough to face his brother, feeling hollow and exposed. What was Leo going to say, what was he going to do? If the roles were reversed Donnie would be lecturing by now. A few tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t want his brother to see him this way, so useless and scared and broken.

But all Leo did was crouch down in front of his brother, slowly holding a hand out to him, waiting patiently for Donnie to react. It took him a few seconds to process what Leo wanted, a silent request to check Donnie’s finger. Don hesitated but finally worked up the courage to give him his hand, placing it flat against his brother's palm. Slowly Leo unfolded the towel, expression focused but calm. As cold air hit the open wound, Donnie hissed through his teeth. Leo’s eyes widened, worry etched into his features as he stared at the gash, some blood already starting to leak out again. 

It felt like a lifetime before Leo moved again, finally nodding to himself, a decision made before he met Donnie’s eyes. “It needs stitches.” 

Donnie felt a tremble jump up his spine, pulling his hand away and to his shell, shaking his head violently. No. No needles. He couldn’t. He struggled to articulate this though, instead merely whimpering pathetically. “I know, Dee, I know,” Leo said softly, shooting his brother an apologetic smile. “But there’s no other way. It’s gotta be done.” Donnie knew he was right but it still terrified him. “Let’s go back to my room, okay. I'm sure you don't wanna do it on the bathroom floor." 

Donnie nodded numbly, allowing his brother to take command like he always did, gently pulling him to his feet. Leo grabbed another towel and wrapped it around the gash, tying a knot to try and hold it better in place. He then instructed Donnie to put pressure on the wound, guiding his shaking hands as Donnie failed to follow along with what Leo was saying. He felt really dizzy and tired all of a sudden, the pain and panic still tugging at his heart and head but almost… muted now. He was disconnecting again, he realized. Only this time he had Leo to ground him. 

Leo turned off the faucet and showerhead before wrapping an arm around brother's shell, keeping him steady as he swayed unevenly on his feet. Donnie hadn't even noticed. Leo's other hand was cupped over Donnie's, helping to add a bit more pressure. It felt nice. 

"What about the mess?" Donnie sluggishly asked, feeling a pang of guilt for reasons he didn't really understand. 

"Later. Right now we gotta get you patched up." 

Donnie grunted in agreement, finding himself leaning into his brother, allowing Leo to guide him to his room. He felt Leo shift, readjusting his grip so he could better support Donnie’s weight.

He needed this, Donnie realized. This comforting grip from his brother, this safety. He hadn’t realized just how much he had come to rely on the others since Bishop. Some days it felt like their support was the only thing keeping him stable. It made him feel a bit… helpless. In the past the others had always relied on him, he was the brains, the inventor, the medic, the one they went to when they didn’t know what to do. Now though. Now he relied on them. An equal exchange maybe. Donnie didn’t know anymore and he was too tired to care. Right now he just wanted to be there in the protective grip of his older brother and believe everything was okay. 

Maybe that was enough for now. 

…

Leo had experience with pain.

As the oldest and the leader, Leo was used to taking the hits the others couldn't. He did his best to cover their weaknesses, to endure the brunt of the attack so that his family didn’t have to. He thought he could take it, he had a high pain tolerance only rivaled by Raph, and most of his injuries healed pretty quickly anyways. At the time, he thought he was being heroic, but looking back it had been nothing more than naive stupidity. 

It was only when he got his first real taste of pain Leo learned he wasn't as invincible or as strong as he thought he was. It had felt like dying. The agony, the fear, the helplessness, they were thoughts and feelings he had never known before. No loss had ever felt like this, nothing had ever come so close to breaking him before. Sometimes late at night, he wondered if he actually had broken and just pretended not to notice. Those nights he usually never got to sleep. 

When Leo finally woke, body still alive with pain but no longer alone, surrounded by his family and friends, he had thought the worst was over. But once again it was either optimism or innocence blinding him to the truth. 

He hadn’t escaped from the fight, it had just changed form. 

The weeks and months that followed were the hardest of his entire life, a never-ending struggle against his own mind and body, nightmares and flashbacks haunted him like ghosts, and the few bits of Leo left felt so utterly empty, like there was nothing of him left at all. Every day was a fight that left him drained and exhausted, pushing his limits and tearing at the fabric of his sanity, always one step away from unraveling the empty self Leo had become. 

Somehow though, Leo had kept going, kept pushing, kept trying. He still didn't entirely know why, maybe it was his dad in him, maybe he was just too stubborn to roll over and die, or maybe it was the leader refusing to abandon his team, but something in him kept him going. Kept him fighting. He fought for his family, for his friends, for his city, for himself.

And slowly, ever so slowly, things got better. Easier. Day by day, step by step, Leo got better. There were still hard days when he fell apart all over again but he was strong enough to overcome them now. He wouldn't say he was healed, not completely, but he was more whole, more himself. 

Which is why it felt like sick irony that the moment Leo started to feel more whole it was Donnie who fell apart. His time as Bishop's experiment had been brief but it had left him in the same broken state Leo knew all too well. The circumstances were different but the scars they left were the same. And if Leo had thought it was painful experiencing it firsthand, it was pure agony watching the same thing happen to his brother, to Donnie.

The others had noticed the changes in him, too, but not on the same level as Leo. No Leo was painfully aware of every hitch in his brother's breath, every involuntary flinch at the wrong word or sound, every shudder when he thought no one was looking. He knew them because at one time they had been his. 

Leo did his best to be what Donnie needed him to be. A pillar of strength in a sea of darkness and fear. He remembered his family's support during his lowest and how much it had done for him. Leo wanted, needed, to be that for Donnie. And as the group made the jump from New York to space, Leo started seeing a more positive response from his brother. The fear still lingered but it was drowned out by the thrill of discovery, Donnie captivated by the new technology he saw, enthralled by the new places and species they encountered, an eagerness to learn and understand that was so fundamentally Donnie it made Leo's chest hurt. He had missed this side of his brother. More than he knew. And maybe that was why he foolishly, stupidly, started to believe that things were better. That Donnie was fine.

Leo really had to stop pretending he knew anything. 

Seeing the blood staining Donnie’s workbench had been a wake-up call, a cold splash of reality that turned his veins to ice. His body moved before his mind could, running down the metallic halls of the ship using the trail of blood to guide him. He reprimanded himself, cursed himself, for ever believing Donnie was okay. Not when he knew the effort it took to heal, to make any kind of progress. It was an exhausting struggle, a push and pull against hope and despair that never seemed to reach a victor. Even if things had improved Donnie’s scars were too new, too fresh, that anything could send him spiraling. Leo still remembered the first month in the farmhouse when Mikey had fumbled and shattered a cup. The family was more careful around glass after that. 

Leo hadn't started breathing again until he heard Don's voice through the bathroom door. It surprised him that his brother had chosen to take shelter there, since small spaces tended to be another trigger of Donnie’s. He must have been desperate. It had taken some gentle persuasion to get inside, giving Leo momentary relief as he feared Donnie might completely shut him out in this state. However, all thoughts froze the moment he saw his younger brother. 

It felt like looking into a twisted mirror, distorted but still the same, reflecting his past self back at him. Donnie’s body was covered in blood, cheeks red and puffy from crying, his breathing shallow and quick. It had clearly been a bad attack, one of the worst Leo had ever witnessed and his heart ached for his brother. He struggled to keep his face neutral, trying to remember the promise he had made, clenching his jaw and biting down so hard on his tongue he tasted blood. Donnie seemed to shrink under his gaze, trying to offer a weak explanation that quickly broke off as his eyes grew listless and empty, clearly pulled back into a painful memory. Leo could guess which one. 

There was something achingly familiar in Donnie’s broken look, he could see him struggle to hold back the torrent of emotions pulling him down and Leo feared if he did nothing his brother might drown in it. No, Leo thought, steeling himself. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold Donnie up until he could swim on his own again, the way Don and the others had done for him. So he had shoved it all down, all the emotions threatening to strangle him, and forced himself to focus on his brother. He had decided to come at it logically, turning his attention to the most pressing concern right then which was most definitely the gash in his brother’s hand. The panic attack seemed to have mostly subsided, even if it had left Donnie shook, but even with a towel pressed to it, he had clearly still been bleeding. And he had lost too much blood already. 

He hated how his brother seemed to recoil at the first mention of stitches. The way Donnie pulled his hand away and shook his head reminded Leo of when they were kids and their dad had tried to coax Donnie into eating something on his plate he disliked. Donnie had always been the picky eater of the family. Leo felt himself trying to match his dad’s tone in those moments, soft, apologetic, but with no room for argument. It surprised him a little when Donnie wordlessly agreed, expecting some kind of fight on the matter. 

But as he practically carried his brother to his room, it occurred to him that Don just didn’t have the energy to argue. For some reason, that made Leo’s stomach twist into knots. Donnie had felt so limp against him, his movements sluggish and unfocused, the exact opposite of the brother he knew and loved. He wanted that brother back so, so badly. 

As they settled on Leo’s bed, however, small bits of Donnie started to return, reprimanding Leo for forgetting to disinfect the wound before starting, even if he kept his eyes on the far wall instead of his brother. He had begun a long-winded rant about the dangers of infection and Leo had just let him talk, knowing it was more to distract himself than to actually educate. He still noticeably flinched every time Leo pressed the needle into his skin but both turtles pretended not to notice. 

Eventually, the speech had trailed off and Donnie went uncharacteristically quiet. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, the only sound was the tapping of Donnie’s foot against the ground, anxiously bouncing as he fought to hold back the panic. Leo glanced up every so often to see how his brother was holding up, everytime greeted by the same wide eyed look staring off into the distance instead of at him. Donnie had pressed a hand against his mouth, possibly to cover the frantic breathing Leo could just barely make out. He tried to work faster but stitches were a bit outside his area of expertise. He had tried to point this out to Don but his brother was adamant that it needed to be him. Leo couldn’t help but feel flattered by that, even if a part of him knew it was just Donnie being cautious. Mikey and Raph were likely to freak and that only raised his chances of visiting the dreaded medbay. That meant Leo had to take the extra time to do it right. He couldn’t risk it reopening and causing a fiasco. Or worse, send Donnie spiraling all over again. 

So instead, he did his best to distract, asking Donnie a question he hoped would get him talking again. "So, Don, what were you working on? Anything interesting?"

Donnie flinched before going still, even the tapping stopped, drawing Leo’s attention upwards. Leo saw his brother’s eyes glaze over and nearly panicked, worried he had said the wrong thing. But before he could try and change the subject Donnie responded softly, "I was trying to upgrade my staff."

Leo held in a sigh, returning his focus back on the stitches. Good. At least Donnie was talking. “Oh. What kinda upgrades?” Leo had done some minor tweaks with his katanas in the past but knowing Don his plans were probably excessively excessive. 

“Well for starters I’m going to reinforce the base using titanium to help strengthen it in combat. From there I have some ideas for additional weapon enhancements.”

“With like, what? Missiles? Rockets? Lasers?” Leo teased. 

“Yes,” Donnie said simply and the grin vanished from Leo’s lips. Okay, yep, that was definitely excessive. And unnecessary. They were ninjas, they were supposed to be silent killers, it was gonna be kinda hard to do that if they were blowing up anything that got close to them. 

But not wanting to offend his brother, he instead asked, “Isn’t that more replacing than upgrading?” 

“Perhaps to some.” There was no emotion in Donnie’s tone, his eyes growing distant and vacant. Though his foot had started tapping again, the only indication of his distress.

Leo swallowed down the lump in his throat, lowering his gaze again as he finished off his current stitch and started the next one. He felt Donnie tense and gave him a weak apology. “Sorry, almost done.” 

“It’s fine.” Nothing about Donnie’s tone was fine but Leo didn’t want to comment on it and neither did his brother. 

“So when do I get to see this cool futuristic staff?” Leo asked, trying to put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could. 

Donnie let out a tired sigh. “Too early to say. It’s still very much a work in progress. I haven’t even finished the frame.” 

“Well whenever it’s done, I’m sure it’ll be awesome. Like everything you make,” Leo complimented. 

Donnie grunted in agreement before going quiet again. Luckily, Leo was close to finishing so he decided to let the silence settle, focusing intensely as he added the last few stitches. Once he was done, he tied a small knot at the end to keep it from unraveling before severing the thread and putting it and the needle back in the small case sitting next to him. 

“There done,” Leo said in relief, observing his handiwork. It was far from perfect, the stitches crooked and poorly spaced, no doubt Fugitoid could have done it better, but the wound was sealed and that’s what mattered. At the very least he didn’t have to worry about Donnie further injuring himself. 

After a moment, Donnie inspected his finger as well, something akin to fear flashing across his eyes before he looked away. Leo wasted no time in sliding a black fingerless glove over the wound. “I-It looks good.” Donnie’s voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat to try and hide the slip up. “Decent work for your first time.” His fingers seemed to subconsciously pick at the glove as he nervously spoke. 

“I’m sure Fugitoid could have done it better. Or you for that matter," Leo replied. 

Donnie swallowed before giving him a weak smile. “Regardless, it was a good job. You did a good job."

Leo paused, waiting to see if Donnie had more to say. There certainly seemed to be more, something heavy and unspoken hovering between them. But Leo didn't push, instead returning the compliment with a grateful nod. "Glad the genius approves," he joked. "Although it's probably going to scar, there wasn't much I could do about-"

"Why aren't you asking me about what happened?!" Donnie blurted out and Leo went silent, waiting patiently for his brother to finish. "Go ahead, I know you wanna know right! Or maybe you wanna lecture me! Tell me how broken I am! How I'm being careless! How I nearly died because I was too stubborn to ask for help!" There was anger in his tone, raw and vile and hateful, and while Leo was the target, he knew he wasn't the source. He wanted to believe it was Bishop who had invoked Donnie's wrath but he knew better. 

This kind of anger could only ever be self-inflicted. 

Donnie buried his face in his hands, unknowingly sliding his glasses up to his forehead, hiding the frustrated tears threatening to spill over. "I just don't understand what you're waiting for! You already saw everything, I know you're worried about me!" Donnie barked out a soulless chuckle. "I'm worried about me! If Mikey or Raph were here they would have already dragged it out of me! So why aren't you?!" 

Leo nearly laughed at the irony. He remembered having those exact thoughts when Raph had comforted him. Leo had woken from a particularly violent nightmare, panting and bathed in sweat. He had given up on the hopes of sleep thanks to the throbs of pain from his newly acquired wounds, instead sneaking downstairs to play video games. He didn't even bother picking one out, just playing what was already in the N64. His thoughts began to wander as he played through a few levels of Street Smash, muscle memory kicking in as he powered through enemy after enemy. Leo's thoughts, however, were stuck in a losing battle as he relived that night again and again and again. He was lost so deep in the memory he didn't even notice Raph until he was standing over his shoulder, questioning why Leo was up at 3 in the morning. 

Leo tried to dodge the question, anxiously waiting for Raph to call him out, to begin pestering him for answers he was too tired and too broken to give, to turn the game off and force him back into bed. Instead, he plopped down next to him and started to play too. Of all the responses Leo had been anticipating this was not it. Here Raph was pleasantly chatting about Street Smash as if the brother sitting next to him wasn't sleep-deprived and traumatized. It was jarring but not unpleasant, the first real sense of normalcy since he woke up. 

It didn't take much for Leo to open up after that, the silence that settled between them the final push he needed to get him talking. It was reluctant at first but soon he couldn't stop the words as they poured out of him, burning like fire on his tongue. And Raph just listened, watching him with gentle, worried eyes. That split open a dam in Leo's heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in waves. Raph pulled him into a hug and Leo just cried for all he lost. He felt like a little lost kid as he buried his head in Raph's plastron, sobbing brokenly.

It felt like a lifetime before the tears finally stopped, leaving Leo too exhausted to move or think or feel. He expected Raph to let go but he just continued to hold him there, rubbing soft circles into Leo’s shell. A calmness settled over him, strange and foreign but not unpleasant. He leaned into the feeling, letting it settle in his bones. 

Raph asked if Leo wanted to go to bed but he shook his head, worried that the nightmares would chase this warm feeling away, leaving him lost to coldness and fear. Raph finally pulled out of the hug but only so he could snuggle against Leo, picking up his controller and restarting the level. The two stayed up the rest of the night playing video games and Raph never once spoke about what happened, content to just sit there in silence with his brother. 

Things got a little easier after that, leaving Leo a little stronger to face what was to come. Leo didn't know where he would be now if Raph hadn't been there that night to listen, to support him, to pull him out of the brink of despair and help him find his footing again. 

Now it was his turn to be that for Donnie. 

Leo considered his words carefully, asking himself what Donnie most needed to hear right now. "Did you want to talk about what happened?" 

Donnie seemed taken aback by this reply, shifting awkwardly on Leo's bed. "Not particularly," he mumbled.

"Then we won't," Leo replied simply. Donnie's eyes narrowed suspiciously, doubt written across his features. Clearly Donnie wasn't taking him at his word. He looked like he expected the whole thing to be a trick, like any second Leo might suddenly start prying into things he'd rather keep to himself. It was distinctly familiar, a look Donnie had flashed him a hundred times and he very nearly laughed in relief. 

"What, I'm being serious! Yeah I'm worried about you but I'm not gonna force you to talk about stuff. I'm here to support you, Don, in whatever way you need." 

Donnie’s expression softened but the skepticism didn't quite go away. "So we can just sit here? In silence?"

"If that's what you need."

"And there are no ulterior motives?" Donnie moved in so their faces were inches apart. "Like, perhaps, getting me to talk about what happened with… Bishop." Leo didn't miss the subtle shudder at the mention of Donnie's captor. 

Leo kept his face neutral, matching his brother's suspicious look with one of sympathy. "You just came down from a panic attack, pushing you is the last thing I'm going to do." 

Donnie hesitated, Leo practically seeing the gears turn in his brother's head, before finally giving a curt nod, collapsing back onto the bed with a noticeable sigh. "Thank you," he mumbled, pulling off his glasses so he could massage his eyes with his one good hand. Leo studied his brother closely. All the emotion had washed from Donnie’s face leaving only exhaustion in its place. Leo could see the eyebags, thick and heavy, an exact match for his own back in the day. Who knows how long it had been since Donnie had a good night's sleep. 

"I'm sorry you had to see me that way," Donnie finally said. Even his tone was just tired.

"Dee, you've seen me fall apart plenty of times," Leo reminded him. 

"Yes but for you it was more justified." 

That gave Leo pause, unsure how to even process that statement. What was that even supposed to mean? That Donnie's wasn't justified? That he deserved it! What kind of nonsense was that?! Leo just couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could Donnie, his genius of a brother, not only say something so obviously false but actually believe it! It was baffling! "I- What- How is that-" Leo sucked in a breath, gathering his thoughts, not sure where to even start to dissect Donnie’s logic. "Okay, back up. Explain to me how exactly what happened to me was 'justified' compared to you."

"You almost died." Donnie said it like it was obvious. Like it was a fact. 

"You weren't exactly living it up when we found you, Don," Leo reminded him.

Donnie sat up in a flash. "True but I wasn't at risk of dying. Bishop made it quite clear he intended to keep me alive. You, on the other hand, nearly lost your life! You were in a coma for three weeks! You have scars that permanently altered your body! In comparison, I should be doing so much better!"

"And you went through something just as awful, Don!" Leo argued, putting both hands on his brother's shoulders. "Don't turn what happened into a contest of measuring scars, you went through a crappy situation and now you're trying to heal from it, end of story."

Donnie growled in frustration. "But I still should be doing better! What happened is already done! I know that! But the second something goes wrong it's like I'm back there and I can't convince myself I'm not and every little thing sets me off and I just don't know what i'm doing anymore! Nothing makes sense! I don't know how to fix it!" Donnie pressed both fists into the side of his head, the pressure enough Leo feared he would leave bruises. If Donnie had hair he was sure his brother would have ripped it up by the roots already. Instead he just pressed tighter in some vain effort to physically squeeze the thoughts from his head. 

Leo gave his brother a sad smile before gripping him by the wrists, pulling his hands away from his skull. Donnie gave him a look of tearful bewilderment but it seemed to refocus him a little. Another flashback, no doubt. "I know, Don. I know it's hard. Believe me I do. But this isn't something you can just fix. It takes time and it takes energy, sometimes more than you feel like you can give. It's like… y'know the metaphor about climbing over the mountain?"

Donnie's nonexistent eyebrows pinched together, giving Leo a puzzled look. "Vaguely," came the skeptic reply.

"Well it's kinda like that, only the hardest part isn't getting to the peak, it's getting knocked back down and still having enough strength to climb back up."

Donnie gave him a long, hard stare. "Your metaphor has several holes in it," he deadpanned.

Leo's face lit up in a blush. "Hey, I'm trying here," he groaned pathetically. "This stuff isn't exactly easy to talk about."

Donnie lowered his gaze, staring at his gloved hand distantly. "Still, I do get what you're trying to say. For me, it's just… not that simple." His eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Everyone is… counting on me! They can't afford to wait for me to get better! I don't have time to fall apart!" A few tears dripped onto his opened palm and he clenched it into a fist and looked away. 

Leo gently reached out and cupped Donnie's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles the way Raph had to Leo’s shell that night. "I know it's hard for you. You've always been the type to give and give until there's nothing left to give. But you can't do that now, Donnie. Not with this. You gotta put yourself first this time."

"But Leo I can't just stop-"

"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to slow down and give yourself the time when you need it. Can you at least do that? For me?"

Donnies breath hitched, coughing as he tried to suppress the sob. He wiped away a few stray tears, nodding silently. "Yeah," he choked out. 

Leo felt the tension in his body start to fade. That’s all he wanted to hear. To know that Donnie would listen. That he wouldn’t push himself until he broke. That he wouldn’t give more than he had to spare. That was enough for now. Leo could help with everything else. He would be there. He'd make sure of it. "Good," he whispered. "And it gets easier, for the record. You just gotta take it one day at a time." 

Donnie sighed, sliding his glasses back on. "I sincerely hope so. I have a lot of projects to finish and I hate the idea of stalling them every time things get bad." 

"But you will, right?" Leo shot him a scolding glare. 

Donnie just rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I already said I would. What do you need me to cross my heart, pinkie swear, maybe give it to you in writing?"

Leo couldn't help but smile. This was the brother he was missing. He had changed, grown more skittish, but he was still fundamentally Donnie. In the same way Leo was still Leo. No amount of pain could take that away from them. 

"No, that's good enough," Leo said with a shake of his head. "And hey, if you ever need help with all this, just know I'm here for you. Whenever you need it." 

Donnie seemed to contemplate this for a moment, slowly opening his mouth to speak. Leo kept his face even but felt hope flutter in his chest all the same. Maybe today was the day his brother would finally talk about Bishop, finally find some relief from the pain building and bubbling inside him. But Donnie seemed to think better of it, mouth snapping shut as he gave a half-hearted nod. "Thanks, I'll … keep that in mind."

Leo masked his disappointment behind an understanding smile. He wasn't ready yet. That was okay. They could take this as slow as Donnie needed. Baby steps. 

Instead he moved to slide off the bed, only for warm arms to envelop him from behind. Leo froze and held his breath, worried Donnie might take back the hug and pretend it never happened. But he didn't. Instead, Don clung tighter, pulling Leo as close as they could go until they were pressed shell to shell. Leo slowly turned to try and read his brother's facial expression but Donnie had already buried his head in his shoulder and out of sight. Leo could hear and feel Donnie’s breath shudder as if fighting back tears.

"Please stay." The request was so soft Leo barely heard it. It made his heart shatter and melt at the same time. Despite being taller, Donnie looked so small pressed up against him, and Leo swallowed back the lump in his throat. How long had it been since his younger brother had clung to him like this? Not since he was thrown through that window, Leo realized. The day Donnie's perception of his older brother had changed forever, the day Leo had proven to be fallible. Yet another thing lost to the Shredder's brutality. 

Leo gave Don's arms a squeeze. "I will," he reassured softly. "Can I give you a hug?" 

Donnie nodded, releasing his grip long enough for Leo to turn towards him before latching on again, pressing himself firmly, almost possessively, against his brother’s shell. The mountains had given way to ocean, the waters stormy and violent, the depths eagerly waiting to swallow them whole. Waves of despair crashed against them, threatening to pull them under, while the icy wind whispered their demise.

Donnie sobbed once and clung to his lifeline with all he was worth and Leo hugged back just as tightly, promising he wouldn't let them drown. 

Soon Leo would have to let go. He couldn't leave blood splattered all over the ship, not unless he wanted the others to have a meltdown. But right now, he just wanted to hold his little brother. To know that he was here, that he was safe. He needed that reassurance just as much as Donnie did. There was still a long road ahead for both of them. But in this moment, they were okay. Everything was okay.  

And maybe that was enough for now.

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun with this little side project! It was supposed to be done in a day but then I got stuck on Leo's part and ended up spending a month on it haha! This story was mostly an excuse for my headcannons about Donnie post-kidnapping. That being his germaphobia getting increasingly worse, taking extra long showers, and scratching at his arms without thinking. He also hates the medbay on the ship since it makes him have flashbacks to Bishop. During the writing process I actually remembered Indie's post about Donnie's trauma and was surprised I was right on the nose with a lot of it haha. I also briefly hinted on the fact that Donnie feels inferior to Fugitoid but didn't want to dive too deep since I know Indie will do it much better than I can here. There was a lot of speculation going on for stuff but I'm happy with how it turned out! Still can't wait for the actual comic though haha!

#my writing #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #indie's tmnt #indie's turtles #donatello hamato #leonardo hamato #cw: blood #cw: panic attack

[darthpotater]

You’ll Always Have Me

After a mission goes wary, you find a certain Jedi by your side, giving you the comfort you so desperately want and need.

warnings: mentions of tr*uma

A/N: hellooo, it’s me again. kinda sad so i wanted to write this cuz i needed me some luke lovin, i hope you enjoy still!

You sat on top of a supply crate, in the middle of the now almost empty hangar, staring blankly at the floor. You had just arrived back from a mission; a mission that didn't exactly end the way you wanted it to. You lost a few people and you could not help but blame yourself for it. You did all you can but it felt like it wasn't enough, that you didn't do enough.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as you tried calming yourself, trying to shut out the memories of your fallen comrades and the rollercoaster of emotions from consuming you. All you wanted was to get some rest but you just couldn't.

You jumped slightly at the feeling of soft fabric being draped over your shoulders, you looked behind you and saw Luke standing there, smiling softly at you. "Thank you." You mumbled, eyes darting back to the floor. "You're always welcome, starlight." He whispered before leaning in to leave a soft, lingering kiss on your cheek. You leaned against his touch, letting his warmth embrace you, instantly calming you down. You close your eyes for a moment, basking in his presence, thankful. As he was about to pull away, you reached for his hand, making him look at you. You shook your head and he nodded before going over to stand in front of you. He cups your face in between his hands, his thumb lazily stroking your tear-stained cheek. You stare into his blue eyes, eyes that made you feel right at home. "I'm right here if you need me." He whispers as he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead. "You'll always have me." He adds before pulling away slightly and grazing your lip with his thumb. You nod as he leans down once more, this time to give you a tender but passionate kiss on the lips. He caressed your cheek as he pulled away. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. Always."

Luke, being the sweetheart he is, decided to take a seat on another smaller supply crate beside yours, giving you some space as he watched you.

"Why aren't you in bed?" You asked quietly, trying to strike up a conversation. Luke shrugged, "You weren't with me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, my love." He smiled. "I understand. I hope it's okay if I keep you company here instead, till you're ready to head to bed."

You nod and he smiles before glancing at your hand, the one you've been hiding from him. "May I see your hand?" He asked and you knew you couldn't avoid it any longer so you gave in, showing him your badly gashed hand. Luke sighed, wincing slightly at your wound and you shrugged. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"I've heard that before." Luke chuckled as he carefully set your hand back down and stood up from his seat. "I'll be right back, I think I have a spare medkit in my X-wing." You nodded quietly, grabbing the blanket as it slowly started to slide off your shoulders. You waited quietly as Luke rushed towards his ship that was parked not that far from yours. You took the time to look around the now-empty Hangar, usually filled with the hustle and bustle of people. It was odd seeing the place so quiet. For now. Your eyes snapped up when you heard quite the loud thunk that echoed along with quiet swearing. You scrunched your eyebrows and leaned towards the side, trying to look for Luke.

"Luke?" You called out as you finally saw him walking back to you, hand rubbing the side of his head. You smiled softly, "Did you hit your head?"

"No..." He answered as he placed the medkit on a nearby crate before walking over to stand in front of you, smiling. You laughed and shook your head before burying your face into his chest, inhaling his scent. "I love hearing you laugh." He whispered as he began tending to your wound, carefully reaching for your hand once more. You nodded quietly, as you swallowed hard to keep the tears from crashing down. You stayed like that for a few moments, crying quietly. Luke would stop fiddling every with your hand every now and then to rub your back lovingly.

You felt Luke leave a small kiss on your hand before placing a finger under your chin and making you look up at him. "All done." He smiled softly, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his big hands now cupped your face. You nodded, "Thank you." "Anything for you, my love."

