#oc: alice ward

[sporadically-writing]

Stephen: I truly go into househusband mode when I'm in a relationship- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning.

Alice: this is a lie

Alice: i'm literally dating him, this is a lie.

Alice: HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK, WHAT IS THIS

#alice ward #doctor strange oc #doctor strange x oc #stephen strange x oc #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #incorrect oc quotes

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part ii

wc: 4.4k

summary: aemond confronts his mother about his betrothed, but the wedding goes ahead, leaving the prince to grapple with his complicated feelings toward the tyrell girl

cw: NSFW, blind character, period typical ableism, ableism in general, for prosperity dubcon (because aemond is (allegedly) not into cecily but he still feels like he has to do his duty. but both parties consent), period typical misogyny, aegon being a creep, allusions to aemond's 13th name day

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

Cecily Tyrell had not yet reached her seventh name day when she fell ill. A visit to the Arbour struck the young Lady down with an illness that not even the finest of the citadel’s archmaesters could name. It was believed she contracted it from a passing sailor on the docks of the Arbour, explaining away the mysterious nature of the sickness. Some maesters, younger and full of ideas, suggested it had come from Qarth, the work of some warlock testing the potential of pestilence as a form of warfare in enemy lands. Others, more experienced and grounded, were sure it was only some disease that the Essosi had grown strong against, that had gone from Essos so long ago no one had thought to mention it to Westerosi sailors on their shores. It had only struck Cecily because she was so young, they had supposed. 

But, regardless of anyone’s theories, there was no real answer. It was a mystery to all but the gods, Cecily’s mother had once said. Despite that no one had any real knowledge of the illness Lady Cecily’s father, Lord Martyn Tyrell, did not rest in having her treated. Cecily was his only child, and her birth had near killed his wife. He had no other heir, yes, but his determination was born from far more than the issue of succession. To lose his Cecily would be to lose half his heart. 

Cecily survived, of course, and thankfully did not infect another. However, despite all the treatment her little body could handle, her vision had been taken from her. She could not see a thing but for a blur of colours, and even then only in the bright sunlight. 

“I’ve come to see my mother.”

Criston Cole looks the young prince over with a carefully neutral gaze. Aemond is certain Cole knows how to read him, certain he sees the tension lacing his shoulders almost up to his ears. He does not care, though, what the knight sees. 

“Cole.”

Cole appears to contemplate another moment before he nods and opens the door to the queen’s solar, announcing Aemond’s arrival. 

Alicent stands to greet him, eyes following him as he stalks into the room, standing across from her. Her face, which had been a smile to greet her son, falls to a confused frown. 

“Something is the matter,” she says, tone lowered inquisitively. She broaches the topic with a statement, not a question. She knows Aemond better than she knows her other children, can read him like a book at the worst of times. They’re alike, perhaps too alike. 

“I’ve seen the Tyrell girl.”

Alicent closes her mouth, exhaling deeply through her nose and lowering herself to sit again. She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a moment before looking back at her son. “You weren’t supposed to see her until the wedding.”

“I’m aware,” says Aemond, voice clipped. “And I can see why. I won’t wed her.”

“This is not up for negotiation, Aemond.”

“I’m not going to suffer this humiliation just for political gain,” he says sharply. “Just because I’ve lost half my sight-”

“I did not pick her for you because of her blindness,” Alicent says, standing back up and approaching the tense prince. “How could I do that to you? When have you known me to have anything but your best interests at heart? I chose her for you because I believe she is a fine match. She is as shrewd as she is pretty, she has a sense of humour, she has a political mind, and someday she will be the Wardeness of the South. A fine one, at that. If I had wanted an easy political alliance, I would have offered her Daeron’s hand. It would have been a lot quicker. They could have wed in Highgarden and it could be done by now. But I want for my children to be happy, Aemond.”

Aemond hums and bites back a remark about Helaena and Aegon, but he’s just rational enough to hear his mother out. It will do little good to hear her reasoning, though. Her good intentions cannot dull the blow of his embarrassment. 

“I believe that the two of you can build something wonderful together,” Alicent says, taking Aemond’s arms. Her touch is gentle, a comfort, but not one Aemond wants to be given now. 

Aemond can hardly unclench his jaw enough to speak in clear sentences. “Then why was she to be kept from me?” 

“The decision was not mine. Lord Martyn wished for her to be kept separate from you until you meet her at the ceremony.”

Aemond shifts, an odd swell of defensiveness building in his chest. Not for her, he tells himself. For me. “He is ashamed of her?”

“Quite the opposite. He loves that girl more than anything, he is just worried. He fears there is an issue of succession, he is paranoid Cecily’s claim will be threatened.”

Sounds like someone else I know, thinks Aemond bitterly. 

“He doesn't want anything to jeopardise this union, including you.”

“He was right to worry, mother,” he snaps, pulling away from her. “I will not be forced into this union. I am owed more than an invalid!”

“Aemond,” hisses Alicent. “You can hate this until the day you die, but it is happening, and you will try to be a good husband to her. We must make sacrifices for the sake of our family.”

She thinks he is being irrational, and perhaps she’s right. But he has earned the right to irrationality, has he not? He was robbed of his eye, he received no retribution, and now it is all anyone ever sees. His mother can speak all she wishes of Cecily’s attributes, it is all overshadowed by her weakness. A weakness he does not share, no matter what anyone would whisper. How much more must he sacrifice for the sake of this family?

He clenches his jaw, turning away from his mother and moving to leave the room. “You do not know me as well as you thought you did. You should have saved everyone the time and married her to Daeron.”

Despite Aemond’s week of staunch refusal and threats to fly off on dragonback and never return, the wedding goes ahead. Somehow, he’s wrestled into the Red Keep’s sept and made to await his bride. 

Instead of his preferred dark green clothing, he’s been forced into a black doublet with a dark red undershirt. It makes him uncomfortable not for the feel of it – the fabric is luscious and comfortable and it fits him perfectly – but for what the colours represent. That he is a prince of House Targaryen. This he knows, of course, but it feels nothing more than a name to him. He feels that Hightower blood flows far stronger through him than any other, though he would never dare admit it aloud. 

No one would understand him. No one ever has. 

He fiddles with the dark red silk poking out of his sleeve, expression turned down in the scowl that’s made itself quite at home on his face, loathing the thing. He does not make a habit of fidgeting with his clothes, but his hatred for the fabric overpowers his usual composure. 

(Why do you bother, Aemond? he thinks. She will not even see it.)

If his father had any say in it Aemond would surely have the Three Headed Dragon emblazoned across his damned eyepatch, just to drive the message home. Maybe his betrothed’s blindness has spared him of that, for she’d never be able to appreciate it anyway. He’s certain that this tiny mercy is all her disability will ever do for him. 

When the murmuring sept falls quiet, Aemond clenches his fists by his side. He remains facing the statues of the Mother and the Father, watching the way the sun filters through stained glass and lights up the visage of the gods as his betrothed approaches him. He only turns when she is behind him, prepared to take her hand from her father.

Aemond expects to see what he’s come to expect of House Tyrell; opulence and shining silk inlaid with gems, disgusting shows of wealth for the sake of maintaining their status. He hates it, most ardently, but he finds he does not see it reflected in Cecily. 

Cecily’s face is hidden by a gauzy ivory veil, embroidered with pale pink roses. Her dress is creamy white, similarly embroidered with all manner of flowers the names of which Aemond could not hope to recall. It is well made and no doubt expensive, but it is not so far into the realm of ostentation that he wishes to turn away in disgust, he would go so far as to call it… pretty. 

She looks pretty, in ivory lace and the fern green maiden’s cloak that lays over her shoulders. He almost dreads to lift her veil and be so harshly reminded of the cloud over her eyes. He takes her hand, gently guiding her up the steps. 

“Last one,” he murmurs, instantly cursing himself for his kindness to her when she murmurs her thanks. He does not understand himself. He understands himself even less when he hesitates before he reaches for her veil. “Your veil. May I?”

(He does not like her but he will not be a cruel husband. He will not delight in frightening her, he will take whatever care he must to be better than the husbands in his family. She is a rose most delicate, more so than any other. No matter his resentment, she will be his wife and hence shall be handled with care.)

He sees that shrewd smile behind her veil, and sees her nod. “Of course.”

Gods, her voice is sweeter than he remembers. The memories of it which have echoed in his head each night since they met do it no justice. 

He takes her veil between his gloved fingers, lifting it up over her face and settling it over the crown of flowers that secure it to her hair. Her eyes are turned up to him, even if she does not see. He sees the greyish film over them and the gentle feelings are frozen, replaced once more with resentment. 

If he were to turn and run now, would anyone dare to stop him?

Alas, he stays where he is and goes through the proceedings of the union as he’s expected to. Despite his ample protests, there is still a large part of him that longs to be his mother’s dutiful son. 

He reaches to remove the green cloak from her shoulders, running his thumb gently over the embroidered gold trim, and replaces it with one of red and black. Black dragons dance across the fabric, and a smile dances across Cecily’s face. 

With the septon’s blessing and declaration of their union, Aemond takes both her hands. He hesitates a moment as he sees Cecily close her eyes, wondering what’s going on in her head. Is she afraid? Excited? He finds her impossible to read, and he finds it’s driving him mad. Still, he leans down and presses his lips gently to hers. They’re petal soft against his but he does not let it linger. 

He fears if he does he will get lost in it, in the smell of flowers on her skin and the softness of her pink lips. He will not fall to the weak man’s game of lust, no matter if she is his wife under the Seven’s eye. The sept erupts into cheers for the new couple, and Aemond does not miss the way Cecily flinches at the sudden barrage of noise. 

He finds himself cursing their guests for frightening his wife, and he does not know why. 

Aemond is not granted a moment to speak with Cecily until the two of them are sitting beside one another at their wedding banquet, his new wife placed on the side of his good eye. 

The food is placed before them, and the first words his bride speaks to him in near-privacy are, “What have they prepared?”

Aemond taps his finger against the arm of his chair, looking between Cecily and the meal before him. “You seemed to have a keen sense of smell when last we met.”

Cecily chuckles, nodding slowly as she feels across the table for her fork. “As far as anyone but you, Flora, and myself is concerned, that meeting did not happen. But yes, I can smell things better than most, though it may only take me so far. I can smell, hm… fowl, and vegetables, and I can smell spiced honey, and of course the wine that flows from our cups.”

Aemond looks down at his plate, scowling at the sheer aptitude of her nose’s instinct. “It is honey glazed duck with stewed vegetables.”

“Ah!” Cecily delights, brightening with a smile. “It has been some time since my nose has served me this well. The Gods must smile on us today.”

Aemond scoffs. “The Gods have more important matters to tend to than what a blind girl smells for her dinner.”

“The Seven looks upon us always, lord husband, always,” she says as she begins to eat her food. Aemond scowls. She seems pious, even if she does not act as demure as a woman should. He supposes that very few women he knows do, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Cecily does not bother him while they eat, but he watches her and sees she has not switched off. She is listening to the conversations around her, brow turned down in focus. Aemond looks away from her and to the wine in his cup, finding himself trying to do the same. He does not tune into much except half a hushed conversation between his mother and his older brother. 

He hears the words “abhorrent” and “heretical” hissed from his mother, and decides the conversation is not one worth hearing. It does not surprise him to hear that said to Aegon.

When dinner is finished and their empty plates carried away, Cecily leans toward Aemond again. 

“I am sorry we cannot share a dance,” she says. 

Aemond looks over at her, seeing her hands are tracing once more over the embroidery of her dress. She had been doing the same when he barged into her chambers last week. Perhaps it’s a comfort for her. “I hate dancing.”

Cecily smiles at him. “I see. Lucky for us both then. Dancing with a partner is an impossibility with no vision, I can imagine halved vision only makes it an ordeal.”

“Mmm,” hums Aemond, feeling that he should be upset by her words. He hates for it to be brought up, but she’s correct. The lack of vision on one side makes dancing a near impossible task. Maybe he was wrong about her blindness offering him only one mercy. But he cannot imagine any more. “Quite.” 

Her smile stays on her face, radiant despite Aemond’s cold and dismissive tone. There is a hidden, traitorous part of him that wishes to get to know her. She’s his wife, after all. Maybe it would be beneficial to them both if he made some effort to know the woman he’s supposed to love under the Gods’ doctrine. The woman he’s meant to bed. But he strikes that traitorous urge down and shoves it back into the recesses of his mind. He does not need to know a woman to perform his duty. If nothing else, Aegon is evidence of that fact. 

After another moment of stubborn silence Cecily leans away, calling for her cousin Flora. “I shall go speak to our guests, lord husband. Would you like to join me?”

“No,” he says, waving his hand before remembering she can’t see it and hurriedly lowering it, as though embarrassed. “Go.”

He finally sees a hint of her enthusiasm leeched by his dismissive words, and cannot help but be satisfied by it as she stands and offers him a curtsey before turning to Flora and making her way toward where his mother and father – barely conscious of his surroundings – sit. He scowls, thinking of how strongly Cecily will smell Viserys’ rotting body. 

He stiffens when another stench places itself beside him, the familiar scent of Arbour red that always seems to hang off his brother. He does not acknowledge him at first, keeping his eye on his own cup – Arbour gold, as is his own preference on the rare days he sullies himself with drink – in the hope that Aegon will see he is not interested in speaking to him. 

He has, as ever, no such luck.

“Brother,” says Aegon, words slightly slurred. “You will be most happy with me today.”

“Will I?” says Aemond, setting his cup down but still not looking at him.

“Indeed. I have convinced our mother to forgo the bedding ceremony.”

This gives Aemond pause, and finally convinces him to turn his gaze to Aegon. Aegon grins. 

“I knew you’d like that. You’ll still need to consummate, but I’ve done the kindness of letting you do it in private.”

“How did you manage that?”

He shrugs. “A few well placed words about the Seven and decency. Appealing to mother’s faith will get you far, you know. Do not say I’ve never done anything for you. But listen–” Aemond should have known he would want something out of this. “– I can see you do not like her. You will not wish to lay with her, and I understand. But I do not give a fuck if she’s blind, in fact–”

“Do not dare suggest what you have in mind, brother–”

“Come now! I am just being the caring big brother I have always been, Aemond. If you cannot complete the act and you wish to call me in, she’ll be none the wiser. Even if you can, I would still appreciate a turn.”

“Hold your tongue,” Aemond hisses, reaching out and grabbing Aegon by the front of his wine-stained shirt. “You dishonour my wife and your own. Does your debauchery never cease?”

“Gods, brother!” Aegon huffs, clumsily trying to smack Aemond’s hand away. “Twas only a suggestion!”

“Cecily is my wife, and if I hear you’ve touched her you will no longer have a cock to shove in whichever serving girl next takes your fancy.” His voice is low, dangerous. Aegon, though, only seems amused as he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Forgive me, I only hoped to save you from a girl you’re so clearly repulsed by,” he says, as though his intentions had been purely selfless and full of care for his brother. He is so drunk he does not realise that Aemond has never been more serious. “By all means, have the girl. But do tell me if her cunt really smells of roses.”

Aemond releases him roughly, sending the man tumbling off his chair, and stands with the intent to find his wife. He’s thankful to see her still standing before the queen and king with Flora.

He makes his way over, making his presence known to Cecily with a clearing of his throat. 

“Your husband,” Flora murmurs to Cecily, and the two of them offer curtsies to the prince. 

Aemond watches them for a moment before turning to his mother. “Aegon tells me you have decided there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Alicent offers her son a smile and nods. “Yes, we both agreed it was an affront to the Seven. And I am certain there will be proof enough of your consummation come the morning, won’t there?”

“With any luck, your grace,” says Cecily. 

“Good,” says Aemond, not acknowledging Cecily. “Then I wish to retire with my lady wife now. It will serve as a good excuse for father to go rest as well.”

“Right,” says Alicent, moving to stand with the intent to announce their departure, no doubt. 

“No need for an announcement,” he says, gesturing for her to sit back down. “We will go quietly. Lady Cecily, come.”

He holds out his arm and Flora carefully guides Cecily to take it, bidding her cousin good night and good luck.

Aemond leads Cecily up to his chambers, hesitating at the door. She has not said a word the whole way. Is she afraid, as he is? Nervous? It would be only logical. Even without the worry of lords of the realm witnessing their coupling, it is daunting for Aemond. He cannot imagine the fear it would cause in someone who has not done it before. 

He opens the door, gently leading her inside by a hand on the small of her back. “I will help you find your way around until you learn it,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, my lord,” she says, fiddling again with her dress. “Do you know why we’ve been allowed to do this without spectators?”

“A kindness brokered by my brother,” says Aemond, closing the door and looking to her as she stands in the middle of the room, aimless. A sting of repulsion twists in his chest. It feels all too similar to self-loathing, though he cannot know why. “I’m sure it is all we will get in lieu of a wedding gift.”

“Ah, then I must make certain to thank him,” she says, reaching back to begin undoing the lacing of her gown.

“You should not trouble yourself with Aegon’s company,” he says firmly, looking away from her as though trying not to dishonour her in a state of undress. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, slipping off the dress so it pools around her ankles. She stands there in only her smallclothes. He glances up, catching sight of her as she slips her chemise from her shoulders and his breath catches in his throat. Her body, svelte but soft with a life of good food and comfort, is near bare before him. She smiles, evidently hoping he’s looking as she plays with her hands. “I hope I am pleasing to you. Will you help me to the bed?”

He watches her in silence for a moment, as though stunned by the sight of his wife almost naked. In a sense, he is. He had not expected Cecily to act quite so boldly. She is a confident woman and not demure as he is aware, but somehow he thought her nerves would get the better of her. Perhaps not being able to see his reactions helps.

Could she see, she would see a man stunned and frightened, and he finds himself thankful yet again for her blindness. He does not answer her but begins to slowly undress, first removing his gloves, then his boots, then he undoes the lacing of his doublet. As he does, he moves toward her. She perks, then stiffens, as though realising what those footsteps mean. 

He shrugs the doublet off, and reaches to take her hand. The touch of her bare skin against his, for the first time, burns hotter than dragonfire. 

He forces himself to lead her to the bed and watches as she sits down, shimmying up to lean against the pillows, hands settled in her lap as Aemond moves to sit down beside her. It feels wrong to be in a state of undress around a woman, even one who cannot see him. He hasn't allowed himself to be intimate with a woman since…

He pushes that thought from his mind. Hate Cecily as he does, she seems kind enough. Innocent, as he had once been. She will not laugh at him as those women did. 

(Gods, he hopes she is truly as kind as she makes out to be.)

Cecily shifts closer to him, gently feeling across the soft sheets for Aemond’s hand. She turns to face him, offering him a timid smile. “I am a maiden,” she tells him. “But I will try not to be boring for you.”

“You do not have to,” Aemond mumbles, watching her hand slide over his arm and onto his chest, then down. He feels his pulse quicken, but does not stop her. 

“I wish to,” she promises in a whisper. Her hand trails further down, to the waist of his trousers. 

Aemond clenches his jaw and reaches for her wrist as gently as he can manage, though he’s certain she feels the slight tremble in his grip. He moves her hand away, not meeting her eyes to avoid the look on her face– she must be mocking him. She must think him a fool, a boy, an invalid, just like she is. “Let us not make this more complicated than it ought to be.”

“But, I-”

“Lay back. I will do my best to be gentle.”

He finally looks up at her and what he sees is not a mocking sneer, but only confusion. Still, she obliges him and shifts to lay down on the bed, hands folded over her stomach. Aemond’s heart pangs with something he cannot hope to understand, but he ignores it. He undoes his pants, crawling over her and not wasting any further time. 

He goes as slow as he can manage to ease her into the feeling, but once he has broken her maidenhead he forces himself away from all sentimentality and care, moving instead with cold, hard duty. He does not let himself think about how she feels wrapped around his cock, soft and wet and warm and tight. He especially does not dare let himself look at her, does not dare see the expression of disappointment and upset that no doubt takes residence on her face. He cannot. 

After some time he comes with a grunt, taking a few steadying breaths to keep himself under control. To lose any part of his inhibitions now would be weakness. 

I am not weak, he thinks, not doing well to convince himself. Aemond Targaryen is not weak. 

He pulls out after a moment and rolls over to lay beside her. Cecily says nothing, but he sees her press her palms to her eyes and take a deep inhale. She’s trying not to cry. A better husband might comfort her, but Aemond cannot bring himself to do so when he cannot even comfort himself. So Aemond rolls over and listens to his wife try to keep her breathing even, feeling weaker than he has in many years.

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond #my work #aemond targaryen fanfic #ableism tw #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond fanfic #thtdtl

[thegreengnome]

Helaena targaryen x male uncle targaryen reader. Instead of marrying Aegon she marries the reader and they have children jaehaerys, jaehaera and maelor (let's imagine they are not from Aegon)

Fandom – House of the Dragon

Word Count -1080

Pairing – Helaena Targaryen X Taelor Targaryen (OC)

Warnings – N/A

Taelor Targaryen is the surprise third child of Prince Baelon. After the death of his first and only true wife, Baelon fell into a depression – his true love was dead – how was he meant to continue without her? He needed comfort and who better to comfort the distraught prince than a Lannister. A cunning and seductive Lannister, who now had a seed planted in her belly.

Honor demanded the two wed much to the satisfaction of the Lannister house. Not eight moons later a son was born to the pair. The smug lady Lannister had succumbed to the birthing bed like so many before her, this left a newborn baby in the arms of an emotionless prince.

The most humane thing the gods had ever done for the young prince was to kill his father. While a great parent and role model to his older sons, to Taelor he was cruel and often expressed disgust at the child that had not come from Alyssa. Perhaps he felt guilt over fathering him.

This passing left the young boy in the care of his eldest brother and his family. Raised alongside his much younger niece and nephews.

Due to being several years older then said nephews and niece Taelor adopted a leadership role. He was their protector and he took this job very seriously.

Which is why she was finding it difficult to remain still as the maester stitched up the open wound that once held Aemonds vibrant purple eye. The grip on the back of Taelor’s tunic kept him stable and grounded. Reaching back, Taelor made sure that Helaena was hidden from the view of the crowd around them.

They were Targaryen’s- the greatest power in all of Westeros – a family. So why were they constantly fighting.

His half-brothers only cared for Rhaenyra, all the love they possessed in there boy was given to one instead of spread out too many. Viserys younger children left behind in the wake of their much-loved older sister. Taelor knew from experience how hurtful parental neglect was, so he vowed to be everything his brothers were not. He would show his younger family members the loved that they deserved.

Xxx

When the inevitable search for a spouse for Taelor began, he sat through countless small council meetings his brother and eldest niece throwing potential brides at him.

He was a Targaryen; he would not settle for someone beneath him. So, he went to the queen.

The solar was quiet as both waited for the other to talk. The two had a complicated relationship – still a child herself Alicent was given the task of raising not only her own children but Taelor as well.

“We both know your father wants Aegon on the phone”

Alicent remained calm, sipping her warming tea, her ringed fingers clutching the delicate porcelain.

“I am also aware of your plans to marry him to Helaena” the tea made its way down. The queen’s sole attention on her charge.

“I think it is a foolish decision. To marry two possible heirs to the throne to one another instead of gaining outside alliances”

Humming Alicent seems amused. Of course, she had no desire to wed her children together but her father always got what he wanted. “And who do you suggest?”

“Me” not many things can surprise the queen but it had seemed her ward had achieved this great feat.

“You?” Taelor had always been good to her children and as much as it pained the queen to admit her eldest son was not the ideal candidate to marry her sweet and dream like daughter.

“Why? What would you gain?” everyone had their own plan to win the game- what was Taelor’s?

“A loving wife. No one knows Hel like I do. Aegon would not treat her with the respect she deserves. We both know this to be true”

“Marrying us would guarantee the loyalty of the Lannister’s who have historically been fickle”

Mulling the offer over Alicent asks the question that her father would be desperate to know “and what of your stance to the throne?”

“The throne is of no consequence to me. Whoever sists the throne, it is all the same. I will support Helaena in everything that she does and if that includes helping her brother then so be it”

Xxx

They wed two moons after Helaena turns sixteen, enough time for the couple to prepare for the union. The wedding itself was a small affair, much to the chagrin of the Queen. Knowing how uncomfortable his lady could get around crowds, he insisted on a small ceremony. An idea which gifted him the reward of a shy smile from his soon to be wife.

Helaena looked radiant as she walked towards Taelor to be cloaked. Her dress a hightower green, with white glittering gems encrusted through the bodice. Her hair braided intricately with a silver butterfly pin bringing the look together. The maiden’s cloak was a work of art, well in Taelor’s humble opinion. It perfectly showed who Helaena was. Dreamfyre imagery throughout with a scattering of spiders for good measure. The cloak made as her wedded one held much the same art as the maiden one but with the added image of Taelor’s dragon curled around dreamfyre.

Xxx

Not even three moons later the couple were blessed with good news. A babe was in the princess’s stomach.

That one babe turned out to be two and Prince Jaehaerys and Princesses Jaehaera was born. Throughout the labour Taelor remained at Helaena side. Ignoring the disapproving looks from the maester and the Queen. He swept sweety hair from her face and whispered words of love and encouragement into her ears. Because that was what their relationship was now- love

The babes were only hours old yet they already had their parents wrapped around their tiny fingers.

Xxx

The twins grew fast – too fast for there fathers liking. They brought joy to everyone in the keep, even their uncle Aemond was seen to crack a smile in their presence.

And soon the twins were joined by a younger brother Maelor. The spitting image of his mother, with wide eyes and that curious expression.

The family of five was happy and content. The married couple were often found in the company of one another with their kids following like small ducklings.

Despite this happiness, Taelor was always ready. He knew that when his eldest brother finally passes the dance would begin.

#house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd fanfic #helaena imagine #helaena fic #helaena x reader #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

[targaryensluttt]

muse on fire (chapter four)

pairing: fem!reader x aemond targaryen

warnings: light suggestions of violence, he WILL kill for you, aegon being a dick, light oc character descriptions but you can envision her looking like whatever you'd like, none really this is another fluffy chapter

notes: thank you all so much for your continued support. i was so excited by people asking to join the taglist! the next chapter may take me longer than just a few days because i want that shit to be really good, you know?

at the bottom I have included a picture of what I was envisioning OC to wear to the dinner.

word count: 3,191

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

Getting ready to dine with the Targaryens was always nerve wracking since you were old enough to understand that you were a ward of theirs, not blood, here only at the King’s grace.

  These days, it was rare at all that everyone would gather for dinner, as Alicent and Viserys’s children grew, it was clear that they did not mesh well. Between Aegon assaulting the servants,, Helaena unable to control her prophetic outbursts, Aemond’s attitude, topped with Alicent’s desire to control them all, it made for stressful gatherings. Now, they all much preferred to dine apart. Many of the families evenings were spent with Helaena and her mother in one room, babes playing on the floor, King Viserys sick in bed being hand fed and Aegon drunk in bed, passed out, Otto alone, as well as Aemond alone, enthralled with his studies, hastily eating dinner over his books.

It was not lost on you that being chosen to dine with the royal family was a privilege. Even just as a friend to the family, they were impressive to behold. It was said Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. All your life, you felt the separation. They were all regal. Every single one had a power about them. Aemond and Rhanerya were the only ones of the King’s children who had started to learn how to hone theirs. The Princess more so than Aemond, as she was older and more experienced with the ways of court, while he still was quick to betray his emotions and positions. 

The dress you chose was all black, strapless and off the shoulder with a flattering bodice and long sleeves. The fabric ruched around your ample hips perfectly, accentuating your curves, and the gold embroidery of seashells and vines were a favorite design of yours. You accompanied this look with black pearl earrings  and a ring, and placed a delicate headband that held your wavy hair perfectly.

Just then, Millie, your favorite maid servant and long time lady in waiting and companion to your house in the North, entered in your chamber. Smiling, she stepped to you. 

“You look stunning, my lady.”

You thanked her, and smiled weakly. This was to be the first time you had seen Aemond since last night in his room, and a good chunk of his family were going to be there. You wanted to be perfect. Of course, Millie did not know of your encounter with the Prince, so she was surprised at your hesitation.

She must have seen the look on your face, because she asked you- 

“Nervous, are you, after all this time?” 

“Of course not” You lied, and took a deep breath. Your bodice had been laced too tightly, and the slight feeling of struggling to get air was not helping your nerves. 

“I will escort you when you are ready, Miss.”

Holding your shoulders back and your head high, you steeled yourself, and began to head to the dining room. 

It was customary to be announced, still, even after you had grown up with this family, so you waited patiently by the door for the footman to say your name and let your dinner companions know you were here to join them. 

Entering the room, you saw the family gathered round the table. So, you were the last one here. Great. Helaena, welcoming as always, gestured to an empty chair between her-and Aemond. 

You wanted to be by him, for sure. But suddenly you two being physically close in front of his family made you even more uncomfortable, afraid you’d somehow reveal what you two had been doing the night before and the new level of intimacy that had been achieved. You could not meet his eye,although you felt his stare burning into you. 

“Your Graces” you said, sitting and acknowledging the King and Queen. 

“The King and I are excited to have you join us tonight, Y/N.”

“I am honored, truly.” you polietly responded. 

“A prayer, then we may begin.” Alicent said.

Aegon scoffed loudy.

Side eyeing him and choosing to ignore his behavior (as she was good at), the Queen began the blessing.

Though you weren’t one who cared much for religion, you understood its power, and bowed your head, closed your eyes and clasped your hands respectfully, until you heard a whisper in your ear:

“You were supposed to leave your panties” Aemond said, casually, as if he had just announced the weather.

At this, you had to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand. 

“Check under your pillow” you mouthed back, grateful he was able to ease some of your tension with the jest, and then regained your composure, though a slight smirk remained on your face the rest of the prayer.

The food was excellent, of course. But being so close to Aemond in front of his close kin had your stomach in knots. Instead of truly having a meal, you choose to sip wine and eat the occasional bite, as to not appear rude. You were good at engaging at small talk, and speaking to Helaena was always nice. 

You kept your hands in your lap when you were not actively using them, because they were shaking slightly. You felt lightheaded and dizzy, likely overwhelmed at the situation and lacking oxygen from your corset being laced too tightly. Aemond’s gaze had seldom left you the whole time, only when someone directly addressed him, and that did make you feel elated, but in the moment you were worried he was being far too obvious.

 His expression morphed to one of concern when he saw your fingers tremble to pick up the heavy goblet from the table. He was not stupid. You were sure the Prince sensed your nervousness. 

You took a small sip, and again placed your hands back in your lap, gripping above your knees slightly in order to ground yourself. Your chest rose and fell quickly, thirsting for air. It was not long after that you felt his hand gently reach for yours under the table, and he intertwined your fingers. He rested them together on his strong thigh, and stroked the inside of your palm with his thumb reassuringly. The gesture was so sweet, you wished you could throw your arms around him at the table right then. 

While her son’s hand was still in yours under the table, the Queen began to specify to you what she wanted done in the background of the portrait the family was to sit for soon.

“And draw me with a big cock.”  Aegon said, slurring his words and laughing while he interrupted his mother to address you. Helaena looked down, ashamed of her husband’s behavior, while you stared back at him with a disgusted look on your face. The last thing you wished to think about was Aegon’s cock. You suddenly had a need to hurl.

“Stop.” Aemond said, addressing his brother, warning him.

Seeing your grimace, Aegon cruelly added,

“What, Y/N? You could even paint yourself on your knees, sucking it. Since you desire to be a part of this family so badly, as you haven’t one of your own, seems perfect to include yourself as well.”

“That is enough-” Alicent began, when Aemond’s free hand, the one not holding yours, came down hard on the table. 

“Do not. Do not speak to her like that.”

Aegon did not challenge his younger brother often, but tonight, he was especially drunk, and it made him bold. 

“Why should you care, brother?” he said, knowingly.

You swear you heard Aemond growl. You gripped his hand harder under the table.

For a moment, you looked at him as if he were the only person in the room with you, trying to convey your message. Please, don’t, you thought, as if he was in your mind. This was not the time. The thought of your presence causing strife and ruining the dinner was mortifying for you, even more so than being humiliated by Aegon at the table. You sweeped your eyes over the other silent, staring family members at the table, and chuckled rather falsely.

“It’s fine, really.” You nodded, desperately attempting to get the situation under control and the dinner back on track,  and the Queen actually gave you a small sincere smile, recognizing you trying to keep the peace. 

“No, it is not.” Aemond said, fist still clenched on top of the table. You had not noticed before, but he had his small dagger gripped tightly in his hand.

“She’d look great with my cock in her mouth. A true work of art.” Aegon taunted the younger Prince, unwisely. 

At hearing this, Aemond leapt across the table, with a snarl ripping from his throat, and held the thin dagger to Aegon’s neck. 

You felt so nauseous. It was too hot. The situation was escalating fast. Your body was buzzing, and your head spinning. Afraid you would let your stomach contents of red wine all over the table, you ripped your clammy hand from Aemonds, which had been revealed to all when he jumped across the table and did not let go- harshly yanking your arm with him, and scraped your chair against the floor, rising suddenly. You began to turn to the hall, so you could be sick without the whole royal family watching you-when you felt yourself falling to the floor- and everything went black.

When you regained consciousness, the first thing you felt was the cold, hard floor. Then, your head throbbing. Groaning, you opened your eyes, to see three of the Targaryens staring right back over you. The Queen, Helaena, and even Aemond had released the dagger from under his disrespectful brother’s chin to come to your aid when he heard you hit the ground. It would have been funny, all of them peering at you like that, and you almost laughed, until you remembered what had just happened. 

“I’m so sor-“ you began, ashamed of yourself for not being able to keep it together. 

“Don’t. Say nothing of the sort” Aemond insisted, and in one swoop, you felt your body lifted from the stone floor. 

Aemond had gathered you up in your arms and began to exit the room. You attempted to wiggle out of his grip, weakly kicking your feet to try and stand on your own,  still embarrassed. 

He gripped you tighter, making it clear he had no intention of setting you down. 

Still fighting for air and very dizzy, you gave in, allowing him to take you up the stairs, two at a time. You kept focus on his face. He had a dangerous look. Despite the miserable situation, and how badly you felt you had shamed yourself, you were cradled in your Prince’s arms once again, and couldn’t help feeling joyful about it. 

Prince Aemond was lean, yes, but did not lack strength. It wasn’t as if you were one of the most petite ladies in the castle, but it seemed no challenge for him, because he was able to maintain his stride all the way to your room. 

With you still in his arms, he roughly kicked open your door. 

Millie was there, preparing your nightclothes, and gasped in surprise at the sight of the Prince busting into your room with you in his arms. 

He cut her off before she could get one word out. 

“Water. And the maester. Now.” 

The sharp edge of his voice made it clear he would allow no debate on this. 

Looking you over once, Millie then quickly exited the room, presumably to follow Aemond’s plan. 

“I-” You again began, breathlessly, but Aemond was having none of it. The stern look on his face told you it was best if you kept quiet, at least for now.

He gently laid you down on your bed. Keeping eye contact, he again drew his pencil thin dagger, sat you up, and drew it down the ribbon laces of your bodice that had been stealing your air. Finally feeling able to take a deep breath, you greedily sucked in oxygen.

“Yes, that’s right, breathe, baby.” he said, holding your face and rubbing circles on your bare back.

“Where is that damn girl with that goddamn maester?” 

“Aemond. Look at me. I’m fine. It was just a fainting spell. My corset was far too tight, and you just remedied the issue” you insisted, trying to keep him calm, reaching up to the side of his face.

“I will have my brother’s tongue for distressing you so.” he hissed, holding you to his chest.

Laughing lightly, you reached up farther into his hair to anchor yourself (and him) and then reassured him,  “You underestimate me, my Prince. Aegon will not be the death of me, of this I am sure.”

The look he gave you in return made you want to squirm in his lap. Intense did not cover it. He had murder in his eyes. He was fierce. You moved your thighs closer together, guilty that his anger at his brother was slightly making you feel aroused.

“I will not see you disrespected so.” He said this plainly, posing no room for argument.

Your cunt throbbed, and you bit your lip, nodding your head. 

Opening your mouth to reply, you were interrupted with three people entering your room. Queen Alicent, Millie, and the Maester had come in together. They all saw Aemond holding you to him, still rubbing your back and  staring into your face.

He did not move, nor flinch as you did when he recognized the new presences in the room. Instead, he demanded-

“Check the back of her head. I want to make sure she is not in danger of a concussion.”

“My son. I wish to have a word.” The Queen said.

He did not respond. 

“Go,” you told him, “I will be fine.”

He laid you down on the spread of pillows, and rose to speak to his mother in the hallway,

As the Maester and Millie fussed over you, confirming that you were, indeed well, you heard bits of Aemond and his mother’s conversation through the cracked door.

“You would spill your own brother’s blood over this girl?! She questioned him, no doubt astounded at the turn of the night’s events.

“Yes, mother, I would.” He replied simply, as if she was asking him if he would run an errand for her, in a tone that was much too calm to be reassuring to his mother.

All three of you had been listening in on the conversation. Millie and the Maester’s eyes widened at Aemond’s confession, they gave each other a knowing look, and you blushed deeply. 

The Queen’s voice grew hush after this, and the conversation no longer carried into the room. After a few minutes, Aemond returned.

Standing up from your side, the Maester said, “She is well, your Grace. She just needs some rest, and her window opened tonight so she may breathe some fresh air.”

Aemond nodded, and returned to sit at your side. He gestured with two of his fingers for the cool washcloth that Millie had been holding. 

“Leave us” he said, dismissing them.

At first, Mille protested. “But, my Prince, this is most improper, it is nighttime, I should stay with her.”

Without lifting his gaze from yours, he told her frankly, “I care not.”

She looked at you with worry in her eyes. You gave her a small smile and nodded reassuringly. Reluctantly, she gathered those damn ribbons that had nearly suffocated you, which now laid shredded on the floor, and exited the room with the Maester. 