You nodded and scooted aside, giving him space to join you on the supply crate you were on. He accepted the offer and snuggled up to you, pulling you close as you draped the blanket over him. The two of you sat in silence as you stared at your X-Wing which was parked in front of you. You looked at him and ran a hand through his hair, feeling him instantly lean against you. "What're you doing?" He mumbled as you began massaging. "Trying to feel for bumps. You hit your head pretty hard back there. You could've awoken the entire base." You teased as you ran your hands through it once more before pulling away. He chuckled and nuzzled into your hair as you sunk into him, loving the warmth.

“Feeling better?” Luke asked quietly, leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head and tightening his hold on you. You nodded and felt your eyes get heavier by the second. “We should head to bed.” But before you could move, Luke stopped you by pulling you onto his lap, making you wrap your arms around his neck. You took a quick glance around the hangar, checking if anyone was around. Thankfully, at this time of the night, this place was empty. “Five more minutes. Let me hold you and then we can head back to bed.” He mumbled as he buried his face into your neck. You smiled when you felt him leave small kisses here and there. You sighed contentedly, knowing well enough you could stay there forever.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, making the two of you look at each other. You burst out laughing before leaning your forehead against his, rubbing your nose ever so lightly against each other. He gives you a quick but passionate, filled-with-all-his-love kiss on the lips. You ran a hand through his hair once more when you pulled away.

“Luke…” you called out after moments of silence.

“Hm?” He answered sleepily as he found his way back into your neck, nuzzling up to you like some sort of dog.

“I just remembered… aren’t we supposed to be on patrol duty tonight?” You asked, finally pulling away to look down at him. You laughed when Luke’s eyes widened. Without saying a word, the two of you jump from your seats and rush down to General Dodonna, hand in hand, laughing.

As the two of you rushed down the halls of Yavin base, it was at that moment you realized you were beyond thankful that you’ll always have Luke Skywalker by your side… and that he’ll always have you. No matter what, where and when.

#luke skywalker #luke skywalker fanfiction #luke skywalker imagines #luke skywalker x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #star wars reader insert

[hellofa-ride]

Any tf2 ships that are your personal favorites or that you just like ? (and PLEASE give any hcs you have for them :D)

My favorite TF2 ship:

Okay so...

Do you want me to be honest with you? Because this is REALLY controversial. And also super rare, like almost-never-talked-about rare. It doesn't even have a proper ship name. My favorite ship is:

ALL the mercs in a polyfidelity

You may be thinking "Wait, that means Spy and Scout are dating!?" Yes, yes it does. And before you start typing that rant I just want to specify a couple of things:

I would only ship this in an AU where they AREN'T related. I don't even really like the idea of Spy being Scout's father because that means he was a deadbeat dad. He never did ANYTHING for Scout or Scout's ma, even though he supposedly "loved" her. And, I also know that polfidelity's are VERY uncommon and is usually MUCH smaller than 9 people dating each other. Some of you guys may also be writing a paragraph because I decided to ship Pyro with the other mercs, and they have a child's mind. And to that I say, this is in another AU. Where even though Pyro still does experience hallucinations, they actually know that they are hurting people, they just don’t really care. Also, even though Soldier is still dating Zhanna none of the other mercs are involved with her. And yes, that technically makes it NOT a polyfidelity but, ehhhh, close enough.

Besides, just think about it!

You can take all your FAVORITE ships and have them all happen at once! Also, I can't help but imagine them trying to slip each other kisses on the field while still trying to keep it a secret from the other team. Or the look of heartbreak and defeat on their face whenever they see their loved one get killed, imagine Heavy's reaction to Medic's death happening whenever ANYONE on the team dies.

The pet names, the cuddles, the movie nights! From stupid rom coms to war documentaries, to crappy action movies, to ten-dollar budget telenovelas, to cursed horror movies! By the end of each movie, there will always be someone crying, screaming, laughing, shocked, sleeping, bored, or making out. 

ALSO! Imagine how much better the team would be when it comes to fighting! Not only would the team be battling with genuine RAGE for harming their loved ones, but the communication and cooperation would be SO much better! They might even learn a bit about each other’s “trades” which would make them much more dangerous. Imagine, them all knowing basic first aid so when Medic is busy they can make sure that they all don’t die, or them all learning how to rocket jump or remove a sapper from a sentry!  AND IMAGINE DEMO AND ENGIE AND MEDIC AND PYRO JUST GEEKING OUT TOGETHER! Trying to explain concepts like chemistry and biology to each other and them all just loving each moment of it! And Sniper just holding his hat over his face as the whole entire team just flirts with him as he tries and FAILS to hide how flustered he is! Or Scout and Spy trying to prove that they are in fact NOT gay as the entire team is just like “Bitch what we’ve been dating for like 2 years” 

OH! And them both trying to prove how manly and badass they are but at night they are def the little spoon. OR the team BEGGING FOR kisses from everyone (which they obviously get)The sadists of the team swooning as they watch their loved ones blow the other team up from the inside out, the like three people who can cook on the team desperately trying to stop the entire team coming inside the kitchen to “help cook.” Medic yells at them all to stop smoking but when someone offers him a cigarette he takes it and shuts up. Speaking of Medic, it will actually start being fair about who they heal instead of just following around Heavy the entire time! 

The whole entire thing is funny and chaotic and stupid but so so SO loveable and darling! I know I may get a lot of hate, or I may lose a lot of followers (mostly because of SPYSCOUT, even though in this Au they aren’t related) but you know what? I can’t help it, whenever I see a team of people together I always think “Okay but what if they kissed.” I know I didn’t exactly answer the question but EHHHHHH

Fin.

(SORRY FOR BEING DEAD! I’M CURRENTLY GOING THROUGH A BIG DEPRESSIVE SLUMP! ASK ME STUFF AND TELL ME YOUR OPINIONS ON THIS! Also, no hate to u if u dislike this, just don’t be mean about it.)

#tf2 batting helmet #tf2 flash fire #tf2 hop scotch #tf2 heavy hitters #tf2 texas two step #tf2 quick fix #tf2 headcanons #tf2 pyro #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 #tf2 Demoman headcanons #tf2 demoman #tf2 engie #tf2 engineer #tf2 speeding bullet #tf2 spyscout #tf2 4th of july #tf2 Boots n bombs #tf2 cold war #tf2 Helmet Party #tf2 Fruit scones #tf2 American Aviators #tf2 Freedom fries #tf2 Molotov #tf2 Bear grill #tf2 texas toast #tf2 burn ward #tf2 flaming arrow #t2 french toast

[awlwren-writes]

3, 4, 17, 18, 21, 30 for the behind the scenes ask

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

I mainly write from start to finish for a particular story or chapter. Sometimes I will move scenes around, of course, or realize I actually want to start sooner and go back to fill things in, but usually I just go and hope the words keep coming.

That said, if I write a series or collection of themed posts, often I write the middle/second one first. This is often something I accidentally do with reading series as well, so maybe that says something about me.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

Already answered!

17. What fic are you most proud of?

Technically already answered but I'm going to answer again, because choosing one favorite is the worst. The fic I (at this moment, it will probably change with the wind) think is the best out of what I've written might be Over Your Hill. I got to explore a headcanon I like, I got to delve a little more into what their relationship looked like in the early stages (useful for Those Who Wander) and I enjoyed the comfort part. And when I reread it recently I liked it a lot! Which was a very pleasant surprise.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Again with the choosing! You get my commentary anyway in the end notes most of the time because I can't shut up. ^_^

Okay. I'm proud of how I matched up Cor's assault on the dropship in Heaven in a Rage to what Nyx heard in WWFL's chapter, Eternity in an Hour. At that point, the way we were writing is we would talk about the general scheme of things, broad strokes, background info, etc, and then she would write the chapter and then I would write mine as an alternate perspective on the framework she built, and sometimes then we would adjust minor things if I thought of something cool and we had time. But half the fun was fitting my story around hers.

Spoilers here for the climax of the first arc of Smoke and Mirrors, in case anyone wants to read it and enjoy the Drama unspoiled. Plus, it got really long (Long enough to crash Tumblr's Editor, apparently, T_T, so this is the rewritten commentary), so I'm putting it under a cut.

So for Nyx's actual rescue, she gave me: a loud bang and shouting, Nyx hits the wall, someone yelling "(get us out) of here, Drautos", clashes of metal, a roar, Nyx thrown across the ship, then Cor is there talking to him. (I never actually questioned that any of this could be a hallucination, btw, I treated it as a strict guideline. Which maybe made this harder than it should have been. I also have wondered a lot why people in the comments doubted it was Cor that Nyx heard, and just now noticed WWFL's very Evil end note asking if people think it's actually Cor or someone else. Sorry for questioning you all for nearly a year.)

Okay.

This is full on half the fic, so you're getting the highlights, not the whole thing quoted.

The hatch was closing as the ‘ship lifted off, leaving Cor a smaller and smaller window to get on board. He was confident he could cut through the hatch, but he was less confident that the blow would stop there and he couldn’t risk that Nyx was on the other side. Thankfully, the fact that this was an older model was helpful in that the hatch was on the side rather than the front. If he got the right angle… Cor darted up close to the ‘ship, thankful the strange magitek engine didn’t actually give off heat despite its color, and slashed at the hatch from the side. It dropped off the ‘ship entirely, and the ‘ship lurched, off balance from the sudden loss of weight. A soldier fell out of the opening, screaming.

Cor was originally just going to jump on the hatch and prevent it from closing, and then I realized the hatch opens up not down, and he would be squished if he tried. And then, like Cor, I wondered about just cutting it open, and discarded it for similar reasons. But it wasn't speculation in vain, because I could give that train of thought to Cor so he wouldn't instantly have the right answer without trying!

And so we have Cor making himself a permanent entrance, which will come in handy later as well as be a problem later, and we have the bang and a Wilhelm scream, because I am a Star Wars nerd and couldn't resist, and the jolt that knocks Nyx out. It also made my next steps easier, because Cor could kill the pilot mooks quickly without one having to survive long enough to scream, or Nyx to have missed the noise of the fighting.

Through this whole fic, in Cor's perspective the word ship always has an apostrophe in front of it indicating it's an abbreviation for Dropship or Airship, kind of like early writers did for 'droid (See, I told you Star Wars was formative). This is because he's just less familiar with the terminology and the technology itself; when he thinks "ship" (without the apostrophe) he's thinking of a water craft. Drautos doesn't have that problem in his POV chapters, because he has spent a lot of time talking about them with the people who designed them and use them every day.

Moving on. To summarize the next part: Cor gets to demonstrate his skills by mowing some soldiers and techs, gets to see Nyx is alive and ties him down so he doesn't slide out of the plane like the screaming soldier did, and then the copilot tries to attack Cor in a blind panic at having the Immortal in her ship. Cor kills her, and as she dies she squeezes the trigger and sprays the pilot, killing them.

The ‘ship started to dive as the pilot fell forward onto the console.

Cursing this whole day to fall into the depths of Leviathan’s mysteries to never be remembered again, Cor charged across to the front of the ‘ship as fast as he could on his bad leg, pulling the pilot back and grabbing the white joystick underneath them. It reminded him of playing video games with Regis as a teen, but he pushed that memory away and pulled up on the joystick, hoping to level them out at the very least. He had no idea how to land this thing.  

I really enjoy fantasy swears, because I love the worldbuilding behind what makes something vulgar or taboo. A culture that is sex positive might not use "fuck" as a curse, for instance. One without a concept of Hell might instead think of the very creepy depths of the Ocean and how jealously Leviathan guards what is hers, and consider that whatever falls to the ocean floor is more lost than lost, and you get a concept halfway between Davy Jones' Locker and Hell.

Does anyone else remember playing computer games with joysticks? Am I just old? Cor is older, so he gets the experience as well.

The ‘ship did seem to level out, but it also turned back in a wide circle toward the courtyard and the machine guns on the other craft. He tried to straighten it out but the ‘ship wobbled alarmingly and he hastily adjusted his direction back to the way it had been. Hopefully Drautos had taken the other ‘ship out by now.

Actually, as the commander of the Niflheim army, Glauca probably knew how to fly this thing. Hadn’t the glaive captured one once, too? It wasn’t important. He tried to hold the joystick steady and tapped his radio. “Drautos, come in. I need you to tell me how to get this scourge-riddled spawn of a tortoise and a garula landed!”

Here I shamelessly shoehorn my HCs into this fic. The first is that Cor joined the Retinue as a driver, and prides himself on this skill. That makes the inability to instantly be able to pilot a foreign craft on his first time very galling to him personally. The second is that the reason Nyx can do so in the movie is because of said captured craft, which was slotted for an infiltration mission for the Glaive and so the Guard didn't get to play with it. This is how the Traitor Glaives know how to pilot them as well, and might explain how they got the rare pilot-able model during the battle at the airships in the movie.

Cor's lack of ability to fly the ship also allowed me to do two things which made my job easier. First, it gave him a reason to call Drautos, whom he might otherwise be inclined to leave behind just to not risk Nyx further. Yes, it would be great to not have Drautos/Glauca (and I had fun playing with Cor not knowing which name to call him by) running free with all his information, but Cor was hurt and protecting Nyx, and fighting to capture or kill Glauca when he was cornered like this wasn't an acceptable risk if he could avoid it. Second, it allowed him to come back close enough to base that Drautos didn't have to chase down an airship on foot.

There was static over the line, likely interference from the base itself, but no answer. He tried again. “Drautos! I need to get this flying box on the ground or at least last long enough to get it out of here, Drautos!”

And we finally have the line Nyx hears! I changed the first part of it from what WWFL was probably thinking of, but it still fit what Nyx heard, so I was grinned and moved on.

Drautos, by the way, hears none of this, between the metal box Cor is in and the metal boxes and buildings he is in, and probably whatever jamming the base has set up. And because he knows Cor is ridiculously competent at too many things and because Drautos himself knows how to pilot and so sometimes underestimates how difficult it is (as do we all with things we know well), he takes Cor's bad driving as intentional, probably wanting additional backup in case things go wrong.

[Cor circles back around, gets fired on, and then...]

A massive clang resonated through the craft as Cor struggled with the controls, and the ‘ship shuddered from the impact. Cor craned his neck to peer below them at the courtyard, trying to see what had hit them, if someone had managed to bring larger weaponry into the fight, but he needed most of his attention to keep the craft in midair. He risked a quick glance back at the interior of the ‘ship to see if he could see any obvious damage, but his view was blocked by the still partially-melted form of General Glauca.

The big clang is Glauca and his metallic armor hitting the metallic dropship! Yay! The other clangs Nyx hears as he wakes up are the bullets hitting the ship.

I figured this made more sense than having anyone who could cross swords with Cor showing up at this point, which is where my mind first went when I heard "clashes of metal". I think this was also the point I realized my first draft of this rescue (which involved a lot more fighting on the airship) wasn't going to work, scrapped it, and started the one you see here.

Poor Cor. Under fire, can't control the ship, thinks he's been hit by a missile and then sees his traditional enemy Glauca. It's probably for the best that he has both hands full or he might have attacked him. Which is why he, in the next paragraph, is very insistent on reminding himself that he's a sort-of ally and calling him:

“Drautos!” he exclaimed, then wrenched his attention back to the instrument panel to stabilize the ‘ship as it swayed again. Blast it into ions, he was better than this. He could hold a car steady on the road while he tracked daemons’ paths through the countryside around him if he so wanted, but the controls on this vehicle were touchier than a car wheel.

Glauca’s armored gauntlet settled on his shoulder as Cor frantically worked at the controls, then he leaned over and pressed a combination of buttons in the center of the console. Cor could read Nifltunga, but these were labelled in some bewildering combination of abbreviations and acronyms and so he had been ignoring them, figuring it was better to work without them then press something wrong. Whatever Drautos did, it stabilized the ‘ship and caused the whine of the engine to roar with sudden burst of speed, which Cor frantically tried to direct up and away from the base and the courtyard full of enemies.

And now we have the roar and the second jolt! (RIP to Nyx's brain. Blame WWFL, not me) I leaned into the ambiguity of the word roar and made it the engine roaring as Drautos switches it to GTFO mode rather than, say, our lion-associated POV character because of the same thoughts about the lack of plausible enemies at this point.

Yes, Nyx was tethered, but it was hastily done with materials not really meant for someone lying on the ground. It kept him from falling out of the aircraft, at least, even if he got a little more banged up.

Poor Cor. So used to being excellent at everything and he's crabby about this one time he's not. Not that he allowed himself the other excuse for that difficulty that I pointed out here: foreign abbreviations are The Worst. Especially technical ones.

Another note about fantasy swears: I base most of the action ones on the astrals - frost it, burn it, blast it, etc. The various versions mostly get used in certain contexts - Ifrit is kind of shady (no pun intended) in current culture, for instance, so anything with burn/ash/char is pretty serious. Shiva references are kind of a mixed bag at the moment because of Niflheim associations, and before she self-destructed were very popular in Insomnia. Nowadays they're kinda old-fashioned, because she's better regarded. Blast (with the modern reference to ions! Some swears do change) refers to lightning and thus Ramuh, so it usually has to do with judgements or condemning something. In this case, Cor is judging himself and this situation very hard, and also has lightning on the brain because of Crowe's attack.

Anyway, next they Talk in a Manly and Dramatic fashion where they don't really address any of the emotional things going on, but Cor does acknowledge that Drautos didn't have to help but did anyway, even at what may be the cost of everything he worked for, and Cor appreciates it even if it probably won't change much.

Cor finally gets to check on Nyx and Drautos fills him in on the basics, including the miasma infusion, and right on cue Nyx -- who is rather messed up between getting doubly concussed in a short time period, having a fever, being infected with the scourge, and generally pretty hurt before that with only rather janky medical help that's gotten ripped open a few times -- gets to hallucinate his sister dying and Galahd burning! Fun times.

I wanted to put Nyx calling for his mom both because it fit the time he was hallucinating, but also because it's historically a thing that even Strong Tough Soldiers do. Being hurt sucks, even if you are a Main Character, and it's not a shameful thing at all to be afraid (this is my Tolkien influence, when literally everyone being afraid of the Nazgul blew my childish mind and made confronting them even more impressive rather than expected).

The hallucinations are there because that was a thing that was happening to him and I wanted some continuity with WWFL's take on Nyx vs the Scourge, and because it's a nice cover for Cor missing what Drautos is doing (his Final Message). Plus, it means Cor has a pressing need to give Nyx help ASAP, without worrying about spinal injuries and the like that might have caused him to delay using a potion otherwise, because Nyx in his hallucinations is probably doing worse damage and he clearly needs a lot of help.

So Cor does some desperate first aid, and bundles Nyx up against him so he can't hurt himself more.

He reached up and stroked along Nyx’s cheekbone, trying to wipe away some of the damning tears.

Does this help anything? No. Does it make Cor feel better to not see evidence that Nyx is infected? A little. Should Cor have been touching the scourge tears with his bare hands? Definitely not. Luckily, he is the other kind of immortal.

“I’ve got you, Nyx, we’ve got you,” he murmured, matching the cadence of his voice and his hand to the pulse of the engine as they dropped slowly, presumably toward a landing somewhere. Cor couldn’t bring himself to care where. “We’ve got you.”

Cor switches to the "we" here, because it had to happen eventually to fit the script. I like to think the "we" only partially includes Drautos, and mostly includes the rest of the glaives and guard who came to help rescue Nyx, and a reassurance that Cor didn't get captured in trying to save Nyx - a reoccurring nightmare for Nyx.

Nyx shifted against his shoulder, leaning up into Cor’s hand on his cheek. Cor could feel his lashes fluttering against his neck as he started to stir, and he let himself believe it was a good sign. “Cor?” He could barely hear it over the sounds of the ‘ship landing, but it made his heart soar higher than the airship had. Nyx was talking, and he recognized him. Surely that was a good sign? His name had never sounded so sweet.

He stroked Nyx’s cheek slowly, wiping away more tears as they fell. Were they lighter? Surely they were. He kept up his mantra, reassuring Nyx that he wasn’t alone, that he was safe. “We’ve got you.” He’d never let go.

Butterfly kisses are the best. Even if the situation is the worst.

Cor is Tired and Dramatic (as was I when I was writing this). He's going to cling to hope and what victories he has and comfort his boyfriend as best as he can and let the Drama flow. He's earned it.

Until Drautos (who had temporarily earned back his first name basis by the help he's given them and by Cor being Tired) takes his turn to be The Most Dramatic.

Thanks for the sticking with me on that long tour through my thoughts (and pity the two and a half hours it took to write it and rewrite it after tumblr ate it.)

21. What is the one fic that got away?

Probably To Hope's End, my Nyx as a Messenger AU. I want to go back and finish it. I do. But I have a lot of unfinished stories, and I think that one's furthest on the backburner for now. Partially because it's going to be long, and if I'm focusing on a long one right now it's going to be Those Who Wander.

30. Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

I would like to get back to the time travel fic I've told you about where Regis trying to use the crystal to check out Noctis's future causes refractions, so you get past, present, and future Cor and Nyx (who were anchoring the spell) of various ages all shoved in a room together and trying to figure out what in the world is going on.

And all the chaos that spills out from that.

I also have several fics that I've posted that I want to continue or expand on if I have the time and writing energy to do so...

But you know pretty much all of my ideas already.

#long post #and get some answers #ask games #garbria #writing #my fics #ffxv #smoke and mirrors #posting quickly before tumblr eats it again #edited

[micallum]

Candlelit Breakfast

Pairing: Arthur Leclerc x OFC!Caroline Piastri (Caz)

Based on this Ask: “saw something on tv where a guy organized a candlelight breakfast to celebrate he and his gf’s anniversary. because she works too late at night so they couldn’t celebrate during dinner and he wanted to respect the right day so he did a romantic breakfast 🥹 had to share, make this whatever u want sisbsksksk” @oscar-piastri

Ratings: Fluff, 15+ (no smut, just if you are a minor I'm awkward about it).

Word Count: 1,775.

AO3 LINK

A/N: Got this ask and wanted to write something so this is a little one shot involving my fave ship (which is ASSY) but it’s disguised as CARTHUR. I guess this is part of the FRIENDS series but it jumps ahead quite a lot from the couple of chapters I actually put out. I still hope you enjoy!

Arthur looked up and down the aisle. Pancakes or crepes? He was sure Caroline would prefer the American pancakes but he was more used to making thin crepes. He sighed and brought out his phone while still holding his shopping list in his right hand. He used his code to unlock his phone and called for backup.

“Hello?” The high-pitched voice spoke through the small device.

“Hi, Nina”, Arthur looked at his sneakers, “do you have a minute?”

Nina hummed and asked what was up before Arthur exposed his dilemma to her. “I think you can handle pancakes, Arthur. Just make sure you don’t add anything other than what the package tells you to.”

“Don’t you just add milk?”

He rushed to squeeze the phone between his shoulder and ear as he reached out to grab the first bag of flour, he turned it every possible way before his eyes found the small drawings. Eggs, milk, butter.

“Seriously, Arthur…” Nina pinched the bridge of her nose on the other end, which Arthur assumed she would be doing, as she always did so when he asked her something seemingly obvious. “Please get the fluffy kind. You make those, a couple of fried eggs, a good half kilogram of bacon – might be too much… but I’ve seen you eat! I know you will be fine. Offer her a cup of coffee and some orange juice. Once you are done eating you exchange gifts.”

Arthur began taking mental notes of this, using his full attention. He did not want to mess it up. He would not have another chance to make their first anniversary perfect.

Caroline had been dealing with one of the most hectic schedules for a few weeks already. From the moment she decided to transfer to Monaco it had been difficult. With a part-time job now, she seemed to either be at school or at work. She spent long hours working on projects at the office, coming home later than either Arthur or herself would like. And Arthur never complained, he had begun rolling on his side to hold Caroline once she was in bed, the faint sound of the bedsheets moving made him aware she had finally come home. She always did her best to keep quiet and for the most part, she did great.

Now that they reached their first year together Arthur thought he might take her out for dinner, but this was impossible. With the change of seasons around the corner, almost all of her company’s clients were in need of new promotional images. She worked with smaller businesses but it was still important and her bosses liked what she had to offer. Fresh designs, simple and effective – or so she had been told. Time off was not going to come soon.

So celebratory breakfast it was! Arthur talked to his brothers about it and they all agreed that if he wanted to make THE day special it was best to settle for what he knew he would get a chance to share with his girlfriend.

“But can you cook?” Lorenzo had asked him in a rather skeptical tone.

Charles had laughed a little too loud for Arthur’s liking, but he assured his brothers that he had actually learned a lot since he and Caroline moved in together.

“I find that hard to believe…” Charles smiled at him and then both of his older brothers shared a look, “but you should try!”

And now he was there, at the grocery store, with a kart already containing the best of the best breakfast foods. He was sure he was going to send his girlfriend off to class with a full stomach and a big smile on her face – even if those were the last two things he did.

“Okay, thanks, Nina.”

“No problem! Hey, let me know how it goes. I bet she will lose her mind.” She said excitedly.

“That’s the idea!”

After a short chat, he ended the call and found the rest of the things. He got on his bike and went back home to the small apartment they shared, he said hello to one of the neighbors and got in the elevator with the bags in his arms. He was glad he had already figured out Caroline’s present days before. Now, all that he needed to do was put the food away and set up his alarm in time to wake up a couple of hours before his girlfriend.

Caroline arrived home late as usual and without any suspicion took off her shoes, she walked past the small kitchen and into their bedroom. With a small side smile she glanced over at Arthur, he was snoring softly, arms and legs sprawled out on his half of the large king-size bed. The two had agreed to go out on Saturday to celebrate their anniversary, but she felt guilty that they would not get to enjoy much of the main day together. She could not wait to graduate and find a different job. She was ready to move on from the half time this half time that life.

She changed into her pj’s and went to the bathroom across the hallway before returning and pulling the sheets down to get into bed. As he did every night, Arthur turned and wrapped an arm around her middle, his nose buried in between her shoulder and neck. Caroline placed her arm on top of his and sighed tiredly as her muscles finally relaxed after a stressful day.

The warmth was gone. She reached out to cover herself, expecting to be met with the weight of her boyfriend keeping the covers from moving, but they were weightless and she was able to pull them up to her chin with little effort.

Her eyes opened in an instant.

“Arthur?” She mumbled.

Beginning to look around she turned on the bed to stare at the empty space next to her. It was rare. More than that… it was extremely strange for Arthur to be out of bed before her. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked at the clock only to realize she was up almost twenty minutes before her alarm went off.

With bare feet, she made her way to the bathroom, the hallway already carried the smell of vanilla and coffee. She frowned, did Arthur have a meeting or something she did not know about? She finished her business in the bathroom quickly and approached the kitchen in silence, expecting to find her boyfriend looking at his computer in preparation for an interview or FDA meeting. Instead, she found her kitchen table decorated with a base and a couple of flowers. Two candles stood tall, already lit across from each plate.

Her mouth dropped open and it remained that way as her eyes scanned the kitchen, on the stove a couple of pans, the coffee machine was already running and the rack where they put the dishes to dry was filled with utensils one would use to prepare food. Arthur was proudly holding a jar of orange juice in his hands when she spotted him.

“I know you have time for breakfast!” He pointed out, “Good morning, Caz. Happy anniversary!”

Caroline’s mouth fell shut and she covered her face with both hands, shaking her head she felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

Stupid Arthur, always having these silly yet thoughtful gestures…

She felt stupid once Arthur was holding her against his chest, confusion, and amusement mixed in his voice, “hey, what’s happening?” his fingers pulled her hands off her face in a gentle manner as his eyes searched her features.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” she smiled with a couple of senseless tears staining her cheeks.

Arthur wiped them with tender hands as she looked up at his expression. “Happy anniversary Arthur.”

He smiled and his cheeks were pulled so far she could see a couple of lines frame the corners of his mouth.

“I made you everything I could think of.” He pulled her by the hand and brought her to the table.

With a chivalrous gesture, he pulled the chair out for her and soon had a plate filled with all sorts of breakfast foods in front of her. He sat down across from her and they ate together, catching up on whatever had been going on the day before. They laughed between bites and shared some pieces of gossip as they usually did. Arthur took pictures of his girlfriend as she sipped on some coffee and smiled down at his phone.

“Oh, I haven’t even showered Arthur!” She complained.

He smiled and then made a fake serious face “You always look gorgeous. Here let’s take one together!”

Caroline rolled her eyes but leaned forward and they took a picture that ended up making everyone go mad once Arthur posted it on Instagram later; both of them were visibly happy, in love, and… in their pajamas. Caz’ koalas PJs – a gift from Arthur when they moved in together, and Arthur’s lack of a shirt. Messy hair and messy table between the two… it all screamed “DOMESTIC”.

Upon seeing it, Caroline wrinkled her nose and stood from the table, “not my favorite, I know we look cuter after a shower.”

Arthur nodded and pulled her into his lap as she began walking past him, she squealed but wrapped her arms around his neck, wide eyes staring back at him. He gave her a smug smile “are you suggesting something?”

She smiled up at him as her brain processed his words, she almost jumped “Oh!” Her brows shot up “No… why? Are you suggesting something?”

The Monegasque looked up at the ceiling and shrugged, the corners of his mouth going down.

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Thank you for doing all of this.”

“You have no idea of the things I would do for you, Caz.” He declared with the most serious tone in his voice. “I love you.”

Caz pushed his hair back by running her fingers through it. He only said those words once before and they seemed to have disappeared from his vocabulary for months, hearing them now was sweeter than the honey they had just poured over their pancakes.

Through a small smile, she admitted the same words back, “I love you too.”

Her hands grabbed his cheeks softly and they both reached out toward each other, kissing for a moment that felt too short for both of them. Too caught up in each other, they forgot all about exchanging gifts, sharing coffee-flavored kisses next to the candles instead.

#assy is love assy is life #ASSY TIMELINE #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc fanfiction #arthur leclerc x ofc

[scrabble-scribbles]

I had a thot for Echos, like an au of the au.

What if over the course of the war, Ahsoka and Rex start getting even more jaded? They’re trying to stop Palpatine, trying to save their brothers and friends, but they can’t do enough. Every time, either more people die or they lose the same number, or just lose the ones who survived last time. Ahsoka slowly loses control of her powers, going deeper and deeper into the force (I’ll explain my force headcanon later). At first, using the dark side is completely accidental, maybe a desperate attempt to save someone. But she starts to notice it working, the only time she can save people without losing way more is when she uses the dark side. At first, she’s scared, she doesn’t want to fall like her master did, like barriss did, like so many Jedi have and will, so she fights back. Until a mission where everything goes wrong, off the wall insane, and she has no choice. She draws on the dark side, saves everyone. And then she starts using it more freely. After all, who would notice if one trade federation man ends up dead, from a broken neck? War is dangerous, and they have thousands of enemies. And who would care if a separatist tactician comes out of an interrogation babbling in terror, unspeakable fear behind their eyes, as long as they have data that can help the war?

Rex is more subtle. He doesn’t draw on the Force, he doesn’t have the risk of falling. But him and Ahsoka are connected in the Force. He grows more ruthless, more protective. He dips back into the tactics used by the rebels, gurellia warfare, infiltration and weakening tactics, and plans that are more concerned with protecting his own than worrying about civilian casualties or how the land is damaged, like firebombing runs. During prisoner transfers, he breaks a few bones when prisoners are rude. He doesn’t take shit from natborn officers, Jedi and non Jedi alike. The Togruta Jedi almost always at his side snarls whenever anyone tries to reprimand him, and complaints somehow always end up missing.

The turning point for both of them would probably be Umbara. Ahsoka’s not leaving Rex and his men alone with Krell after Anakin leaves, despite her telling him Krell's bad. She's mad, Rex is furious, both of them are stuck in a campaign thats hell. Ahsoka wasnt here last time, so she gets stuck a few times, and Rex is trying to save anyone he can. Ahsoka and krell are arguing over tactics, with rex on her side. When Krell threatens Fives (lightsaber from the episode), Ahsoka Force pushes him away. Both her sabers are out and she's glaring him down, standing in front of Fives. Rex has both blasters out and aimed at Krell. Nothing really happens, Krell just stands down and lets them continue, until his plan to take the capital happens. Ahsoka goes with the clones, against Krell's orders, and her and rex manage to save more men on the retreat. Fives, Hardcase and jesse go to blow up the ship, and when Krell tries to have them executed, ahsoka and rex dont let him. (i might write this out). When the time comes where Krell sends them out to kill the 212th troopers, Ahsoka stops it before they even can, but then another battalion comes through and tries killing both the 501st and 212th men. (probably luminara's men because barriss was there in the episode), and lots of ppl die. Instead of the clones going, Rex and Ahsoka go to confront Krell. he threatens to have Rex executed for something, to get ahsoka expelled for dark side and attachments. Keystone moment, and Ahsoka goes dark.

The troopers trudging back to the camp see the spinning lightsabers as Krell is thrown out of the building, and smaller sabers as Ahsoka follows. Rex jumps down, and is helped by Ahsoka to land perfectly, both attacking Krell. The 501st men are shocked, because Ahsoka is fighting like a completely different person. her fighting style is near feral, and the besalisk is genuinely struggling to keep up with her. Ahsoka gets him down, cuts two of his arms off. None of them say anything as Rex shoots Krell in the head. Ahsoka's eyes flash gold as Krell's body is dragged away.

So basically Ahsoka falls, and Rex follows her, because of their desperation to save people and stop the sith from taking over, from stealing so much from them. And the kicker? through this, they lose the family they were trying so hard to save.

Anyhoo that was my angst thot for Echos :)

#EOTF AU #ahsoka tano #captain rex #clone wars #pong krell #star wars #fives #sith #jedi order #umbara arc

[kleiner-ghost]

1–30 for the ask game :)

I will pretend you meant 1 and 30, not 1 through 30 ;p (and I'll answer the one in the middle too, for fairness, and cuz I want to ^^)

1. How many words have you written this year?

Good thing I keep track ^^

Some of that is original work, and the gap in September was when I submitted my MSc thesis. 120k is a good number, I'm proud ^^ although, I will try and be more rigorous next year, and actually do the 2 nanowrimo events.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

There are several hahah

First the Egor one (my beta went through my notes as well, so she knows what happens but everyone else will have to wait XP)

Then there's the B5 x Clone Waes one. Here are a few snippets ;)

“Hytts, go get - I'll go get the General,” Barrage ordered, correcting himself midway, “Everyone ready yourselves. Shields up, weapons charged, we don't know how many of them we'll be up against.”

“Hmm, cut from the same cloth…” Blues mumbled, just loud enough for Barage to overhear as heft the command deck. 

Not even half a minute later, General Master Rayko rushed onto the deck. Lighsaber in hand, he waited with an eager grin as Wraith finished adjusting the radio recievers.