Aemond reached for the silver bowl full of cool water, and dampened the cloth. He delicately wiped your face and upper arms with it. Words did not pass between you two for some time. You let yourself relax in his arms and enjoyed the feeling of the washcloth soothing your overheated skin. You were able to look up at his face while he was doing so, and you admired his features. He was not a “typical” beauty, but rather a strange, unique one. You had known him all his life, and your attraction to him had not wavered. Not even when he lost his eye and began to don his now signature eyepatch. To you, it just made him more interesting. You thought about how badly you wanted to draw him at that moment, but you knew it was unlikely he would let you exert yourself. So you just observed. Watched the candlelight flicker off of his proud features. How it made his hair gleam even more so in the moonlight streaming in from your open window. Frowning, you started to worry his hunched over sitting position in your bed was uncomfortable for him.

“Lay with me?” You asked him, too tired to dance around the subject. You wanted to cuddle with him. To hold and be held. He eagerly agreed, nodding his head yes, and  you sat up while he began to shed his outer jacket and shoes he wore to dinner, which made you grateful, because you wanted to feel his skin closer to yours. He wore a billowy black v-neck shirt underneath that was cuffed at the wrists and ruffled out around his hands.

He situated himself amongst your fluffy pillows, and you waited for him to get comfortable. His long body was spread out on your bed, and he motioned for you to join him. Standing up, you kicked off your flats, and let your dress, now unrestrained to your body, fall, so you were left in your underclothes. You figured he had already seen nearly as much the night before. His mouth fell open slightly at the sight, and you could see his chest begin to rise a bit faster. He smiled at you, his eyes twinkling. You grabbed the nightgown Millie had left for you, put it over your head, and joined Aemond in bed, laying your head on his chest, and wrapping your arms around his broad upper half, and threw one of your legs over both of his. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close to his chest. After some time of listening to his heart beat, which was quickly becoming one of your favorite new pastimes, you broke the silence.

“I am worried we revealed ourselves at dinner, Aemond.”

At hearing this, he lifted his head to look at you. 

“I have no intention to hide you, darling.” he said, and then kissed your forehead softly. 

Your heart swelled, and though your head was full of worries and reservations, you let yourself just enjoy having him in your arms, saving your concerns for later.

You could feel yourself drifting off, so you kissed his chest, the pale skin that was exposed under his shirt that covered his glorious heart, wanting to express to him in some small way how much the last twenty four hours had meant to you.

This was the second night in a row you had fallen asleep to the soothing beat of The Prince’s heart.

character's dress:

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[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Love Song for a Vampire Pt. 30

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x Bella Swan, Jacob Black x Witch!OC, Edward Cullen x Bella Swan

Warnings:none

Words:1987

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35  Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39

The ending didn’t come out like it did the first time I typed this up but it’s close to the original I had worked on last night 🙃

Shocked wasn’t enough to describe the jolt Jacob received when he opened his front door and found Bella. The last bit of hope that imprinting on the witch had just been a dream was quickly eliminated. Standing before him was the love of his life, yet he didn’t feel that same giddiness he once felt with Bella’s presence. That terrified him more than anything; how quickly imprinting changed one’s life.

Behind her on the dirt driveway was a small, tan car. Probably here replacement for her red truck that was totaled when Riley took her. Late in the day, the sky is already casting the world in a pink and orange haze.“Sorry to show up unannounced.” He can tell Bella immediately wanted to nervously chew on her bottom lip as she was prone to do but stopped herself. Subtle changes could be seen on her. She’d been spending time reflecting on herself and really thinking of what she wants in life.

“No, it’s okay.” Jacob steps aside to let her in. Bella hesitated for a heartbeat before walking through. I guess it has been a while since she’s come over.

They go to his room which feel so small now that there was another person occupying it.

He hated this strange feeling. It made him not know how to act in front of her. Like she was a complete stranger to him now and not the girl he'd been mooning over for years. Jacob watches her in a queer way as she perched herself on the edge of his bed. "How has the pack been?"

"Good. (y/n) and Edward left with the Denali couple to drive them back to Alaska." He noticed the flash of momentary hurt on Bella's face before she regains composure and nods.

"I remember them saying they'd be leaving soon." They hadn't spoken about her meeting with them. Jacob had been too focused on what was happening with him and how, even though he was in his human skin, he could still smell Evita's citrus scent that beckoned him to go to Sam's. The alpha had warned Jacob though about scaring her off before she was able to finish the wards that was to protect them from hostile creatures.

“They left last night and should be back in a few hours from the text she sent to our group chat.” Jacob shrugs. “

At that, Bella actually smiles. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Edward drives really fast. Even Alice does too. It must be a vampire thing.”

He tried to think of something else to say, anything to make his life feel normal again. There had been nothing normal about his life though. His mouth was dry and tongue heavy. How could he go on pretending everything was okay? Not to mention he couldn’t imagine how Bella would feel once she learned that another guy who she deeply cared about was taken because of imprinting once again. Her wounds were still healing from her breakup with Edward. It would crush Bella. Jacob may have imprinted on Evita, but he still cared for her greatly. Just not romantically, not anymore.

By the blessing of those above, a tremor in the air gripped Jacob and Bella. The hairs on the back of her neck stand at the tingling that was rushing through her. “Wh. . . What is that?”

The strong aroma of orange blossoms fills his nostril.

Evita.

This had to be Evita’s magic swirling in the air. It riled up the wolf in him, making Jacob want to spring into action. Were it not for Bella being present, he might have leapt through his window and run to Sam’s house where he knew the witch was staying for the meantime.

Underneath his skin, the animal trembled and agitated him from the inside where he felt uncomfortable in his human flesh.

Inhaling deeply, Jacob closed his eyes to steady his breathing which had quickened. “Magic.”

Bella does a double take. “Magic?”

He stumbles over his words but manages to get Bella up to date on what had been going on in La Push. Even Jacob felt silly about the things he said out loud to her, all of this sounded so unreal yet that’s what his life had become.

The air was still fluctuating with that sharp orange smell and Jacob could spot goosebumps rising on Bella’s arms as an after effect to nearby magic.

“Can I meet her?”

“You want to meet her?” Yes, a reason to see Evita! His wolf rejoiced that he’d finally be able to be near her again despite Jacob’s efforts to ignore it.

Bella doesn’t waver. “Yes. If she’s here to protect the town then I feel like I owe it to her to introduce myself. This. . . This is my fault after all.”

“Stop saying that.” Jacob hated how she pinned the blame of all of the events that had led up to Evita’s arrival. “It’s not you’re fault. Something like this was bound to happen ever since the Cullens came to town decades ago.

“Regardless,” Bella sighed. “I want to meet her.”

That’s how they end up in Bella’s tan Corolla, the small car sped through the empty streets of La Push to get to Sam’s cabin. The drive was overall quiet considering both of them were off in their own little worlds; questioning what they had felt in his room when Evita’s magic swept up their senses into a flurry. The wolf’s eagerness to be near it’s mate was unfathomable as Jacob felt his hands beading with perspiration.

He wasn’t ready to see Evita. Not yet.There was no way Jacob could trust himself to keep his imprinting a secret from Bella if Evita is near.

And Bella, her skin still hadn’t stopped shivering with an odd delight; the back of her neck continued to tingle through her neck and spine. She couldn’t begin to describe the experience. Jacob had called it magic.

The drive didn’t take long, Jacob and Bella were great up for that as Bella’s car pulled to a stop in front of Sam’s cabin. Excited chatter could be heard streaming through from the inside of the house.

Bella gets out of the car first allowing Jacob a few seconds to himself to calm the roaring wave of his heartbeat.

Breathing in a deep inhale, Jacob unbuckles his belt and pushed open the car door.

Smoke from Sam’s chimney twirls out in long ribbons against the mystical color pallet that sunsets are composed of.

From a fluttering curtain in a window, a face briefly appeared and spotted the two of them as they walk up to Sam’s porch. In but a few seconds does Paul open the door to great them. His eyes narrow with caution that confused Bella. Instantly a tension spoiled the air and the house grew quiet.

“Jacob. Bella.” Paul casually greeted but there was a strain to his voice. “Fancy seeing you guys here.”

“We came here to see Evita’s witchcraft.” Jacob is quick to say, hopeful that Paul would buy the reason for it was true.

“We felt the aftershocks and I asked Jacob to take me to meet her.” Explained Bella.

That made Paul’s eyes round. “Aftershocks?”

Sam appeared behind him. “Come in.” He merely instructed and had Paul step aside. “Jacob, stay in the back with me.”

Sam’s living room was crowded with other members of the pack and was wholly transformed into a candlelit space for witchcraft. His usual furniture was gone and in their place were an array of strange and arcane objects. The light from the fireplace made shadows flicker against the walls and distort the shadowy figures of those present.

Everyone leaned in yet kept themselves from straying too far into the circle that Evita had made on the ground.

A small bowl of herbs are slowly catching ablaze by the beckoning of her foreign words. Bella saw with her own eyes a river stone crumble all by itself into fine dust that is carried on an invisible wind and into Evita’s clasped hands. The delicate skin of her wrists appear paper thin as even Bella could see the many lines and rivers of her veins. They looked like they were made of lightening as they burned from under her skin.

Her lips move rapidly in her incantation, and as her words carried into the room, the energy shifted. Candlelight made the dark sway.

Entranced were the rest of the pack as they held their breathing, taking in the wondrous sight before them.

More sharp spices fill the air along with Evita’s citrus scent.

Jacob couldn’t tear his eyes off of her wild and flying curls that whip around her face that was lined with painful looking scars. To Jacob though, the dark scars that run along her face accentuate her fine cheekbones and full lips. A spatter of freckles add to her charm.

The wild wind of energy that had been swirling around her seem to fall away. Time itself felt like it froze.

Multiple breaths that had been held in up until that point exhale with an edge of relief. Her spell was complete.

When the candles are blown out by the dying breath of her magic, Sam slowly turns on the electronic lights of his house. Sitting in the middle of the living room was a pale Evita. Slowly she removes her top hand to reveal an object the size of a quarter and equally flat.

The color of it was the glittering shade of emerald. A warmth eminated from it.

Weary from her efforts, Evita explained with a tired voice “I have five more of these to make. They are to be distributed throughout Forks and La Push. The ward is this small so that it won’t be easily spotted by your enemies. We must bury them at six specific points. About a foot into the ground.” She passed it to Jared who held it with reverence. The ward made it’s way around the pack as they ‘ooed’ and ‘awwed’.

Leah and Seth gather around Evita to help her up and into Sam’s bedroom where she was regain her strength.

Jacob followed the trio with his eyes, unable to follow them thanks to Sam.

While Bella hadn’t been able to be properly introduced to Evita, the visit had been worthwhile. She’d never imagined that magic would look quite like that or that it would feel so intense.

When everyone had a chance to examine the ward, Paul snatched it from Collin’s hands. “This is to be put somewhere with the highest security. This may not look like much but it is essential if we want to keep our territory safe.”

This was not fun and games.

Sam put a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, alerting him it was time for him to go. “She’ll be alright. She warned me ahead of time that this would take a toll on her energy. Proper sleep and food will do her good.”

If Sam hadn’t been Jacob’s alpha, who knows what he would have done. Any other wolf would consider Sam’s posturing as getting in between Jacob and his mate. Hell hath no fury like a wolf being kept apart from their imprintee.

Jacob was still experiencing a heady daze and thankfully didn’t put up much of a fight as he taps Bella’s arm to get her attention. She was still staring at where Evita had been creating her ward.

The simple physical contact coaxed her back to her senses and they slink to the front door. Both too stunned to utter a parting word to anyone.

Bella didn’t know how long they’d been there, but instead of the fuchsia clouds that were highlighted with orange there was now a vast sky filled with stars.

Stars were dull though in comparison to the headlights on Edward’s car that shined right at them.

——

Names that are in bold are ones I can’t tag for some reason

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#edward cullen #edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x you #twilight #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter Six: Communication

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC (Alice Greene)

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?

Word Count: 4,060

W: mentions of bullying/hazing, sexually suggestive content

A/N: I have been enduring unending struggle after struggle this semester, so I'm sorry this took a while.

previous chapter

Golden light filtered through Laszlo’s office window. One of Rachmaninov’s symphonies played softly over his computer speaker, and he graded student essays with a fine-tipped red pen. A soft knock on the door broke him from his focus which he did not mind given the poor quality of the writing. Alice stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand, and a smile a mile wide. 

“What a surprise.” He pushed the stack of papers away and leaned back in his chair. 

She shut the heavy door. Her hips shimmied in a way Laszlo knew was meant to entice him. It worked. “I thought you could use a little afternoon pick-me-up.” 

“From you? Always.”

Alice handed Laszlo his coffee, no cream or sugar, and sat on his desk. She crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs, and took a sip from her drink. Laszlo looked up at her, admiring everything he saw, and set his coffee to the side. He didn’t need it when he had her. 

His hand ran along her calf prompting her to re-cross her legs. Laszlo’s eyes flicked back and forth, torn between the mischievous glint in her eye and her plush thighs. Alice leaned down, her chest eye level with him, and cupped one of his cheeks with her hand. Her fingers played with his beard, and he nuzzled into her touch. He took a deep breath smelling her floral perfume, his forgotten coffee, and the old books in his office. Divine.  

She kissed his forehead, and then she leaned back on the old oak desk. Entranced, Laszlo stood. He was a sunflower yearning for the sun. She spread her legs, and he stood between her thighs clasping her waist. Standing, he was a touch taller than her, changing the angle between them. He kissed her, tasting the cinnamon sweetness on her tongue, and searching for more. 

“Oh, Laszlo,” she pulled away from his kiss, but her hand laid on his chest over his heart. “Are you sure? Anyone could come into your office, and I would hate for us to be interrupted.” Alice played coy, but Laszlo knew better. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Darling, you’ll be the only one coming in my office today. I promise.”

Laszlo pushed down the turtleneck of her sweater and kissed her neck. Impulsively, he wanted to leave a mark she would need to hide with another sweater. He cupped her breast, feeling the faint outline of lace under the knit, and he tugged on her sweater. It came loose from being tucked into her skirt, and he moved his hand under it. His thumb grazed the delicate lace, and he let out an appreciative chuckle.

“Please, Laszlo” she whispered in his ear, “more.”  

He clicked his tongue. “Greedy girl, aren’t you? Patience, and I will give you more.” Laszlo sank to his knees, and he guided her glorious thighs over his shoulders. He tugged at her lace underwear, and he wondered if it matched her bra. Alice giggled above him and wove her fingers into his hair, pulling him ever closer, not that he needed any encouragement. He lazily kissed each of her thighs, intent on leaving marks there too—

Laszlo woke with a start. Sweat clung to his flushed skin and shirt despite the late fall chill in his room. He was sticky with precome and tangled in the sheets. Laszlo groaned and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to know the meaning of a sex dream. 

A cool breeze blew the long linen curtains, and a pale morning light filled the room. Glancing at his alarm clock, because he preferred the old-fashioned alarm clock to his phone, he knew he had a few minutes. For a moment, he thought about finishing the fantasy. Laszlo could easily imagine the ending, lapping at her until his beard was soaked with her, but he hesitated. 

With a groan that Stevie would certainly tease and call “an old man’s groan”, Laszlo left his comfortable bed. He rummaged through his bedside drawer for the pack of cigarettes he unsuccessfully hid from himself and shrugged on his warm robe. Laszlo didn’t have sex, but he still craved a cigarette. Only one, he promised himself, then he would shower and dress for the day. 

“Cheers!” Bitsy and Alice clinked their glasses together. Adorable, tiny rubber ducks floated in their mimosas, and despite the restaurant’s warning about a dollar charge for taking the ducklings, both women fully intended to slip them into their purses before leaving. 

“It feels like forever since I saw you! How was your trip?” Alice set her phone to the side and clasped her hands in front of her. A few weeks back during one of their planning periods, Bitsy booked the excursion. Alice joked she was planning, just not lessons or teaching. Over the three-day fall break, Bitsy and Lucius went upstate to a bed and breakfast, with the best reviews and amenities. 

“Amazing,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m so glad we did it. You know how everyone talks about going somewhere to see the leaves change colors and go apple picking?”

Alice grinned, imagining the leisurely autumnal weekend. “Yes, of course.”

Bitsy spilled all the details while they waited for their food. They took a gorgeous vintage-styled train upstate much to Lucius’s delight. She showed pictures and videos of the views and laughed recounting their apple-picking and cider-making misadventures. Apparently, both were more difficult than they seemed. Their bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage with a main hall for meals, and a precious elderly couple hosting. She raved about the cider donuts Linda made and passed the recipe along to Alice. 

“And you? How are things with the doctor? Or does he prefer the professor?”

“Please, you know I call him Laszlo.”

“Uh-huh, I just like to tease you, and by default him. So, how are things with you and Laszlo?” The waitress brought over their food, so Alice waited until they were settled to answer. 

“Well, without getting my hopes up,” Bitsy rolled her eyes, “it’s wonderful.” Alice blushed and not because of the mimosa. 

On their first date, he picked her up from her apartment with a bouquet of camellias. As soon as she commented they were cat-safe flowers, meaning she could place them on the coffee table without worrying about Georgie eating them, Laszlo produced a bag of cat treats from his coat pocket. He didn’t want Georgie to feel left out, he explained. Alice noted his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. 

Laszlo took her to dinner, as he promised at the conference, at Delmonico’s. Alice had never been, but Laszlo assured her it was his favorite restaurant. She could tell when the owner and the waitstaff greeted him by name, asking if he wanted his usual table, and bringing a complimentary bottle of wine. Alice was prepared to pay for her meal, but Laszlo insisted saying he should since he invited her.

Alice gently moved her drink from side to side to see the rubber duck move. “It feels silly to say, but I think we’re courting rather than dating.” 

“I guess that’s what happens when you date an older man,” Bitsy giggled, taking another sip of her drink.

“Shut up,” Alice couldn’t hold back a laugh either, “you know I have a type, but I’m serious. He’s been such a gentleman. Like he always brings me flowers or chocolates or coffee or something. And he brings something for Georgie too, I swear he has more toys and treats than I’ve ever bought him.”

“So how has he topped your first date?”

 Alice responded when she finished chewing her latest bite. Her sandwich was almost too good to put down, but she wanted to answer. “We’ve done a few more dinners, some after an event or some just because that’s what we could schedule. You know that cute little art museum a few blocks from here? We did that and had lunch last weekend, and he wants to go to the history museum soon too.”

“Wow, the history museum. Sexy.”

“You’re laughing, but it’s so sexy when he reads the little placards and stands there analyzing it, rubbing his beard in thought. Then he asks me what I think and we talk about it before moving on. And, Bits, museums mean he always dresses nice, too, like suits or sweaters.”

“Listen babe, I tease you, but you seem genuinely so happy. Better than I’ve seen you in months, easily. It sounds like he treats you well, and he should continue to do so if he knows what’s good for him.”

“He does, he really does. Did I tell you what happened when we left the art museum?”

“No, what?”

“Well, I stupidly didn’t check the weather that morning when I got ready, but obviously he did because he brought this giant umbrella. Laszlo left it in the lobby while we walked around, and of course when we went to leave it was an absolute downpour. The restaurant we wanted to try was only two blocks away, so we planned to walk.”

“Of course,” Bitsy commented between bites.