“The coordinates are correct, we shall engage in the jump in T minus 10 - 9 - 8,” a droid counted down.

~~~

This was the proof Kelei had wanted, had spent months chasing, but when Rawnè looked over to her captain, the woman seemed as uneasy as the rest of the group. The Mimbari platoon had found the enemy ship but shear luck, and there was very little doubt in anyone's mind that this was a setup. The creature's that operated it wanted it to be found, but to what end? “Look for large remains. We need to find a full body.” Kelei ordered. She had ventured the furthest away from the shuttle, her dark blue battle robes blending in with the darkening sky with each passing moment. They were loosing daylight, and and they knew they'd be unlikely to find anything if they were to return the following cycle.

Whoever was piloting these exosuits always made sure to pick up their dead.

(This is the fic I want to read and not write btw)

And last but certainly not least is my Cait SO fic ^^ I have put it on hold recently because of my thesis, and other smaller and lighter stuff taking priority, but here's a little teaser to prove that I'm still working on it ^^

What did 715 even stand for? It was some kind of ongoing injury, as the number had started of at 300, and slowly risen over the past minute.  Cait had no idea.  She had no idea what trouble her soulmate had gotten into, she had no idea why her soulmate had only started getting into trouble now, and worse of all she had no idea how to get out of the combat zone. "Little bird," Tommy's voice came from behind the door, soon followed by a knock, and the sound of the door opening.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

That one of my fics is now linked on the TV tropes for one of my secondary fandoms. When I got a comment about it on AO3, I didn't think it was real (like a troll or something), but then I had a look and sure, there it was.

It's a really old fic that I didn't really plan out properly, and abandoned because i struggled with its pacing. But getting it linked on TV tropes motivated me to have another look at it. I've uploaded my word doc to drive, and I might start sporadically updating it, like I do with my DX x DBH crossover.

It's this fic btw:

#author ask #ao3 wrapped

[undead-merman]

Heyo! I loved your headcanons for the brothers and Simeon as sirens, they were a truly *chef kiss*. Can we also have siren Barbatos and Diavolo? Yandere too and sfw, please!

Thanks in advance!

I'm always down to write Aquatic monsters.

🧜‍♂️Siren Diavolo and Barbatos🧜‍♂️ as a yanderes GN- reader SFW

Diavolo

Appearance

Diavolo is much, much larger than other sirens. While sirens grow to be about a foot or two bigger than humans, Diavolo is massive, fifteen feet long and with tons of bulk and muscle to match his massive size. He looks more similar in size to a giant than a siren.

Despite his size he is dazzling in the sun. When his crimson hair catches beams of light he looks divine, almost like a holy glow surrounds him as he rests on the rocks. His tail is the same stunning red as the blood red sunset and has a bright pearlescent. His scales are just as reflective and polished as a bright red sports car. His skin is deeply kissed by the sun, making his skin look smooth and shiny. His nightshade red fins are long and butterfly shaped; they trail slightly behind him like silk.

He wears all kinds of jewels and golds, all of them perfectly fit around his skull and fins. They drift perfectly around his large frame and glimmer even in the smallest amount of light.

Diavolo is the only siren able to keep his glamor up even if he’s excited, in the water, or even angry. He has full control over it and only shifts to it when he’s actively trying to strike fear into something or someone. His true form is like that of sea monsters in folktales, monstrous in size and able to take a ship down into the dark depths of the open ocean, to swallow whole crews, and create winds and storms as he lets out a devilish scream which can be heard for hundreds of miles around.

Royalty amongst Loners and Sunken Hideaway

Despite their lone lifestyles, only really enjoying the company of their mates, most Sirens look to Diavolo as more of a god than any type of king or prince despite having the title of prince. They worship his power and bow down to his whims and needs. They bring him tributes in the form of small treasures and Diavolo returns these gifts with blessings of more intoxicating songs, stronger wills, his watchful eye and protection, or just overall greater strength. Diavolo seems to freely give these boons no matter how small the gift.

Since he’s a well known and well visited siren, he’s built his home in the sunken ruins of a castle in a city whose culture and history has died long ago. It’s well taken care of by servants who have pledged their lives to Prince Diavolo and are surprisingly pleasant and tolerable with one another. They equate this to Diavolo’s power and grace but only those who are truly loyal to Diavolo stay here.

His voice can bring either madness or blessings and can be the most beautiful thing your ears could ever hope to hear or one so evil, devious, and grotesque you’re driven into a hypnotic bloodlust to those with even the strongest wills. His lullabies sound so melancholic.

He hides away in a large garden which has its own open air biosphere bathed in light by a glass ceiling which has yet to crack yet bathes the whole garden in a beautiful light. A single golden curly willow grows in the center with dozens of flowers growing around it. Here the air is surprisingly fresh and floats on the surface never touching the water around it like it’s a time capsule. He’ll lounge here to clear his head watching the butterflies that have grown here, alone and have never seen the outside.

Spending time with you

You and only you heard his song and wept. The feelings of his loneliness tugged at your heart instead of your head being filled with euphoric thoughts of power and blessings or instantly pounding through your skull until you screamed. You truly heard his song, understood the lyrics behind them and felt the way he did when he sang them. When he saw your face littered with tears and face hot with sympathy for him he felt his whole body go numb. You were something special, someone truly remarkable. He needed to know more about you.

And so started a passion in his heart to learn everything about you, your traditions, your light quirks, your hobbies and everything he could possibly learn. It sent him down a rabbit hole of studying humans that he refused to climb out of and gladly let swallow him if it just allowed him to get closer to you and understand you better.

He doesn’t mind what form you see him in, as long as he can see you he’s thrilled and happy. He’ll approach you like a dog, his tail swishing excitedly as he asks you questions he formed in his head from the day. He has to be careful in his true form otherwise he can cause a lot of damage to the nearby area and draw too much attention to you two.

He loves to pick you up and hold you, be in his true form or not and travel with you on his back, or when his true form shows in his hands or on his head as he intentionally kicks up some water to playfully mist you. Moments like these make him forget he was ever even alone to begin with.

If you ever wanted to see some kind of sea creature or visit some island he’s happy to oblige bringing the creature over with his divine rule over the ocean or happily just takes you there one day while making you cover your eyes to surprise you. The look on your face makes his heart swell so much he almost feels like it will jump out of his mouth if he’s not careful.

Dark Tendencies

Diavolo isn’t against using others to get what he wants, he'll ruin everything for anyone or anything to get what he wants. He’ll destroy small islands and wipe out ports so nothing can distract you from dates he takes you on.

If he feels like you aren’t close enough to him or are drifting away from him, for some reason or another, he’s simply going to just pluck you away from your old life so you don’t have any excuse to be away from him anymore. You're his now, you don’t have to worry about that silly stuff anymore, both of you can be together now. Why not just get married now? It would be much easier. Siren’s don’t marry, they just pick a mate but he’s willing to put the frills on it for you and your human ways. He finds it cute!

He doesn’t ever connect the dots if you struggle against him or plead for him to let you go, he’s wrapped up in his own delusions of you being a happy little couple that he’ll blame some outside force. If you go along with him he’ll remain peaceful and sweet.

He absolutely hates it when other sirens see you and while he’s not outwardly violent to them he is quite hostile. Grinding his teeth and asking them to look away from you while his tail twitches with the intent to lash out.

He gave you your own little haven to decorate, he gave you the garden all for your own. He even made sure to promise to give you your own space and privacy here, just as long as you come to his call. Don’t worry though, only you, him, and Barbatos know of this place, and you can’t run from him here!

Misc stuff

His scales shed infrequently since he doesn’t get into fights with other sirens since all of them know better. His scales are radiating with his power and are well known to bring massive good luck to all those Diavolo gives them to. He’s always giving you things made from his scales and he’s so thrilled to see you in them. He likes adding them to a circlet crown he had made custom just for you so you can match him. He plans on matching you to him with every little piece of jewelry, even down to matching rings.

He requires you to sleep with him. He can sleep out of the water perfectly fine and just pulls you into a lavish den he made for the two of you. It’s somehow unbelievably cozy sleeping with him. His body is warm and everything he set up is the best out there. He just holds you in his warm arms and nods off with you.

He’s quite a picky eater. He refuses to eat anything he doesn’t like and will only eat it if you so happen to beg him to, but only if you're insistent, otherwise he’s already slowly drifting away from it.

Barbatos

Appearance

For a siren he’s smaller than most. He’s quite slender and not much muscle to him, but despite his size, his appearance is perfect in every way, not a hair out of position, not a scale that isn’t out of polished or asymmetric, and his skin without a blemish or scar to be found. He takes a huge amount of time to groom himself perfectly.

His scales more resemble sea snakes, even having black stripes like them, though his tail is a solid dark seafoam green. He’s not especially radiant compared to others, but he doesn’t mind at all, he prefers to melt into the background more.

His tailfin is wide though, having a lyretail shape with black stripes going across it. It’s the same dark color as his scales and he has only two side fins but they look like long ribbons stretching from his hips to about halfway down his tail.

His glamor when melted away leaves behind an even darker looking creature. He looks like a stormy sea and is covered in nasty sharp thorns that don’t just stop at his elbows but lead down to his hips and thin yet long and sharp claws and stark black webbing in between without a tear or hole.

Serving Another

Serving the Royal Family was an honor his family was born with for generations and one he realizes the importance to. Diavolo is powerful enough to sink ships and cities and he provided some of that power and grace onto him rewarding him and his ancestors before him for loyalty, slowly turning Barbatos’s family into nearly just as powerful creatures as him.

He enjoys watching the whims of a child like god try to make sense of a kingdom, it's good fun to see him enjoying his life he is able to live vicariously through his high energy.

He puts his all into everything he does, he hates wasted efforts so he does everything he can into what he does but it gets tiring. Sometimes when trying to sleep, he finds himself unable. He’s always had poor sleep but he’s dealt with it for so long now that it's normal for him now. He starts his morning eating a small slice of kelp known for reducing head pain, all while preparing for the morning.

Spending time with you

If Diavolo took an interest in a human then you certainly had to be interesting. Well when he met you and saw you drinking tea with a huge Diavolo stretched around the floating garden. He just knew you were a human with a soul like no other.

He often brings you your favorite beverages and chats with you, simply at first to get to know you but he found you captivating, each word you spoke he held onto like it was the last he would ever hear and it was gospel. He smiles as you recall old memories, describing how you ended up here. The way you phrased things was unlike anything he had ever heard.

He’s taken the time to find old waterlogged books that were left abandoned in the old library and help restore them for you to read. Inside you find wondrous and fantastical stories of this old kingdom all of them enthralling, and as you read he’s happy to bring you a beverage once more and enjoy your company even if it’s in silence.

Once he’s grown closer with you he often finds himself giving you lingering touches as he pats your shoulder for your attention or grazes his hand on yours when delivering food to you. He even says the most romantic and poetic things to you without even noticing. He falls in love slowly but deeply and almost innocently. He just treasures your time and you as a person, never judging or doubting you.

There was a day when he had pulled you into a parting hug, wishing you a goodnight as Diavolo would return you to the surface but he had simply fallen asleep in your arms. Even Diavolo was shocked as he had never done anything close to something like this. It turns out Barbatos is at the most ease when he’s with you. All of his sleepless nights had just suddenly caught up with him.

Dark Tendencies

His love quickly shifts one day when he see your finger pricked by a stray thorn from a wild flower and as he wiped up the blood with a handkerchief and sees those butterflies fluttering around the wound to drink the blood he realised just how fragile you really were and how nature and life take advantage of that as soon as it could. He couldn’t take losing you. So one day he calls you and just takes you. You think it's just another visit with Baratos fetching you but he takes you to a deep and dark underground cave. Soft phosphorus moss grows all over in cushioned patches and with every step it glows brighter under your feet.

He explains it all to you, openly and honestly but no matter how you plead or try to reason with you, he believes you need to be down here forever. Away from the outside world that would care so little for the death of you and move on like nothing were to happen. He wanted you safe, around and immortalized; he'll never forget you.

He provides you with an array of pleasantries that would have no chance of harming you. He’s damn near baby proofed the small cave but he ensures it's as comfortable as it can be, bringing you three meals a day, all of your favorite drinks and snacks even if you fight him or give him the silent treatment he’s never neglectful of your needs. He believes one day you’ll come to see how much he did for you and understand he just wants you safe.

Misc stuff

He’s a clean freak and refuses to let you sleep on dirt or muck, he’ll thoroughly wash the moss through and treat it so it feels like you're walking on clouds without feeling any slime, having bugs, or being dirty. It's so well taken care of that they look fake.

He hates crabs. He hates those distasteful bottom feeders, their disgusting pinchers and empty eyes. He’s sure to keep them as far away as he can, if startled by one he slams it with his tail with enough force to turn it into little pieces and he’s still frightened by them despite the power difference.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me monster headcanons #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #yandere diavolo #yandere barbatos

[luimagines]

Do time or the other links smoke? Or drink? Or do some kind of drugs? I mean when your out heroing you're going to get alot of traum

Something they all at least somewhat have to try and take the edg off or do they have other ways of coping? I am sorry if this sounds like an ask,i was more along the lines trying to get your speculation on the matter

Masterlist

I see what you're saying and I do think that some of them would have had bad habits in the past but yeah-

They do need some time to take the edge off and refocus themselves in the present, but how do they do that in a healthy and safe way?

Let's talk about that.

I don't think I have all the necessary tags so go forth at your own discretion.

Time

Time would have definitely had a drinking problem that would have started in his Termina days.

He's never really felt the need to drink though- he only found that it would have kept him from going crazy.

But as he got out of there and talked more to Malon (and have his supply cut off- (just because he knew where to get it in Termina doesn't mean he knows where to get it in Hyrule, (nor would they give it to him, even if he did))), I like to think that he would have had to find other ways to calm himself down and think rationally through his thoughts and desires.

It happens by accident.

He was working at Lon Lon Ranch when he needed to go chop some wood and he found the repetitive and strenuous work, soothing.

He felt good. Accomplished even.

And a little disappointed when he was finished.

But he started doing that whenever he could and it became his main way to not only blow off some steam but to also calm himself down.

It helps with his anxiety and his need to help feel useful even when nothing is really happening that would require his assistance.

Twilight

Twilight finds that manual labor actually makes his anxiety worse.

He can't really find it within himself to get lost in it because he's already programmed for that to be a part of his day to day life anyway. So his brain can still go on and on even as he gets his chores done.

Twilight finds that a secluded spot with little distraction works best.

He's never really dabbled in other ways to deal with it nor has it come to his mind.

All he knew one say was that everything was too much and that he needed to be in a different area entirely.

No people, no noise.

He likes to hang out by small creeks or by the lake and fish if he really needs an excuse to do something.

Bonus points if he can rest with one of his favorite goats nearby, but that's few and far in between.

It's less meditation and more taking in the moment and letting time slip by for a change.

No to do lists, no action, no survival, no need to be on the run.

Just breath.

Warrior

Warrior would have smoked during the war but I don’t think he’d actually tolerate it all that well. I feel like he’d be more inclined to drink away his problems but with shortages left and right, and all efforts going into the war, there just wouldn’t be enough to go around.

So he’d smoke and hate it.

But it worked in a pinch.

Afterwards, whether through Mask’s and Wind’s influence or the end of the war, he’d want to find a way to quit.

It wasn’t easy but I feel like Warrior would attempt to quit cold turkey. Just drop the habit completely and what does he do when he feels the need arise again?

It’s actually little said than done, but he paints.

It’s less with ink and paint and more so, just moving his hands and a brush around.

If he happens to have a canvas it’s better but again, not easy to come around.

So what Warrior ends up doing most of the time, is taking a brush and some homemade ink from berries and brushing it over his scars. His favorite spot is the massive burn covering his left arm left behind as a gift from the Dragon Knight.

It feels tingly and electric, static follows the brush and the muscles clench with energy from the contact but while it’s uncomfortable for a while, it’s also not entirely unpleasant and it’s soothing to watch and feel. And it grounds Warrior in the moment until he no longer feels the urge.

When the urge is gone, he still does it when he feel anxious and concerned. Late at night is typical time for him to do this, where no one would see him or his scars and judge him for it.

Sky

Sky in the beginning would have slept more than he did before.

He was already inclined to fall asleep easily before all of his trauma, but afterwards he seemed to lose motivation to continue with the idea that things would go back to normal. There was still a lot of expectation placed on his shoulders and it was frankly not something he wanted to deal with.

So he sleeps.

Now this turns into more of a problem with being able to stay awake and to stay concentrated. It’s hard for him to pay attention to anything beyond him and that won’t do, considering me still has to finish his schooling.

What Sky does more often than not to keep him tethered to the present moment is work with his hands. He’s already had the tools for wood whittling but he was never allowed to use them in class and it ends being a bigger mess sometimes than he’s willing to deal with in general.

Sky also has some small pockets of clay that he fidgets with to keep his hands moving and he can keep it under his desk so that it’s not that distracting in class.

It helps him focus and when he thinks about what he’s been through and what he plans to do next, it keeps him from getting overwhelmed.

Wild

I think Wild would have just gone silent and unmoving when he’s having a bad day.

Kind of similar to how he gets when’s trapped in a memory but for longer and he doesn’t eat or sleep. It could last days at a time. He doesn’t even move unless he’s prompted or dragged to the spot.

The lights are on but no one’s home you know.

There’s not a lot he can do when it happens. Everyone just has to wait for it to pass and hope that it passes quickly.

But Wild gets better with time to know the signs when of one of those days is coming.

It’s not much, but Wild like to hop on the back of his horse and just take off.

Feel the rushing wind on his face and through his hair. He’s a full gallop for a while until the poor horse gets tired. At that point he just goes to the nearest stable and exchanges horses to do the whole thing over again.

Sometimes, when that’s not enough, he’ll go base jumping from as high as he can get even using Revali’s Gale to get higher and free fall. Wild is pretty good at catching himself with his paraglider at the last moment and he likes to see all of Hyrule when as he reaches the ground again.

It reminds him that he’s done a lot of good, that he’s capable of doing more good and that life isn’t over just one ended.

Four

Unsurprisingly, sometimes Four gets too lost in his own for his own good.

He’s got a lot to think about and very little way to get it out.

Four would actually throw himself into his work to try and distract himself from the memories, the anxiety, and the guilt of not being enough time and time again even if he saved the day in the end.

This doesn’t help.

He gets so lost into it, in his attempt to stop thinking all together that he completely goes into autopilot and over works himself. Not in the sense that he pulls a muscle and has to take it easy  or end up sore and tired and regrets it. No, no. What I mean is that he’ll keep working for days on end.

No sleep.

No food.

Little water.

No fresh air.

It ends up being a hard habit for him to break. Especially since he finds himself continuously trying to fall into a blank mindset even while he actually works to get commissions done.

So what Four has to do is find something else to do. Four more or less always has to have his hands moving, so it’s hard for him to put something down and not working on it.

He likes jigsaw puzzles, he likes to read, but he also likes to make stuff.

So in the end, when Four feel a little overwhelmed and feels himself slip into a self deprivational state, he’ll stop and goes inside his house to do a smaller project.

So he bakes, he knits, he does his puzzels. It’s enough for him to feel productive still but quick enough for him to stay present and make sure he’s still taking care of himself until the restlessness passes.

Wind

Wind doesn’t really have bad habits. He’s still young and processing his adventures. 

I’m sure there’s alcohol on the pirate ship because pirates. But I don’t think he’d like it as much as some people want to write him.

Like, sure, a cup or two ain’t bad but I just can’t see Wind having a drinking problem. At least not now as everything stands.

In a few years it’s might be something he would need to be on the look out for if he’s aware enough but he was quite grasped the full implications of his position and trauma yet.

Because he’s just a kid.

He won’t know how twisted what happened to him was until he gets older and can he the age outside of his own mindset.

Wind has nightmares though and they’re ties when he gets memories that he doesn’t want to deal with at the moment- or ever again.

In the moment he thinks of his home, his grandma and his sister instead.

He thinks of his friends, both old and new.

The chain help with distracting him and he’s not above using them for the distraction when he feels that he needs one.

Wind also stretches a lot. 

When he was with Warrior, he got into some of the drills they were teaching the soldiers and for some of the nimble ones, they had to start with stretches and he likes it.

So when it gets particularly bad, he throws himself through the motions and holds the poses for a bit longer than necessary.

So yoga. He does yoga.

And it centers him, it clears his head and he feels better after.

Legend

Legend screams.

Legend cries.

Legend will go on a rampage and destroy a whole forest if he’s having a particularly hard day.

Sometimes he’ll go find something big and scary just to fight it. 

Blacksmithing is more a hobby for him at this point because it’s not something he can actually see himself doing in the future. It’s just to pass the time and help the day’s go by a little faster.

Legend likes to draw and when he’s tired after throwing whatever tantrum has taken over him, he’d go to a quiet spot and draw whatever he sees.

Sometimes, when he’s paying more attention to himself and he can feel himself getting frustrated and anxious, he takes a few days off.

He leaves his house and his items and goes up a mountain to think with some food, a notebook and some pencils.

He takes up map making.

Legend doesn’t think he’s any good at it, but with al the places he’s been, he tries to make a map for them by memory incase anyone he knows or will meet decides to visit.

His most carefully crafted map is of Koholint for... reasons.

It’s takes him an age and a half and he’s still not done with it, trying to get as much of it onto the paper as he can remember before he grows old and loses them entirely within his memory.

It’s a calming project he finds. He doesn’t feel sad when he does this for Marin for the people and their memory. It keeps them alive in his heart and sometimes he draws something on the map that doesn’t quite fit into his memory about the island but something tells him to keep it because it was there. Because he was only a visitor to their home.

The locals would know.

He feels good keeping them alive in some way.

It’s what she they would have wanted. 

It’s what she they deserve.

She They always wanted to travel and it’s better to have a map to do so.

He takes up map making.

Hyrule

I don’t think Hyrule’s... Hyrule has a lot of these methods to go around. He wouldn’t have been exposed to drugs or alcohol simply because there’s too little people for him to interact with.

And if he was, I don’t think he’s use them as a coping mechanism simply because they would be too difficult obtain and gather to be sufficient.

I think that Hyrule would actually hang out with a Great Fairies by her pool when times got particularly rough.

There’s something about the place that resonates with him and feels calming, safe and relaxing to him.

As a bonus he’s always welcomed so he can pop in and stay for days at a time if he ever needed to.

He does not stay there for days.

But he appreciates the offer.

Hyrule doesn’t stay for more than few hours at a time because he doesn’t want to attract any monsters to his safe spots but even if the fairies don’t use any magic on him, he’s always rejuvenated afterwards and he feel like he can take on anything.

And given the world he comes from- it’s needed.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #I know this wasn't really a request either #and I did say they were clsoed #but this was already going to get long #and it's more headcanons again #so into the queue it goes #bad habits #tw alchoholism #tw anxiety #tw smoking #tw addiction #pinky replies #pinky answers

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt. 1

Summary: Rickard and Lyarra Stark’s twin daughters accompany their father to their first ever tourney. I’ve been writing this ever since I finished a Dance with Dragons because I need some sort of outlet for my Emotions.

Pairings: Arthur Dayne x reader (eventual), Stannis Baratheon x reader (eventual)

Disclaimer: some of the characters were never in certain places in canon and I’m aware of this, but also I adore drama and suspense so we’ll call it creative license. Also I aged everyone up by two years for Robert’s Rebellion because I cannot stand the whole sixteen-year-old-dies-in-childbirth thing, sorry! I have a whole long fic planned out but I want to see how this does first.

“Land ho!”

Y/n’s head jerked upward as the shout came from the crow’s nest. The chess game in front of her was forgotten in an instant, and she jumped up, rushing outside just behind her sister.

Both of them hastened over to the side of the ship, unheeding of their father’s cries as they caught hold of the rigging and scrambled up a ways so they could see the coastline of Shipbreaker Bay come into view.

Lyanna let out a small sound of appreciation, and Y/n’s mouth fell open at the sight of Storm’s End in the distance. The harbour was bustling with ships of all shapes and sizes, and she saw flags flapping in the wind that she’d only ever seen in books before. The main source of her awe, however, was the large fortress atop the cliffs overlooking the harbour. It was smaller than Winterfell, sure, but few castles were bigger, and the thick walls and singular tower made it look like something out of a fairytale. It was something out of a fairytale. Y/n had made her mother tell her the story of the Storm king and the ocean’s daughter at least five times before they had left, ignoring Lyanna’s rolling eyes as she listened. She’d also had her mother tell her again and again how big the library in the castle was, almost buzzing with anticipation.

“Lyanna and Y/n Stark!” Their father’s booming voice shocked both of them out of their awestruck contemplation of the coast.

“Get down here this instant!”

They did, and endured a gruff speach about acting like proper emassaries from the North whilst they guested in lord Steffon’s halls. They glanced at each other, and managed to look sufficiently humbled, because their father turned around to speak with the captain of their boat. He did not see the face Lyanna pulled at his back.

The boat had taken them all the way down the eastern coast of Westeros from Whiteharbour. Y/n decided she would miss it dearly, being woken up by the gulls in the morning, feeling the breeze on her face as she and Lyanna scurried up and down the lines, learning knots and sailing from the crew. The things she would miss most, however, were the stories. While Lyanna was in the captain’s cabin with their father, learning how to read a map or use his intruments, she would sit for hours in the crow’d nest, making the lookout tell her all the landmarks they passed. And at night, when she could not sleep, sometimes the crew would gather around the fire and tell stories to each other, even singing softly when they would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please, Ned!”

“Lya, I’ve told you, father said that the two of you have to stay here and work on your lessons, and then do needlework with lady Cassana and her ladies,” their brother answered.

Y/n was about to open her mouth to object, but Lyanna’s shrill protest came first.

“But we hunt with father all the time at home! I’m a better shot than you are!”

Ned’s face seemed to harden for a moment in a way that was quite unlike him.

“I won’t tell you again, Lya, and if you keep whinging I will call father over.”

“It’s all your fault!” Lyanna hissed at Y/n when Ned had left and they were walking dejectedly back to their lessons.

“My fault?”

“Yes! You are a terrible shot! He would have let me go if not for you.”

“Perhaps he would have let you go if you were not so horrible to be around- “

“Oh, believe me,” Lyanna said, folding her arms and striding off down the hallway, “I’m not the one who is horrible to be around.”

Y/n stopped in her tracks, wanting to shout back something that would hurt her sister even more, but none came to mind, and instead of following Lyanna down the hall, she sank down against the wall.

Second best again.

Lyanna had always been particularly good at finding the words that would hurt her the most. Her father said it came from being sisters, but Y/n thought, secretly, that perhaps it was just her sister.

Well, Y/n would not give her the satisfaction of trailing after her like a wounded dog, not this time.

Instead, she got to her feet and set off in the opposite direction, intending to find this incredible library, intending for at least some good to come out of this retched day. Storm’s End was much smaller than Winterfell, and the seaward side of the castle had thicker walls than she’d ever seen, to guard against the storms that blew in from Shipbreaker Bay.

But when it was not raining, there was so much sunshine!

Before long she was close to running down the curving halls of the castle and her anger had mostly faded in the face of her excitement. Lyanna would be so angry when she found out Y/n had spent the whole day in the library instead of doing her lessons or drinking tea.

At the end of a long corridor she turned a corner and ran straight into something solid that sent her sprawling to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis sat up from where he had fallen, trying to see what had knocked into him so hard.

It was one of the Stark girls.

They had all been introduced to one another two days ago when the Starks had arrived, along with Ned and Robert.

“Goodness!” Maester Cressen exclaimed as Stannis got up. The man held a hand out to the girl on the floor.

“Are you alright, lady Stark?”

He didn’t ask Stannis whether he was alright, the boy thought sourly.

The Stark girl took the Maester’s hand tentatively. On her right cheek, four thick red scars ran down from just below her eye to her jaw, narrowly missing the corner of her mouth.

“Yes,” she said, “Forgive me, my lord, I was not looking where I was going.”

Stannis nodded his forgiveness, but then caught the stare that Maester Cressen was giving him.

“That’s... quite alright,” he said. He saw the girl’s mouth twitch slightly.

She wasn’t that much younger than him, maybe seven or eight. Stannis had just turned nine.

“Well, my lady,” the Maester said, sighing slightly, “my name is Maester Cressen.”

“Y/n Stark,” she said, dropping into a quick curtsy.

Again, he was stared at by Maester Cressen, and he reluctantly said, “Stannis Baratheon,” with a nod at her.

This time she smiled fully, her eyes shone as she did.

“I was under the impression that the women would spend the day with my mother,” he said, before Maester Cressen could stare him into another conversation.

“I- “ she stopped, looking sheepish. “My sister Lyanna and I were trying to convince our brother to let us go on the hunt, but it didn’t work,” she said. A dark look passed over her face, but vanished almost as quickly.

“I was looking for the library...” she trailed off, looking at the Maester hopefully.

“Apparently it’s breathtaking.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” Maester Cressen said, making Stannis groan inwardly.

“Lord Stannis and I were just heading toward the library to finish his lessons for the day, if you would care to join us?”

Her face lit up, eyes shining.

“Oh thank you ever so much, Maester!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No doubt she had thought she would be given free range of the shelves.

Stannis could have warned her that Maester Cressen would never pass up an oppertunity for education. It was a strange quality in the man that he didn’t seem to realise when people were girls or boys, and Y/n Stark had no use for learning about battles of military strategy.

To her credit, however, she sat through the entire morning without complaining once, and only looked longingly at the shelves or windows a few times. She even answered some of Maester Cressen’s questions better than he could, especially on the lineages of different families.

Every now and again she would laugh at a jest Maester Cressen would try and make, and her smile reminded him of his mother in the way her eyes lit up with mirth.

“Well, lord Stannis, that seems to be all I have for you today,” the Maester said.

“Thank you, Maester,” he said dutifully.

“Thank you for letting me join you,” Y/n said, smiling gratefully at both of them.

“Of course,” Maester Cressen smiled back. “Stannis, perhaps you could escort the lady back to her rooms?”

The look he gave Stannis said that there actually was no perhaps about it. He so wished the man would stop assuming he was like Robert. He knew his duties.

He nodded, and held out an arm to Y/n. She took it, that little smile playing over her lips again. Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, the left perfectly, the right slightly contorted because of the scars.

The second the were out of the door, however, she let go of his arm, which he was grateful for. He disliked touching people.

“This way,” he said, turning and taking her toward the guest rooms.

They walked in silence for a while.

“Thank you, my lord,” she eventually said.

He grunted.

“Really,” she insisted, “I don’t know what I would have done if I had to sot and do needlework all day.”

“You sat and learned history all day,” he said.

“At least it was something new,” she said, smiling at him.

He frowned.

“Needlework is fine,” she explained, seeming to know he was at a loss. “For a while. History is fine, for a while. Riding and hawking and running are all fine, until they become too monotonous,” she added when she caught him looking at her sideways.

He frowned again. He’d never thought of it that way. There was just what he was supposed to be doing and what he wasn’t supposed to be doing. They spoke little back to the Stark quarters, yet when he bowed to her father, returned by now from the hunt, and she offered him a sheepish smile which only slightly disguised her very obvious trepidation at him leaving, he found himself smiling back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n had never been good at speaking to people.

Her mind wanders too much, her mother would say sadly, how will she ever find a husband if she cannot speak to suitors, Rickard?

With the beauty she begot from her mother, my darling, her father would say and then both of her parents would smile slightly, knowing full well that Y/n looked like neither of them and that Lyanna was the prettier twin.

The daughters of some of the lords at their father’s disposal had never wasted time pointing it out, and calling her Scarface, and worse names, and though it hurt Y/n enough that she would sometimes shed tears over it, she had never worried overly much about finding a husband. She had always assumed her father would arrange a match eventually, and if he didn’t... well it wasn’t like it would be the worst thing in the world.

Lyanna always yelled at the girls who made fun of her anyway. According to her sister, no one was allowed to make fun of Y/n. She usually said this right before an argument started and Lyanna started calling her by the same names.

She preferred books to having to speak, because she’d already had three thoughts by the time most people had said a sentence, and by then she couldn’t remember what it was she had wanted to say when the conversation began. In books people never had scars, and everyone was kind and valiant, and no one ever forgot what they wanted to say. Some people even understood each other without having to speak.

So, she mainly kept to herself, her books, and her horse and falcon. Exploring the lands and woods around Winterfell, sometimes with Lyanna or Bran, whenever he was home, but mostly alone.

Stannis, however... they hadn’t spoken much on the way back to her rooms. She would comment on something about the Keep, which fascinated her enough that she could get past her natural shyness, and he would look at her sideways until she clarified. Then he would offer a short explanation, and they would be back to companionable silence.

She’d never had a companionable silence with anyone but her siblings, and now with this strange, lanky, boy with the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen.

#stannis baratheon #asoiaf imagine #asoiaf fic #stannis baratheon fic #stannis baratheon x reader #asoiaf #got fic #game of thrones #game of thrones fic

[princecharmingwinks]

i cant believe you said you dont write for fandoms!! these are ending up AMAZING! have another fail date for you to make better: we went four-wheel driving over the dunes out bush, we took my car but he drove because he's done the route before. we were the second car in the convoy and because my car is a little smaller than the others it couldnt make it up the last dune! it nearly made it over before sliding back into the sand and ended up half buried! (1/2)

(2/2) the rest of the group had to drag and push us out with planks and chains etc while we were stuck inside because no way in hell i was opening the door to let the sand in! so three wheels in the sand, waiting on our rescue, irl it was a bit awkward but im hoping you'll rewrite a better ending <3

Awww concussed dragon, you are sooo sweet! Thank you! Your unique failed dates are great to work with. Alrighty, let's get into this one! So the pack got big in this one and while most don't have lines, I liked the idea of everyone being there (or almost for anyone I missed haha). I left some of the couple combos up to interpretation so feel free to ship at your leisure.

---

The pack, after much pestering from a certain human/spark, were finally going on their camping trip. The alpha had finally conceded when Stiles had shot him a pout and hopeful eyes. Derek had reluctantly agreed and ignored the snickering of his betas in the corner of the room.

On the morning of the trip, everyone was pairing up into groups of drivers and passengers so no one drove alone and there were less cars.

Derek and Stiles were the last members out of the rebuilt Hale House. Derek had been locking up and Stiles was finishing off some wards to ensure there were no unwanted visitors while they were away. He was still learning to harness his spark but small wards of protection were easy enough. Defensive magic was easier, offensive was another story.

Stiles threw his bag into the back of the jeep and glanced around.

"So, who's joining Roscoe and me?"

Erica snickered, "Derek."

"What?" Stiles and Derek snapped in unison. Well at least Stiles had a punctuation mark, Derek's not so much.

"I'm with Danny, Lydia and Jacks." Kira spoke up. "Scott, Malia, and Isaac are with Allison."

"I'm obviously with my boy." Erica jumped onto Boyd's back, who was used to his girlfriend's antics and easily caught her. "And Theo is meeting us there after picking up Liam from work. Everyone's paired up so that just leaves you two."

Stiles felt his heart flutter but managed to keep his voice even as he spoke, "Alright Alpha My Alpha, let's get going."

Derek didn't say a word as he slid into the passenger seat of the jeep. Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine. Stiles was definitely going through a quarter life crisis at the realisation most of the pack were in couples. How did he not realise that? When had it become a prerequisite to start dating a pack member? And now it was just Stiles and the alpha. The alpha he had been in love with for years. Great...

"What's wrong?"

Stiles was pulled out of his internal panic by said alpha's soothing voice. Derek had softened over the years, showing care and concern for each member of the pack. He now bought scent-free nail polish for Erica (so the acid smell didn't upset all the were's noses), stocked Isaac's favourite gummybears and even hugged Kira willingly at her university graduation. Derek Hale was a softie.

"I'm fine, nothing wrong here, no sir." Stiles prattled. Even he heard the blatant lies without supernatural healing. He glanced to his side and was greeted by raised eyebrows.

"Ok, so I may have just realised how paired up everyone in the pack really is."

"Except us."

"Yeah," Stiles sighed. "Except us. Do you ever think about that? Like, why you haven't dated anyone since..." He trailed off. Derek didn't have the best track record for his love interests but he hadn't even been on a date for more than 3 years.

Derek looked out the window at the scenary, they were driving into the sand dune part of the journey, and for a moment Stiles thought he wasn't going to answer.

"I've been waiting."

Stiles blinked. Huh?

"For someone so smart, you're really clueless sometimes." Derek huffed, glancing back at Stiles.

"What have you been waiting for?" Stiles dared to ask. They had paused to allow Allison's four-wheel-drive to roll up the last sand dune, waiting for their turn. Roscoe would be the last time to make the climb.

"I thought it was my imagination at first but then you kept coming around and..."

It was Roscoe's turn now and Stiles slowly prepared for the final climb of the dune. He tried to keep focused on the task at hand, allowing Derek to speak his thoughts. You never rushed the alpha when he was being vulnerable.

"I know you kind of like me?" Derek voiced it as a question but all Stiles heard was sirens in his brain. Derek knew? Stiles' foot slid off the peddle and they immediately started rolling backwards, fast.

"Shit! Shit, shit shit." Stiles acted quickly but it wasn't enough. Roscoe descended the sand dune and sank, refusing to move. Sand on either side of them blocked the bottom of their doors. They were officially stuck.

Stiles rested his head on the steering wheel and slowed his breathing. There were multiple crises going on but most had solutions.

The others would work out they hadn't made the climb soon enough or Theo and Liam would find them on their way through. So either way, Roscoe being stuck wasn't a massive deal. The real dilemma was Stiles' outed feelings for Derek.

The same Derek that was eyeing Stiles with concern as he called Kira to request some assist. Stiles heard him hang up before the sound of a door handle being jiggled. He snapped his head up.

"Whoa there sourwolf, there is to be no sand storm in this car, thankyouverymuch." He reached out and tugged the alpha's hand away from the door.

"I figured me getting out and pushing was the preferred option to sitting here with you in a state of panic at my assumption."

Stiles pulled his hand back. "What?"

"Look, we can just forget I ever said anything, alright? I get I'm not the most desirable crush to have. It's probably just familiarity and your sense of loyalty that's fueled your scent around me anyway. Don't worry about it."

Stiles shook his head, "Oh no you don't. You opened that can of worms and I'm no coward." The spark met Derek's gaze. Had he been planning on ignoring his feelings for the alpha? Sure. But was he going to run away from a moment like this? Nope. Stiles Stilinski was a lot of things but after running with wolves and other supernaturals for most of his life, he knew when he needed to tackle something head on.

"Now, before you go down your rabbit hole of I'm-not-good-enough crazy talk, I've got something to say."

Derek nodded like the soft alpha he was and turned to face Stiles more fully.

"You, Derek Alexander Hale, are amazing. A little on the martyr side but that's because you are so protective of your pack. I'd be crazy to not fall in love with you. That's right, love not like. I've been in love with you for years but how was a kid like me going to catch the alpha's eye? I didn't want to ruin our friendship. This," He gestured between them. "This is important to me. I don't want to ruin it."

Derek released a sigh of relief? Stiles couldn't read his eyebrows which was disappointing when he was the most expert at interpreting the alpha's facial expressions.

Then Derek was darting forward and claiming Stiles' lips in a searing kiss. Stiles went with it, almost unbelieving that any of this was happening.

Derek eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against Stiles'.

"Worth the wait." The alpha whispered, grinning, bunny teeth all on display.

"Two way street here. You could've said something too. How long have you liked me?"

Derek blushed and it was only because they were so close that Stiles saw the pink of his cheeks and ears.

"I've always liked you, even if I didn't always show it. But love? I think I've loved you since you woke me up on an elevator floor by punching me. You could have left without me but you didn't."

Stiles pouted, "Since then?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"

Stiles pushed Derek back and clumsily crawled across the gear stick to straddle the alpha's lap.

"We could have been having the best sex of my life for years, Derek! Years! We've got a lot of making up to do." Stiles dove in to kiss Derek this time. The alpha happily drew Stiles in closer, curling his arms around the spark's slim waist.

A knock on the window, interrupted their make-out session. Boyd's face appeared with judging eyebrows to rival Derek's.

"Heard you needed a hand." Boyd spoke loudly with a smirk as Derek's hand moved away from Stiles' ass to rest safely on his back.

"What's Erica doing?" Stiles asked, leaning over Derek to squint at the blonde chatting wildly on the phone. Derek focused his hearing.

"Turns out I'm not the only one who was waiting." Derek grinned, "And everyone apparently owes Lydia money."

They did eventually get Roscoe out of the sand dune thanks to the advantages of going camping with multiple supernatural creatures. By the time everyone was settled in the camp and Erica had informed Theo and Liam on the events of the day, Lydia was a very rich woman.

Stiles couldn't complain though. Not when the alpha was snuggled between his legs as Stiles sat on the log and Derek roasted them marshmallows. Apparently no one trusted Stiles near an open flame following the incident with that vampire clan. Stiles combed his fingers through Derek's hair and looked around at the pack. This camping trip was the best idea ever.

--

Ok so I must confess I do not camp like...ever and have no idea how four-wheel-driving works so please forgive any major errors in that department. I tweaked things a bit from your prompt sorry. I just couldn't imagine Stiles letting anyone else drive Roscoe. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for popping in!

#sterek #teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #princecharminganswers #princecharmingwrites

[cuddlesslut]

Beginnings

Chapter Ten of Home

Atsumu x fem reader, Suna x fem reader, Hinata x fem reader

Summary: a glance back

Warnings: some NSFW elements in this chapter

AN / so it looks like the chapters are going to be shorter than before but that’s just because I can only keep my energy up for so long. I really do enjoy writing but it’s easier for me to write smaller chapters rather than like before. Also I know Suna hasn’t been as present I promise we will be getting more of him soon! UNEDITED SORRY

Part Nine: Closure

You collapsed onto your bed immediately after getting home from lunch with Atsumu and you haven’t moved for at least half an hour. Emotionally you were exhausted. Seeing him and thinking about him still caused a pang in your chest but that reunion was needed. You needed to start moving past him, that much you decided. He was your first love and he wounded you in a way that may never fully heal but now there’s two amazing guys trying to help you move forward.

You let a long grown rubbing your hands over your face. This were complicated enough when you were still coming to terms with your felling with Hinata. God he must be wondering what the hell is going with you leaving with his teammate. Maybe Bokuto and Sakusa have already started filling in the blanks for him. You could see those idiots snickering to themselves when you had encountered the group earlier. A soft smile graced your lips thinking of those two. You missed those two, and their constant bickering. You had become close to the the team over the years. Having hosted several victory parties at your and Atsumu’s shared home.

A small tear slipped down your cheek running down your face as you lay staring at the ceiling. Just another thing you had lost because of the setter. You released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Shaking that thought from your mind it did no good to dwell on those things now. Thinking back to your favorite orange haired man you felt slightly nervous about having to explain everything to him. Sho is nowhere near as dumb as most think ,yes he tends to get a little over excited missing some details but he’s really quite clever, so he’s probably figured out most things. It’s not like he wasn’t aware of your past you had spilled that too him a lot quicker than you had planned. You can remember that moment clearly. It was the moment your feelings for Hinata had first started becoming deeper than you had intended, even though you denied them for a lot longer.

You stretched sitting up the soft cotton sheets falling your lap as you yawned searching searching the room for the familiar sight of Shoyo’s bright orange hair. You rose your brow at the lack of his presence. The small apartment was silent. Which made you draw the conclusion that he was not here, he’s to rambunctious to be home and not make any noise not that you minded. You had a clue where he could probably be and your suspicions were confirmed as you heard him enter through the front door. It surprised you the first morning it had happened but by now you are used to Hinata going for morning runs.

He stood in the door smile spreading across his face upon seeing you awake in this bed wearing only one of his old game shirts from Brazil. Your hair still a mess and the purple marks he left last night peaking out from the collar of the crew neck. It was certainly an amazing sight for him to come back to. He leaned against the door frame lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe some sweat from his face. Now it was your turn to appreciate the view. His abs and delicious v coming into sight. Grazing your eyes down to his workout shorts that fit nice and snug against his defined thighs. God his thighs were a blessing in and of themselves. After your quick glance you look back up to the eyes of the man in front of you.

“You know I’ll never understand how you can have the energy to go running in the morning after the nights we have,” you chuckle.

A wide grin sneaks his way to his face “ sorry I’m not the one who can barely walk in the morning,” he winks.

Your jaw drops at his cheeky comment. “ oh yeah we’ll have to change that,” you state smug unsure where all of this confidence came from. Although you weren’t expecting his response.

His eyebrow quirked at your insinuation, before smirking “ alright that can be arranged sometime soon!” He chuckled enthusiastically.

Your eyes widened the scenario playing in your mind quickly.

Hinata loved the shocked but curious expression painting your features. The next thing you new Sho had bolted from his spot jumping into the bed knocking you onto your back as he hovered over you. His hot breath tickled your neck his lips grazing your pulse before giving a nip. One hand had sneaked under the shirt you wore grasping onto your hip while the other kneaded your breast. Your breath grew shaky. He lowered his head to the valley between your breast before looking up to you. Peering at you through his orange waves that dangled in his face.

“You know I still have plenty of energy to take care of you,” he teased his voice dropping an octave. “ so baby tell where do you want me.”

“I want you,” you bite your lip looking at the sinful man in front of you. Your hand grips his chin pulling him up to you face to face, your eyes drop to his lips before returning to his darkened eyes. “In the shower, now get your sweaty ass off of me!” You push his Lunky body of off you before standing.

He groans looking over at you “tease!” He yells.

You turn back sticking your tongue out at him, “ go shower loser im going to make some coffee and breakfast,” you yelled over your shoulder as you headed to the kitchen. Hinata enjoyed the view of you walking away before sighing in defeat, he was really grimy from his run, plus he could use a cold shower right now.

———

You moved around his small kitchen with an air of familiarity. It was about a little over a month since your agreement of friends with benefits began. After fixing a small breakfast and some coffee Shoyo finally emerged fully dressed and cleaned. Taking a sip from his mug and surveying the food you had made. He smiled.

“Damn Y/N this looks amazing!” He smile his signature smile. “You know it surprise me how a girl like you is single!” He doesn’t sense the mistake he had made immediately. You had never talked about why you didn’t want to date before. Not feeling your tragic history with love was appropriate pillow talk. You froze at this statement. Unwanted thoughts and memories swirling in your mind. All of your insecurities starting to surface. Hinata noticed the shift in the air immediately. It was hard not to as your hands grabbed at the counter for some stability. Your eyes trained on the surface, voice caught in your throat. How do you respond to that.

If there’s one thing about Hinata that is certain it’s that’s he’s incredibly caring. He moved around the corner of the counter standing next to your side placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N are you okay! Was it something I said? I’m real sorry ya know!” You turn to him tears brimming in your eyes. He doesn’t speak again or ask you to just pulling you into him as you bury your face into his chest as you sob. He places a reassuring hand your back rubbing soothing circles onto your back hoping to help calm you.

It feels nice and it helps a lot more than you expected. Although guilt starts to build as you realize your crying in front of a man you only know through sex. God this is embarrassing. Before you can try to retreat. Sho navigates you to his sofa. After relaxing into the cushions you look up at him. While he’s trying to look calm and reassuring you can sense the worry in him.

He takes this moment to speak. “ you know you can talk to me Y/N I’ll listen to you about whatever you have going on, no judgment.” You sigh looking up at him. Looking up into his eyes you don’t know why you aren’t more hesitant but it honestly feels like you can tell him anything. And so you do. You tell him almost everything. Leaving out names and some of the more gory details. You tell him all about your heartache. And he sits and listens to you intently. Although he didn’t show it he was furious with how you had been treated. But he didn’t want to interrupt your venting. It felt really nice to actually talk to someone about everything and how you feel and Sho was amazingly supportive throughout the whole ordeal.

Wiping the mostly dried tears from your cheeks you gave Hinata a soft smile. “ thank you Shoyo I’m sorry I dropped all of this on you, it probably not what you signed up for.” You gave a nervous chuckle.

He returned your smile, looking at you earnestly, he gripped your shoulder gently making you look up at him. “Hey none of that non sense! You can always talk to me no matter what!” He smiled.

Your eyes shinned up at him with a forgotten emotion. “Really?” You questioned

His smile grew even bigger “Yeah! Absolutely! What are friends for!” He beamed!

Friends.... why did that word give you a pang in your chest.

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Sea Salt: Two

Summary: As a noblewoman from a small (and nefarious) kingdom in the Stepstones and quiet Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she is accustomed to being looked through rather than looked at. The only exceptions to this rule are Prince Oberyn and Lord Willas Tyrell but they are often far from the dark shadows of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. She finds comfort in her quiet friendship with the princess and the delight of the darling royal children. But as Prince Rhaegar places a wreath of blue roses in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark and rebellion starts to rage, she knows she will have to live up to her reputation. But luckily, she seems to have two allies lurking in the shadows.

Pairing(s): Willas Tyrell/F!Reader/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 24.6k (T_T)

Rating for this chapter: NC-17 for a bit of violence and mention of blood and warfare, my over-use of italics and using time jumps, and my love for ASOIAF lore. Ellaria is the only one in this relationship with a functioning braincell and reader is always happy to learn new things (ie: they have sex. they like it) If you have any questions about the lore or who is who or need clarifications, please just ask! I’m playing fast and loose with a bit of it, and a few ages, too. But I’m always happy to answer any questions you have! Thank you to everyone who was so kind about the first chapter and gave me ideas for this one. I love you. 

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites) 

Chapter Two: Salt of the Sweat

Read Chapter One Here!

Or read this chapter on Ao3!

The quill was running dry as she finished the missive. A knock came at the door and her uncle Hammond walked in. “Are you ready?”

Y/N nodded and sealed the letter, knowing the ink would smear in her haste. She handed it off to a handmaiden to be sent as soon as they were aboard the small, unmarked ship, before bending down and gathering both Aegon and Jon into her arms with a now-practiced ease. The two babies each pushed out a hand to wrap their little fingers around the silver hanging beneath her collar, enjoying the warmth the delicate metal exuded. The sun charm glinted in the growing moonlight.

Hammond nodded, a bit sad, and kissed her forehead as he stepped to her side. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Prince Oberyn- The babes are growing strong. We depart Skilliga tonight. Thank you for the gold and for the necklace. I have sent Arthur and Dawn home with Ashara. Please be gentle with her, she is my last true friend aside from you and Willas. I do not know when I shall be able to write to you again, but I will try.

Ashara had arrived on the sharp rock shores of Skilliga only a few weeks after Arthur had come, holding a bag of gold from House Martell and a small box with a delicate silver necklace tucked inside—a long chain of braided silver and two charms hung at the bottom; a shark and a sun. It was beautiful, truly. Far more beautiful than anything Y/N had ever owned. Skilliga, for all its charms, did not favor pretty things. “Elia had the finest smith in Sunspear craft it for you—it was supposed to be your nameday present.” Her smile was sad. “She swore me to secrecy, you know. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

And the babies were fond of it, too. Their little hands always searched for it when she held them and she would dangle it above their cribs when they would fuss at night, letting the moonlight catch the polished silver. They seemed to like it.

My Prince- Rhaenys has taken to reading to the boys at night—I think she has memorized the story you sent. It hardly leaves her side. It was the book your mother read to you and Elia when you were younger, was it not? Filled with sparkling waters and talking turtles. She grows stronger and brighter every day. I know you would be proud of her. I know Elia would be, too. I miss her more than words can say. I try to tell Aegon and Elia all I know of her, and I tell Jon what I can of Lyanna, but I feel I am a poor replacement for their true mothers. I know you and Prince Doran are biding your time and I have taken your advice to not stay in one place for too long. But I do hope I am able to see you again soon.

She spent her lonely nights reading about the history she was not taught in Skilliga—of the flight of the Targaryens to Dragonstone before the Doom, of Garin the Great of the Rhoynar, of magic she did not know could be real. All of it. The world seemed so much smaller and larger now, somehow at the same time.

Her book snapped shut at the sound of one of the boys starting to cry in their bassinet. She rose from her cushioned chair and stepped toward their room, ready to help soothe him but was unsurprised when she saw Rhaenys leaning over Aegon’s crib, humming a little tune as she rubbed at her brother’s tummy, a move Elia was fond of when her children were fussy—Rhaenys must have seen Elia do it before…well, before. Aegon’s cries quickly quieted and Y/N smiled at Rhaenys who looked a little bashful as she turned and spotted her in the doorway.

“Would you like some honeyfingers, sunshine?”

Lord Willas- Lys was strange. But it kept Aegon safe—his silver hair did not look out of place here. But Rhaenys did. A man at the market spotted her—tried to steal her from my arms and screamed of how the Usurper would grant him gold and titles if he brought her back to Westeros. I lost my favorite dagger in his neck. We set sail in just a few moments.

Pentos had been next. And a handful of years passed in the shadows of a Pentoshi tower. The children still kept close to her, hiding behind her legs in the market when someone walked too close or looked too long. But they were growing each day.

Balerion, who was now very large and very mean to anyone he did not like, was the one constant in their lives, it seemed. He had grown even meaner since they had started to travel through Essos, purring contentedly only if in the laps of Rhaenys or her brothers—he would only grace Y/N with his presence when Rhaenys was busy with her studies and he knew not to disturb her and Jon and Aegon were involved with the tutors she managed to hire. He would curl up in her lap and she would have to remain very still if she did not want his razor sharp nails to puncture her breeches (again) in retaliation for being woken from his nap before he was fully rested.

But his fur was very soft and he made the little ones smile—she could take a few moments to breathe, nowhere to go, no one to meet, if it kept the cat happy. But today he was batting at the slip of parchment she was trying to read. It was from a Pentoshi Magistrate named Illyrio or something—Balerion had shredded the bottom—who was hoping to meet with her (and the children he had heard rumors of for ‘quite some time’) and promised more riches and more ‘protection.’ He had ulterior motives, she was sure, but she needed all the help she could find.

Balerion gave up on the shredded parchment and leapt from Y/N’s lap before stretching for a moment beside her feet. His big, fluffy head turned this way and that, as if looking for something. And then, as if on cue, Rhaenys darted out of the manse’s solar and scooped the cat up into her arms and placed a kiss on the top of his head. It earned her a rumbling purr in return.

“How would you feel about meeting someone for supper tonight, sunshine?”

My Prince- Congratulations on your newest daughter! An even eight—you must be so proud. The way you write of Ellaria is fit for songs. I know your daughters will flourish with your guiding hand. I will tell Rhaenys and Aegon of their new cousin, they are always happy to hear of their family. They miss you. I miss you.

The dinner had been just as dull and filled with lies and platitudes as any other meal they had shared with noblemen and dignitaries over the last handful of years in Essos. Illyrio was very self-assured and tried to tell Y/N that he wanted to see a Targaryen on the throne of Westeros again. “It is better for business, you see. This whole Rebellion has greatly affected my profits.”

“And that is all you care for? Profits?”

Illyrio’s smile was slimy but Y/N curled her fingers into the loose silk of her skirts to avoid reaching for the knife balanced on the edge of her plate. It would not do for her to threaten a(nother) host. “I would not be opposed to being raised to the Master of Coin when the rightful heir takes his place on the throne. It was nasty business what happened to that Dornish Princess.”

“Her name was Elia,” Y/N ground out.

“But I do suppose she served her purpose, bringing these beautiful children into the world.”

Y/N let go of her skirts and reached up to touch the knife. If he said another word, it was going into his eye and she would just steal everything she could hold. Perhaps that was a better plan than listening to him talk anyway. She glanced to her left to see Rhaenys looking down at her lap, little hands folded over her skirt. Hearing anything about her mother usually made her grow quiet and sad. Y/N, not even thinking of what it meant, moved her hand from the knife to cover Rhaenys’ hands. Providing comfort instead of violence.

(Mayhaps that could still come later.)

Rhaenys looked up at her and gave her a small smile, followed quickly by three squeezes to her fingers, a silent signal they had developed over the years to let the other know they were well.

“I swear it, your grace,” Illyrio said, staring at Aegon, another slimy smile on his face. “I will see you on your throne. You shall be king.”

“He is a child,” Y/N bit out. “Do not push him for something he cannot be sure he wants.” Aegon was barely speaking in full sentences that made sense, how could he know if he wanted some stupid crown? Just last night, Rhaenys had pulled her featherbed into her brothers’ rooms to sleep near them because they would not calm down until she was near them. He was a child. Born to royalty, yes, but a child still.

Illyrio laughed, a grating sound that had Rhaenys tightening her grip on her hand. “Of course, but you must teach him his responsibility. In secret, I know the highborn of Westeros are toasting to your survival, stitching dragons into their tapestries, and will come to your aid when you call for banners.”

That would have been a nice thought if anyone knew he was alive. Oberyn and Doran both had told her that most spoke of how they ‘knew’ Rhaenys and Aegon had been killed when the Lannisters sacked King’s Landing—and some others ‘knew’ that Lady Lyanna and her unborn babe had both died at the Tower of Joy before the end of the Rebellion. “I’ve been more preoccupied with keeping him breathing.”

“I don’t wan’ be king.”

Everyone turned to look at Aegon who seemed near tears.

“What, little one?” Y/N asked as she pulled him into her lap. His hand instantly grabbed at the necklace and he pressed his face into her shoulder.

“No king.” He sniffled and shook his head. “Rhaenee is king.”

The magistrate guffawed and Y/N once again looked at the knife. She could do it. “You will be king.” His smile did not falter. “But I do have gifts for you all.” Illyrio, unaware of how close he had come to death, waved a hand and a servant quickly came and placed a large chest on the table, rattling the cutlery and plates.

Jon startled in his little raised chair at her side but Rhaenys was immediately intrigued, even as she reached out to calm Jon with a gentle hand to his back. The lid opened and…

It was a…rock. A pretty rock, but a rock. It was a smoke color with ripples of orange and yellow. Illyrio waved a hand again, indicating she was allowed to grasp it, and she did as Aegon continued to press against her chest. It was heavier than she thought it would be and a little cold to the touch. Her eyes drifted to the small stack of gold also in the chest.

“What am I to do with this rock?” Y/N held the thing aloft with an arched eyebrow, holding back the sneer she felt growing. “Should I crack it open? Will it give me the ability to breathe life into my dearest friend’s lungs again? Will I be able to kill the usurper on the Iron Throne from across the Narrow Sea?”

“It is a dragon egg, my lady,” Illyrio said, enunciating each syllable as if that would help her understand. “Extremely valuable.”

Y/N turned and handed Rhaenys the egg, watching her little fingers curl around it immediately. She reached out and scooped out the gold and stood. The three children quickly did the same, little Aegon still in her arms and Rhaenys grabbing Jon from his chair. “I thank you for your time and meal, Magistrate. I shall think on your offer.”

Illyrio hurried to stand as well. “Yes, as their regent, I do value your opinion-”

But they were already turned away and walking out the door.

Lord Willas- I wish I could show you the gardens of Volantis. I am sure they pale in comparison to Highgarden, but they are lovely even if the people and customs are intolerable. The dried petals you hid in the folds of your last missive were a welcome surprise—a merchant woman insisted I have them turned into a perfume and it is a delightful scent. I can almost imagine the green grass and pink roses you have told me about so many times. I hope I will be able to see them soon. The air here is so heavy, it gets hard to breathe. Aegon and Jon do enjoy the elephants that the noblemen insist we ride everywhere. My sunshine likes to steer the large animal when the streets are clear, too. But please, tell me more of your home. Has your father filled the aviary with more hawks? Are the pups growing strong?

Y/N pulled the sword out of the back of the last man, listening to him gurgle on his own blood before he dropped to the worn wooden planks of the dock. Two more bodies were half submerged in the water a few paces back.

Volantis had turned on them, too. But the gold she had taken from the bodies of the would-be kidnappers (or assassins, she had not stopped to ask) would give them a little more cushion when they arrived in Lorath.

“Y/N?” Rhaenys called out from her hiding spot on the small ship docked just behind her. Her head appeared over the railing of the boat as Y/N wiped the blood off her sword onto her breeches before placing it back in its scabbard. “Did you get the pomegranates?”

Y/N turned and shuffled back a few steps to pick up the large bag she had dropped in the scuffle and held it up with a smile, ignoring how she could feel blood drying on her face. “I did, sunshine!”

Little Shark- Ellaria has been insistent that I introduce you as soon as we are able. I believe you would make dangerous friends. Lorath may not be the most exciting of places to hide, but I know you and the little ones will be safe. My family owes you a great debt. Doran has had to stop me from loading up my family and sailing to wherever you have landed. I have dreamt of you, little shark. I remember how you would smile and laugh. I remember how the scent of the sea seemed to be pressed into your skin. All of this has haunted me. You have haunted me.

Rhaenys was fond of just holding the silly little dragon egg and seemed to find a strange comfort by simply being near it, even as the years continued to trickle by and the stone egg was unchanged. “It feels warm, does it not?” She asked, holding out the egg toward Y/N.

But it did not feel warm to Y/N as she brushed her fingers against the strange orange ripples. It felt like cold rock. “Maybe I do not have the magic touch,” she said with a wink.

“Rhaenys!” They both turned at the shout of her name. Aegon and Jon, now seven and eight, rushed toward them. Little wooden swords clutched in their hands and their trousers covered in dirt. She had left them, only momentarily, to whack at each other in their garden.

Rhaenys was nearly bowled over by her brothers as they leapt at her and she tried to catch them, always protective. “What troubles you?” She asked as she managed to right them, batting away their swords as they absentmindedly still held them pointed up, ready to spar, while still holding onto her precious dragon egg.

“There is a strange man at the door.”

Ice went down Y/N’s spine and she hurried to push the children toward the back of the room, hiding them away in the back of the wardrobe. She handed Rhaenys a blade of her own, barely larger than the girl’s hand. “Remember what I taught you, sunshine?”

“Eyes, throat, thigh,” Rhaenys said, voice shaking just the slightest bit.

“Yes. And do not come out until I come for you.” She kissed each of them on the forehead and shut the door quietly, hoping against hope that it would not be the last time she would see them. But she steeled herself and patted at her breeches, feeling the four hidden blades there, and then the other four hidden in her tunic. She would fight. She would fight until her last breath.

Slowly but with her head held high, Y/N made her way toward the door and braced for the worst—a haggard Westerosi knight in search of gold and glory. A Braavosi bravo who wanted adventure across the Narrow Sea. A Sorrowful Man. A Faceless Man.

She peeked outside the window nearest the door and frowned. The man standing outside looked familiar and the longer she stared at him, the more she realized she knew him. A knight who had stuck to the Mad King’s side every time she had been forced to go to the Red Keep.

A Targaryen loyalist.

Maybe.

Slowly, she opened the door and stared at him. Willem Darry looked haggard—near death. He smelt like it, too.

“I have been searching for you,” he said, voice rough on her ears.

“What do you want, Darry?”

“I know that you have the little dragons.”

“You are mistaken.” Her hand started to inch toward the knife she had at her back. She could kill him. It could be quick and most people would not bat an eye at a bit of spilled blood. She needed to keep the children safe.

“I’m not. Queen Rhaella told me of a missive Elia wrote to her brother before the Sack of King’s Landing.”

Her hand curled around the hilt. “I know of no such letter.”

“I do not care of what you do or do not know. I am here because I need you. They need you.” He turned and called out for something—she did not care to listen. But the gate at the edge of her property opened and she felt her heart clench. Behind him stood little Viserys Targaryen and his sister, Daenerys.

Her grasp loosened. “Oh.”

My lady Y/N, Braavos sounds wondrous. I must admit that learning you have found two more dragons was a welcome surprise. It seems you collect them now. Prince Oberyn has been adamant that I visit the palace of Sunspear but I am afraid I will only embarrass myself further. The Usurper has started having a brood of his own. He grows more complacent by the day. Mayhaps I will be able to come to you someday soon. Your letters have become a most cherished treasure to me—even if my little sister Margaery does try to read them over my shoulder at every opportunity. I wish I could tell her about you, about how brave and beautiful you are. But I have promised Prince Oberyn to keep you a secret. And my secret you shall be.

Ser Willem Darry quickly moved Y/N and the children into his house. It was larger, equipped with better possible hiding places, and seemed to blend into the background of their particular road, hard to pick it out from its neighbors, aside from the red door. Darry made the servants aware that these four new faces were to be obeyed just as he was. He was a bear of a man, but gentle.

Rhaenys and Daenerys were thick as thieves, the older of the two quickly schooling the young girl in all things a good, highborn lady should know, and several more things a lady should not. More often than not, Y/N would find them practicing with bits of sharpened wood, stabbing the air with clumsy grips which Willem tried to rectify to the girls’ delights. Viserys had caught them once or twice and had snapped the bits of wood in two and dragged Daenerys away by the end of her silver braid until Y/N stepped in and made him practice his calligraphy until the sun set as punishment for making the girls cry. He was a terrible child, always holding his nose too high in the air and telling Aegon and Jon that he was king because his mother had crowned him at Dragonstone before she died.

“She only did that because she thought Aegon was dead or would be soon,” Rhaenys said, fire in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be king anyway!” Aegon would always shout from the next room over.

It was best to keep them separated.

My Prince- I am tired. And I must apologize for the tone of this letter. But Ser Willem is not long for this world, his stomach grows more troublesome for him by the day, and Viserys has been burning letters he will snatch from my hands, not allowing me to know their contents. Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon are still flourishing in Braavos, however. They have asked that I send you this small wooden snake—and you know I am unable to tell them no when they ask so sweetly. Rhaenys has insisted that she read the books you have sent to her brothers and little Daenerys. I had to keep Viserys from stealing the book from her hands more than once. He is a terrible young man. If Aegon were not so attached to him, I might not be so protective of him. But I would not do anything which would bring a frown to Aegon’s face. He has also taken to dyeing his hair blue, to better blend with the Braavosi crowd, letting any passersby think he is just a Tyroshi boy. He is so smart, my prince. He and Rhaenys—and Jon, too, when he is not sulking—are growing to be true heirs to their throne. I hope you will be able to see them soon, just as I hope to meet your daughters and Ellaria. Lord Willas has told me that you are quite the doting father. I miss you.