“So he gets out his umbrella, and it’s big enough for the both of us. Laszlo held it, and we walked arm in arm down the street in the rain. I felt like I was in an old Hollywood movie and we should start singing in the rain.”

“Adorable, and you should have.”

“Well,” Alice demurred, “we were so close together, arm in arm so you know we were kinda pressed against each other. I could smell his cologne, and Bits, I swear to God it felt like pheremones to me. We made out under that umbrella until the rain stopped.”

Laszlo knew he sounded like a technology-hating curmudgeon, but he preferred calling to texting. Of course, with their busy and ever-changing schedules, texting was far more convenient. However, Laszlo savored anytime Alice called him and he could hear her voice.

Typically, they talked after he ate dinner with Stevie and while she cooked her meal. Laszlo chided her for eating so late, but the timing was convenient. He could slip into his room or his office when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket without arousing undue suspicion. 

“What are you cooking tonight?” Laszlo heard the steady hum of a stovetop ventilation fan and a beeping timer. 

That was another advantage of the phone, or even better, FaceTime. There was so much more ambiance when he could hear or see. Sometimes he could spot Georgie or hear him meowing in the background. Laszlo felt he was there, despite the distance, and he could get a glimpse of her evening. It was almost domestic. 

“Pasta, hence the fan, and some chicken in the oven. I think it’s almost done, but I want to give it a few more minutes to be sure.”  

“Be careful,” he cautioned, “I know you’re worried about undercooking it, but you don’t want dry chicken either.”

“Yes chef,” she teased. “What about you? When are you going to cook for me instead of giving me advice?”

Laszlo leaned against the balcony railing and hummed in thought. He wondered that himself, but he didn’t have an easy answer. “I’m not sure, with Stevie, I-”

“-It’s okay. I would love to have you cook for me sometime, but I know with Stevie it’s more complicated. We can take our time.” 

“I appreciate it. Maybe I could cook for you in your apartment? We could have a nice night in.”

“I’d like that.” 

By now they had a routine. Laszlo would tell her about his day while she ate, and once she finished she would tell him about hers. They laughed at the similarities between her high school freshman and his college freshman. 

“Do you know what I heard today?” His students always assumed he couldn’t hear them, a fallacy of their youth. 

He could hear her setting her dishes in the sink. “What?”

“One of them said I must have ‘gotten laid recently because there wasn’t as much of a stick up my ass’.” Alice snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay; it’s funny. You can laugh.”

“Mine told me something similar, but not like that. They said I must be in ‘looooove’ because I’m smiling more.” 

Laszlo rocked on his heels. “What do you think?”

“I-” she hesitated, and Laszlo instantly regretted his question. He was known for prying and pushing, and he feared it was too soon. 

“-You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked-” Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyebrows. 

“It’s okay, Laszlo. You didn’t push me too much.” He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t say I’m in love, yet, but I know I’m happier. What about you?”

“I feel the same.” Laszlo was glad she couldn’t see his cheesy smile.

November was chilly, even with a proper jacket. Stevie shivered and waited outside by the car line for Laszlo. Being late was unusual, so after fifteen minutes Stevie texted him. No response. At half an hour, Stevie called him.

On the last ring before going to voicemail, Laszlo picked up the phone. He immediately apologized, saying he didn’t realize what time it was and he was in the middle of an important meeting. 

“Will you be here soon?” Stevie glanced at the already fading sunlight and emptying parking lot. Laszlo paused, and from that alone Stevie knew the truth. “If you can’t, can you send Mr. Moore or Ms. Howard?”

“I need to get back to my meeting. Try Moore first, and again, I’m sorry.” Laszlo hung up quickly, barely giving Stevie time to think. He huffed a sigh and pulled up Moore’s contact information. Stevie decided to text him first: Doc’s in a meeting. Can you pick me up?

As Stevie waited for a response, he rubbed up and down his arm to warm up. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he eagerly checked. I can, but it could be half an hour to forty-five minutes. Is that okay?

Stevie thought it was better than nothing. He texted back that it was alright, and he thanked him. Since there were still cars in the parking lot, Stevie bet there were still teachers or other staff inside the warm building. He wandered down the main hallway, wondering if he should sit right there, in the library, or find an empty classroom. As he debated this, someone called out his name. His head flicked up, trying to find them. 

Ms. Greene stood at the door of the teacher work room with a stack of papers in hand. Stevie relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t get onto him about loitering around the school like some of his other teachers would. 

“What are you still doing here?” She gestured to him with her pack of copy paper. 

“Waiting to be picked up. Doc’s in a meeting so…” Stevie trailed off, not wanting to admit he had been forgotten.

She nodded once, understanding what he said between the lines. “Why don’t you hang out in my room?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you were about to head out or anything.”

“Please,” she scoffed, “there’s always something I can be working on. Don’t worry about it.”

Ms. Greene set her stack of papers on her desk and sat at her desk. Stevie slung his backpack off and put it by his desk. He looked around thinking how rarely he saw the room empty. It was normally packed with people, every desk was taken, and Ms. Greene would have to dodge backpacks and lunchboxes to walk around the room. By the end of the day, the desks were crooked and out of place, so Stevie started straightening them up.

“When you finish, do you want to clean them?” Stevie froze, not realizing she was paying attention to him. “There’s Clorox wipes in that cabinet.” 

“Sure, yeah.” Stevie was used to tidying up at the Institue when he was bored or restless, so he continued in her classroom. They talked while he worked making the time pass quicker. She asked about school and what other assignments he was working on in the week. He had a history paper coming up, and they were supposed to do another lab soon in biology. Stevie wasn’t worried about the paper, Laszlo taught him how to write an essay over the summer, but he was nervous about the lab. Biology wasn’t his strongest subject, but he liked Ms. Sussman’s class. 

Stevie crouched to pick up an errant highlighter, and when he heard Coach Connor’s voice cut the momentary silence he stayed where he was. In the corner, behind a group of desks, he wasn’t immediately spotted. He moved so he could see between a crack in the desks and watched.

Ms. Green recoiled, almost retreating into her desk corner. Stevie recognized her discomfort as she crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. Her eyes flicked to where he hid and back to Coach Connor. “What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I saw your car was still in the parking lot.” What is he stalking her? She stayed quiet prompting him to keep speaking. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind since the conferences.”

She sighed, clearly at her wit’s end with him, “Patrick, I said no, and I meant it.”

“Are you sure-”

“-I’m sure. I have a boyfriend now, and I don’t appreciate your insistence. It is not professional or appropriate, especially while at the school.” 

Boyfriend? Stevie wondered if it was Doc. They certainly seemed to hit it off at the open house, and it would explain his weird behavior and change in mood. He would keep observing.

Coach Connor’s face flushed red, he grumbled an apology under his breath, and he turned on his heels. Once assured he was gone, Stevie sheepishly stood up from behind the desks. 

Ms. Greene’s face was in her hands. “I am so sorry about that. I don’t even know what to say…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stevie shrugged. “Clearly, you didn’t want him here either.

“I noticed you stayed hidden there. Has he been bothering you, too?”

Stevie sat on the desk, fiddling with the highlighter in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. He’s harder on me in P.E., that kind of thing.” He was quick to reassure her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure? He shouldn’t be treating you like that, and I know you don’t want to be a snitch or anything, but it’s important to speak up.”

Stevie knew he should, but he didn’t want to create any problems. Doc was happier, possibly because of Ms. Greene, but this afternoon was a reminder of how much he juggled. Stevie would feel guilty adding anything else. 

In the meantime, he could deal with Coach Connor yelling at him or making him run more laps. He could stomach the football players' stupid jokes and isolation, done on Coach Connor’s orders, no doubt. 

“I’m sure,” he answered.

While Alice tweaked her slides for the week, Stevie worked on his homework. He sat at his desk for class which she chuckled at. A classroom of empty desks and students will naturally pick their own desks. Alice enjoyed having Stevie there and providing a safe space for him to wait for his ride, but she also wanted to go home. She was tired and slightly cold, and she wanted to change into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. 

“Hello hello.” Alice looked up from her laptop. A tall, well-dressed man with dark hair paused in the doorway. “John Schuyler Moore, and you must be Ms. Greene if the sign outside your door is correct.” He extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it. 

“Yes, I am. You must be here for Stevie.”

“I am, and hopefully he hasn’t given you too much trouble,” John winked. 

“No, he’s been wonderful-”

“-Oh, you thought I meant Stevie, no, no, I meant Laszlo.” He laughed, and she bit her tongue to keep from doing the same. “You’re the one who has to deal with him as a concerned parent.”

Alice smiled. “He’s been wonderful, too. Very communicative.” 

Stevie packed up his bag slowly, keeping an eye and an ear on their conversation. Alice was conscientious that everything she said was being analyzed. 

“It was so polite of you to let him sit in your classroom. You could’ve gone home an hour ago, enjoyed your evening, and yet here you are.”

Alice didn’t miss the way he said enjoy your evening. It was a clear innuendo that she glossed over. “It was no trouble at all. Stevie’s a good kid, and you’re a good friend to come pick Stevie up.”

“I would do anything for a friend like Laszlo. I’ve known him for almost twenty years, and I know he would do anything for me in return. He’s like that, you know,” John shrugged, “he seems tough, but he would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it.”

“I’m sure he would.” Heat rushed to her cheeks, briefly imagining Laszlo without a shirt and the dark chest hair she would find there, and she cleared her throat. “Stevie, please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. And Mr. Moore, have a good afternoon.”

***

At around nine, Alice got a text from Laszlo. She had just laid down in bed, ready to get warm and comfy for the evening, with a book and a mug of tea. She set her book aside on her nightstand and checked her phone. 

Darling, I am sorry for being so inattentive today, and I want to thank you for letting Stevie stay in your room. I appreciate it. 

Alice’s thumb hesitated over the Facetime button. She hoped Laszlo would pick up and that he didn’t text her and immediately set his phone aside. She didn’t look her best, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her face was still red from washing it, but she wanted to see him. 

“Hey Laz,” she smiled at him, but she was concerned. He sat at his desk, dark circles under his eyes, and creases deep in his forehead. She could see a stack of papers spread out in front of him, and he held a fountain pen in his hand. 

Laszlo smiled back at her, and it made her heart skip a beat. “I missed you today,” he drawled. “An emergency case came up, and they needed me at the courthouse and at the juvenile facility, and I have to read all this paperwork for tomorrow morning… But I needed to hear your voice and see your face.”

“Aww,” she blushed, but she knew her face was already red and he probably couldn’t tell. “Thank you, baby. It’s okay to be busy and do what you need to do.” He took a sip of what she assumed was coffee. “I just appreciate a heads up or something if you’re going to be unavailable. I could even plan to keep Stevie for a while or something if you let me know.” 

“That’s very generous of you.”

“But I must say, it was nice to finally meet one of your friends.” Laszlo groaned in embarrassment, and Alice giggled. “He was very complimentary of you.”

Laszlo set down his pen and ran his fingers through his hair. It was nice to see him relax and not think about work for a moment. “What did he say? You know he’s never going to tell me.”

Alice mocked offense. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you either?” He huffed a sigh and chuckled. “It’s admirable, really, the way he spoke about you. He would make a good wingman if you weren’t already taken.”

“John means well, obviously, he just doesn’t know everything yet.” Yet. She wondered when she would meet his friends officially, and he would meet hers. They were still in the beginning of their relationship, but she assumed since she told Bitsy, Laszlo must have told his friends something. Soon, she thought, but hopefully not too soon. Alice liked existing in their secret little bubble.

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#daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel brühl fanfic #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler fanfic #the alienist fanfiction #the alienist fanfic #modern laszlo kreizler #daniel brühl

[thatruerealmwalker]

So...

WE'RE BACK AGAIN LADS- BUT THIS TIME IT'S A BOY.

Even as this Cradle burns down... From the Ash I will Rise once Again. - Finale Quote

This is William Rivers (Full name drop!) which has appeared on the blog before! Now you may ask me- "Realm? Why is William a Magical Boy now?"

Well one- He is a Magical Girl- because calling him that makes him scream- and Two- It's complicated.

William pretty much as the same back story and personality as Innocent Ash- I just never gave Ash a civilian form or an actual name. So when I did make William- I realized "Wait... this is just Innocent Ash."

So two became one and here we are. I'm not going to mention the certain flower girl toy mascot horror game- because unlike Claire, William was pretty much fully formed- just no name. Or some smaller details I've ironed out now. I have no 'legal' basis to tag this under Poppy Playtime- (Maybe I do? This situation is strange)

However- for the sake of being fair- and because I want to- Thank you @realizinau for indirectly helping me fully realize the OC. (I also think you maybe want to see this? It has a bunch of extra William lore if you just take out the Magical stuff and ignore the other characters mentioned- Great work by the way as always Vis, hope your vacation/trip is going well!)

As before with Claire- who if you have missed you can find HERE-

Below are some details, and under that is a short story telling you more of how he got to this point- In "We who are Blessed Under Starlight" specifically.

William is a Magical Boy by the name of Innocent Ash. He's rather young, one of three of what the Blessed call "The little Trio" which make up him, his adopted sister Swan, and Alice's adopted brother Mako. The three of them are pretty much inseparable (which took William's survivor guilt getting addressed- but more on that later)

William fights with a short sword on occasion- really just when he needs to. His main way of fighting is with his power- FIRE. Be it burning, destroying, or even warding things away, William fights like a fire bender who just wants to see the world burn.

His flames are sadly pretty one note- except for detail that he has almost always perfect control on what his flames will burn. He has also found that changing their color is pretty easy, not that it does much. This has lead to some... creative applications of fire. (One time, he was bored, so he tired to make a normal tree look like Christmas cam early. He is now asked to make flame decoration whenever he can. It's an art form at this point even though William isn't an artist.) (He does it for Swan.)

William is a quiet kid, who's rather smart but that comes from just how perceptive he is. He notices things. Be it moods or information others may miss, he always seems to catch that stuff first. It doesn't help his natural paranoia, but when it's needed- he uses it. (He... has had a lot of bad experiences in orphanages. Even now it clings to him. The feeling of someone trying to hurt him, right behind him- even when it's nothing at all)

William is an Orphan. His parents died in a home fire when he was young. Unluckily, his entire life has been accidents and hardship like that. From one orphanage that met the same fate his parent home did, to one who's entire child populace made his time there hell. He sadly had grow accustomed to wearing a mask- seeming meek and not worth the abusers time... even if it didn't always work. (The only time he's snapped is when his life was really in danger- when things actually got violent- those would also lead to him moving orphanages.) (The only time he harmed someone without violence... is when an older man who worked at the orphanage he was staying at at the time tried to touch him. William had to be dragged away from the man's blood face.)

As said before, he's the adopted brother of Swan- who's parent's took him in after he finally began to trust that he won't be the one person left again- that he won't be left alone again. Even if his new parents love him... he still has trouble sharing that back. He isn't trying to replace what he lost... but he has to tell himself that.

Swan's parents adopted him when he went back into school... there was an entire thing with the law trying to throw him back into the foster system- Claire and Zaken both has paid for a really good lawyer to help win custody and deal with the whole issue. (Later he learned that why it was so hard was that the Orphanage he was last at was only keeping kids so the government paid them- and was trying to keep it hush hush.)

William loves reading. It's his favorite pass times. He usually spends that time helping Swan to read. He cannot lie he doesn't enjoy teach now and again. (It's even better when it's all three of them. Him, Swan, and Mako.)

He has a weird bond with Kaito. Both of them once living on the streets- they kind of get on well together. He does not like when Kaito goes full gremlin and starts stealing stuff. (He usually has to be the one to place everything back. He just remembers where things were easily.)

As much as his entire brand is fire- he likes all of his drinks cold. Give him hot chocolate and he will place it in the freezer to cool it down quickly. Several other of the Blessed have issues with this. Swan emulates him to their collective horror.

William has periods where he just needs to be alone- be in silence and calm down. Over stimulation can get to him easy. Best one can do is give him that. (He tries to deal with it sometimes, pretend it isn't happening. Claire can always somehow tell though. She always makes sure he gets the room he needs)

And that is everything I have for now! Again, if you enjoyed reading about this story and William, feel free to reach out! Messages and the Inbox is always open- I love meeting new people!

Thank you for reading- but wait! There is still a short story about William down below. You might want to read that too on your way out. Either way, have a wonderful night!

William Rivers Story:

William believed himself to be Cursed for the longest time.

He had evidence for it. Just look at his life.

When he was only 5- he had to watch his parents burn alive in their home. When he was growing up he had to be tossed from orphanage to orphanage because he caused 'problems.'

Few wanted to adopt him- none ever fully committed after hearing everything he's been in. They said he was too quiet, too antisocial, too cold.

Maybe what else they called him was true... but he was never cold. He only learned how to hide the flames, hid the emotion. To put on a mask and seem like he was only part of the background. It helped, stopped at least the other children from bothering him- either in misguided blame or genuine attempts at friendship only missing the endurance to break through the shell- so he kept doing it.

He was the center of tragedy. No matter what, he always came out fine. He was always the lone person to survived unscathed. Eventually, he believed that to be true. That no matter what, he would be the only one to survive- only one to live. And so he would be alone. That is what he internalized during his time through those dark days.

One day, a Star had fell into a nearby forest. William, who had nothing better to do, followed to where he saw whatever fell from the sky above. Starlight seeped into him as he stepped forward towards the light in the clearing, clinging to his form.

His mind grew cloudy as his skin began to heat. Flames struck and clung to nearby trees. Soon, this once living forest became kindle to a flame unending.

And yet- William did not. Even as fire threatened to make him one with it- he stepped forward and reached for the Star-

The flames that once ate at the green plant life around him snuffed out in an instant, his body back to as it was before he stepped into this place- now with his Matrix, a bright shining Flame above what he knew was meant to be ash, hovering in front of him.

William, with his new found powers, ran. He lived on the streets, away from the constant hurt that came from the places that tried to board him.

One day, a Stranger appeared, and promised him he would grant him his most wanted wish- if only he were to gather Starlight until his Matrix was bursting.

Unannounced to the Stranger, he chose his lie poorly. William, despite it all, never truly wished "For his parents to come back to his arms." They were gone, and he had accepted that.

And so William distrusted The Man who Thought Himself God from day one.

Sadly for William, others did not share his worry, blindly trusting that horrible man's promises. And so- he was brought into the fight orchestrated by the one who sought to claim God's throne.

He did not trust any other Blessed, and did not fight against the Cursed. He defended himself when those who realized the other Blessed carried far more Starlight then a normal Cursed ever would. He ran when the one who could freeze others with just a touch approached him-

And again and again and again.

She wouldn't stop. She even started to do it outside of her costume- with no weapon and powers weakened. He didn't understand.

So he watched her.

He watched how she fought not for some stupid Wish... but for the sake of protecting others. How she had a smile when she saved that child from being eaten by the Cursed teddy bear. How she laughed in joy when she finally beat the tainted master of the towns local Dojo- before undoing as much corruption as she could- not thinking to harvest the poor soul for even a second.

Watching became brief interactions. Where he would ask a question- and she would answer as well as she could.

That too turned into him aiding in fighting- no protecting people. And soon he met others like her- Like Alice. (That was her name... why did it take him so long to ask?)

Then... he met the girl who would become his sister.

Later... he met the boy who he and she would call their brother.

Slowly but surely... he learned he had wandered into a family. He was afraid. Afraid they would die, and leave him... But they proved him wrong.

Again and Again and Again-

They lived. They survived. And they all went back home together in the end.

Even when it got hard. Even when the world itself chose to challenge them- to try and slaughter them as they tried to do what was right-

They did not leave him.

He isn't alone- and won't ever be again.

#OC #My OC #Magical Boy #We who are Blessed under Starlight #Original work #This took me a while so probably no Chapter tonight. #Now I'm not sure who to do next. #Mako or Swan? #Hmmmmm #I'll think on it.

[frogyjones-writes]

General info:

I'll only do requests that interest me this is something I do for fun in my free time so you might get an answer awhile after a submission :]

Most likely to get through headcanons/short prompts done first!

Characters I write for:

Don't be afraid to ask for a character from the same Fandom however! I'm just better with these guy's characterization :]

The Last of Us: Ellie Williams, Dina, Abby Anderson

Dead By Daylight: The Trapper (Evan MacMillan), The Nurse (Sally Smithson), Ghost Face (Danny Johnson), The Huntress (Anna), The Pig (Amanda Young), The Plauge (Adiris), The Onryō (Sadako Yamamura)

Silent Hill: Lisa Garland, Maria, Mary Shepard-Sunderland, James Sunderland, Angela Orosco, Harry Mason

Misc: Sadako Yamamura (ringu), Selene (underworld), Carol Aird (Carol),

Resident Evil: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Jill Valentine, Claire redfield (games/movies), Alice Abernathy (movies), Rebecca Chambers, Helena Harper

The Quarry: Emma Mountebank, Abigail Blyg, Kaitlyn Ka, Laura Kearney, Max Brinley, Nick Furcillio, Jacob Custos, Dylan Leviny, Ryan Erzahler

Until Dawn: Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Emily Davis, Jessica Riley

Life is Strange: Maxine "Max" Caufield, Chloe Price, Rachel Amber, Kate Marsh, Victoria Chase, Dana Ward

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (better with the survivor series), Sam

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner Stanheight, Lynn Denlon

(More to be added later!)

Do's:

Character x Reader, Character x Character, Some OC X Characters, Polyships, LGBTQ+

Heavy angst/sensitive topics

AUs and alternative settings

Accept headcanon requests for multiple characters

Dont's:

NSFW (suggestive stuff is fine but I'm not writing smut)

Incestual/pedophilic ships (yes this includes adoptive family or parental/sibling figures don't test me)

Any dead dove sort of shit

General NoNo's

Writing examples

#writing requests #the last of us #dead by daylight #resident evil #the quarry #silent hill #until dawn #tomb raider #x reader #resident evil x reader #dead by daylight x reader #the last of us x reader #the quarry x reader #until dawn x reader #headcanons #ficlet #requests #saw

[sporadically-writing]

Wong: Hello Ward. What are you doing?

Alice: Thinking.

Wong: About?

Alice: What will happen if I prank Stephen...

Wong: Don't tell me you-

Alice: Yeah

Wong: What did you-

Alice (looking at the clock): Placed 10 alarm clocks around the sanctum and set them to ring after an hour. I placed them 55 minutes ago.

Stephen (after 5 minutes): Alice!!!

Wong, laughing: You're so dead!

Alice, also laughing and using her gloves: Not if he can't find me!

#alice ward #doctor strange oc #stephen strange x oc #marvel oc #mcu oc #source: ideasforincorrectquotes #my oc stuff #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader

[targaryen-jpg]

like real people do — ch. 5

part five: my hand was the one you reached for

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight

pairing: aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc

summary: peace in the red keep never lasts long, and adria's fate has changed

notes: my sincerest apologies for taking so long on this y'all i am so tired. but i really do luv this and i hope y'all do too! tw: death (mention)

it was the hour of the wolf, and the small council was assembled, hastily dressed and rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

“the king is dead,” alicent stated simply, face pale and lips thin.

unbeknownst to her, otto hightower already had a plan for when this day came, and was ready to set it in motion.

when it was decided that aegon would indeed be king, the topic of allies and enemies was first at hand. besides princess rhaenyra and the velaryons, the tyrells, lannisters, baratheons, and starks were the hand’s largest concern.

the lannisters would remain loyal, as tyland lannister still sat at the small council. borros baratheon would be easily won to their side, and hope as he may, otto doubted the starks would join their cause.

that left the tyrells, whom they conveniently had one of under their roof.

“adria tyrell will not marry jacaerys,” otto decided, looking at his daughter, “we need the tyrells’ gold. she is the key to the reach.”

“that in and of itself is an insult,” alicent countered, “rhaenyra will not take lightly to aegon’s crowning, to break this betrothal would make matters worse. if adria marries jacaerys, then we will have the key to dragonstone.”

“and if it turns to war?” who will the tyrells back then?”

alicent thought long and hard, “we offer her as part of our terms. accept, and they will be wed. if she denies, then we hold her, and the reach.”

otto had to admire his daughter – she played the game of thrones and she played it well.

the first thing adria saw as she woke, shaken roughly from a dream, was the queen standing over her, deep brown curls spilling over her shoulders. for a moment, she was sure she was still asleep, but the feeling of the bed sinking as alicent sat down was very much real.

“my queen?” adria asked timidly, sitting up, “what is it?”

“who are you loyal to?” she posed the question, clasping her hands on her lap.

adria shook her head, blinking, “i don’t understand, i —”

“who are you loyal to?” alicent asked again, raising her eyebrows, staring adria down. her gaze wasn’t demanding, wasn’t threatening. just questioning — concerned, almost.

“house tyrell, my queen. and you, as my guardian. and helaena.” adria prayed that she had given the correct answer.

the queen let out a breath and dropped her chin.

she looked… tired.

adria’s eyebrows knit together, “your grace, the hour is early. pray, tell me what is this matter about?”

“the king is dead.”

oh.

a deep quiet seemed to fall over the room for a moment.

“i see,” adria murmured.

alicent took one of adria’s hands in hers, “his last wish was that aegon be king.”

she furrowed her eyebrows. why had queen alicent come to deliver this news herself. and the king had spent aegon’s twenty years staunchly supporting rhaenyra’s claim – why change his mind now?

“i am telling you this because you are a smart girl,” alicent clasped adria’s hands in hers, and held her stare,  “conflict is a possibility, and if it comes to blows, we must have your family’s support.”

all at once, adria grasped the reality of her situation. the danger.

“am i not to be wed to jacaerys?”

the queen hesitated.

“we’re sending princess rhaenyra terms. if she accepts, then you will. if not – you shall stay here,” she noted the fear that flashed across adria’s eyes, and squeezed her hands gently,  “as my ward, i swear no harm will come to you.”

adria sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the sheets.

“i understand, my queen,” she whispered, meeting alicent’s eyes once again.

“come now,” the queen smiled sadly, “you must get dressed. this day will be a long one.”

the sun was up by the time adria forced herself to finally leave her chambers. there was one person she wished to see.

she found helaena in her rooms and wrapped the girl in their arms. she didn’t seem particularly upset, but her mood was somber. many underestimated her, called her a fool. but helaena was observant and clever. she knew exactly what was happening.

“you are to be queen, i hear,” adria whispered, offering helaena a small smile.

she only sighed and sat, “i fear aegon will not be a good king.”

adria joined her on the loveseat, “he will have your mother and grandfather to guide him. i’m sure in time he will succeed.”

helaena raised an eyebrow, and adria knew neither of them believed it.

“it will be okay,” adria squeezed the princess’ hand.

helaena squeezed back, “as long as you are my my side, i know it will.”

a knock sounded at the door.

helaena called to enter, and adria’s heart sank when aemond stepped in, a scowl gracing his features.

“i have been sent by my mother to escort you to the coronation,” he ground out, “lady adria.”

she blinked in surprise, “she wants me?”

“evidently,” aemond huffed, “come. i’ve been all over this damned keep looking for you, we must now make haste.”

her mind was whirring, but adria truly could not make sense of why the queen had sent prince aemond of all people to escort her to the coronation. she had assumed she would be left behind at the red keep, or watch from the crowd.

the targaryens evidently had other plans for her.

adria flashed a small, slightly panicked look at helaena, and followed aemond from the room. gods help her. she was truly entering the dragon’s lair now.

aemond led her through the red keep to a small study, cloaked in darkness.

“what are we—” she started, but he was pushing open a bookcase to reveal a dim passage, lit only by the flickering candle he now held.

his lips quirked up in cruel amusement, “we’re going to the dragonpit.”

adria said a silent prayer as she followed him in.

the passage was narrow enough for only one person at a time, so she followed behind aemond, praying he didn’t decide to sprint ahead and leave her in the darkness.

after a few moments of her mind spinning, her curiosity got the better of her.

“aemond,” she said quietly, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, “do you know why your father so suddenly named aegon heir?”

“no,” he muttered bitterly, “the man was half dead already, he had no good sense left in him. perhaps that’s why.”

adria was surprised by the confession. aemond had always held his tongue regarding his father, had always been careful never to reveal too much of his feelings.

“i can feel your shock, little rose,” he mused, “make no mistake — my brother is the rightful king — my half-sister merely clings to what shred of a claim she has left. but aegon has spent his life whoring and drinking, thinking that’s all that is required of him.”

the tunnel suddenly widened, and afforded adria enough room to move to his side.

he looked down at her, a hard look on his face, “he hasn’t studied the histories and sciences as i have — he can scarcely wield that sword he carries. i doubt he even knows who his hand is.”

adria snorted, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

aemond looked amused, casting her a curious glance, “pray tell what you find so funny.”

adria’s cheeks burned, “i only doubt otto hightower would ever let your brother forget who he is.”

he shook his head dissaprovingly, but a smile ghosted aemond’s lips.

a few moments of silence passed before he spoke again, stiff and stark, never even glancing at adria.

“you know you’ll never marry that boy now.”

adria’s heart ached for a moment, and she hated him for being right.

 “no, i don’t think so. i doubt i’ll ever leave king’s landing again.”

“you’re not a prisoner here,” he stopped short, staring at adria so intensely she had to look away, “and i am not a monster. say the word and i will fly you back to highgarden myself.”

her gaze softened as she looked back up. holding that piercing gaze for a moment, her throat bobbed and she whispered, “thank you.”

his features seemed to relax, but he offered only a curt nod before continuing.

 the dragonpit was packed with what seemed to be the entire population of king’s landing as adria and aemond joined his family on the makeshift stage. alicent offered her a weak smile and a nod, while helaena gripped adria’s hand as she joined her side.

the crowd grew quiet as the city watch began to file out, cutting a path to the stage. aegon then appeared, an almost confused scowl across his lips. it seemed as if everyone in the room grasped the magnitude of what was happening all at once, aegon himself included.

it seemed like only moments before ser criston placed the conqueror’s crown atop aegon’s head, and he was declared king.

gods help them all.

the applause began hesitantly but grew into a raucous thunder. aegon took it in stride, raising his sword triumphantly. adria could feel the relief from queen alicent and the hand, the tired smiles.

 a large rumble was the only warning before the great red beast that was meleys broke through the floor of the dragonpit, sending an explosion of stone and dust throughout the pit. it was so thick adria could scarcely see, scarcely breath. she could hear screams as the smallfolk were crushed under the rubble or beneath meleys.

adria stumbled back, holding on tightly to helaena’s hand. they watched in horror as the beast approached, screeching a terrible cry. through the dust-filled air, the form of princess rhaenys appeared atop meleys. adria sucked in a sharp breath.

with a single word — a single thought, rhaenys could kill them all.

adria was frozen in fear, waiting to see what she would do, but alicent instinctively stepped in front of aegon. she whispered a command to ser criston who grabbed helaena and used his own body as a shield.

rhaenys never removed her gaze from the queen.

meleys inhaled, and adria nearly crumpled to the ground, but black leather filled her vision, a gloved hand holding her back.

aemond.

his back was to her, but his hand found its way to hers. she clutched it desperately

tears filled her eyes and she choked back a sob as meleys’ thundering roar filled the dragonpit. she shut her eyes, waited for the burning heat, the pain of death.

but the deafening rumble stopped, leaving only a ringing quiet. and adria was still standing, still holding onto aemond for dear life. she hardly dared breath until the great beast had burst through the doors of the dragon pit, leaving the screaming smallfolk and the stunned targaryens.

aemond turned, searching her face, “are you hurt?”

his voice was so quiet, so feather-light, that suddenly adria didn’t care that she hated him and he hated her. didn’t care that they had kissed, that she had slapped him or that he had held a knife to her throat. she just threw her arms around aemond’s neck and sobbed.

he was still for a moment, but his hands gingerly came to rest on adria’s waist. then suddenly, he was hugging her back, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

next part ->

taglist: @bubblebuttwade @kittykylax @​​fix5idiots @signyvenetia @stillinracooncity @queenofshinigamis @criesinsagitarius

#aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd fic #like real people do #emilia writes

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 3!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

Joff might be a precocious witchy 6 year old, but like any 6yo, she thinks farts are hilarious. Sorry, Gerardys. (Also, notice how Joff dissembles/changes the topic when she doesn’t want to directly answer a question.)

Should Joff be mixing bleach and ammonia together? Nooooo. (And if you’re reading this, please don’t do this at home.)

As mentioned in the Chapter 2 commentary, Jace freaks out about her ruined slippers because they were a gift from Aegon, and now she can’t easily get presents from her not-boyfriend anymore. 🥺

I might write a lengthier scene of the girls’ rebellion re: Daemon and Rhaenyra’s marriage in another installment of the series. Here, I tried to make each girl’s reaction indicative of their overall personalities/mannerisms: Jace tries to be diplomatic, Luce goes for the drama, Baela out-cusses Daemon, Rhaena lets her emotions show through the cracks, and Joff is silently disapproving.

IMO, in the show, Rhaenys takes Baela as a ward because she sees Baela as her eldest true grandchild and the rightful heir to Driftmark. (I’ve also seen fanon in some fics that Daemon and Rhaenyra send Baela as a conciliatory gesture after they elope.) Here, Jace is Rhaenys’s eldest grandchild AND slated for the Iron Throne (and Rhaenys’s secret favorite), so Rhaenys would prefer to take Jace and ensure that a future queen of her blood is properly trained and educated.

Confession: in a VERY early draft of this fic, Baela and Rhaena had much smaller roles. I was going to send them both to Driftmark so I could focus on Daemon getting to know Rhaenyra’s daughters. But I’m very happy I went with the blended family aspect in the end.

Lucera has dyslexia, AKA “an affliction of letters.” I enjoy the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fics that they bond over a shared love of reading, but I wanted to do a twist. Luce likes stories and learning, but she has trouble working through the books on her own, which means Aemond reads aloud to her a lot. 🥰 Now that she’s at Dragonstone though, she has no Aemond to read aloud to her (and she’s mad at him anyway).

I reallyyyyy wanted to write a scene where Luce explains her “marriage = whoring” argument to Alicent, but it never fit into this fic. Maybe one day. But I think Luce has this thought (marriage is about money and copulating) in the back of her mind when she deals with all her suitors later.

I was fascinated by the range of commenters’ reactions to Daemon’s argument about not letting the girls marry the Targtowers. Some people 100% agreed with him and others thought Daemon was being stupid. Which is the kind to reaction I was hoping to get, so yay! I wrote this fic with the intention of conveying that Daemon THINKS he’s right about a lot of things, but he’s not omniscient so take it with a grain of salt.

I wanted the boys’ handwriting and writing styles to reflect their personalities. Aegon is messy and unstructured, and he doesn’t always follow proper grammar/syntax rules. Aemond keeps up appearances and is finicky about grammar/syntax but adjusts his script for Luce. Daeron is still very young but tries to imitate the neatness he sees in his primers.

The gift that Aegon mentions Luce is helping with is supposed to be a song he writes for Jace. (Much more wholesome than the wedding song lol.) I was going to include it in this chapter but it seemed forced so I tabled it. He’s also pretty talented at drawing. I like the idea of Aegon being an artist/romantic at heart, but those aren’t traits appreciated in a potential king so Otto (and maybe Alicent) tries to quash those traits.

#my writing #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #meta #daemon’s handbook

[goodeapple]

i had all and then most of you / some and now none of you

IV

HOOOO LORDY, hi everyone! please excuse the delay on this behemoth; your girl was sick as shit not once but TWICE this whole month and cold medicine doesn't help my writing. as always, be kind, rewind, and REVIEW if at all possible. I cry at every single one of your's comments, I really do (imma Pisces, go figure)

AN : I also realized that last chapter I mixed up Rhaena and Baela and who was raised as Rhaenys' ward andddd for that, I will be retiring. nah, I'm just kidding but I'll be leaving it there because I am dumb and stupid and need to be humbled. I also love how that part flows and I am lazy as shit to fix it rn so enjoy my mistake.

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : oral (F and M receiving), some anal, and a big ole dose of whipped!Aemond

word count : 9000+

masterlist

114 A.C 

Aemond wrinkled his nose, the squirming babe bundled in maroon blankets screwing its red face up and giving a piercing screech. He hid his face into his mother’s skirts, shying away from the unhappy little dragon. 

Alicent chuckled, smoothing a stiff hand over her son’s hair, the locks just barely beginning to edge passed his shoulders. 

“It’s alright, my boy, she’s just hungry.” 

Aemond’s nurse had tugged him away from practicing with his wooden sword in the courtyard to accompany his mother to meet his sister’s new babe. He had scuffed his shiny shoes the whole way, grumbling about the interruption of his daily schedule. 

He seldom remembered ever being allowed in this part of the castle, his mother forever steering him in the opposite direction of his sister’s rooms. 

The King sat across from his oldest child in an overstuffed chair, Rhaenyra’s hand grasped warmly in his, their speaking soft and muted. Helaena sat criss-cross on the bed at Rhaenyra’s feet, blonde curls dangling with her as she continuously swayed forward to steal peeks at her niece. Aegon’s hip rested against the bedside table, bright indigo eyes swirling between indifference and curiosity as he watched the newborn yawn and wiggle in her mother’s arms. 

His father turned at the sound of Aemond’s entrance. A rare joyous smile brightened every one his aging features; the sight startled Aemond. He couldn’t recall in his young memories ever seeing his father aim such a loving look in his direction. 

“Aemond, come here son.” His mother’s hands squeezed his upper arms so tightly that Aemond let a whimper slip from his lips, but after a moment she relented and urged him forward. Aemond took steps on uncertain legs, feeling the absence of his mother’s presence as she stayed fixed in place behind him. 

His father’s free hand met his back when Aemond drew close enough, and guided him closer to the bed. 

Rhaenyra’s sweaty face was blank as her littlest brother saddled next to her, face carefully unreadable. Even so, she angled her arm slightly towards him, the cocooned babe coming into his full view as her other hand still gripped her father’s.

“This is your niece, Aemond.” The King spoke faintly, adoration swimming in his voice. 