Aegon and Jon grew stronger and more adventurous with each passing moon while Viserys did try to seem like his nephews’ company and would tell them stories of court life in Westeros, of how Rhaegar was a valiant knight, and how King Aerys was loved by the people.

Y/N had been quick to tell them the truth as she tucked them into bed each night but that did not stop the boys from wanting the older boy’s attention when Ser Willem was deemed ‘un-fun’ when he tired so quickly.

That sentiment quickly soured in their little mouths when Y/N had to explain that Willem had joined their mothers in the Seven Heavens and would not be…around anymore.

“Just say it, he’s dead,” Viserys commanded with an upturned lip.

“You might be crass, Viserys, but that does not mean I need be, too.”

“Why not? Your pathetic little kingdom would not stand under the might of the Seven Kingdoms. That is why you’ve run-”

“Will you braid my hair?” Daenerys’ soft voice cut the tension and Y/N happily turned to look at the youngest dragon.

“Of course, Dany. Go grab your brush.”

“I have a ribbon you can use,” Rhaenys said with a small smile. She reached out a hand toward the younger girl who happily took it.

As Daenerys scurried away, Viserys shot Y/N another glare before marching off. Jon had been watching the entire exchange with his usual pout and Aegon was looking between Y/N and the door where Viserys had disappeared as he fiddled with the pommel of his practice sword.

“I do not understand his dislike of you,” Aegon said.

“He doesn’t like that he is second best,” Jon said. “Or third.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head. “Have you two finished your Valyrian lines?”

Aegon and Jon looked at each other and then darted from the room without a look back, as Y/N knew they would. Daenerys came back in with a smile, her brush, and the bit of ribbon Rhaenys had leant her in her hands. Y/N sat behind Daenerys and carefully brushed her hair. Daenerys seemed to preen under the touch, much like Rhaenys did when she was her age, happy to feel friendly fingers taking care with her hair. She plaited it and tied it off with the purple ribbon, knowing it would probably be a mess by the time dinner was served.

“You will not leave us. Not like Ser Willem, right?” The little princess asked as she turned to look up at her.

Y/N pressed a smile to her face and bit back the words she felt bubbling at the back of her throat. How could she tell a heartbroken little girl that she could not decide when she left this world? She traced a finger down Daenerys’ cheek before gently cupping her chin in her hand. “I promise I will be at your side for as long as I am able, princess.”

Daenerys paused, violet eyes searching her face for answers before nodding. “What are we having for supper?”

My Prince- Thank you for the wonderful gifts for Rhaenys’ ten-and-four nameday. I cannot believe she is almost a woman grown. I cannot believe it has been so long since I have seen you, so long since my flight from Dragonstone. How fares little Dorea? Has she recovered from her sickness? And what of Sarella? Is she still masquerading in the Citadel? She truly is your daughter. Please give Ellaria my love and I will give Aegon, Jon, and Rhaenys yours.

It had been quite a few years since she had heard Rhaenys wake herself up in a fit. Y/N quietly padded over to her room and let herself in, seeing the princess sit in a mess of blankets, a hand on her chest, obviously trying to slow her racing heart. Y/N stepped inside as Rhaenys spotted her sat on the edge of the bed and smiled as Rhaenys quickly swirled around on the blankets to place her head on Y/N’s lap. Her fingers reached up and tangled with her necklace, thumb brushing against the sun pendant as she had done hundreds of times before.

“What troubles you, sunshine? Let me help you.” She curled her hands over Rhaenys’ shoulders and side, cradling her just a bit—like she did when she was a small child. “The nightmares have come back.” She did not look up at her, only keeping her focus on the metal sun.

“Tell me what you see.”

Rhaenys sighed. “You’ll think me foolish.”

“Never.”

“There are ice dragons—bigger than castles, bigger than mountains. They come from the cold and have riders made of snow on their backs and swords made of ice, too.” She shivered and her hand dropped from Y/N’s necklace and she curled further into Y/N’s grasp. “The dead walk with them.”

“The dead?” Y/N asked, her face scrunching in confusion.

“They follow them, mindlessly. Like they have no control.”

Y/N pulled Rhaenys a little closer, feeling something cold trace its finger down her spine. “You’ve been dreaming of the cold since you were a child.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before finally looking up at her. “I don’t think they’re dreams.”

And that gave Y/N pause. She had read about Daenys the Dreamer who saved her family from the Doom. She had read how the priests and priestesses of the Mother Rhoyne were gifted with visions of things not yet come to pass. “You have been seeing this since you were a babe, sunshine. Tell me. Tell me what you think it is.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before sighing. “I’ve read the book of legends Uncle Oberyn has sent. Of the Rhoynar, of my mother’s people. It said that some were gifted with something called the Sight. The ability to see things as they happen from across the world, or things not yet come to pass.”

“Like the Dragon Dreams of the Valyrians.”

Rhaenys nodded and finally dropped her hold on the necklace.

“And you think that this cold, these beings, are coming?”

“I know it sounds like nonsense-”

“Almost every country in this world has legends of a night which lasted generations, of cold which reached across the seas. And history repeats itself, my sunshine. It is possible that you have always had the Sight. Do not discount yourself.”

Rhaenys looked up at her, dark eyes shining in the moonlight. “Then I am seeing what is to come?”

Y/N pulled her a little closer. “It is possible. But magic has been gone from the world a long time.”

“But if the cold can come again, magic can as well.”

Y/N nodded. “And I shall be here with you if it does.”

“My father,” Rhaenys grumbled the title, “was fond of prophecy, was he not? The Targaryens always said ‘the Dragon has three heads’ or something like that.”

“Why can there not be four?” She sighed. “Or five. Would not more be better? Surely there is still strength in numbers. And we shall need all the strength we can muster.”

Rhaenys opened her mouth to say something when the door burst open. On instinct, Y/N grabbed the knife she’d hidden in her sleeve and hurled it at the intruder. It missed Jon’s head by pure luck. He only glanced at the blade once before turning back to them. “Something’s happened.”

Y/N stood from the bed with Rhaenys at her side and they ran through the manse, following Jon’s steps but their haste did not change the outcome. Viserys and Daenerys were gone.

Lady Y/N- Thank you for the information you have discovered about from the Iron Bank. It is most welcome and has helped us continue to truly know how poorly and precariously the Usurper is sitting on his stolen throne. If you discover anything else, I would be grateful. Please give the young ones my love. -Prince Doran, Lord of Sunspear

“Again,” Y/N said, standing on the edge of the stone platform.

Aegon and Jon both groaned but Rhaenys held up her sword, ready for the next drill to be called out.

They had been training since the sun came up. While the breeze off the water kept them cool, sweat still poured down their necks to wet their tunics. It was a familiar sight—Y/N could remember her own time in Skilliga’s training rooms when she was younger than them.

It felt like ages ago.

She called out the next set of drills and watched as they worked through the steps, each with a bit of room for improvement, but not entirely terrible. As they worked through another set, and then another, Y/N reached for her own wooden sword and leapt up onto the platform as they caught their breath. Perhaps it was time for only one more exercise.

“If you each manage to land a blow, we can call it for the day, hm? I’ll even have honeywine brought in.”

The siblings looked at each other, a silent conversation, before they all turned like a three-headed beast and raised their swords and charged.

When it was all finished—Y/N had only two more sore spots on her arms but she still had honeywine and let them drink the entire bottle themselves. They had earned it. The manse grew quiet after their small celebration and Y/N sat in her room and listened to the sea beat against the city’s walls as she ran a cool, damp cloth across her face, trying to wash the day’s dirt and sweat away. It was strange, to know that she did not need to make sure that the three did not require a story to help them sleep. They hadn’t in several years. But she still found herself wanting to rise from her cushioned seat to check on them as the air grew still and soft.

A knock at her opened door had her turning and Rhaenys was walking into her room with her lips pulled tight. “Dany is alive.”

“How do you know this?” Y/N asked, rising from her seat. For almost a year, she had heard nothing of the two lost dragons. She knew someone had seen them, she had always known when someone was keeping a secret. But they never told. Again and again, she had thought she would learn of their deaths from a sneering nobleman or one of her missives from Westeros. But she had heard nothing.

“I’ve seen it. I’ve dreamt it.”

My Y/N, Thank you for the lace and silk. You are a generous soul; I had been searching for the right materials for my Obella’s nameday dress and your package arrived the next day. Oberyn speaks of you often, of little Aegon and Rhaenys, and Jon too. I hope to meet you soon, to finally know your face as I know your name. To know you.

It was two years later that she finally heard of where the two silver-headed dragons had gone.

The Dothraki Sea.

“Why would they go there?” Rhaenys asked with a frown.

“Viserys probably hatched some plan. Brokered a deal he did not fully understand with a man smarter than him.”

“A horse is smarter than him,” Aegon muttered. Rhaenys slapped his arm but Jon roared with laughter.

“Well, we must go to them. To Daenerys, at least,” Rhaenys said as she stood from her seat.

And that was how Y/N found herself selling most of their earthly possessions and setting out away from Braavos with an honest guide whom she trusted and paid well. (Balerion hated the wheelhouse but preferred it to being sat on Rhaenys’ lap on her horse. He curled himself around the petrified dragon egg and mostly slept through the day.)

From Braavos to Norvos and then down the banks of the Noyne to where it met the Rhoyne, the days trickled by.

For only a few hours, she let the three bask in the beauty of the ruins of Ny Sar—of the city Nymeria, their famed ancestor, had once called home—before they continued on. They could not afford to linger.

But she grew more and more fatigued with each passing day.

“What ails you?” Rhaenys asked as they stopped for the night.

“I never sleep well this far from the sea, sunshine.” She pressed a smile to her face and tugged at the silver lock of hair at Rhaenys’ nape. “I will rest when we find Daenerys and I can hear the waves crash against the shore again.”

But she asked again a few nights later as they settled again to make their small camp, quiet and hidden. They were too far south for the Pirates of Dagger Lake and too far north for the Volantene galleys to spot them, but it was still best to be cautious. Even in Skilliga, Y/N knew of the dangers of the Sorrows. And Y/N gave her answer. “We are too close to the Sorrows for me to sleep soundly, sunshine.”

They both settled on the high hill at the edge of the grasslands where it met the sparse forest, and watched the cursed fog slowly roll over the unseen waters she could only barely hear. It was strangely quiet here, in this desolate part of the world.

“This is where the Rhoynar made their last stand—before Nymeria and her ten thousand ships set sail and landed in Dorne.”

“Yes. Centuries ago, Chroyane, this was a proud and fertile land. Filled with celebrations and water magic. A place of laughter and prosperity.”

Rhaenys sighed as she looked out at the curling grey mist and barren trees. “But not now.”

“Before the Doom, when the Valyrians still ruled Essos, they tried to conquer the Rhoynar. Wars raged and, for a handful of years, the Rhoynar were able to hold the dragons off. But that did not last. In a last attempt to make the dragons rue the day they set their purple eyes on this part of the Rhoyne, Garin the Great called down a curse on the Valyrians after being captured.”

“And the waters rose and the fog rolled in, sweeping them beneath and holding them there beneath the waves for all the ages to come. The fog turned their skin to stone, matching their stone hearts and took their minds, too.” Rhaenys nodded. “I remembered that part. Mother would tell me stories of the Rhoynar when father was too busy wish his prophecies to sing me to sleep.” The young girl at her side heaved a heavy sigh as she watched the mist curl across the water. “This is my mother’s bloodline. Snuffed out by my father’s.”

Y/N huffed and knocked her shoulder against Rhaenys’. “You are not your parents. You are not some bit of rock that maesters scribble about in their chambers. You, my sunshine, are both Martell and Targaryen. You are the Sun and a Dragon. The fact that you are here means that the impossible is possible. You are water magic and fire in skin. You are the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. You are your mother’s daughter—her sunshine, my sunshine.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she nodded and stood, sweeping her hands against her trousers to brush the dead grass from the fabric. Y/N expected her to say that she was retiring again for the night. But Rhaenys always kept Y/N on her toes.

She was suddenly sprinting down the hill toward the water and the cursed fog.

“Rhaenys?! What are you doing?”

Rhaenys would succumb to the curse, to greyscale—what was she doing?! Y/N sprinted down after her, pumping her legs faster and faster to try to catch her—but she was again too late. And she screamed as Aegon darted in after his sister.

But the fog did not engulf Rhaenys’ form. It did not choke the air from her young lungs. Instead, it curled around her ankles like Balerion had done so many times as a kitten. It was welcoming her. Welcoming her home.

For a moment, Y/N could only watch as the unnatural fog almost seemed to sparkle and shine as Rhaenys reached out her hands toward it. She knew Aegon was yelling, saying something to Rhaenys. But she couldn’t hear it. And she doubted Rhaenys could either as the fog closed around the pair.

She could only wait, with a panicked Jon at her side and a strangely calm Balerion in her arms.

“All will be well,” Y/N heard herself saying.

“Are you certain?” Jon asked in return.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

And when the sun rose in the morning, for the first time in hundreds of years, it shone on Chroyane. The fog lifted. She could see the broken yet still beautiful arches and marble columns of towering stone. Grand palaces jutting from the sparkling waters. Overgrown trees, once foreboding and covered in grey moss, had shining green leaves as large as her arm with delicate pink flowers blossoming. And it was beautiful—even with the bodies of the stone men piled, almost neatly, on the banks of the river. Finally at rest.

Y/N turned her head at the sound of splashing and saw one of the famed large turtles the Rhoyne was known for, sliding through the water, content.

In the center of the river, the water slowly moving by, stood Rhaenys and Aegon.

Jon sprinted to his siblings’ side. “What happened? What did you see?”

Rhaenys only smiled.

**

The siblings had insisted that they take a handful of days to explore the newly ‘recovered’ city. And Y/N could not tell them no—both out of familial duty and personal curiosity. While Aegon and Rhaenys traipsed through the ruins as if they had been there thousands of times before, showing Jon everything they could and telling him of the Rhoynish history, Y/N explored on her own.

The ancient scars of the last battle against the Valyrians were still seen, now dulled by the constant presence of the river water but she could see bits of armor beneath ivy and trees, sun-bleached bone where the water was shallow.

But the river was clear and cool and Y/N let it soak her breeches as she jumped from the small skiff she had found so she could look through the ruins of what appeared to be an ornate bathhouse. Mud and damp greenery sloshed underneath her boots as she walked through, trying to envision what this place looked like before the war and curse. But even now, it was beautiful.

Something clanged against her boot and she looked down to see an edge of a sword. Y/N frowned as she pulled the sword from the muck and wiped it clean on her already-disgusting trousers. The pommel had a head of lion and was inlaid with fine rubies and gold. The blade was long—too long to be wielded by one hand as she had trained to do—but it was far too light to be common steel. Y/N held up the blade to let it reflect the sun and saw the swirling patterns as her heart leapt into her throat.

This was Valyrian steel.

She spent the next handful of hours combing through the mounds of debris on the edges of the river, making sure to listen for where her three charges were and to know that they were safe, and collecting any bits of Valyrian steel—armor or weapons—she could find. And if she had to shake a few bones loose from it? That did not matter. This was not supposed to be the resting place of the dragonriders. This was not their land. So, she supposed that the Valyrians’ former belongings were free game.

They would catch a fine price anyway.

Balerion was perched on a moss-covered rock, watching another large turtle and probably mulling over if the creature was friend, foe, or food.

But Rhaenys eventually pulled her brothers from the ruins and said it was time to move on—“we will come back. I’m sure of it.” And no one argued with her on that, or asked how she knew. They all knew to simply trust her.

The wetlands of the Rhoyne gave way to the grass of the Dothraki Sea and their guide promised that he knew the fastest way to Vaes Dothrak, the one true Dothraki settlement where Daenerys had last been seen. And his promises were kept, thankfully. Y/N was sure if anything else had caught her off guard, she would have fallen off her horse and never risen again. She was so far from the sea. She could hear no river or ocean. No water.

The heat was nearly unbearable. She had nearly thrown herself from the saddle when the seventy-sixth bead of sweat trailed its way down her neck to pool in the back of her tunic. But Rhaenys remained ever positive.

“We are nearly there, I can feel it.”

Even when they learned that Daenerys and what was left of her husband’s khalasar had left Vaes Dothrak and started toward Lhazar, she still voiced her positive outlook.

And it paid off. As Y/N knew it would—eventually.

As the sun set on the fourth day after leaving Vaes Dothrak, they spotted the remnants of a khalasar surrounding what looked like a giant funeral pyre as a red comet bled across the dark night sky. Y/N slowed her horse to a stop and dismounted as she squinted toward the group, trying to find Daenerys. The silver hair quickly stood out and she felt her heart lift, unweighted for the first time since they had left the Chroyane. But it suddenly tumbled down to her stomach as she watched Daenerys light the fire and then edged closer to the heat.

“Daenerys? Dany!”

But the girl did not hear her. Did not turn. Did not blink as she stepped into the flames.

Y/N ran toward the fire but was held back by a strange man—Y/N barely registered that he was not Dothraki—who muttered something about not needing more death tonight.

Sudden movement at her side had Y/N turning and she could not stomach the cry that ripped its way from her throat.

“Rhaenys? What are you—Rhaenys!” She screamed and screamed and leapt toward her only to be too late—again—to stop the carnage. That was her curse.

Rhaenys stepped into the funeral pyre, the egg she had treasured for years held out in front of her like an offering.

Aegon and Jon were screaming for her, for Dany, to come out—come out of the flames and we can go home! We can go home!

But the pair of girls did not. They did not emerge from the flames. Around the large funeral pyre, the remnants of the Dothraki khalasar moved to their knees, watching at the fire burned higher and hotter. And all Y/N could do was watch.

She had failed. She had failed and she didn’t know why. Why did the girls walk into the fire, so sure of their fates? Why did they welcome it with open arms? Why? Y/N sank to her knees and wept. She cried for the first time since Arthur had died at her feet, wept even as the heat from the pyre drenched her in sweat. She had failed.

By the time the sun rose and smoke dissipated, she was certain she would be staring at the bodies of her two girls and once again facing immeasurable loss and now having to handle her boys’ own anger and sadness.

But then she felt her heart leap into her throat.

Surrounded by ash and soot, were Daenerys and Rhaenys. Unharmed. Unburnt. Alive.

And four baby dragons.

“Oh.”

The remaining onlookers yelled out something in their language, hands raised toward Rhaenys and Daenerys.

Blood of their blood.

Y/N, Aegon, and Jon stepped over the piles of ash and still burning embers and toward the two women, naked, and covered in soot—but smiling. Y/N pulled off her overtunic and wrapped it around Rhaenys’ shoulders as Aegon draped his cloak around Daenerys.

“I saw you come again.” Daenerys reached out and grasped at Rhaenys’ hands and the young women cried. “I saw you.”

“I saw you, too,” Rhaenys whispered before shaking her hands free of Daenerys’ grip only to wrap her arms around her aunt in a tight embrace. “How could he hurt you so? You did not deserve to be treated like that.”

Y/N watched Daenerys’ brows furrow over Rhaenys’ shoulder. “What did you see?”

But the answer would have to wait as Aegon and Jon, tired of waiting, all but threw themselves at the pair, and berated them for their actions but thanked them both for surviving.

“I don’t know what we would do without you,” Aegon murmured.

Y/N sighed as she watched them, watched the small group cry and laugh and smile. Aegon did not know how true that statement was—and she hoped he would never know what the world would be like without his sister and aunt.

Rhaenys stepped away from her brother from a moment and held out a soot-covered hand toward her, urging her forward. And Y/N quickly took it, not minding the strange heat. The yellow and gold dragon hatchling on Rhaenys’ shoulder chirped as Y/N stepped closer. Its little neck craned as she kissed Rhaenys’ forehead, trying to see what Y/N was doing to their mother.

“Never do that again, my sunshine.”

**

There had been a bit of an argument between Daenerys and her guard—Jorah Mormont, Y/N had learned what his name was—and Rhaenys and her brothers as to where they would go next. They could not stay in the Dothraki Sea. The other khalasars were still a threat.

Jorah suggested Asshai-by-the-shadow.

Their guide suggested traveling back to Norvos—and when that was turned down, he took his payment and left. “You will die out here,” was all he said. Charming.

But Daenerys, watching the red comet still bleed across the crystal-blue sky had a different destination in mind. “What is that way?” She asked, finger pointing toward where the comet was flying.

“Qarth, khaleesi. The Queen of cities.”

Daenerys smiled at the sound of it. “We shall go to Qarth.” She turned and looked at Rhaenys who nodded, both of them unperturbed by the dragons using their limbs like a crib. Aegon and Jon were both looking at the pair of young women with awe and almost-smug knowing on their faces. Like they had predicted this very sight. And mayhaps they did.

Magic had come back into the world. With water and fog and fire and dragons.

It had come back.

**

My dear Willas- I am not sure if Qarth is to my taste. I do not like how these merchants ‘princes’ and warlocks stare at my charges and their dragons. I do not like how they lathe attention and treasures on the children…young adults, I suppose. I know that these people, man, woman, whomever, they only mean to get their hands on the dragons. And Balerion truly poses more of a threat than the dragons do—and the cat is getting old, he is still something to behold, but his paws move slower now. The hatchlings are defenseless little things even if they are starting to learn how to breathe fire. But I suppose the comforts of this famed city are better than the alternative of getting lost in the Red Waste. But still…I could hear the whispers and feel the people of Qarth all around us. Even our host, Xaro Xhoan Daxos, who had been the first to welcome us into the walled city and has given us an entire wing to call home in his immense estate—I cannot trust him. There is a Shadowbinder here who seems to appear at all hours of the night and day, speaking in whispers and vague prophecy. Truthfully, if she spoke plainly I might actually like her. But enough of that! What news do you have from Westeros? The new set of hounds—are they still growing strong?

For now, in this strange city, they were comfortable. She could hear the four laugh and see them smile. Daenerys told them of her time at Viserys’ side, told them of how her brother had told her that Y/N and Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon no longer wanted the pair at their side. She told them of how they had become wards of Illyrio Mopatis who had promised to help them retake the Seven Kingdoms—a familiar promise. He had brokered a deal with Khal Drogo, all but selling Daenerys to the khal in exchange for the large khalasar who was supposed to help Viserys reclaim the Iron Throne. It churned her stomach, it hurt her heart. “You know that you are family,” Y/N had said. “You are always welcome, always loved.” And that gave rise to the question: did any of them actually want the Iron Throne?

And the answer, unsurprisingly, was complicated.

Aegon and Jon wanted to stop running. Daenerys wanted a place to call home, truly. And Rhaenys, her sunshine, revealed her steel core. Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she stood and set her shoulders back. “Westeros will be mine. It will be mine as it should have been my father’s. As it should have belonged to my mother. The usurper and the lions stole it from her and I will wash them from this earth. I want it. The Seven Kingdoms belong to me—and I will have them.”

Y/N nodded. “You will, sunshine. I promise you that. You are the eldest. By Dornish right and custom, it belongs to you.” Y/N reached out and curled her finger around the silver strand at her ear, and she was suddenly so aware that Rhaenys was growing up. She looked so much like Elia. Where had the time gone? Her hand dropped back to her side. “You will be queen.”

“Y/N!”

She turned at sound of her name and saw Rhaenys walking toward her, draped in a silken Qartheen dress, and her little yellow dragon in her arms. She had named her Vēzos—it meant Sun in High Valyrian. She knew what Rhaenys meant when she had named her dragon. Elia was the Sun of Dorne. Rhaenys had been her sunshine. And now Rhaenys had a sun of her own. Beautiful and terrible and all hers. Y/N could not be more proud. “You are up early, my sunshine. Your brothers and aunt are still resting like the dead.” Last night a grand reception had been held by their host, filling his gardens with all the elite of the city. The Pureborn, the Thirteen, Warlocks—all of them, had descended on the lush grounds and had their fill of fine wood and drink while whispering about the ‘uncivilized’ Dothraki and stealing glances at the dragons while trying to make conversation with the four guests of honor.

It had been exhausting. Most of the party had been spent with Ser Jorah, trying to keep the Dothraki from pilfering anything worth value or Balerion from destorying the guests' fine dresses. Truthfully, Y/N wouldn’t’ve cared but Daenerys said it would not be kind to their host. Oh well.

“They drank much more than me,” Rhaenys said with a smile. Y/N patted the cushioned seat next to her but Rhaenys shook her head. “I have something to show you.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow but stood and followed Rhaenys out of Xaro’s manse, grabbing one of her swords on the way out and sliding it into the belt at her waist. The city was still sleeping and strangely quiet—quiet enough that Y/N could hear the ocean. The port of Qarth was one of the great ports of the known world and Y/N had grown up hearing of the treasure her parents had once plundered from the Jade Gates—it had been the trip they had taken just after they were married. Strangely romantic. The port was a little busier than the quiet of the city and Y/N stepped closer to Rhaenys as they neared the unfamiliar crowd. But, Rhaenys paid no one any mind until she spotted a man with a plumed hat who bowed when she stepped toward him.

“Right on time, Princess! Are you ready?”

Y/N had barely any time to ask what was going on before Rhaenys took her by the hand and ushered her onto the Swan Ship and it pulled away from the port. “Are you kidnapping me, sunshine?” She asked with a laugh.

“Only for a few hours.”

The ship made quick work of sailing through the Jade Gates and toward the East of Essos. And while the sun grew higher in the sky, Rhaenys steadfastly evaded any questions Y/N posed about their destination and she only grew more confused when the ship slowly stopped, rocking in time with the quiet waves—no land in sight.

And Rhaenys’ smile only widened. “Welcome to the Jade Sea.”

Y/N had to laugh and little Vēzos chirped at the noise. “Oh, sunshine. You never fail to surprise me.”

“My ladies!” The captain called out from behind the helm. “We only have a few moments before the Qartheen galleys stop us for taxes—I recommend you make the most of it.”

And that was how Y/N found herself diving off the side of the ship into the cool waters, uncaring that she had left her only weapon on the deck of the boat. Rhaenys was next to her, the folds of her dress floating around her like a sparkling sea creature. And little Vēzos, still unable to fly just yet, had taken to the water too, strangely enough. She flitted around the pair, yellow wings keeping her afloat.

This was paradise.

**

Oberyn- I cannot believe little Dorea has celebrated another nameday. It feels like yesterday you have told me of her coming into this world. Did she like the little jade sun we sent? Aegon had it commissioned at the market here in Qarth. The deal between the Pureborn and our little band of Dothraki and displaced regents is nearly solidified. We will have nearly twenty galleys with the small mountain of Valyrian steel we had reclaimed from the Rhoyne. (I, of course, have hidden several bits of armor and the lion-headed sword, and a few other weapons I had found, outside the city. Just in case. I am saving a spearhead I have found for you. I do hope you like it.) But it does seem like the deal is taking longer than I had ever anticipated. Or perhaps I should have anticipated it—the Pureborn, the warlocks, no one wants Valyrian steel. Not when dragons have come again. For now, everyone is safe. Thriving. I know you weren’t particularly keen on any of the names chosen for the hatchlings but I am still mostly unable to tell them no when they ask so sweetly. Drogon does seem to be the largest still, followed by Vēzos, then Aegon’s Viserion, and Jon’s little Rhaegal is still…little. Mayhaps that is a cosmic joke. But you should see them when they are all together. There is something magical there, powerful. The sun shines brightly on all of them. I am so proud. Please give Ellaria my love.

On the end of the fourth moon of their time in the city, the woman in the lacquered mask, the Shadowbinder Quaithe who still did not speak plainly no matter how much they insisted, appeared again in their rooms.

“You have not left the city, dragonriders.”

Y/N drew her sword but the masked woman did not flinch.

“What do you want?” Aegon asked.

“I have told you. You did not listen. Soon, you will not be permitted to leave the city. You all must learn the truth. And you must-”

“Pass beneath the Shadow,” Jon finished, obviously having heard the request before. “There is nothing for us in Asshai. Truth or otherwise.”

“You will learn.” The woman paused. “Do not trust the whisper.” And then she vanished, as if conjured by shadows herself and the door to their chambers burst open and the small khalasar filled in, shouting something in their language Y/N was still learning—but she caught “dragons” and “gone.” And that was all she needed. And her four charges all let out screams of anguish, as if they had lost limbs with the news. Perhaps that is what it felt like.

They all poured out of their temporary home and into the garden, past the dead bodies of a handful of Daenerys’ handmaidens, to see Pyat Pree and Xaro waiting for them. Y/N would not be able to recall anything they said, only the gist.

The other warlocks had stolen the dragons, seeking power. Xaro and Pyat Pree would lead the four (Aegon, Jon, Rhaenys, and Daenerys) to the House of the Undying, the warlocks’ seat of power in Qarth, where they were holding the hatchlings. In exchange, the two wanted Daenerys and her khalasar to help them establish a ‘new order’ in Qarth. They wanted to be kings.

In short, Daenerys agreed. She wanted nothing more than the hatchlings back and her niece and nephews happy again. But there were, of course, conditions. Only the four could go.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered.

But the four wanted to go, feeling the need—no matter how unsafe—to be near the hatchling that had chosen them.

“At least take a knife,” she said, pressing one of the (many) daggers she had into each of their hands when Xaro and Pyat had turned their backs. And that was all she could do. They would not be argued with. Y/N could only wish that she had been left in better company than Ser Jorah Mormont who seemed to be already in love with Daenerys. She did not like it. But she knew she could not always fight every battle for them, even if she wished she could, even if she wished she could shoulder the burden she knew they felt on their too-young shoulders. Their heartbreak, their anger, it was hers, too. And she would do anything she could to help make them smile again. And now? It seemed that meant waiting.

As the sun rose in the sky and then set and the moon soon followed, Y/N had not moved from the seat she had taken on the steps leading inside. Jorah had spoken to her, about his life in Westeros but she did not particularly care. He seemed to have received a lenient sentence for his crimes. But he had been proven loyal to Daenerys while Viserys had traded her to Drogo. An ally was an ally. Sending him away when they had so few this side of the Narrow Sea would be unwise.

Smoke rising on the horizon made her finally move from her seat.

But then the gate opened again and Rhaenys, Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys came rushing back, each with their hatchling carefully held in their grasps.

“We must go! Now!” Daenerys said—she quickly said it again in Dothraki and the assembled khalasar splintered, quickly picking up anything worth value as they moved.

“Khaleesi? What happened?”

Daenerys did not answer—but Jon did. “It was a trap. We’ve killed them. We must leave.”

“Where are we going?” Y/N had to ask, following them back inside to gather her things and to help pilfer.

“We will figure it out later! We must go!”

With a sword in one hand and a golden candelabra in the other, Y/N felt a chill slide down her spine and she turned to see Quaithe again. The woman simply stared at her, unmoving for a heartbeat or two, and then she slithered from the shadows. “You are their shadow, my lady. The sharp shadow. A shark with dark teeth.”

“That is not helpful!” Y/N hissed in return.

“You will learn. Just as they have—they listened. They did not trust the whisper they heard.”

“Y/N! We must go!”

She turned at the sound of the outburst to see Aegon, arms full of sacks filled with thieved treasures and Viserion on his shoulder. When she turned back to Quaithe, she was gone. Again. Y/N pushed out a sigh and turned, dashing out of the manse and not looking back. They only stopped for a moment for Y/N to dig up her buried treasure.

“You could not help yourself, could you?”

“Now is not the time, Jon.”

When they reached the port, she could already hear the screams coming from the city. Whatever had transpired at the House of the Undying was clearly more than anyone could have anticipated. Some of the Valyrian steel they had meant to sell to the Pureborn was handed over to a captain of a large ship—large enough for them and the small khalasar—and fast enough, too. Quickly, she bought a bit of ink and parchment from a vendor who seemed nonplussed at all the commotion.

She needed help.

She needed Oberyn. She needed Willas.

I do not know where we are going after Qarth, I only know that both Rhaenys and Daenerys seem to be answering a call I cannot hear. Aegon and Jon follow where they lead. Toward destiny or ruin or both, I do not know. But I do know that I cannot do this without you. I cannot guide them without you. I need you. Please.

She wrote a few lines more on each of them, asking them to bring who they wanted, pleading with Oberyn to bring Ellaria, asking Willas to continue to write to her if he could not or would not come. All of it. For the first time in over a decade, she prayed to any of the deities she could remember as she signed her name. She shoved the pair of missives into a familiar captain’s hands along with a small sack of gold and told him where to have them sent as their small group boarded the boat. All she could do was hope.

**

Astapor would not have been her first choice.

It would not have been her fifteenth choice. But Jorah had convinced Daenerys that they needed an army, a true army, not the small khalasar that they currently had. The famed Unsullied of Astapor could provide that…supposedly.

But there was a certain set to her jaw, and an unspoken look between Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aegon, and Jon that had Y/N thinking they all had ulterior motives. She had seen that same look between Ellia and Oberyn years ago, a silent conversation only they would understand. While it made her sad, it also made her hopeful. Hopeful for a future where they could all love and care for each other without fear.

Fear. A terrible thing.

Another reason why Astapor would have been avoided if she had been asked. But Ser Jorah had Daenerys’ ear and had filled her mind of thoughts of Unsullied. An army made entirely of men who would follow orders without question, who were thought to not feel pain or fear.

But, Y/N found that his words had soured the more he spoke of their ‘training’ and they stepped into the red-bricked city. Daenerys grew furious when they were given a ‘taste’ of the Unsullied and the good master, a terribly mustachioed man named Kraznys, had bragged about how they did not feed them or give them water for a day and a night and they would stand guard until they dropped. ‘Such is their obedience,’ his translator, a delicately beautiful young woman from Naath named Missandei said. All of it made Y/N’s skin crawl.

“Khaleesi. The Unsullied are chosen as boys and trained-”

“I have heard and seen all I care for about their training!” Daenerys hissed before she cracked a slap across Jorah’s cheek, tears glistening in her eyes as they retired back to the manse they had ‘graciously’ been given for the night.

Y/N glanced back at Aegon and Jon who suddenly found the manse’s ceiling very interesting but Rhaenys kept her eyes firmly trained on her aunt.

Jorah clutched at his reddened cheek. “If I have displeased my queen-”

“You have displeased me greatly, Ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.” Daenerys’ bottom lip trembled as if she wanted to say more but she kept quiet and turned to Y/N. “We should not have come here; I am so sorry.”