Leaning up on his tiptoes, he braced his hands on the sheets and peered forward. Big, clear eyes blinked up at him, mouth pulling into a dainty “O” at the new face greeting her. The tiniest of nostrils flared, feet stretching under the layers of cloth. Aemond had never seen something so small before, the youngest himself of his siblings. Curiously, he reached forward and poked gently at the bulbous round cheek. 

His father made a strange sound and Aemond felt a flash of worry that he did something wrong, but it eased as Rhaenyra laughed, a tired sound but still happy, as a tiny fist unclenched and lifted to curl around Aemond’s offending finger. A deceptively strong grip squeezed the tip and he shook it just so, but the babe remained locked on. 

“I think she likes you.” Rhaenyra hummed, a modest grin making Aemond blush and smile unintentionally. He settled more firmly along the bed. Helaena leaned in and giggled at their niece, small fingers brushing away an errant dark curl. 

“What is her name, sister?” Helaena whispered, almost afraid to break the sweet moment with her question. 

Rhaenyra’s grin widened, eyes dropping down and looking upon her daughter with so much love that it threatened to spill out of the corners of her eyes. 

“Her name is Ysilla.” 

Aemond’s thumb brushed along the babe’s knuckles, a cooing sound escaping her, and Aemond could’ve sworn the babe smiled at her name. 

“Ysillaaaaaa…” he whispered in wonder. 

Current day. 14 days left.

Ysilla buries her nose into Visenya’s dusting of straw-colored hair, eyes closed and a serene look gracing her features. She breathes deep, an appreciative hum sounding from her throat. 

“She smells so good, I can’t get over it.” 

Her mother laughs, folding the blankets knitted tirelessly by Rhaena and Helaena in the moons leading up to her second daughter’s coming. A patchwork of harrowly stitched threads gifted from Joff also laid in the pile, and Rhaenyra pats it lovingly. 

Visenya is only a few weeks old, not even reaching her first month yet, and Rhaenyra is sure the babe has barely known the cushions of her cradle as she’s been continuously passed from wetnurse to uncle to father to mother. Today, it seems like older sister wants all of her attention.

“Well, she was just bathed about an hour ago darling, and her cloth hasn’t been soiled yet.” 

Ysilla shakes her head in avid disagreement before her mother even finishes her sentiment. 

“No, it’s not bath oils or balms. It’s all her- she smells like a fresh flower. I could just eat her up in one bite, especially her little toes!” Ysilla moaned sweetly, her voice pitching high and kisses smooching along the tiny thing’s closed fist. 

Rhaenyra smiles something soft and happy, relaxing into an armchair in her spacious regent apartments. A room fit for a queen, but it felt too reminiscent of her young life spent in these castle walls. Her father’s voice still echoed off the stones; her mother’s too, if she listened hard enough. 

It was taking some time to adjust to, as were all the things that came with her crowning. All her life, Rhaenyra clung to this moment. The moment where she would be the ruler her father anointed her to be; Queen of all, protector of the realm, leader of the people. And now that she was here, it all felt strangely… anticlimactic. Like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, a raucous huzzah! to ring in her destiny. But no such luck; a three-day feast and celebrations with the people did nothing but remind her of mummer’s play she paid witness to many years prior, uncertain thoughts swirling about her head day and night. 

Her mind is an unwelcome deterrence from her daughters’ company, and Rhaenyra focuses her attention on her now silent child. 

There’s a peculiar dim shading her daughter’s gaze, her signature smile that shines brighter than the sun above clouded over to something akin to a grimace. Ysilla feels eyes upon her and she tries to sneak a glance at her mother. Rhaenyra’s eyes cut into hers. Ysilla pretends not to notice the worry in her stare. 

“What troubles you, my girl? Are you… having second thoughts?” Rhaenyra tries to keep her words affable but even she can hear the twinge of hope in them. 

Her last born brother is an enigma of a man. The rider of the biggest dragon since Balerion, a one-eyed shadow and a master with a blade, the cool facade over his honed cruelness terrifies Rhaenyra. Not for herself, of course not, but for her first child. Her lovely little one, Ysilla. That man being tied forever to her daughter brought only worry to her mind, dread coursing thickly through her veins. Every day, Rhaenyra pours over if she made the correct decision, the right decision to betrothe Ysilla to Aemond. 

Rhaenyra remembers being so young herself, screaming prayers and curses in her mother tongue, the feeling of her womb being squeezed in a vice grip still vivid over fifteen years later. How her little bump had blossomed into a thing so tiny, it swam in the crimson blanket gifted from her soon-to-be grandsire. How the unwavering weight of protectiveness that crushed her stole all air from her lungs. How Rhaenyra knew fully and without doubt, she would rip any being apart who dared to lay a heavy finger on her daughter’s head. 

Ysilla’s eyes widen a tad, a disbelieving smile curling her mouth. She bounces Visenya anxiously, nervous energy buzzing along her skin. 

“No mother,” her words are sharp and spoken through tight lips. “Aemond and I are set to marry and we have no doubts about our coming union. No matter how much you and Daemon wish otherwise.” 

Rhaenyra lets the retort roll off of her like oil over water. 

“All I wish is for you to be content, my heart. No more, no less. That is all.” 

Ysilla snorts, shifting Visenya slightly as the babe stirs in her wrap. 

“And father? What does he wish for me? For my future husband?” 

Her mother lets out a simple sigh, a familiar sound that seems to come frequently after Daemon’s name. 

“Daemon only wants what’s best for this family. Aemond is a strong fighter, a quick learner, and a fierce foe. He will do wonderfully in our home and aid us in any troubles that the years may bring.”

Ysilla measures the weight of her words, eyebrows still pinched together. Rhaenyra wishes to smooth her thumb over them, to steal away her girl’s unease. The curse of being a mother- to endlessly wish to take her children’s pain and make it her own. To bear the brunt for them. 

“He’s more than just a soldier awaiting orders.” Ysilla whispers. Rhaenyra has to strain to hear her. 

“He’s… he’s funny. He makes me laugh even when I feel like doing the opposite. He’s smart, more-so than some maesters I’ve met throughout the years. He’s quiet and reserved at times, but when he speaks, I hang on his every word.” Ysilla’s eyes grow a touch glazed and her smile has a kiss of love at the corner. “He loves his family- his sister and mother, his niece and nephews- even his brother, though he will never admit it aloud, with such ferociousness it feels as if it is a living and breathing thing. He loves me, the same way.” Ysilla’s cheeks bloom hot, avoiding her mother’s knowing gaze. 

Yes, Rhaenyra knows all too well how much Aemond has fallen for her daughter. Finding the duo together the night following Ysilla’s ball- in the same room Ysilla had her first moonblood in at ten-and-two- tangled in the sheets as naked as the day they were born had killed something in Rhaenyra’s soul. The girl she had borne in her own girlhood, becoming a woman right before her eyes. The childlike innocence had disappeared right along her maidenhead. 

Rhaenyra’s only regret is that Daemon punched Aemond before she could.

��But, I do have fears.” Ysilla’s voice grows quiet and a touch uncertain, so unbecoming of her nature that it pulls Rhaenyra to her feet and across the room in a moment’s breath. She tucks a curl behind her firstborn’s ear, laying a kiss to the corner of her eye. Ysilla’s exhale is a shaky one, and she sways into her mother. A rock, grounded and unwavering; her mother is a woman of strength and fortitude- a Goddess amongst men. Ysilla will always think that blasphemously. 

“Tell me, Ysilla. Let me carry this burden with you. Mother is here.” Rhaenyra whispers it like a secret to Ysilla’s temple and suddenly, it’s many moons ago, and the two are curled safe and warm under the covers, spinning tales of hellhounds and sorcerer’s spells and toppling kingdoms while the winds howl through the night. 

“Fears for the future, fears of the unknown. I’m sure every coming bride feels these too.” Ysilla tries for a laugh, but it’s watery and her lips shake even when she presses them tightly together. Rhaenyra catches the first tear as it falls, but the second and third carve streams down the apples of her cheeks. 

“What if… I’m not meant to be a mother? I couldn’t even hatch my own dragon egg, muña, what if it was for a reason that the Gods already know but they haven’t yet shared with me? What if Aemond doesn’t want babies, or worse, doesn’t want them with me? What if we tire of each other and he looks elsewhere?” Ysilla’s words start to jumble together, tears dripping off her chin and splashing onto a snoozing Visenya. The babe gives a whining cry and Ysilla jumps, arms tightening around the bundle but tears only coming faster at the distress she caused. 

Ysilla murmurs soothing apologies to her sister, wiping the splatters with unsteady fingers. 

Rhaenyra’s palm finds Ysilla’s back, rubbing firm circles against the crushed velvet and consoling shhhhs pressing into her hair. 

“Now I may not know much but what I do know my girl, is that you are my daughter, through and through. The blood of my blood, you are a dragon. No matter if you marry one, no matter if you carry one, you alone are the strength and the power of our family name. Your husband is a man blessed by Gods above to have you on his arm.” Rhaenyra swallows, biting her tongue’s instance to sway her daughter in a direction opposite of Aemond Targaryen’s. But the young Queen knows it to be pointless, the vision of two dancing dragons burned forever behind her eyes.

“There is not one doubt in my mind that he’ll hold steadfast beside you, until the end of your days.” Rhaenyra strokes her cheek, a humorous little grin twisting her lips, attempting to lighten her spirits. “Trust me, a mother knows.” 

Rhaenyra hoped that her speech would bring comfort to her daughter’s frazzled mind but it seemed to do the opposite, as hiccuping sobs break through Ysilla’s throat and her face crumbles like stone. Rhaenyra gathers her up, Ysilla’s head along her chest, the steady thumping of her mother’s heart beneath her ear a lullaby that croons a pacifying melody. 

Rhaenyra holds her daughters in her arms, the crown of only motherhood balanced atop her head. The day ahead of her is long and stretching; plights of the common people waiting to be heard, harvest numbers to account for, petty squabbles to squish before they multiply to issues that she’ll lose sleep over. Rhaenyra doesn’t have much time to spare, all her minutes scheduled and ticked as they fall but by her hand alone, she’ll halt the sun itself if she must. She’ll make more hours in the day and push off the moon’s rise if her daughter needs her here, with her. 

They’ll do all things together, as they always have. 

10 days left.

Ysilla moans into her palm, clutching at the edge of the table to ground her to the earth. The writing quill nearly snaps in her grip, a bend in the thick stem twisting it to an angle. The neat script of her penmanship hidden now under several splattered ink drops, the prose of her heart blurring into lines of inky black that are undecipherable. 

A harsh slap tears through the air and Ysilla arches away from the jolt against her bottom, but she only succeeds in rocking her spread cunt further against Aemond’s ravenous mouth. His tongue laps deviously at her bared entrance, thick fingers sliding into her and tickling her silken walls. 

“I thought I told you to not fuck it up again. Are you immune to following orders, niece?” Aemond’s voice is drenched in lust, notes of false disappointment lost to the shine of her slick on his chin. 

Ysilla whines, nails digging divots into the old oak. 

“I’m trying, fuck, Aemond, take pity on me.” She pines for his locks threaded through her fingers, wants to tug them like reigns of a horse bridle to steer his tongue just slightly left. But per his very clear instructions, Ysilla was not to move her hands from the table as she was to focus on writing out her Valyrian vows, committing them to memory so that their ceremony would go off without a hitch. If she disobeyed the laid out rules, Aemond would stop his ministrations and only begin again after she was able to scribble out a few lines.

The pile of crumpled up parchment across from her proof as to how well she is doing. 

Aemond laughs at her begging cruelly, fingers dragging in and out of her with lazy disinterest. 

“Pity is for the weak, byka zaldrītsos. You can take it.” He whispers his praise, lips brushing the inside of her thigh, sparking fire every where he touches. He doesn’t need Vhagar to cause destruction- Aemond does that all on his own, with his vicious mouth and wicked tongue.

Sweat trickles down Ysilla’s temple, and she flexes her calves before snatching up a new sheet of parchment. Singling out every ounce of concentration she possesses, Ysilla attempts to begin again, the letters of the ancient language flowing from her memory and through her fingers. 

Mazeman ao sir, Aemond Targārien, hae ñuha mēre. 

Aemond’s tongue flattens, a sweeping lick from hole to button causing her ankles to shake. He sucks one of her lips into his mouth, fingers drenched in her wetness. He glides them along her cleft, a sizzling threat that causes Ysilla's eyes to blur. Her hand continues across the page, the quill scratching out shaky black letters.

Ñuha gīda. 

He sucks at her nub, a jagged cry escaping her mouth. It bounces sharply off the walls and a tear splashes next to the paper. Ysilla wipes frantically at her face.

Ñuha valzȳrys.  

Thick fingers spread her cleft, Aemond massaging gently at her back entrance. A slicked finger breaches her and Ysilla bites into her wrist, blood springing hot and acrid on her tongue. She sucks it down, the pain welcome as it clears her head. 

Naejot iōragon ondoso se support.  

Aemond hums his praise, tongue becoming frenzied as he works her open on one finger. And then two. Ysilla is like a dog with a bone, wrist impaled on her sharp teeth, teardrops and saliva mingling in rivelets as they drip down her forearm. 

Naejot cherish se jorrāelagon.  

She fucks herself forward, backward, meeting his tongue, shying away from his fingers. The pain and the pleasure a line she can no longer distinguish. She feels light-headed, her breathing short and shallow. 

Syt se rest hen ñuha tubissa se beyond, ēva se mōris hen jēda.  

The coil in her cunt tightens, her legs nearly giving way, forcing Aemond’s fingers deeper inside her. His tongue too, and Ysilla can feel the brush of his narrow nose against her. Ysilla loses breath, forehead dropping to burrow in the crook of her elbow. Aemond snarls a hungry sound, free arm coming around to loop at her hips, yanking her down to ride his face. His fingers drive in and out of her, the burn a nice drag that causes her to gush over his mouth.

Īlva ānogar, hēnkirī, binding īlva isse bisa ābrar se se hembar.

The words are crooked and surely misspelled, Ysilla writing them through a slanted gaze, quill on the verge of becoming two pieces. She’s nearly there, nearly finished. As if he can hear her desperate thoughts, Aemond slides his fingers into a curl, his thumb sinking into her clenching cunt and he arches them towards each other. He plays her like a fiddle, her noises a ballad of their carnality. 

Iā bond daor vala kessa qūvy apart.

Ysilla shatters as the last word etches onto the page, sobbing pleas begging for her beloved’s mercy as she comes in waves, soaking Aemond’s face with her pleasure. He slurps lewdly, catching all she has to offer in his mouth, drinking her down as if she’s a rare wine he can’t get enough of. Ysilla would blush in shame if her mind wasn’t fogged over by unrelenting lust. He slides his fingers carefully out of her, Ysilla screwing her face up in displeasure at the vacant feeling 

Aemond straightens along her back, fixing down her skirts and collecting her curls off to one shoulder to cool her off. He presses forward, reading her sloppy scrawl over her shoulder. His eyes trail over the words, possessiveness coursing through him ferociously. He can nearly hear her sweet voice reading out the vows and the thought that he’ll only have to wait a few more days to experience them nearly drives him over the edge. 

Aemond winds his arms around her waist, tugging Ysilla upwards and flush against him. Her head lolls along his shoulder, her breaths still labored and he fights a smile of pride at his handiwork. 

“You did so good for me, Princess. You listened so well.” Ysilla whimpers at the innocent kiss he places on her cheek, so opposite an act considering where his mouth just was. Her legs still quiver beneath her, but the retribution growing inside her strokes strength up her spine.  

Drawing forward a chair with her foot, Ysilla maneuvers Aemond into it, his ass crashing down to the unforgiving wood. He arches a brow, thighs spreading on instinct as Ysilla steps to him. Her palm slams against the table, dragging to him a smudged piece of blank parchment. The bent quill and inkpot are an arm’s reach away from him. She bends towards her lover, hands bracing on the arms of the chair. Her lips are bloodied and wet, spit dripping viscously off her chin. Her tongue flicks out, a flat lick from the jut of his chin to the top of his lip makes her own taste burst sharply on her palette.

Aemond could tear through his breeches with how achingly hard he is. He wants to wrap a hand around her throat, force her to straddle his lap, and fuck his cock so deep inside of her, she’ll be bowlegged until the wedding. The image his brain conjures makes his hips thrust upwards involuntarily and Ysilla smiles a grisly thing, her teeth tinged red. She looks ghastly and Aemond licks his lips like a man half-starved. 

“Your turn, husband.” Ysilla drops to her knees, voice wrecked, lithe fingers tearing through his laces and freeing him. His cock pulses and jumps in her hand, and Aemond curses as she blows cool air over the weeping slit. It isn’t until he clenches the warped quill in his fist that Ysilla swallows him down to the root. And then removes her mouth just as swiftly as he lets his eyes roll to the back of his skull. He fixes her with a glare. She pumps him just a touch shy of not tight enough, and winks at him. 

Revenge is a dish he finds absolutely maddening.  

6 days.

Alicent pulls Aemond along the edge of the room, arms linked at the bend of their elbows, the polished floors of the Starry Sept catching the light of midday’s sun that pours prisms of color through the stained glass windows. 

There’s flurries of servants about, cleaning and decorating the holy room to prepare for the Royal Wedding. Soon, Oldtown will be bursting at its seams with visitors from all over Westeros, eager to attend the most anticipated union of the last century. 

Targaryen weddings happen from time to time, of course, but this one is causing quite the stir all over the Realm. Queen Rhaenyra and Alicent Hightower’s feud has been long-standing and impossible to ignore as the years have passed and now, they were to be joined together by way of marriage. Drama fed the people more than bread ever could, and the buzz surrounding Aemond and Ysilla’s union only grew as the date drew nearer.

Alicent had been here over a week already, perfecting the town to welcome the wedding guests. Aemond had arrived on Vhagar a few hours ago, reluctantly leaving Ysilla sound asleep in their chambers. They hadn’t been apart since that wretched ball and even with three of his most trusted guards posted outside their door, the impulse to cling to her side nearly sent him crawling back to her. Weak for only her, he certainly is. 

“And the windows will be cleaned by the morrow and once more the morning of the ceremony, to ensure they truly shine. All of the candles will be replaced with new ones, and we’ll finally fix The Father’s scales so they appear balanced.” His mother prattles on, laying out her thoughts, Aemond nodding at the parts he is supposed to. He couldn’t spare a single fuck if he and Ysilla were to marry in the damned Dragonpit, as long as they married.

Ironic that the closer the day came, it seemed more and more out of reach. 

“I’m so happy you made the trip out here, my boy.” Alicent pushes back a platinum strand that came loose in his flight. Her fingers quake, drifting over the band of his eyepatch, forever haunted by that accursed night. 

“It’s so hard to tear you from Ysilla’s side these days. It’s like you’re already gone.” Alicent snivels, pressing a juniper colored handkerchief to her nose. Aemond fights a roll of his eye. 

“Mother,” Aemond starts, frustration bleeding into his tone.

“My son, please, humor me.” Alicent digs her nails along his forearm, not harshly but enough to cause him to halt. Aemond sighs gratingly through his nose but concedes, head bowing forward to urge his mother to speak her mind.

“Ysilla is a great match, one that has become more and more well-suited as I see the two of you together. She is lovely and wonderful and beautiful. She’s well-read and primed for perfection but she reminds me so much of her mother that it strikes fear in me, Aemond.” Alicent’s voice grows a sliver ragged, nails picking at the cufflink at his wrist. 

“Rhaenyra was spirited and lively, when we were girls. We spent every waking moment together, never parting far from each other’s sides. Her fixations however, bordered on all-consuming. They narrowed her focus on one point and everything else became inconsequential. I don’t want you to lose yourself to any predilections that may have passed on to her daughter. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you too.”

Aemond sees something swim in his mother’s green gaze when she reflects on her past she shares with his older sister. A look none-too distant from the way he knows his eyes soften when they’re fixed on Ysilla. He finds it curious. 

“I am not losing a part of myself, mother; this is not a sacrifice I’m committing. I am gaining something here. A wife, a family, a future.” He keeps going, pretending the hurt that dawns on her face doesn’t feel like a blade in his belly. “Youare gaining something here too. A daughter, grandchildren… a friend in the form of her mother.” 

Alicent turns from his ceaseless stare, unable to hold it any longer. Tears, unwelcome and unbidden, irk her in their appearance. She doesn’t wish to shed any more grief over years lost and possibilities wasted. This newfound friendship she’s attempting to forge with Rhaenyra has brought more ease to her heart than she can recall experiencing since she was a girl. But the past refuses to stay buried, even in her own mind, and the thought of her most precious son leaving her behind threatens to spiral her down a dark path. 

Aemond’s hands rest on her shoulders, lips pressing a peck into her hair and she breathes as evenly as she can. 

“We can find joy, mother, I know it. We just,” Aemond exhales, almost preaching the words to himself. The Mother and the Maiden bore down on him with their stone stares, forcing him to avow his purest desires. He’s always hated this place. “We just have to reach out and take it.” 

2 days. 

“Bloody hell, ‘Silla, be quiet.” Lucerys’ hissed whisper rockets through the hall, breaking the stretching silence of the twilight. The hour is late, most likely waning into the very early hours of the morning and the occupants of the royal quarters are fast asleep and readying themselves for a final day of preparations on the morrow before setting off for Oldtown. 

That is, all but the bride-to-be and her little brothers. 

Lucerys, a whole head shorter than both Jace and Ysilla, has somehow been settled with the duty of dragging his two very drunk siblings through the winding halls of the castle and attempting to get them safely to their rooms. 

They had slipped from the Keep, a hidden passage in Ysilla’s chambers, an opportune getaway that was too tempting to ignore. Aegon had always slurred about his most cherished taverns and while his nephews ignored him without thought, a few choice places had wiggled into their brains and whispered their allure. 

And a final visit to their sister for old time’s sake, before her impending marriage that the boys were dreading, had quickly turned to a night of mischief prompted by a particularly strong bottle of Dornish wine. 

You see, Ysilla and Jace had a terrible competitive streak, stemming back before Lucerys was even born. Mother had told him that the two would come near to sparring over who got to read to him, who got to untangle his curls, even who got to dress him for the day. Jace had sworn once, hand placed over the bark of a Weirwood tree, that Lucerys’ first word was Jac-ey. Ysilla had clobbered him over the head with her sketchbook, outrage burning in her words as she proclaimed That is absolutely false, you little weasel! It was “Sill-i”.

And once they were seated at a far back table in one of the less crowded taverns the trio had come across, a bottle of mulled cider had fallen victim to the two elders' attempts to one-up each other. 

Lucerys had only reached the bottom of his first pint when Jace and ‘Silli polished off their second bottle, choosing rum as the next liquid conquest. 

“You’re such a good brother, Lukey.” Ysilla slurs, feet still somehow thankfully beneath her, as Lucerys doubted he had the strength to carry both of his siblings into the castle. She was his favorite tonight, more-so for the fact that she wasn’t the one who had spewed spirits all over his shoes. But Ysilla also tended to get very lovey-dovey when she fell too far into her cups, and the tears that seemed to follow always made Luke awkward and distressed. 

“Yes, ‘Silla, I know. You’ve said that twice already.” Lucerys huffs, taking a moment to catch his breath, and right a swaying half-asleep Jacaerys. He applauds himself for not letting either of them tumble down the steps they just had to summit. A win in his eyes, really. 

“Well it’s true.” Ysilla grumbles, hiccups and the occasional belch escaping her. Luke tries not to laugh, toeing open the hidden door that leads to his salvation. He could shout in celebration; they’re finally home. 

The door swings open and Lucerys tries not to choke on his spit.

Aemond Targaryen twirls his blade lazily, leaning casually amongst the throws of Ysilla’s bed. Twin knights in the form of Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk stand guard by both the balcony and the door leading to the hall of the castle.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Aemond catches the dagger he throws up in the air by the dull side of the blade, sheathing it as he rolls to his feet. 

“Aemondddd.” Ysilla’s voice is a dreamy sigh as she hears her almost-husband, head rolling forward along Lucerys’ shoulder to aim a blinding beam at him.

Aemond scoffs, all resentment leaching from his eye at the sight of his sloshed lover. A fond annoyance finds its place, and he drifts closer to the wobbly Velaryons.

Lucerys, still after all these years, can’t seem to look Aemond in the eye but tonight he is tired, hungry, painfully sober and Jace smells of vomit so he puts his past guilt to the side and pushes his sister into his uncle. 

Aemond catches her readily, narrowing his lone eye at the middle Strong son. There is no love lost between him and his bethrothed’s brothers, especially the one that slashed the eye from his head at only five years of age. 

“She likes mint tea after a night of drinking, with goat’s milk and too much honey. She has some stashed away in her vanity; her handmaid knows how to prepare it properly.” Lucerys offers his knowledge as an olive branch, turning full attention to pull his brother along, staggering under the deadweight of the drunken boy. 

Aemond says nothing, Ysilla cooing and mumbling happy noises into his throat, arms slung about his neck. Lucerys takes his dismissal with a farewell nod, pulling Jace along as they try to make their way to their quarters. 

“Ser Arryk,” Aemond’s voice never fails to frost over Lucerys’ skin. “Make sure these two find their way back to their rooms safely. My bride would have my head if anything were to happen to her brothers.” Ysilla giggles girlishly at my bride and Lucerys exhales a relieved breath. 

“And make sure the Queen knows exactly where they were tonight- I’m sure she would be very interested to know of her son’s whereabouts.” The smugness in his uncle’s voice makes Lucerys wish he had taken his other eye. 

Aemond smirks, watching the knight take hold of Jacaerys’ arm as they disappear behind the door. He spares a glance down at Ysilla, finding hazy eyes staring up at him with unveiled devotion. He snorts, wrapping arms around her hips and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

“Your breath stinks.” Aemond asserts, nodding at Ser Erryk as he pulls the door shut behind him, leaving the two alone.

Ysilla scoffs indignantly, shoving at him with sloppy aim, kicking herself away as he plops her on the bed. 

“You stink! Dragon smell is not very becoming of you, husband.” Ysilla shoots back childishly, tugging roughly at her boot’s laces with a very pinched look of concentration. 

Aemond pulls a chair from in front of the lit hearth, angling it at the foot of her bed and sits himself down. He grasps at Ysilla’s ankle, ignoring her squeak as he pulls her towards him. He works at the knot she’s achieved in her drunken frustration. 

“I thought you said I smell of orange blossoms and sword polish.” 

Ysilla shoots up, curled fringe falling into her eyes that she tries to blow away with puckered lips. Her stare is a bit unfocused, but the inquiry building there is undeniable. 

“I never said that to you.” 

Aemond’s lips curl at the end, pulling off one boot before starting on the other. He keeps his eyes on the task at hand, not avoiding her gaze, per say. Just occupied. 

“Not out loud, you didn’t.” 

The haze of alcohol slows her realization, but Aemond is quick to catch her foot as it shoots out to collide with his stomach when it dawns on her. 

“You cretin! You absolute fucker, you read my diary!” 

Aemond laughs at her outburst, releasing her hostage foot as she drags herself up the bed and away from him. Ysilla curls into a ball, eyes blazing and attempting to burn him to a crisp.

“You sleep in late and I tire of mapping your beauty to my mind. You left it open one night and I found it pleasing to pass the time.” Aemond’s voice is too sweet and Ysilla rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and dwelling in her dismay. Aemond wants to sink his teeth into her pouty mouth. 

“Busy yourself with something else then! Go ride your dragon or read an actual book or swing a bloody sword, but leave my thoughts alone.” Ysilla rolls over, burying the last of her sentiment into her pillow and Aemond slips soundlessly into the bed behind her. He winds his arms around her waist, pulling her petulant form to meld against him. 

“I couldn’t leave your thoughts no matter how hard you try.” He brushes a kiss to the skin behind her ear and Ysilla shivers. “And I don’t want to leave our bed without you joining me to start our day. My body might depart but my mind would stay with you as long as you’re absent from my side.”

Ysilla is silent for a moment before she turns to face Aemond. Her eyes are trained on his chest, fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his tunic. 

“Are you nervous?” Aemond doesn’t ask what about- he’s already irked his bride enough tonight, he doesn’t wish to cause a fight. No matter how tempting she is in her anger. 

“Not one bit.” Aemond’s hand comes up to tangle with her fingers, pulling her palm flat over his heart, making her feel the organ that beats only for her. 

Ysilla sniffs, bleary eyes raising to find his singular stare, nuzzling closer to him, her bare feet intertwining with his legs. Her cheeks are flushed from the ale, hair a bit wild, and Aemond regrets never taking to art. How he wishes he could commit Ysilla’s beauty to paint, to coal, anything so that he could be surrounded by her face no matter where she be. 

She brushes her thumb feather-light over the end of his scar and the chill it leaves him with soothes any phantom aches. He refuses to close his eyes before she does. 

“I can’t wait to marry you.” Ysilla breathes out, speech slurred only slightly and at last, her lashes flutter shut and her breaths even out. Aemond nudges off his boots, unwilling to part from his betrothed, the comforting scent of her lulling him to sleep. Ysilla’s hand is still placed over his heart, and the beats slow as Aemond drifts off.

“Me either, my love.” 

The day of. 

Ysilla’s feet are clouds beneath her, floating her out of the Starry Sept and into a private room meant for the bride.

The deafening cheers and claps of the wedding guests still ring in her ears, lips puffing from Aemond’s insistent mouth. She presses her fingertips to them, quivering at the hot rush of want that spins in her stomach from the bruising ache. She had bit him slightly, barely a press of her teeth, to chase him back from plundering her mouth with his skilled tongue in front of all their witnesses- not to mention the Gods. But the look he shot her could’ve made The Crone’s lamp tumble from her hands and shatter into a million little pieces. Ysilla had to hide her face in his shoulder in the semblance of an embrace to hide the flames licking up her neck. As if that would help, as Aemond only whispered the most unholiest of dirty thoughts into her ear. Ysilla is sure there are apples that paled in intensity to her face as she descended the steps, hand-in-hand with Aemond. 

A knock amongst the wood whirls her around, a blonde head popping in before she can call out her greeting. A relieved smile graces her face, pleased to not have to entertain anymore Septons.

“Rytsas kepa,” Ysilla welcomes, Daemon closing the door behind him. “Skoriot iksis muña?” 

“Readying Syrax and Caraxes for the flight to Dragonstone. I think we’ve frightened the folks of Oldtown enough with their presence.” Dameon grins gleefully, not a shred of remorse in his visage. His smile drops though when he takes in her choice of attire. 

“You have to change, Ysilla. Dresses don’t fare well when riding dragonback.” 

“And how would you know? Spent much time in gowns, father?” Mirth tickles her pink, happiness exuding from every pore of her being. Daemon chuckles at her silliness, his dismay regarding the entire day melting slightly at his daughter’s elation. 

“I’ve lived a long life, maybe I’ll share that story with you someday.” 

Ysilla chuckles, nodding affirmatively, taking a moment to breathe. 

“Yes, yes, of course.” Ysilla spins in a circle searching for her trunk, patting down her dress, hands coming up to tuck her curls behind her ears. Her face feels hot but she can’t stop smiling; just one more ceremony and it’ll be complete. She and Aemond will be tied together forever. 

Daemon catches her hand and Ysilla stops short, the heavy twirl of her skirts continues to twist around her and pulls at her hips. 

His eyes are aimed at the floor and Ysilla worries she must’ve gotten something on her dress with how hard he’s staring but his voice quiets her fears.

“Say the word, little one, and I’ll whisk you away from here. I’ll load you onto Caraxes with half the gold the Iron Bank has locked away, and I’ll take you anywhere you have ever wished to see.” Her stepfather’s voice is uncharacteristically earnest and her heart swells tenderly. 

Ysilla finds herself blessed- she has more fathers to count than some get in a multiple lifetimes. Ser Harwin, always hovering about in case she called on him, was a kind, warm man who never failed to remind Ysilla of home. Laenor, more absent than not but vivid and tender when he was present, had carved a hole into her heart with his demise, never to be filled again. 

And Daemon; he had dropped into her life at the peaking dawn of her womanhood with two daughters in tow and a past so entwined with her mother’s it had made Ysilla’s head hurt. Tepid at times and boiling at others, Ysilla remembers she wasn’t too sure what to make of him at the beginning. But with time and commitment, he had earned himself a place in her family. He always treated her with respect, listened to her fantastical stories with half a keen ear, trailed behind her dancing across the beach, and put a heavy blade in her hand when he was sure she wouldn’t slip with it and lose a finger. He was a father in all the ways that weren’t rewarding but in all that mattered. 

“Well, Dorne has always been a sight to behold, I’ve heard.” 

A conspiring grin pulls at her stepfather’s mouth, an expression Ysilla always aimed to drag out of him. Dameon always looked more approachable that way- contentment softening his ruggish features. 

“I could get you there before the sun would set.” 

Ysilla hums, a tempting offer she acts like she contemplates, nibbling along her bottom lip and brow furrowed in false pondering. 

“The weather would be quite beautiful. The flowers in bloom, the waters warm, the wine flowing.”

Daemon nods, a bigger smile taking over, plucking a speck of lint from her garments. He swings a curl back behind her, making sure her jewelry is sparkling and faced forward. He’s busying himself for the answer he knows is coming. 

“But unfortunately,” Ysilla squeezes his hand in her’s, Dameon answering with a squeeze a fraction tighter. “I think that ship has sailed, father.” She wiggles her shoulders, the weight of Aemond’s cloak draped around her barely shifting with her movement. 

His eyes are lit with begrudging acceptance of Ysilla’s choice, the joking air dissipating as he voices an agreeing groan. 

Ysilla’s eyes are misty, and her cheeks ache pleasantly from her wide stretching smile. 

“Plus, he’d find me on Vhagar and drag me back with him.”

Daemon pfffts out a humorous burst of air and Ysilla knocks her forehead to his shoulder as he pulls her into a one-armed hug. 

“He’d have to get through me first.” 

The night of. 

Aemond and Ysilla stumble into his room their room, slurred whispers and uncontrollable giggles the song of too much celebrating and way too much wine.

The newlyweds bar the door behind them. Ysilla flings off her shoes, moaning at the rushing relief of freedom for her feet. Aemond’s arms wrap themselves around her, pulling her back tight to his front. He noses at her temple, a rhythmic growl rolling from his chest. 

“All night long you’ve forced me to lend an ear to your moans and expected me to do nothing about them. The fruits, the pigeon pie, the imported wine, the cake, all followed by the sounds of your pleasure.” Aemond presses his teeth to the meat of her cheek and he feels it pull upwards at the grin Ysilla dons.

“What can I say, it was really good pie.” 

Ysilla twists around, her fingers braiding through his hair and Aemond moans a pleased sound. Ysilla’s fingers are magic, constantly seeking out the knots and tangles that appear at the end of a long day. She refuses to rest until the twisted locks sweep down into a blonde river of gleaming strands. 

“Mmmm, who's moaning now, my love?” Ysilla challenges, desire floating in lavender irises. She sucks at her lip, wincing and releasing it at the sharp crack of pain left behind by the Dragonglass’ cut. Aemond’s thumb finds the wound, smearing her blood along his finger before rolling the digit around his tongue. The way that that depraved act spears thirst through her makes her dizzy.

“You taste divine, Ysilla.” 

Ysilla purrs, pulling him down by the hair to lick at his lips but he dances away before their mouths can meet. Ysilla frowns, feeling entirely too empty without him pressed against her. Only a day spent fully together and she can’t stomach them being apart. Gods help her. 

“A plan?” Ysilla raises a dark brow, bliss still lingering in every fiber of her being. She tries a grin, and Aemond’s answering curl of his lips banishes all distress from her heart. 

“Yes, little one, one that you may not be privy to. Now, make yourself comfortable and I’ll be along for you soon.” Ysilla laughs at her husband’s antics (her husband, her husband, her husband. She’ll never tire of that, she hopes) and she shoos him away to go about his mission.

Aemond stalks off, slipping into an adjoining room and behind a changing partition, nodding his approval at the set-up he directed the servants to prepare. 

A large brass bath, filled halfway with flame-boiled water, scented with rose oil and loose peony petals . Candles are lit in every corner, a table set with two glasses and Ysilla’s favorite plum wine waiting to be consumed. Almond oil, Aemond’s choice, is by the foot of the bath and he grows restless. He plans to press into all her muscles, chase away her stress and soreness, make her pliant and boneless before slipping inside of her, at last their coupling right and true in the eyes of their ancestors. 

Husband and wife. Valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys.

Aemond spares a final glance at the room, rubbing his hands together before marching back to his and Ysilla’s room. But Aemond can’t suppress a laugh, scratching at his brow at the sight that greets his arrival.

Ysilla is curled under the furs, pants and shirt in a pile in the corner of their room, soft snores the only sound besides the logs burning in the hearth. He tosses his eyepatch on the table, coming closer to the bed and making sure she’s tucked in tight. He blows out the bedside candle, darkness blanketing the room. The glow from the fireplace’s flames give Aemond a last glance of his wife’s sleeping face. He sighs as he trudges back to the bath, regrettably alone. He strips down, a trail of clothes marking his path. 

Aemond swings his legs over the rim of the tub, dunking himself under the boiling water, hoping the scald chases away his undying want for the woman dozing in the other room. 

It doesn’t and Aemond starts to count down the minutes until sunrise, where he can awaken his wife with his mouth upon her cunt, her moans singing alongside the twittering of the owls.  

“Don’t look so frightened, wife.” Aemond growled the last part into her ear, woozy and whirling from the day’s events. 

Ysilla dared an amazed laugh, stare unwilling to break from the behemoth emerald beast she was expected to mount. Looking at her now, Ysilla was dumbfounded of how a young boy gambled his life, and chanced a death by flames or fangs to claim her. 

Her husband, one-of-a-kind he is.

“You face me with meeting the only other woman in your life and expect me to be all smiles?” Ysilla tried her hand at a jest but it fell flat, her voice a few octaves too high. 

Aemond grinned, securing his gloves and tightening his hair band, coming forward and pulling her towards him. He double-knotted the tie of his cloak at the base of her throat, tucking her curls beneath the black stitchings. She had shed her wedding dress before leaving the Sept, electing a pair of dark brown breeches and a billowing ruby houppelande much more appropriate for dragon riding. She kept the cloak wrapped around her though, and Aemond’s heart sailed at the sight of his protection swathed about her. 