Y/N shook her head and drew Daenerys into her hold. She did not have words to soothe her. What could she say? But she watched Jorah slink from the room and kissed Daenerys’ forehead as she had done hundreds of times in Braavos. Before all of this. Before dragons.

“I want to help them,” Daenerys murmured as she pulled back from Y/N’s arms. “They are people in need of help. They do not… they do not deserve this. If we are in a position of power, should we not help them?”

“Our position of power is fragile and small,” she stressed the word. “We must be smart. There are thousands of them and only a few dozen of us.”

“That has never stopped you,” Rhaenys said with a smirk that had Y/N sighing. “And there might be thousands of them but we have dragons.”

“Baby dragons,” Y/N murmured.

“But dragons all the same,” Daenerys said, reaching out to Rhaenys who quickly took her hand.

“We have been running all our lives, unsafe for who we are. Unsafe because of something we did not chose. If… if I am to be queen, I do not want to know that there are people in this world in shackles when I had the power to help them.”

Aegon and Jon stepped up, hands on their swords. “We will help you.”

Y/N nodded. “In Skilliga, all people are free—we were looked down upon because of that by the supposed Free Cities and the Valyrian Empire before the Doom. I will fight this battle beside you. As always.”

And that is how they found themselves back in the revolting company of the good master. At first, they offered the small mountain of Valyrian steel. But, just as in Qarth, the ‘good masters’ of Astapor did not want Valyrian steel. They wanted dragons. And Kraznys always posed his questions to Aegon and Jon—as if Daenerys and Rhaenys were not there at all. Missandei, however, seemed to understand immediately that it was the women who were truly steering this possible transaction.

Y/N liked Missandei.

“We will need time to think of your offer,” Aegon said as he stood from his seat. The rest of them followed suit. There was no way any of the dragons were going to be forfeited for an army, but Kraznys did not need to know that just yet.

Kraznys sneered as he looked at them and Y/N did not need Missandei to translate his next insult. And she really didn’t think ‘stupid sunset girls’ really applied to all of them. At all. But that did not matter. When they arrived at the manse and one of Daenerys’s handmaidens, a petite woman named Irri, greeted them at the door, she was speaking rapidly, and pointing toward the manse’s solar.

For a moment, Y/N had the horrible thought that the hatchlings had been stolen again but then she caught the words “sun” and “prince.” And then she and Daenerys were darting away from the group and running toward where Irri had pointed.

She could hear them before she saw them.

But she turned a corner and saw a head full of brown curls and a familiar, shining black cane and her heart leapt into her throat as he turned to face her.

“My lady-”

She threw her arms around him in a hug and held him tight. “Oh, Willas. Oh my dear, sweet Willas. You’ve come.” And she nearly wept when she felt his arms wrap around her back and squeeze, she didn’t even care that the handle of his cane was digging into her spine. She didn’t care. He was here and in her arms.

“You have not changed at all, my lady,” he murmured as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Your latest letter was a…most welcome surprise.”

His warm hand gently cradled her cheek and she felt tears stinging at her eyes at the soft touch. It had been far too long since someone had touched her…at all. Especially with such care.

“I’ve missed you,” Willas whispered.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that she had missed him more than she could have ever put into words and so she did not try, but then the rest of her brood were rushing by her and into the solar.

“Uncle Oberyn!” Rhaenys nearly wailed.

Y/N pulled back to see Rhaenys fling herself at Oberyn who was crying into her two-toned hair with a broad smile on his face. He was older now, true. But still as handsome.

Willas’s hand gently grasped hers and led her a little further into the room. “Let me introduce you to my fair traveling companions.” He smiled at her, as if feeling her sudden nerves through her hand as it clutched his. “They were kind enough to let me stowaway on their ship after we received your letters.” He laughed but then waved a hand at the woman nearest to him. She was tall with thick, wavy black hair, dotted with golden jewelry and soft yellow samite wrapped around her in a beautiful dress with a copper belt around her waist. “This is Lady Ellaria Sand.”

Ellaria was even more beautiful than Y/N could have ever imagined. She had a regal beauty and kind eyes. Her hands were soft as she reached for Y/N and she happily let the other woman pull her into her grasp in welcome. “It was kind of you to think of me.”

“I would not have Oberyn part with the love of his life,” Y/N said as she stepped back, still smelling Ellaria’s fine perfume. “It was kind of you to join us across the Narrow Sea. I hope your daughters did not mind the waves.”

Ellaria turned and smiled at the young girls who were already surrounding Aegon and Rhaenys and cooing over the still-growing hatchlings who preened with the attention. “This was their first ship ride of this length. But they are simply happy for a bit of adventure.”

Three more women were sitting with Jon and Daenerys, speaking quietly in the corner. “That is Nymeria, Obara, and Tyene,” Willas informed her in a whisper.

“Sarella is still at the Citadel?” Y/N asked.

Ellaria nodded with a chuckle. “I am sure it was a heavy decision for her. Oberyn has promised to bring her back all the relics our ship can hold.”

“And I shall deliver on that promise, will I not, my love?” Oberyn said, appearing at Ellaria’s side and kissing her slowly at the corner of her mouth before turning to Y/N. Before she could even try to think of an appropriate greeting, Oberyn reached out and his large hands were grasping at her face and he was kissing her. She was frozen, like a scared little mouse cornered by a viper. But he tasted delicious—like citrus and spice and heat. And as soon as it started, he stepped back. His smile was large, large still as he looked at her confused face. “It is good to see you, Little Shark.”

Willas’ warm hand on her back pulled Y/N back to reality before she glanced at Ellaria who only winked at her. This did nothing to ease her growing confusion but Y/N shuffled the group toward the small hall the manse provided, telling everyone to sit more comfortably instead of standing.

Oberyn told them of how the Usurper was dead and how the Seven Kingdoms had fallen into war. The War of the Five Kings they called it. “Your mother’s family,” Oberyn said as he looked at Jon, “seem to be the largest threat to the Lannisters. They have captured Jamie Lannister.”

Jon seemed pleased with that, in his own quiet way.

“Perhaps an alliance could be made,” Ellaria said. “It would be good to have a Northron ally,” She turned and smiled at Willas, “Aside from our sweet Willas and his band of fair flowers.”

Willas’ cheeks bloomed with color at Ellaria’s words. “My grandmother and I are ready whenever we are needed. Right now, we are letting Margaery play at being queen. She knows it will only be temporary, but she has been…trained by my grandmother in all the ways she knows to sway the opinion of the low and highborn. I am sure by the time we make landfall, they may be waiting for you all with open arms.”

“I do not believe it will be hard to sway them when Cersei Lannister and her little golden children are waging war and starving them,” one of the older Sand Snakes, Obara, muttered. Y/N liked Obara.

“But enough talk of Westeros! Tell us of your lives here in Essos.”

And so they did. They started from the beginning—the four of them told their family of how they jumped from city to city, evading assassins and would-lords in search of gold and glory, all while learning of their family and former homeland across the Narrow Sea. Rhaenys was nearly glowing as she recounted their time along the Rhoyne and everyone at the table seemed entranced, too, promising to see for themselves the land that had once belonged to their ancestors. And all of that led to Astapor and the possible deal with the good master.

“You cannot truly be thinking of giving him a dragon?” Tyene asked.

“I will play his game.” Daenerys slid her hand down Drogon’s neck and the ever-growing hatchling trilled as he looked at his mother, as if agreeing to what she wanted. “He will simply not know that it is my game, my rules.”

The rest of the night was spent filled with terrible Astapori wine and shared food and laughter. Y/N was yawning but smiled when she felt Willas’ fingers trace across the back of her neck as Balerion was curled contentedly on his lap beside her. He seemed to realize what he was doing and his hand snapped back to his side, disturbing the old cat who meowed, displeased, before leaping across the table to settle in Rhaenys’ hold.

“Sorry, my lady.”

But she shook her head, still smiling. “Never apologize.”

They spoke for a little longer before Dorea and Loreza started to fall asleep in their seats and Ellaria excused herself to tuck them into bed, letting Aegon lead the way to one of the guest rooms. The group dispersed, little by little, until it was only Y/N, Willas, and Oberyn left in the hall.

“I must take my leave, my lady,” Willas said with a yawn. “I am sure I will need all my energy for tomorrow.” He looked at her then, and she could not read his face though she tried. But his intentions became clear as his lips touched her cheek before his cane tapped against the floor as he retired for the night.

Y/N nearly leapt out of her skin when Oberyn’s hand enveloped hers when he settled beside her as she watched Willas walk away. But he only chuckled. “Peace, Little Shark, peace. It is just me.”

She huffed out a laugh and let her other hand cover his. “It is good to see you, truly. You and your family…you all seem so happy.”

“We are. My daughters are healthy and happy and Ellaria is the light of my days. And you,” he squeezed her hand, “you, little shark, have raised my sister’s children. You have kept them safe and healthy and happy.” He untangled their hands only to touch the sun pendant around her throat for a moment and a brief, sad smile pulled at his lips before he reached up to grasp her face again, gentle and warm. “You. Do not think to undermine yourself to me. You love them as they love you. You have taken on a responsibility you needn’t call yours—all because you loved my sister.” He kissed her forehead. “You have loved my family.” He kissed her right cheek and Y/N felt her breath stutter in her lungs. “You have helped them bring magic back into this wretched world.” He kissed her left. “And you…you still smile like the girl I knew all those years ago.” And then he kissed her again, brushing his lips against hers with a happy sigh and all Y/N could do was let him guide her, let him rob her lungs of air for the second time that night, let him fulfill a dream she had selfishly kept since her girlhood in Westeros.

But then she remembered Ellaria. Her hand found Oberyn’s chest and she gently pushed.

“What is it?” He asked, voice soft. “If I have overstepped-”

“The mother of your youngest is asleep in the other room, My Prince.”

“And she would take the time to kiss you properly as well. And she will, when or if you give her the opportunity.” His familiar roguish smile made her stomach twist with pleasant butterflies. “My heart may have found its match with my love, Ellaria, but that does not mean yours does not call to mine as well. We were made to delight in all the gods have given us. Ellaria and I often share in our delights. If you, my little shark, are amiable, I would like to keep kissing you. I would like for Ellaria to have her chance to kiss you, too.” And when she went to bed that night, slipping under her blankets, her mind hazed with thoughts of soft lips and kind words and the scent of roses she could not place.

The next day, they solidified the deal with Kraznys. He had tried to say he would only give them all of the Unsullied for all four dragons, but Daenerys stood firm and only agreed to one. The biggest. Drogon.

“And I shall take you as well,” Daenerys said as she turned to Missandei. “As a mark of a deal well struck.”

Missandei quickly translated to Kraznys who then waved a dismissive hand, allowing it. As if Missandei were not a person. It turned her stomach.

As soon as they were back at their manse, Rhaenys took the thick collar from around Missandei’s neck and threw it into the hearth, letting the leather smoke and burn.

“Is there a family on Naath we might reunite you with? A father, a mother?”

Missandei shook her head. “There is no one left of my family on Naath, your grace. This one is…alone.”

Daenerys reached out and gently took Missandei’s hands in her own. “You are no longer alone. You are with us. You are a free person—if you ever tire of our company, simply say so and we shall let you go wherever you wish. We will give you gold, a ship—anything you may need. I swear it.”

Missandei’s dark gold eyes searched Daenerys’ face before looking to Rhaenys and doing the same. “I will be able to leave?”

Rhaenys nodded. “Now, tomorrow, ten years from now. If you want to leave, we will make sure you are given all you require to make a comfortable life for yourself.”

“And what of the Unsullied who become yours tomorrow?”

Daenerys and Rhaenys wore matching, Cheshire smiles. “We have plans for them.”

**

“Are you certain of this plan?” Willas whispered as he watched Y/N place one of her (many) swords into its scabbard around her waist. They had been speaking all morning, of his time at Highgarden, of him traveling to Sunspear under the pretense of meeting with Princess Arianne, all of it. And she found herself realizing how easy it was to speak to him—how easy it had always been. But then the topic suddenly changed as he ask of the plan Daenerys and Rhaenys had hatched.

“I am,” she said.

“They are all destined to rule, in one way or another. They are queens; I am only an advisor. I must trust in their judgement.”

“And if it fails?”

“It won’t.” She slid another blade up her sleeve. “But I am never unprepared.” Y/N turned to Willas and smiled as she reached out to press a hand to his cheek. The mustache he had grown since she had last seen him suited him. He was always so handsome. “It is good to have you here. I shudder to think of the state of my nerves if you had refused my call.”

Willas smiled and reached up to cover her hand with his. “You know I could never refuse you, my lady.”

Y/N wanted to say more—wanted to say something, anything—but Aegon appeared in the doorway of her chambers before she could. Her hand snapped back down to her side. “It is time to go, Y/N.” His dark purple eyes shifted to Willas, “and you as well, my lord.”

Y/N nodded and stepped away from Willas with a strange, shaking smile.

In a strange procession, their group, growing by the day, arrived back at the Plaza of Pride (a stupid name). Drogon had been wrestled into a small cart that morning, his little belly filled with fine steak and Daenerys had peppered kisses along his scaled head before she had sealed him away. The battalions of Unsullied were all standing at rest, spears and shields held in front of them. Slowly, Daenerys walked to the small cart and undid its strappings, pulling Drogon from his makeshift cage with the chain on his foot. He pulled against his bonds as he neared the master. He knew.

“Is it done then? They belong to us?”

The master answered and Missandei translated. “It is done. You hold the whip.”

But the master continued talking, once again calling them all a bunch of bitches and mongrels but Daenerys did not flinch. She merely turned toward the army she now commanded and held up the whip.

“Unsullied!” Daenerys called out in her perfect High Valyrian. Y/N watched Missandei’s head snap around to look at the petite woman.

They instantly moved to attention.

“March forward!” They did. “Halt!” They did.

Y/N looked to Daenerys and then to the other three, seeing them all strangely calm. They were conquerors. They were blood of Old Valyria. They were Nymeria’s heirs. They were her charges.

“Tell the bitch the beast will not come,” the master said as Drogon continued to pull against his hold.

Daenerys slowly turned to face him, still holding the whip. “A dragon is not a slave.”

“You speak Valyrian?” He asked, aghast. But still not embarrassed.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria. Valyrian is my mother tongue.”

Aegon had to hide his smile behind his hand.

But then Daenerys turned back toward the Unsullied, her face set in stone. “Unsullied! Slay the masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who holds a whip, but harm no child. Strike the chains off every slave you see!”

And they did. In the next breath, the handful of masters walking at the flanks of the Unsullied had spears through their backs.

“I am your master!” The man screamed. “Kill her! Kill them all!”

“Dracarys.”

Y/N watched Drogon open his mouth and scream. Fire consumed the ‘good master’ and he screamed, too. It was a glorious scene. And, all at once, the square devolved into chaos. The assorted masters, who had come to witness the glory of the dragon, were killed where they stood. Jorah drew his sword but Y/N simply crossed her arms and watched everything unfold.

And, it was over within a span of only a few moments. The slavers were burnt and bloody. Dead. As they should be. But they were not finished.

Daenerys and her niece and nephews mounted their horses and rode through the Unsullied ranks. “Unsullied!” Daenerys called out. “You have been slaves all your life. Today, we give you freedom.”

“Any man who wishes to leave may leave, and no one will harm him. We give you our word,” Aegon said next. Y/N looked out to see a few of the helmeted men covertly glance up at him.

“Will you fight for us? As free men?” Daenerys’ voice rang out and was met with silence. For a moment. And then a single spear was smacked against the sand. Another joined. And then another. And another until the plaza was filled with the sound of the strange sound of the spears in sand.

They had their army. The city was theirs.

**

They did not leave Astapor immediately. They could not leave the city unguarded or without a stable ruling body. And a way to stabilize the economy.

The city needed to rebuilt from the destruction and just…overall. It was not well kept outside the former masters’ manses. Weeks turned to months as they met with the city’s population, trying to establish a ruling council of men and women who knew the city best and wanted to see it thrive. The Valyrian steel they still had was traded for brick and mortar, food, and medicines. Weapons. And while the city seemed to be getting its metaphorical feet back under itself again, it did nearly deplete their coffers. The gold from the dead masters was seized and redistributed to the freedmen to make sure they could provide for themselves as they settled into the new normal of the city and started their new lives.

The new Kings and Queens of the city took up residence in one of the manses and Balerion found the large open windows a favorite place to nap when he was not harassing the hatchlings, unafraid of their literal ability to breathe fire.

Rhaenys met with a small council of freedmen who had been in charge of the city’s infrastructure and had devised a plan to irrigate the city and its surrounding lands by diverting the water from Astapor’s river, which had been called Worm since the city’s inception. A terrible name, if Y/N was being honest.

But the irrigation was quickly done with new aqueducts and small orchards for plums and olives and lemons were planted, the small khalasar carrying in the plants from outside the city. A vineyard for persimmons was also widened in the center of the city, as Rhaenys knew that Astapor had the ability to make a fairly expensive and tart wine with the fruit. It made Y/N smile to realize that Rhaenys had a gift for creating (an albeit small) fertile wetland out of patch of a desert landscape.

Schools were fitted into the empty manses and training schools were established. It was slow work, true, but Y/N could not argue with the tired smiles that she saw on her charges faces each night as they gathered for dinner.

Jon and Aegon were fond of training alongside the Unsullied who were also helping other freedmen learn how to handle a sword and shield. The army was a force to be feared, truly. Grey Worm, the man they had elected to speak as their commander, had become another advisor. He spoke only High Valyrian as the rest of the Astapor did, but Missandei had been taking the time to teach who she could the Common Tongue. He was a man of the sword in all ways—but Y/N did see how his eyes softened ever so slightly whenever Missandei was in his presence. Small rebellions from former masters were quickly dealt with. There would be no room for it under their new rule. Oberyn and Willas were firm and fair advisors to the four younger regents. When to dispense bloody justice and when to stay their hand, how to broker trade with foreign kingdoms and settle arguments and disputes between their subjects—they provided guidance that Y/N and Ser Jorah could not. Missandei was a voice of the people and helped them truly know their subjects. She was the strongest of them all, Y/N was sure of it. Ellaria had a strength of her own, endearing herself and the young regents to anyone and anyone she encountered by showering them with gold for their trades and commissioning songs.

And the hatchlings were growing even faster, larger by the day. Y/N often went to market in the mornings to buy goats and cows to feed them when the others were still asleep, trying to keep the dragons from eating someone’s livestock without being compensated for it (again).

Drogon nudged her side as she dragged the fresh meat toward him and she patted his warm snout in greeting. “Good morning to you, too.”

Viserion and Rhaegal were still sleeping, curled around each other over the remnants of a fire that had been burnt last night. But Vēzos was already high in the sky, yellow and orange scales glittering in the early morning glow. But she landed after spotting her breakfast and let out a puff of smoke around Y/N’s face in thanks before she devoured her share.

“Y/N!”

She turned abruptly at the sound of Jon’s voice and frowned when she saw the unhidden panic on his pale features. Rhaegal suddenly rose from the embers of his bed and huffed, sensing his bonded’s dread. “What is it?”

**

Mayhaps Y/N should not have been surprised to see Xaro amongst the ‘envoys’ from the other slaver cities. It was not as if they had left Qarth on the best of terms…or unscathed.

“We will give you all the boats and soldiers you want or will need to retake Westeros, as long as you leave Slaver’s Bay. Immediately. And allow us to rectify the mess you have made of Astapor.”

“Removing shackles is a mess? Freeing men, women, and children is a mess?”

Drogon and Rhaegal both rumbled from behind their parents and the envoys all stumbled back, some tripping over their ornate robes and gilded slippers.

“It is our way of life!” Someone from Yunkai shouted, voice trembling.

“And their lives have value—more than the coin that line your palms.”

“Astapor is prospering,” Oberyn said. “Our coffers are twice as plentiful now with our wines and citrus and olives as they were when they traded in flesh and bone.”

“And your slaves have heard,” Rhaenys said. She looked regal on the throne beside her brothers and aunt. The Astapori gown she had commission from a freedwoman was made of a beautiful soft yellow linen and her hair was braided with a pair of golden bells at the end, a gift from Irri who had said she had earned it by helping take Astapor and the defeat of the Warlocks in Qarth. “They have heard of our people prosper. How they are free.” And that was true, there had been whispers of a start of an uprising in Yunkai and Meereen since they had taken Astapor.

“You are suggesting that we should free our slaves for a chance-”

“You were the ones to demand an audience,” Daenerys said. “And we were gracious enough to grant your request. But now that you are here, we do have a request. Free your slaves, pay them for their labor from the time you have sought to own them, and set aside your whips and chains.”

“We will not!” “Never!” On and on, the envoy refused.

“The Harpy will have her due!”

Aegon moved in front of Rhaenys, not even bothering to put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Harpy is a legend. A statue you have all built from the gold you have accumulated through the blood of innocents. We have four very real dragons and an army better trained and better equipped than your pampered slavers. Send your harpies.”

**

Y/N groaned as she saw yet another slash she had not remembered receiving when she was readying for bed that night. She had taken to sparring with Jon and Aegon alongside the Unsullied who were not on guard or patrol duties. It had apparently been far too long since she had dedicated time to training of that caliber—not that any of them could even hope to compare to Grey Worm and his compatriots. For now, the threats from Yunkai, Meereen, and Qarth had been unfulfilled. But they were still on their guard. But she did take a few moments of the day to help Dorea and Loreza and Obella work on their fighting stances. Elia, the eldest of the Sand Snakes born to Ellaria, was already very comfortable with her spear and had been taking to training with the Unsullied. Well, they were very patient with her and very gentle—as gentle as they could be. They were a fearsome bunch.

Y/N pulled the linen chemise over her head and reached for her dressing gown after cleaning the small wound.

“My lady,” a soft spoken handmaiden stuck her head into the chambers. “You have a visitor.”

“Send them in, please. I am just about decent enough for company.”

The handmaiden laughed quietly and nodded as Y/N tied the sash around her waist.

“Willas has been quite beneficial—he seems to have a magic touch when it comes to those persimmon trees. They bloom more every day.”

Y/N smiled as she turned to see Oberyn walking into the room. “Well, I have been told he is quite good with anything green. I would not be surprised if he and Rhaenys managed to raise a forest to rival Qohor from the sand.”

Oberyn chuckled and he held out a hand toward her. “Come, take a walk with me before you rest for the night. The night is cool enough for us to enjoy the moonlight.”

Y/N happily took his offered arm and let him lead her out to the gardens around their manse. And it was true, the air was cool and she could hear the faintest rumblings of the sea alongside the murmurs of the city. The gardens were still blooming with flowers despite the heat and the strange flora was a welcome respite from the red brick and sand of the city. It curved and cornered in a strange maze, leading around small fountains, and statues of legendary creatures, never reaching higher than their waists.

“How are your daughters finding the bay?”

“They find the air much like that of Dorne, so they do not mind the heat. But they do enjoy putting their Valyrian lessons to use and trying to learn all they can from the Unsullied.”

“They are formidable.”

Oberyn chuckled. “I would have them no other way. Dorne may be kinder than the other kingdoms of Westeros, but I would not have them unprepared for the rest of the world.” He squeezed her hand. “Just as you have made sure that the four under your care are prepared as well.”

“I have tried my best, my prince.”

Oberyn pulled them to a stop as they neared a bench and they settled next to each other and watched two of the dragons test their wings above them. “We have entered a new world. Dragons have come again. The Martell bloodline is conquering cities.”

“They want to make it a better world. And I want to see them succeed.”

“I will help them in all of their goals, I swear that to you.”

Y/N smiled, knowing what he said was true. She had never known him to break an oath.

“It seems, little shark, that we are not the only ones who thought of admiring the gardens tonight,” Oberyn whispered. He pointed toward the other side of the maze with a growing smile. Willas was standing at Ellaria’s side, looking as red as could be and trying to hide it behind his hand. Ellaria was smiling at him as if she hadn’t a care in the world—but the glint in her beautiful eyes told Y/N that Ellaria knew exactly the effect she was having on the lord.

“He does not quite know how to hold his wine,” Oberyn said with a smirk. “If given too much, he would accept any challenge.”

“Is that why there is now a golden pearl on his ear, my prince?”

Oberyn only chuckled. “You must admit, he looks quite dashing.”

“Yes, he does. But you know I’ve always been fond of his shy smile.”

“And he has been fond of you.”

Y/N clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Perhaps when I was younger, still a young wife in the making with connections to a royal court or two. It has been ages since I have made him smile like that.”

Now it was Oberyn’s turn to shake his head. “Little Lord Willas, heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in Westeros, has remained unmarried and unattached since you disappeared from Dragonstone, little shark. And it is not for lack of trying from the many unmarried women who know of his status.”

It would be a lie to say that her heart did not clench when it was said aloud and so bluntly. “It would be foolish to think-”

“Despite his family’s animosity, he and I have…become friends.”

“Friends?” Y/N parroted with an arch of her eyebrow.

Oberyn’s wolfish smile made her stomach flip, as it always did. “You know I treat my friends well.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile, biting her lip. “No wonder he has remained unmarried. Who could compete with the Red Viper?”

Oberyn’s warm hand settled over hers and squeezed. “You know I am not opposed to having a married person in my bed. It was not me who kept him from calling someone wife.”

Y/N scoffed. “You cannot be insinuating that I-”

“I’m not insinuating anything, little shark. I am telling you. The man has been in love with you since you first came to Westeros. When he was still a shy young thing and you were the foreign maid who acted as my sister’s shadow.”

“We haven’t seen each other in over a decade. I am now old enough to be considered an old maid-”

“And the heart wants what the heart wants. He has come half way across the world because you asked him to. Now, tell me, why did you ask him?”

“I…” She tried to think of an answer. Because he had helped her flee. Because he was a friend. Because because because. But none of those reasons seemed like the truth. “I do not know.”

**

A small skirmish had broken out on the borders of Astapor. The sellsword company known as the Windblown had allegedly been hired by Yunkai to deal with the ‘dragon kings and queens.’ It, of course, hadn’t worked and they were pushed back the Unsullied.

The fight had only given them all credence to continue to feed the rebellions in the other cities and slowly cut off their supply chains at the mouth of the bay. This morning, Y/N was reviewing the takings from the ships they had seized when she noticed a familiar face was missing.

“Where has Oberyn gone?” Y/N asked as she entered the kitchens, finding Ellaria there, pouring a bit of honey over a bowl of berries.

“He set off in the night, some mission on his mind.”

“You did not go with him?” Y/N asked as she slipped into the seat beside her, plucking a handful of berries from the bowl. “I am surprised he would not have you at his side.”

Ellaria chuckled and shook her head. “He asked, but I did not think our daughters would like to be too far from the excitement of the cities.” She popped a berry between her beautiful lips with a growing smile. “And I did hope we could know each other a little better. Oberyn always speaks of you so fondly. I feel as if we are friends already.”

Y/N felt a wash of warmth as she looked at the other woman and nodded. “I feel that way as well. But I would be honored if I could steal a bit of your time today, if your daughters would not mind.”

Ellaria gave her another dashing smile. “I am sure they will survive a few hours without me.”

And so, Y/N let Ellaria lead her around the city, mostly through the markets that Y/N had not had the chance to truly peruse. And it was true, they had settled into a camaraderie that usually took years to build. Ellaria might have been the most beautiful woman Y/N had ever seen, but she was also kind and funny and had a sharp wit with a matching, striking smile. Y/N only wished she’d had the fortune of having her as a friend years ago—but Y/N would take what she could get now. And hold to it desperately.

“This?” Y/N held up a pale lilac bit of silk, they had been trying to find the right fabric for a new dress for Y/N—apparently Ellaria found Y/N’s lack of dresses something to be rectified.

Ellaria shook her head and picked up a stretch of red lace, filled with delicate flowers with tiny golden thread woven within. Ellaria draped it over Y/N’s shoulder with a smile. “This suits you. The flowers. Just a touch of gold. It is delicate—like you.”

Y/N chuckled and let her finger slide against the edge of the lace. “I do not think I have ever been called delicate.”

Ellaria’s soft fingers gently grasped Y/N’s chin and there was a steely determination in her gaze as she looked into Y/N’s eyes. “You are delicate, Y/N. Your skin and soul may have been forged in steel, but your heart is delicate. You have a soft, gentle heart. And you are ever the more beautiful for it.” Her hand moved to cradle Y/N’s cheek, surely feeling its warmth. “Do you not see yourself as I do?”

“Apparently not,” Y/N said with a shake of her head, not too rough to have Ellaria’s touch leave.

“You are,” she said and then leaned close enough to just barely brush her lips against hers before she pulled the lace from around Y/N’s shoulders and turned back to the merchant. “We will take all of this. Thank you.”

And then Ellaria was all but hauling her back into the cooled shadows of their manse and out into the gardens again, dropping their lace and silks off into the hands of a smiling handmaiden who giggled as they walked by.

It was just the pair of them in the garden, listening to the trickling of water and the wind as it rustled the rigged leaves and branches of the maze. But all Y/N could feel, see, hear, was Ellaria.

Ellaria and her beautiful lips.

Ellaria’s mouth was soft as it moved against hers. And she sighed so prettily when Y/N tangled her fingers into her thick hair and tugged.

“Oh.”

Y/N pulled away from Ellaria’s beautiful mouth to see Willas standing near one of the fountains, a pink tinge to his cheeks and a white-knuckle grip on his cane.

“Lord Willas,” Ellaria called out, her voice husky, “join us.”

Willas looked away, cheeks still roaring with color, and shook his head. “I am afraid I would only…get in the way.” He cleared his throat and turned. “Please, excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go, mind clearing for a moment, and frowned.

Ellaria dragged her lips against Y/N’s cheek. “He will join us when he’s ready. I promise you that.” She sponged a kiss at the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “But I do not want to be interrupted again. If you are agreeable, I want to see what you have hiding under this hideous tunic.”

And well, Y/N could never tell her no and led her back to her chambers and locked the door.

Ellaria was even softer beneath her fine, silk dress that Y/N slowly pushed down her arms to greedily cup her full breasts in her hands.

“Eager,” Ellaria said with a breathy chuckle.

Y/N could only whine against her mouth as she felt Ellaria’s nimble fingers slide easily beneath the tops of her leather breeches. They were pushed down her legs and her loose tunic was pulled up and over her head before Ellaria all but shoved her back onto the featherbed, watching her bounce with a smile. Y/N didn’t even have thought to be a little shy over her nakedness—she just wanted Ellaria close again. And then Ellaria was crawling up the bed and settling across Y/N’s stomach, warm thighs bracketing her ribs. And there was something nearly magical with knowing she was the cause of the slick spot she could feel growing just above her belly button. She had made Ellaria feel like that.

Y/N’s hands slid up her smooth skin to hold her hips and Ellaria’s hands settled over hers with a widening smile.

“I like seeing you like this,” Ellaria said before leaning down to lick across Y/N’s mouth before kissing her thoroughly, oh so easily stealing the breath from her lungs. Then she moved. Her lips trailed down Y/N’s neck, to her chest, teeth scraping against the curve of her breasts as she slid down Y/N’s body, and dragged her slick lips against Y/N’s skin. Her mind was a warm mess—all there was, was Ellaria and her beautiful mouth. Ellaria and her perfect hands. Ellaria and her wet tongue.

Ellaria slipped between Y/N’s legs and kissed her left hip and then her right before licking a bold stripe against Y/N’s folds, wrenching a broken moan from her lips. “So pretty,” Ellaria cooed. And her grip tightened. Again and again the Dornishwoman’s tongue curled and twisted and Y/N could feel an unfamiliar coil start to tighten in her stomach as her thighs suddenly clamped around Ellaria’s head. The woman only laughed against her core and the vibrations had Y/N moaning, hands reaching down to tangle in Ellaria’s perfect, perfumed hair. Ellaria managed to wriggle her hand between them and curled one finger and then two into the wet heat of Y/N’s core and started to slide them in and out, in and out, wet sounds filling the air alongside Y/N’s growing moans.

It was perfect. She was perfect. And as soon as Ellaria curled her fingers, the coil snapped and Y/N sobbed. Her heart was racing, sweat and dotted her chest and brow but she felt beautiful and her vision cleared and she looked down to see Ellaria pressing her cheek against her hip, drawing shapes against her heated skin with the dull nail of her forefinger.

“You must teach me how to do that. I want to make you feel like this.”

And so…Ellaria did.

**

The next morning, Ellaria was still sleeping peacefully, tangled in Y/N’s silken blankets as she rose with the sun. Y/N gently pressed a kiss to her cheek and slipped away from her comforting warmth to ready for the day and found Daenerys sitting on one of the manse’s balconies, watching the four hatchlings soar above the gardens as the sun grew hotter and higher in the sky. Y/N sat beside her and had a bit of food brought out so they could break their fast together. Daenerys seemed…happy. Truly. Happier than she had been since Y/N had seen her last, as a child. But there was something she was not saying. Y/N knew it.

“Tell me what is on your mind, Dany.” She reached out and gently grasped the young princess’ hand and squeezed three times.

“I do not…” She paused. “I was born on Dragonstone. I am the princess of the rightful ruling family.” She pushed out a long breath. “I will see my niece on the Iron Throne and I know the kingdom will be better for it.”

“But?” Y/N asked, knowing there was something else that needed to be said.

“But I do not know if Westeros is my home. I have no memories of it. Jon and Aegon do not either but they still feel some sort of calling, a need to go back.” The wind blew a bit of her silver hair across her face as she looked out across the bay. “I do not feel that. Viserys sold me for the throne he thought he deserved and I found a small bit of solace in my few friends in my khalasar and then more here with the Unsullied and the freedmen of the bay.”

Y/N watched a few emotions flitter across Daenerys’ face before she turned back to the bay, too. “You have been pushed and pulled to one place or another your entire life, Dany. Finding a place where you feel at home is something to be proud of. Do not let other people’s opinions or aspirations dictate yours. You deserve a home. Peace.”

“And where is your home? Skilliga?”

Y/N shrugged. “Skilliga has housed me and raised me just as much as Westeros and Essos has, I suppose. I know my uncle and cousins are safe and happy there. I know that I will be able to hear and taste the sea from my rooms again if I ever went back.” She sighed. “But I think I have seen too much of the world to be happy on my little island again, for the rest of my life.”

“Mayhaps you can find a home with Lord Willas. I have heard how he calls on you—ever so sweetly.”

Y/N groaned. “Not you as well, Dany!”

The girl only laughed.

Y/N sighed. “Either way, if you want to stay in Essos, you can. What is a few thousand miles to a dragon, hm? Nothing. Your family will never be too far.” She tugged at the end of Daenerys’ braid and listened to the Dothraki bells she had earned ring. “But you mustn’t think of it just yet, Dany. We still have so much more to do.” She pressed a smile to her face. “We have time.”

Daenerys giggled and shook her head. “And we still have so much to do this side of the Narrow Sea.”

**

It had been ages since Y/N had thought of sacking a city. She used to dream of it as a little girl, bringing home riches and other pretty things to fill her rooms and make her parents proud. But perhaps her parents were more bloodthirsty than the rest of Skilliga—and that had been why Uncle Hammond had sent her away to Westeros, to try to quell that need for violence with the niceties of a foreign court and responsibility. But, she had to ask herself as she looked over the maps of the cities and waterways and tunnels, that hadn’t quite worked, had it?

Obara and Nymeria were near-master tacticians, easily finding ways Y/N did not see to surround the city and infiltrate even the thickest of defense walls. But their true expertise, it seemed, in planning diversions.

“I can take a small battalion of freedmen to the west gate and use the two battering rams we have made from the scraps of Valyrian steel.”

“That will give Grey Worm’s host enough of time to march through the South Gate which will be raised by Belwas.”

Dorea was seated on Y/N’s lap, as she often was during war room discussions, moving the pieces across the war map along with her sisters’ plans. Y/N never did mind when she first crawled atop her legs without invitation but had welcomed her every time it happened. She reminded Y/N of the quietly intelligent but playful Rhaenys used to be.

“I like this color,” Dorea said, holding up the Martell orange token embellished with the familiar red dragon of House Targaryen.

“It is pretty, is it not?” Y/N answered. “Can you put that at the West Gate for me?”

The little girl did happily.

“Thank you, Dorea,” She said as she gently swept Dorea’s hair away from her forehead, it had fallen from the intricate braid Ellaria had woven this morning. “We shall make a strategist out of you yet.”

She happily laughed and it drew more smiles from Obara and Nymeria. “I’m hungry.”

“I think the kitchens are just about ready for luncheon, little one. Why don’t you go see?”

Dorea leapt from Y/N’s lap and scurried away with another laugh.

“You are good with her.”

“I have had plenty of practice.”

“When you have your own, I am sure even the nurses will know less than you.”

Y/N huffed at Nymeria’s well-intentioned remark. “I am not sure if I will have any of my own.”

“Why not?” Obara asked, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “It is obvious you crave for some of your own.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond when the door to the war room opened and Tyene ran inside, her pale cheeks were filled with color and her eyes darted to her sisters.

“Someone has breached our walls.”

Y/N was running out of the room before she could hear the rest of what Tyene had said—she sprinted toward the kitchens, where she knew her charges were probably gathering for their next meal.

And she was, unfortunately, correct.

And it seemed the intruder knew their schedule as well.

Two men with golden harpy masks had Daenerys at the end of their swords. Little Dorea was standing behind her, eyes narrowed. The bodies of the kitchen maids were on the floor, crimson puddles staining the marble floors.

Y/N had meant to sneak up on them. Truly. They hadn’t noticed her presence just yet-

But Aegon and Jon burst in through the other door and drew the harpies’ attention. They pivoted and their swords raised. Y/N shoved Aegon out of the way and felt the warm steel sink into her stomach. And then it happened again, the blade finding the bone of her hip as it broke through. Blood bubbled in her mouth with her next breath and she watched, in a haze, as Jon took one of the men’s head from his shoulders.

“Y/N?” Rhaenys’ voice was fading in her ears as she fell to her knees, she barely saw her eldest standing in the kitchen doorway.

There was a scuffle with the other man, but she hardly noticed, feeling her heart beat in time with the warmth coating her hands. It drip drip dripped onto the marble in an uneven staccato.

It took her a moment to realize that both Rhaenys and Daenerys were trying to speak to her, their little hands pressing over her wounds and trying to staunch the bleeding.

“That hurts,” Y/N said, words tumbling from her mouth without thought. Of course it hurt. She had been stabbed.

“I cannot do this without you,” Rhaenys cried.

“You will be just fine, sunshine.”

Daenerys was yelling for the healers as Aegon and Jon held the other Harpy on his knees.

“Don’t speak like that,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Y/N wanted to say something, wanted to say that she knew Rhaenys and her brothers and aunt would be fine—they would shape the world into a better place with Oberyn, Ellaria, and Willas at their side. She knew because she had seen it—that maybe a bit of the old magic had finally stirred in her foreigner blood. But her blood was currently filling her mouth and her world went dark.

**

She remembered very little from her time under the healer’s hands. Pain, the smell of Milk of the Poppy, someone was crying. And then nothing. Nothing.

Nothing until a warm, soft hand gently cradled her cheek. “I will wait,” someone whispered. “I have waited years, I can wait a few moons longer.”

But she woke, fully, as soon as she could and was told that her movements would be stilted and painful for some time.

Willas was at her side when her eyes opened, clear for the first time in weeks even if her brain did still feel fogged with the Milk of the Poppy. “It is good to see your beautiful eyes again, my lady. We have all missed you.” She spotted Balerion at the foot of the featherbed, looking more content to be in her presence than he had ever been before.

Y/N reached out and scratched behind Balerion's ears before she touched Willas' hand and watched his shoulders sag, as if he had been carrying some unseen weight across his back and had finally been relieved of it. “I mean this in the best way, my lord. But you look as if you have not rested in weeks.”

Willas huffed. “I have not. Most of us have not. We have been taking shifts to be at your side. The healers have said it would be best to keep an eye on you. Lady Ellaria just left, she has been the most dutiful to be at your bedside beside Her Grace, Rhaenys. Oberyn has been diligent in making sure your wrappings were changed.” He squeezed at her hand. “Do I truly look so unwell?”

Y/N smiled, feeling her dry lips crack with the motion. “Still handsome. As always, my lord.”

“Please, call me Willas.”

“We are alone, I suppose it could be appropriate-”

“Always, please, simply call me Willas. We have known each other long enough. Willas. I am Willas just as you are my Y/N.”

“My Willas.” She liked the sound of it. She liked it even more when his cheeks once again bloomed a pretty pink. “Tell me, my Willas, what have I missed since I have come to this bed?”

Apparently she had missed quite a bit.

Yunkai and Meereen had both fallen under the weight of the combined armies of the Unsullied, trained Freedmen, and the Second Sons—and bolstered by the revolts Aegon and Grey Worm had started by slipping into the cities under the cover of darkness to speak to anyone who would listen. Daenerys had united almost all of the Dothraki under a single khalasar and had been named the Great Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, commanding a group of Dothraki the world had never seen. Ser Jorah had been sent away after it had been discovered that he had been sending information to King Robert about the movements of Daenerys and Viserys and had been the reason assassins had been able to track them across Essos. Norvos and Qohor had freed their slaves without the threat of dragons—both cities cited the coming of dragons and magic and prophecy (but Y/N hypothesized that the Dothraki might have ‘helped’ their decision). It was all very…strange. Whispers from the red priests and priestess of the Red God of R’hllor, the Lord of Light, were spreading through all of western Essos, calling the four The Princes who were Promised. Azor Ahai, a prophesized hero. And Oberyn had contracted his old sellsword company, the Second Sons, bringing them under his employ to help bolster their forces. That was where he had gone, apparently he had returned only a few moments after Y/N had been carted off to the healers. Blood was still covering the kitchen when he had come in.

“I have only seen him so distressed once before,” Willas said, still holding her hand.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Lady Ellaria, after bringing little Loreza into the world, she kept…bleeding. And Loreza was called ‘sickly’ and ‘weak.’ The maesters told him to expect to lose them both before the sun went down. I have never seen a man so in love and so enraged. He raged at the world. Pleaded with the gods, cursed them. Oberyn threw the maesters out of the palace and sent for a healer from the Orphans of the Greenblood, an elder wise woman who kept the old gods of the Rhoynar. And she came. When the moon rose, Ellaria was holding little Loreza to her breast and she was smiling.” His thumb drew small circles on the back of her hand. “He only smiled again when he kissed them, moon high in the sky and with river water on his skin.” He sighed and a small smile pushed up his lips. “And then he saw you, covered in your own blood and about to welcome the Stranger with both arms. And I saw that desperate, raging man again.”

Y/N looked at him then, watched his untamed, dark curls fall over his forehead and she reached out with her free hand to gently push them back. Willas leaned into her touch and her heart leapt into throat when he turned his face just the slightest bit to slide his lips against the pulse of her wrist. “But I am here now. I am healing.”

“You are. But there is much more to do, is there not? And you will not stop. Not while your hatchlings, Aegon, Rhaenys, Jon, and Daenerys, still need you.” His grip tightened on her hand just a moment. “You will not stop,” he repeated.

“You know I cannot.”

“Then I will be beside you until this is finished.” He brought their joined hands up to his mouth and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “And I still have more to tell you.”

The declarations of war from Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, and Pentos were more of what she was expecting. The might of Braavos and the few war ships little Lorath had were pledged to the Martells’ and Targaryens’ cause.

War had come to Essos again.

**

Y/N supposed she should not have been surprised that a few hundred people decided to leave the Bay and follow them toward the Free Cities. Leaving a city in search of a better life was something she had done, many times over.

Volantis had fallen, surrendered and another city had been added to the growing empire. Like in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, they had settled in the city and weeded out possible uprisings and subterfuge while redistributing the former masters’ wealth and resources to those who deserved it.

When they continued on, part of their army was left to help protect them and help the new council of Freedmen who had pledged loyalty to Rhaenys, Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys.

But before they moved on toward the Free Cities, who were already warring with Braavos and a few battalions sent by Qohor and Norvos, they stopped, once again, at Chroyane.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful,” Oberyn said, a large smile splitting his face. “Even in ruin, she is magnificent.”

The two littlest of the Sand Snakes shrieked at the sight and all but leapt from their horse and into the clear river water. Ellaria laughed as she watched them before tying up her skirt to follow suit.

It was a welcome reprieve. Y/N’s scars ached when she moved too quickly sometimes and the constant jostling of her mare sometimes only made it worse. It felt good to dip her feet into the cooled waters and listen to the children laugh and splash in the river. Balerion once again watched one of the giant turtles with calculating eyes as he let the sun warm his black fur.

Oberyn settled at Y/N’s side on the bank of the river and watched the sun set in a quiet companionship. “I never thought I would see this. I never thought the sun would shine on this part of the world again. And here it is, as beautiful as ever.”

“It is almost as if the Mother Rhoyne was simply waiting for them,” Y/N said, tilting her head just so to indicated Rhaenys and Aegon who were now splashing around with Ellaria and her daughters, dodging Tyene and Nymeria’s hands as they tried to dunk them into the slow moving waves.

The four dragons trilled above them in the crystal blue sky, as content as their bonded.

Oberyn’s roughened, warm hand settled over hers on the bank. Without a word, he leaned into her and pressed a slow kiss against the side of her neck but she felt him smile against her skin as she shivered. “You are magnificent, little shark. I owe you, my family owes you a great debt.”

“I am owed nothing. I only want to see them grow and succeed. I love them.”

“And they love you,” Oberyn said as he sat back to look at her, smile at her in the sun. “My family loves you. I love you.”

Her heart stuttered. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is. You have made it easy.”

Y/N dropped her chin to her chest, hiding her smile before Oberyn’s finger hooked under her chin and he kissed her briefly.

“Papa!” Dorea called out. “Come play with us!”

Y/N drew back to see his daughters waving him forward, all of them positively drenched. “Go,” Y/N said with a laugh. “You are being summoned.”

Oberyn kissed her cheek before rising and then making a show of running and jumping into the river near them, splashing them all in one motion.

Y/N roared with laughter at the scene but quickly stood when she saw Nymeria and Ellaria turn their gazes to her, hands cupped with water and ready to splash. “Not today!” Y/N stumbled to her feet and managed to evade most of the aimed water as she laughed.

She walked barefoot through the ruins and over the riverbank, seeing their traveling party all partaking in the clean water and cool air. For a moment, there was peace. She spotted Missandei and Grey Worm quietly speaking on the broken stone of a palace, their feet in the water. Irri and Jhiqui were happily watering their horses further downstream while a few other members of the khalasar were racing their mounts through the tall, green grass. Daenerys and Jon were both pulling more weapons from the muck at the opposite bank and handing them off to whomever was by.

But it was Willas, sitting a little further away from the river, which caught her eye. He was cross-legged on the green grass, fiddling with something on his lap while his cane was settled beside him. The sun was shining on his dark hair, curls once again a bit mussed.

“What are you making?”

“A crown,” Willas said, cheeks once again blooming with color as she sat beside him. “My little sister taught me how to do it a few years ago. We would sit in the fields around Highgarden and pluck wildflowers to string together. Hers were always much more polished than mine.”

Y/N leaned a little closer to see that while it might not have been perfectly braided, it was still tightly woven and the flowers were in full bloom. “I think yours is well done, Willas. Will you teach me?”

Y/N laughed as Willas dropped the haphazard crown of white blooms onto her head and it nearly fell over her eyes. “I will let you have mine,” he said, but he did tried to teach her—until Y/N’s indelicate fingers ruined her third crown and she gave up, throwing herself back into the soft grass with a laugh. She reached up for a moment and grabbed the back of Willas’ tunic, pulling him down beside her.

They spoke for a little bit, of magic, of Highgarden, of their adventures in the Bay—now affectionately and rightly dubbed Dragon’s Bay. It was easy.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Y/N hummed at the question, mulling the answers in her mind. “I have lived and crossed the Narrow Sea, the Summer Sea, too. I have tasted and tested the Jade Sea. The Shivering Sea holds no value to me and that only leaves…”

“The Sunset Sea.” Willas nodded. She might have noticed a bit of pink touch his cheeks but she did not mention it. “The Mander, the river in the Reach, rushes by Highgarden and empties into the Sunset Sea.” He cleared his throat. “I could… House Tyrell has barges which sail that route easily. I would be happy to make sure you see your wish fulfilled.”

Y/N smiled and shook her head as she turned in the grass to look at him. “You are far too kind, Lord Willas. But what of you? Where would you go?”

The pink was raging on his cheeks now. “I would wish to only be at your side.”

Y/N felt her next breath stall in her throat and she looked at him, his cheeks still filled with pink but his blue eyes were so earnest—they had always been so lovely. “I suppose I do provide a bit of adventure.”

“You provide much more than that. I promise you.”

She wanted to say something. She wanted to say that he provided so much more than anything she could have hoped for but, it seemed that fate had other plans. “Y/N!”

She sat up from the grass to see Daenerys and a still-damp Rhaenys waving her over. The ground shook as both Drogon and Vēzos landed. They made quite a pair, the black and the yellow. “What is it, my loves?”

“We are taking them up to test their wings with riders again.” It had been a new practice, apparently, for all four of them to take their dragons to flight. They were surely large enough for it now.

Daenerys quickly climbed onto Drogon’s back and Rhaenys did the same.

“Come with me,” Rhaenys said, extending a hand toward Y/N. “Fly.”

Without thought, Y/N took Rhaenys’ hand and let her pull her up onto Vēzos’ back. And then, with a rumble, they were taking to the sky, the cool air whipping over her skin as she held, probably too tightly, to the spikes along the dragon’s back. But she listened to Rhaenys laugh and saw Daenerys smile and her momentary fear vanished. They were happy.

And she was flying.

When they landed, a small group of Freedmen were waiting for them and asked for an audience with Rhaenys which she quickly agreed to, always willing to hear anything her subjects would bring to her.

“Your Grace,” one man said, a timid smile on his face. “It would be a great honor if we could rebuild the palace for you and your family. The city.”

Rhaenys shook her head as she reached out toward the man and gently took his rough hands. “Your life is your own. You do not need to rebuild the city simply because I find it lovely.”

The man ducked his head, smile growing. “We know it is not an order you would give, Your Grace. We have made a…” he frowned, searching for the word, “council, as you have in Astapor and Yunkai and Meereen. And we want to stay here, rebuild. The soil is fertile, the trade possibility is strong. We could build a home here, beautiful and strong like it once was.”

Y/N watched Rhaenys’ eyes fill with tears and she diverted her gaze, letting the young queen compose herself.

“And you truly believe that your families could be happy here? It could take years before it is fully rebuilt.”

The man nodded and looked at Rhaenys, his small smile growing. “It will be hard work, but I know it would be worth it, Your Grace. A new home for us, for your family.”

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment before she squeezed the man’s hands again. “Then it would be an honor.”

**

The Disputed Lands had been feuded over and razed and rebuilt over and over again since the Doom. Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr all laid claim to them and would war with the others over the fertile soil. But they now belonged to Rhaenys and her brothers and aunt.

Braavos and Lorath were making almost embarrassingly quick work of conquering the cities with the help of another set of sellsword companies from the north and east, and with the Dragons and their armies making war on them from the west and Y/N and Willas led a small fleet of ships outfitted with weapons salvaged from the Chroyane sailing from the South, it was finished within a few short moons.

The Sealord of Braavos met them just outside the high walls of Pentos, presenting them with the signed surrender of the magistrates and city prince—and a few extra ‘gifts.’ One was the head of Illyrio Mopatis. The next two were faces she barely recognized—and truly, she recognized their names more than their persons. Tyrion Lannister and Varys both had chains around their wrists but seemed pleased with the situation. “They say they want to swear loyalty to your dragon kings and queens.”

“Yes, well,” Y/N’s eyes dragged over the pair, distrusting. “Most do after they see dragonfire.” The fire still blazing behind the walls scented the air.

Y/N left her charges to speak politics with their ally and went to check on the dragons as they rested in the fields. The four had fought bravely, if not a little erratically. They were still getting used to battles and they were still young. They were fearsome though, and Y/N loved them as their riders did. The large creatures huffed in welcome as she neared and she patted their sides in hello.

Oberyn carefully walked toward them, knowing that the dragons recognized him but was still cautious. When they accepted his familiar scent, they either lowered their heads to rest again or nudged him once in greeting. “They are protective of you,” Oberyn said as he watched Y/N stroke at Drogon’s nose, content. “You may not be their bonded rider, but they know you just the same.”

“I think it is because their riders smell like me.”

Drogon huffed.

“He disagrees,” Oberyn said with a laugh. “They recognize you because they feel what their bonded riders feel.”

“I would not argue with a dragon,” Ellaria laughed as she joined them in the field. She reached out and stroked Rhaegal’s side. “They are calling for the Queenmaker,” she said as she watched Rhaegal’s wings stretch.

Y/N sighed. She had earned a few monikers during the conquest of western Essos. She had been called Queenmaker. The Sea Dragon. Preposterous names, truly. The four had given themselves their crowns, forged their own paths. She just made sure they had survived to this point. She did not make them. And she had no dragon of her own. But she answered to the monikers anyway. It was less of an argument. “What has happened now?”

Ellaria chuckled. “I do believe it is to settle a dispute between a few of your Corsairs.”

Y/N nodded and excused herself but was stopped when Ellaria grasped her wrist. She kissed her quickly with a smile. “Come back soon. It has been a long day.”

And Y/N quickly hurried off, a smile on her face.

**

They settled in Pentos. The throne that once belonged to the Prince of Pentos had been divided into four equal chairs, just as all the thrones of the cities they had conquered had been. The rooms were thankfully spacious and an entire room had been filled with the scrap Valyrian Steel they had taken from the ruins and mud of the Chroyane. It would provide food and protection for their new empire if spent correctly—and Willas was already making sure that food was being traded responsibly and fairly between the cities while the sellsword companies they had paid were continuing to be paid to keep their loyalty. And he was also mostly in charge of the ‘care’ of their two Westerosi guests. Tyrion and Varys had proven mostly useful with their knowledge about the political turmoil currently engulfing the Seven Kingdoms and bringing news of the “terrible” death of Tywin Lannister while also providing possible battle plans when they finally did make land for Rhaenys’ crown. But Y/N still did not like them.

But that was not her mission for the day (despite realizing how handsome Willas looked while poring over the parchment detailing food storage and trade routes in his chambers with a slumbering Balerion on his lap). No. Aegon’s ten-and-six nameday was nearly upon them and Y/N had the perfect present in mind. She had given a set of Valyrian Steel-tipped arrows and a dragonbone bow to Rhaenys for her ten-and-sixth nameday, and now it was Aegon’s turn. The stupid lion head pommel was not Valyrian steel so she had no problem seeing it hacked off and reworked. The smith was quick and skilled, easily melting the gold into a puddle to be reformed. She watched him work, perching on the rickety stool in the corner and talking with him as the smoke and steam from his work clouded the forge. He was a genial man, happy to tell his story and hear hers in return. “They are blessed to have you, the little kings and queens.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “No, no. I am the blessed. They have been the lights of my life.”

“You have no children?”

Y/N nearly choked on her breath at the blunt question. “N-no. I have been… They have been my children, I suppose.”

The smith nodded at that and then continued to work in silence, attaching the new pommel to the rest of the jeweled hilt. He made it look easy and handed over the sword, now topped with a sun. It was perfect—and finished just in time.

She presented it to him at the end of his favorite meal and laughed when he tried to hug her, still holding the blade out in front of him.

“Let me see it!” Oberyn said with a laugh and Aegon happily handed it over to his uncle who inspected it with a practiced eye. Y/N did not expect the laughter that bubbled out of Oberyn’s throat but it made her smile either way. “Did this have a lion’s head, little shark?”

Y/N nodded.

Oberyn handed the blade back over to Aegon with a flourish. “You are holding the Valyrian steel sword that House Lannister once wielded. I find it…poetic that you will now call it your own.”

“But it needs a name!” Jon said. “All good swords need a name.”

Aegon held the sword up as Rhaenys and Daenerys cheered alongside their family. “It shall be called Sunshard.”

Perhaps she could convince him to change it later or Jon would come up with a better name for the Valyrian Steel axe she had stowed away for his next nameday or the dagger she would give to Daenerys for hers. But for now, she let Aegon swing the sword around like he was a little boy in the training grounds again.

For now, they were happy.

When the celebration died down and they dispersed for the night, the taste of honeycakes and lemon still on their tongues, Y/N found herself surprised to find Daenerys and Rhaenys waiting for her in the small solar connected to her chambers.

“This is a surprise, my loves. How may I help you?”

Rhaenys reached out her hands for Y/N to take and squeezed them both three times with a smile as she pulled her down on the cushioned bench between them. “Today was a joyous day. One finally filled without war or training or bloodshed.”

“We have all fought hard for it,” Daenerys murmured.

“You were a child yourself when you took us with you to Essos. Where had your childhood gone? The court at the Red Keep. Running and hiding with three babes who were not yours through a foreign land.”

“I made that choice. And I would make it again-”

“I am asking you to make the choice to be happy. To let yourself have an adventure without worrying over us.”

“I will always worry over you.”

“Just as we worry over you. You have been our guiding hand, our fiercest protector and staunchest supporter. Our most loyal older sibling. You have loved us. We love you. And we want you to be happy.”

Y/N turned to Daenerys as if that would provide some sort of answer. “Are you asking me to leave your side?”

“Never!” Both Rhaenys and Daenerys shouted.

“We will never send you away. But, we want you to know that if you are called to someone’s side, we want you to be happy.”

“What has brought this on? Have I said something?” The words caught in her throat but Rhaenys simply squeezed her hands again. One two three.

“No. But we have realized that you have set aside everything for us. And we simply want you to be happy.”

They each leaned forward and kissed her on the cheeks. The three spoke for a little longer, calming Y/N’s strange fear of being sent away, before they excused themselves with matching yawns. But Y/N could not sleep. Not with that strange revelation singing in her ears.

She pulled on her dressing gown and padded down to the gardens of the palace. She could hear the sea and it was a small comfort. But she turned at the familiar tap of a cane against stone and smiled as Willas settled beside her.

“You could not sleep either?”

He shook his head, curls sliding against his ears. “I suppose I am now accustomed to a little more excitement during the day to tire me out.”

Y/N chuckled and angled her head up to look at the glittering stars. “But it was a good day. I can sleep late tomorrow.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, the comfortable silence between them only broken by the inconsistent chittering of a bird or the sea crashing against the city walls.

“When this is over, will you rest?”

Y/N frowned at the question and turned to look at him. “Rest?”

“When the little hatchlings are settled in their kingdoms and safe. Where will you be?”

“I…” She tried to find the words she needed but she did not know the answer.

Willas reached out and gently grasped her hand. “You deserve rest too, my lady.” He looked at her, blue eyes shining and a familiar pink tint to his cheeks.

The quiet moment was cut short by a violent scream—one Y/N knew too well. She leapt to her feet and dashed back into the palace. Y/N pushed through the hall and burst into Rhaenys’ room to see her shivering on her bed. “Oh, my sunshine.”

Rhaenys reached out for her and Y/N instantly wrapped her arms around her as they sunk into the plush featherbed. “They have come again,” she whispered. “The cold. The ice. The terrible dead men. They are haunting me again.” Rhaenys reached up and played with the sun pendant. And then she was a little girl again and Y/N was reading her a story about talking turtles to help her sleep. “We have to go back to Westeros,” Rhaenys said, voice soft but steady. “They are coming.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Your reblogs, likes, and comments mean the world to me!

(and another banner by the lovely @thesadvampire​) 

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#Oberyn Martell x Reader #Oberyn Martell imagine #willas tyrell x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #oberyn martell #willas tyrell #ellaria sand

[passable-talent]

VADER X GN!READER

cryst am I writing a fic? what is that. who does that anymore akfkvjsb

dedicated to @sunsetkenobi bc she deserves it and I probably wouldn’t be writing this otherwise

okay so if you’ve seen how to train your dragon 2, this is that one scene. ya you know the one. I decided I wanted to break my own heart and here I am to do that so. ergo I do not own the song nor the original concept nor httyd akckcja

also I find writing vader exceedingly difficult thank u send tweet

my apologies for reappearing just to drop a mediocre fic

The stormtroopers took your saber when they captured you.

You had tears in your eyes as they ripped the blade from your grip, but you couldn’t do much about it, with force blockers around your wrists. You just had to watch as they carried away the last remaining piece of your husband.

You hadn’t seen Anakin since he left for Mustafar, intent on ending the Clone Wars. The last time you’d seen Obi-Wan, he told you that Anakin had been killed there, when a sith named Darth Vader struck him down.

Ever since, you’ve been hiding out. Hoping to escape the Jedi hunter who killed your husband. He was ruthless, and powerful, but you did your best to stay among the crowds, unseen, unnoticed.

Unnoticed was a word for it- you weren’t in Jedi robes, and you no longer had your saber. Being dragged through the bowels of an empire ship, stormtroopers flanking you on all sides, you looked like any other prisoner.

You got a cell far, far in the corners of the ship, like they were trying to bury you away. You took the steps down and into the cell and stood amongst it as the troopers left.

Your saber... who knows what they’d do with it. You’d made it with a piece of metal that Anakin had given you, a piece of scrap he’d found on one of his Padawan journeys with Obi-Wan. Nothing else... you had nothing else. You had nothing else of him. And now, your saber was gone, too.

So, your final few hours. You were caught as a Jedi, labeled a traitor to the empire. You were in the ship of Darth Vader, Jedi hunter. You were facing execution now, you knew it. You’d been caught.

So there was no need to hide anymore.

The cell was cold, but it wasn’t too bad. Your fingers would get chilly after a while, but for now, it was a good enough place to meditate. You hadn’t been able to take that risk in so long.

You sat down in the center of the cell, opening yourself to the force for the first time in years.

It was painful, at first. You felt great grief, all around you, surrounding you. It was familiar, too familiar, it brought you right back to the moment that Obi-Wan told you Anakin was dead.

But this was different.

It was a universal grief, one much bigger than one man. It was like a mourning of the force itself, mourning her lost Jedi, mourning each of the thousands of them.

You closed your eyes, feeling like you were leaving the cold cell, becoming bigger than it. You reached out to the ship, to the troopers who wouldn’t know the difference, the millions of miles of wiring working through the cruiser. You felt the metal, the heat, the drone-like worksmanship from the pilots and the sanitation crew.

And then you felt the anger. Rage, the likes of which you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It startled you, tossing you out of your meditation. You opened your eyes and fell backwards, catching yourself with your palms on the floor. And then the door opened.

You jumped to your feet, staring up at the imposing figure in the doorway. A black cape, a saber at his waist, and a menacing helmet.

He took a step into the room, and you took a step back. The door closed behind him.

“(Y/N) (L/N), Jedi scum,” Vader said, his voice deep and scratchy, even through the vocoder of his helmet.

“Lord Vader,” you answered, pressing your back against the wall. There was something to the area around him, the force felt so... unsettled. It was like he both channeled and reflected it, pulling it toward him and pushing it away. Like he was fighting it.

And yet... there was something familiar about him. Your gaze slipped back to his saber, which seemed so oddly familiar. His presence, as well. It made something in your mind ring, as though your own body felt him familiar, too.

How could that be?

“Keep your eyes from my saber,” Vader growled after a few moments of silence, “you won’t be taking it. You cannot escape.”

“I’m not thinking of taking it,” you assured him, hoping not to anger him. “It just... it reminds me of my husband’s saber.”

“Husband?” Vader echoed, his body unmoving. You wished he could at least take off the helmet so you could see his facial expression. “Jedi aren’t meant to marry.”

“I know,” you breathed out, trying to keep eye contact with the disturbingly familiar man, even through his helmet. “But I did.”

There was a moment in which the only thing you could hear was the humming of the ship. And then he turned, his cape spinning behind him, and made his way to the door.

Your husband- you would marry him again, if you could. He was the love of your life, and that was never going to change.

Your wedding, the most beautiful day of your life. Padme’s villa on Naboo, a gorgeous lakeside view, a beautiful ceremony, even if the both of you were still tainted with your padawan hairstyles. But then, later that night, sitting around a fire with a song you would go on to sing together every night you had to yourselves amidst the war. A song you’d develop a dance to, a song you could still hear in his voice, if you listened hard enough.

As Vader approached the door and began punching in a code, you turned your head to the side, closing your eyes.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,” you began, whispering it under your voice, barely even melodic. You hadn’t intended for Vader to even hear you.

“With ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me.” You glanced back up, seeing Vader frozen at the door. When you didn’t continue, he turned his head back toward you with the slowest movement.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey...” Your nerves got the best of you and you trailed away, no longer having the bravery to continue, the strength. You couldn’t cry in front of Darth Vader.

“...if you will promise me your heart...” came that rasping voice, and you snapped your head up. A shuddering breath escaped the vocoder of his helmet as he lifted his hands to its sides, lifting it from his head.

He turned his gaze to you, and your heart pounded harder with every feature you recognized. His face was scarred over from burns, his neck crossed on each side of his throat with thin surgery scars. His eyes were yellow and red, but that much was expected from Darth Vader. His hairline was mottled with scars where the scalp hadn’t healed enough to grow hair, and the rest was unkept, but still it was a familiar gold.

“And love me for eternity...”

Your eyes widened and your hands lifted up, reaching forward to his face, tears already welling in your eyes. Anakin, Anakin was alive, he’s right here. Your husband is alive. You cupped his face, rubbing your thumbs over his cheekbones. His voice was different, rougher, deeper, but still you heard him. His eyes closed slowly, his face lowering into your palms.

“My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me...” You took a deep breath to steady your voice, overwhelmed with relief, emotion, surprise. “But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

Anakin’s eyes opened, and they were blue, that blue you hadn’t seen in so long, that blue you adored. A low smile pulled at his lips, one you never thought you’d see again, and he took his arms around your waist. There was a laugh to his voice as he sang.

“But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry-“ You took slow steps, the cell smaller than your usual dance space, but you made do. His hands spread along your lower back, yours on his shoulders.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me!”

You pulled away, taking his hand, stepping into the familiar pattern. He didn’t step as nimbly as he did when you’d last seen him, but still he tried.

“I have no use for rings of gold,” you sang, falling into the familiar patterns, his smile, the way he looked at you, “I care not for your poetry, I only want your hand to hold-“ Finally his smile brightened to what you remembered, and you took his leather-covered hand between both of yours as you sang your last line, your voice no longer timid, now loud and happy.

“I only want you near me.”

You joined his voice, finally twirling in the circles you never thought you’d have again, holding the man you thought you’d lost.

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming-“ His leather glove, after all this time, hadn’t changed. Did he wear the same one?

“Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh inside me.” His voice wasn’t exactly the way it’d been when you’d seen him last, but still, it blended perfectly with yours. Six years... it had been six years.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning,” You took a spin, like walking on air. He stepped around you, never letting go of your hand.

“I'd gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me!” With the last word, he lifted you up by the waist, pulling you against his body, your knees only just on either side of his hips. Mostly, he held you up on his own, your forehead pressed to his. You’d missed that smile so much.

Your husband is alive. Anakin Skywalker is alive. You couldn’t help your breathy laugh as you settled your weight against his chest, cupping his cheeks.

“Oh, Anakin...” you breathed, closing your eyes, and for one blissful moment, all was perfect.

He dropped you.

You looked up, startled, into yellow eyes. His expression was blank, his glaze flitting over you. He turned with a whip of the cape that forced you to step back, and before you could say a word, he clipped the helmet back over his head.

He only gave you one more look before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

And now the cell felt so much colder.

-🦌 Roe

#anakin x reader insert #anakin x jedi reader #anakin skywalker x jedi reader #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #darth vader #suitless vader #vader x reader #vader reader insert #gn reader