It wasn’t a long journey by any means, a little less than an hour to Dragonstone, where they would be joined in the customs of Old Valyria. Ysilla and Aemond had made the decision it would be just the two of them for the ceremony, and chose Maester Gerardys, a man who had watched over Ysilla since her birth, to officiate the union. Daemon and Rhaenyra didn’t take immediately to the decision, but a bat of Ysilla’s lashes and a pleading twist of her lips had quieted their objections. But they weren’t swayed enough not to be waiting on the newlyweds at the castle across the cliff’s way. Getting there was the only obstacle now. 

Aemond settled his hands on Ysilla’s shoulders, pulling her attention from the sleeping dragon to fixate on him. He chuckled at the apprehension she couldn’t hide on her face, and he felt a small victory at the breathy laugh she released, nerves fleeting with the sound. 

He tugged on her hand, every small step forward a win he wore like a crown. 

“Come now, my love, our life awaits.” Aemond gifted her a perfect smile before turning and climbing up the rope ladder along Vhagar’s neck. The old beast snuffled, puffs of smoke drifting from her snout as her rider dared to awaken her from her slumber. Ysilla’s legs wobbled once Vhagar aimed her yellow stare at her, something akin to a question building in her huge eyes. 

Ysilla dropped forward in an almost curtsey. “Rytsas Vhagar.” Ysilla stilled, locking eyes with the magnificent creature. The seconds stretched on, but Ysilla refused to retreat. Vhagar cocked her head to the side, perhaps scrutinizing the tiny girl before shaking her mammoth head, the gust of wind it conjured nearly knocking Ysilla over. She arched her giant claws, bones cracking vociferously and Ysilla realized she was stretching. Ysilla had seen street cats do the same and she suppressed a chuckle, starting up the flimsy ladder, Aemond’s hand securing around her elbow and guiding her in front of him. 

“Alright you, so make sure you don’t move too much. Hold on here and here, and loop your feet through these.” Aemond directed her, prodding at her and Ysilla rolled her eyes fondly.

“I’ve ridden a dragon before, thank you.” Ysilla shot back, memories of her and her mother on Syrax stirring up dormant instincts. It’s been years since she did that and Ysilla cried in fear the whole time, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

He hums dismissively, arms encasing her so that he can grip at Vhagar’s reigns. 

“Not like this, ñuha prūmia. Hold on tight.” 

And then all at once, following a Valyrian command, Ysilla jolted forward, gasping in a breath as Vhagar took off over the seaside cliff, She wished for a free hand to cover her mouth to stunt a scream, but her teeth would have to do as she was too terrified to release the hold she had on the saddle. Ysilla’s stomach was thrown into loops, the weightlessness in her legs unpleasant and she never imagined she’d miss the ground beneath her until that moment. 

She hadn't realized her eyes were squeezed shut, partially hoping she just passed out but Aemond’s voice at her ear drifted over the roar of the wind.

“Open your eyes, Ysilla.” 

Ysilla did so reluctantly but once she did, oh, it was life changing. 

She had never seen the sea from this height before, never leveled her stare with white puffy clouds, seen above the sun as it began to set. The air was thinner this high up, but all the more clear. Ysilla was slack-jawed, awe taking over for debilitating fear. Her eyes soaked in everything and it still seemed like there was more to see. 

Even with the sun setting ablaze the ocean in its descent, the summit of the moon close behind, Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes away from his wife’s face. Nothing felt more right than in that moment; a Targaryen bride in his arms, his dragon soaring beneath him, a bright, opportune future laid out further than the stretch of the sea. Happiness, a once alien emotion that seemed to become more familiar each day spent by Ysilla’s side, bloomed like a spring flower in his chest and took root. Finally, Aemond let himself breathe out, let himself just be. He grasped Vhagar’s reigns tighter, secured Ysilla against him, and directed the dragon higher into the sky, racing against the sunset, basking in his wife’s rollicking laughter all the way.

.

.

.

byka zaldrītsos

little dragon

muña

mother 

Mazeman ao sir, aemond Targārien, hae ñuha mēre.  Ñuha gīda.  Ñuha valzȳrys.  Naejot iōragon ondoso se support.  Naejot cherish se jorrāelagon.  

Syt se rest hen ñuha tubissa se beyond, ēva se mōris hen jēda.  

īlva ānogar, hēnkirī, binding īlva isse bisa ābrar se se hembar.  Iā bond daor vala kessa qūvy apart.

I take you now, Aemond Targaryen, as my one. My equal. My husband. To stand by and support. To cherish and love. For the rest of my days and beyond, until the end of time. Our blood, together, binding us in this life and the next. A bond no man will tear apart. 

Rytsas kepa. Skoriot iksis muña?

Hello father. Where is mother? 

Valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys

Husband and wife

Rytsas Vhagar

Hello Vhagar

ñuha prūmia

my heart

.

.

.

i hope you all loved this family feels chapter because the next one... i'm just gonna apologize in advance because the next one is a DOOZY. 

forever thankful for every single kudos, comment, and read this story has gotten. you all rock my world! xx

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen smut #ysilla targaryen #i had all and then most of you / some and now none of you

[lorna-d-m]

Chapter Five: Parent Teacher Conferences

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC (Alice Greene)

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?

Word Count: 3,192

W: mentions of drinking, bullying/hazing

A/N: I unexpectedly had to go out of state for a week and then move into my on-campus apartment when I came back but in my time before classes started I got this finished :) Yeehaw senior year here I come

previous chapter

Although the university semester and the public school system did not line up exactly, there was enough overlap to swamp both Stevie and Laszlo in work. They were two sides of the same coin. Stevie worked his ass off studying and writing papers while Laszlo burned the midnight oil grading exams and essays. He almost fell asleep at his desk with his reading glasses on, trying to understand a student’s ill-conceived paper, when Stevie told him to call it a night.

Laszlo received an email from the school reminding parents, and guardians, the week after progress report cards the school would host a parent teacher conference night. He suspected it was to designate a night for all the overbearing parents to heckle the teachers after grades came back. After all, his office hours were always booked after midterms with crying freshmen begging for extra credit or another chance when they never did the reading to begin with. He always listened, some students had valid or extenuating circumstances, but he was better known for being unrelenting.

Stevie’s grades were excellent. Not valedictorian, but reflective of his work. Laszlo did not consider attending the conference until he received an email from Ms. Greene. 

Dear Dr. Kreizler,

I hope you are doing well, and I hope midterms have not overwhelmed you. As difficult as they are for students, I know grading is no walk in the park either. 

I’m sure you saw the school’s reminder about parent teacher conferences, but I wanted to personally invite you. I have some concerns about Stevie, and I would like to discuss them with you in person. If you are unavailable that night, please let me know and we can schedule another meeting. 

Thank you so much!

Ms. Alice Greene

Laszlo reflected on the last few weeks. In their weekly conversations, she mentioned she thought some of the students might be giving Stevie a hard time. He anticipated it would settle when the novelty wore off, but now he was not sure. Laszlo rearranged his schedule, ensuring he wouldn’t be stuck at the university or working at the Institute and miss the evening.

He asked Stevie if he would like to attend the conferences as well, not mentioning the email from Ms. Greene, but stating that if they were discussing him it was only fair for him to be present. Stevie declined and joked that with Doctor Kreizler there he had the best defense. Laszlo was glad Stevie still thought so, even in jest. Stevie’s only request was for him to bring back dinner after the conference. The refrigerator was empty after midterms, and he wanted to eat something other than eggs and toast. Laszlo laughed and promised to bring back whatever Stevie wanted. 

Apparently, Alice did not learn from her previous mistakes. At open house, the cookies she hand-baked and decorated were barely touched by the parents. And yet, she made cookies for the conferences. Alice decorated them like books, giving each of them a classic literature title, and arranged them on a cookie carrier. 

This far into the year, her classroom was not spotless and picturesque like it was at open house. She swept the floors again, finding half a dozen discarded pens and pencils, and rewrote the information she kept on the whiteboard. Parents and administrators loved to see objectives, standards, and assignments in clearly visible spaces. Looking around, she realized several of the desks never made it to their original places after their group discussions, so she rearranged them. A few desks positioned across from her desk would be suitable for the evening.

The first parent arrived with a sheepish student in tow, and she gestured for them to sit down and take a cookie. Neither did.

***

An hour later, Alice was dying for an iced coffee. She knew drinking one at this time would keep her awake half the night, but she needed something to make her smile. A few of her conversations were genuinely productive, exploring what she and the parents could do to better support the student, addressing her concerns, and building positive relationships. 

However, she had just as many discouraging conversations from parents insisting their child was right and she was incorrect. Bitsy warned her in a more affluent area the parents were more involved and typically more self-righteous, but her expectations did not match reality. They had the audacity to tell her all the ways she did her job incorrectly

She was tired, and she wanted to go home. Iced coffee wasn’t a strong enough drink, but she might settle for it on her drive home. 

Laszlo debated visiting Stevie’s other teachers. He performed well in their classes, and as far as he knew they had no matters to discuss with him. Still, since some of them were communicative with him when he emailed them, he decided to drop by a few classrooms. Laszlo kept his visits brief as he knew he was expected elsewhere. Additionally, he did not want the ice to melt in his surprise.  

“Are these the same recipes as before? 

“What?” Confused, Alice looked up from her desk. He stood by the cookies she no doubt painstakingly designed, and yet looked as if they hadn’t been touched all night. “Oh,” she smiled, “Dr. Kreizler.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Greene.” His sheepish smile was genuine. “I brought you a gift, but maybe I should call it a bribe in exchange for some of these cookies.” He set the iced coffee on her desk and sat down.

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have let you take some home anyway.” She picked up the coffee and read the label. “Decaf? You are intuitive, Dr. Kreizler.” Alice reached into the minifridge behind her desk and grabbed the bottle of coffee creamer. Laszlo did not know how she took her coffee, so once he learned she kept supplies in her classroom he reasoned black was fine and she could sweeten it to taste.

His cheeks reddened, and he hoped it was not terribly noticeable. “I thought you would appreciate a pick me up without it keeping you awake.” She thanked him and urged him to take some cookies. Laszlo debated between them, knowing the flavor was the same, but there were implications based on the titles he chose. 

“Dracula and In Cold Blood. Interesting. I’m totally not judging you based on that now,” she laughed.

“As a literature teacher, what’s your formal determination?” Laszlo evaluated people professionally, and for fun, so he was curious about her opinion. 

“Well,” she took another sip of her coffee and smiled mischievously. He liked the way she crinkled her nose. “Dracula is a classic, and honestly underrated. It’s much more humorous than people think, and the original sotry is often overlooked. And In Cold Blood, well, you must be a true crime junkie. Based on a true story, but obviously dramatized. You probably researched the real case while reading and felt better for knowing the truth.”

Laszlo wiggled his eyebrows. Impressive. He took a bite of his sugar cookie. “And you? What books would you choose?” This was his opportunity to read her.

She checked her watch on her left wrist and playfully sighed. “I was saving these two until the end of the night, but I think you will be the last parent I see tonight.”

“I’m honored,” he demurred.

“And it’s only fair since I judged your taste,” she hesitated for suspense, “so I’ll take Pride and Prejudice and Count of Monte Cristo.”

Laszlo thought for a moment. Her first choice did not surprise him, but her second did. He grappled with the Count first. “The Count of Monte Cristo is complicated, and so are you. You enjoy unraveling plots, and you’re a sucker for a tragedy. As for Pride and Prejudice, you are a romantic, but with particular taste. You want to be swept off your feet as if you were in a Jane Austen novel, but that has not happened yet.”

He tended to push people too far, and Laszlo feared he was too blunt. Ms. Greene was taken aback, the nervous set of her mouth said that, but her eyes told him it was true. She stirred her drink with her straw and took another sip. 

“You’re very insightful, Dr. Kreizler.” She met his eye and held it. He never noticed the flecks of color and how they glimmered even under the fluorescent light. Laszlo wondered how she would look in warm light, candlelight, moonlight. A door slammed down the hall and broke them from their trance. “But, I think we should talk about Stevie.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right,” Laszlo agreed. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his suit jacket pen. At the top of a clean page, he wrote the date and “Conference — Stevie”.

“Stevie is doing well in class. I’m sure you know that from checking his grades and his progress report. That’s not what I’m concerned about, unless his grades start to drop, of course.” Laszlo took notes as she spoke. “I noticed that in my class at least, Stevie doesn’t have a solid group of friends. Which, some kids don’t and that’s completely fine, but there’s a group that has been antagonistic toward him.” His pen scratched to a stop.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since the beginning of the year. I know it can be difficult when you don’t fit in—” Laszlo arched an eyebrow, but she ignored it. “— and I’ve spoken with him several times. I’ve done everything except go to administration which he expressed he does not want. However, if the situation escalates then I will have no choice.”

Laszlo sighed wearily. “I have noticed Stevie being quieter, less chatty, than before. On the other hand, he has been out of the house more, too, and I think he has friends in another class”

“I’m glad,” she said. “At least he has some support even if it’s in another class.”

“Stevie has support in your class. You’re an excellent teacher, and I appreciate you telling me what has happened. If you had not noticed, I don’t think anyone would. They lack your observational skills.” She blushed, remembering their earlier conversation. 

Having settled their official business, the conversation wandered again. She asked about his work at the university and the Institute, and he happily answered. Alice noticed his chest seemed to puff up with pride when he spoke about his students and he grew more animated. She enjoyed listening to him, and he made sure to reciprocate and ask her questions when appropriate. 

Alice soon finished her coffee, but she made no moves to leave her desk or pack her stuff. It was only Bitsy’s knock on the open door, and immediate regret, that made her realize how late it grew. Laszlo’s head whipped around at the knock.

“Just checking on you and letting you know I’m headed home. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Thanks, Bits. I’ll talk to you later.” While Laszlo was turned, Alice mimicked a phone by her ear, signaling Bitsy to call her later.

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you close friends with Ms. Sussman?”

“She’s my work wife, and before that, she was my school sister. Bitsy is the one who told me this school was looking for English teachers, so I have her to thank.” For more than just the job. Alice doubted she would have met Dr. Kreizler any other way.

“It’s good to have friends nearby. As much as John annoys me, I cannot imagine working without him.” He chuckled and glanced at the watch on his right wrist. “My, it’s grown late. You can’t have eaten if you’ve been here all night.”

“What do you mean?” She giggled. “You saw me eat these two cookies and drink this coffee. That’s my dinner.”

“That does not count as a meal.”

“Of course it does, when you count the half a dozen cookies I had between baking them and setting them out.”

He scoffed. “That is not a meal. Delicious, but not a meal,” Laszlo teased. “Would you like a late dinner and to continue our conversation?”

Alice froze. Laszlo’s piercing brown eyes never left her face even when she wished they would. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew if she spoke she would stammer. A million thoughts ran through her head, and she would trip over the words. Alice desperately wanted to accept. Laszlo was handsome, respectable, and polite. An excellent conversationalist, and he listened to her.

Conversely, he was a parent and she was his child’s teacher. It was a moral dilemma, and it must be a breach of ethics. If anyone knew, they could accuse her of favoriting Stevie at Dr. Kreizler’s request, or even worse exchanging sexual favors for better grades. Alice imagined the red tape they would have to go through to be together. 

She took a deep breath in before speaking. “I would like to accept, but I can’t.” The expectant smile disappeared from his face, and it tugged at her heart. “This isn’t a good night for me. I need to check on Georgie, and you need to get back home to Stevie.” He twitched at the mention of Georgie. Alice couldn’t resist a snicker. “Don’t worry, he’s not my boyfriend or anything. He’s my handsome tuxedo cat, and I fear what he will do if I don’t feed him dinner soon.”

Relieved, Laszlo chuckled. He was such a serious man that Alice liked seeing him laugh. She admired the crinkles by his eyes and the way he cracked a smile. His whole face scrunched. 

“Cats and children are not so different. I know Stevie is perfectly capable of making dinner, but I promised him I would pick something up on my way back.” He checked his watch again and stood. “It’s late, and I should leave.”

“Wait, Dr. Kreizler,” Alice scrambled for a post-it-note and pen. “Just because tonight isn’t a good night doesn’t mean I don’t want to have dinner with you.” She wrote her phone number in pink ink.

He blinked twice and accepted the sticky note. “Thank you.” His round cheeks flushed rosy red, and she found it adorable. “I will plan another night, and I should let you return home to Georgie.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Kreizler,” she grinned.

His brows pinched together in thought. “Please, call me Laszlo. There’s no need for such formalities.”

“It’s funny. I still want to call you Dr. Kreizler. Goodnight then, Laszlo.”

He entered the hallway, conscientious that half the lights were dimmed to denote the late hour. His leather messenger bag threatened to slip off his shoulder, but holding a paper plate of cookies he didn’t dare fuss with the bag. Laszlo glanced around for a desk or a table in the hallway to set them down so he could fix it, but instead, he found the blustering figure of Coach Connor.

Laszlo gave the coach an obligatory nod and continued on his way. He did not visit him during the conferences, and his absence was noted. Curious, Laszlo hesitated in the hallway. 

He heard Ms. Greene — Alice! — greeting the coach, and he noted the difference in her tone of voice. It was colder, more rigid and reserved, but still seemingly pleasant. However, Laszlo recognized the difference with a small smile. She wanted the conversation to end as quickly as she could. It was only a minute or two later that Coach Connor reappeared in the hallway, red-faced and grumbling. He became the target of his frustration. 

“Get the hell outta here, can’t you see it’s late?” Laszlo stepped back, but Coach Connor insisted on being in his face. “You shouldn’t be here.” Laszlo opened his mouth to protest, but when he did Coach Connor knocked the paper plate of cookies from his hand. He stormed off, but not before Laszlo could cut in with the final word.

“I see she didn’t offer you any, Coach. Perhaps there’s a reason why.” 

Once he was out of sight, Laszlo knelt to the ground to pick them up. He was not the type of man to leave a mess behind him, and he would hate for her to see them scattered on the floor when she left her classroom. 

***

Laszlo returned home with a box of pizza from Stevie’s favorite pizzeria. He sprung for garlic knots and extra marinara as a treat and poured himself a glass of wine. Stevie commented it was later than expected, considering the conferences ended at eight and it was going for ten now, but Laszlo insisted it was because of a big party at the pizzeria slowing down orders. Stevie shrugged, not pressing the matter, but clearly not believing him. He regarded Laszlo with a suspicious eye.

Laszlo ate and spoke normally, but the sticky note with her number burned a hole in his pocket. He thought about what he might text her, or if he should call her instead. Which restaurant would she prefer? If he went too formal would she be intimidated? But if he went more casual would she be disappointed? Laszlo knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he did not mind. 

Alice scratched Georgie’s ears. He purred while he ate, and he did not allow her to do anything else in her apartment until he fed her. She couldn’t set down her bag, slip off her shoes, or fill her water. Demanding, but her little darling, so she gave him his regular meal and a treat. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and sure enough Bitsy’s face covered the screen as her call came in. They shared locations once years ago trying to find the right café and never undid it. Now, Bitsy could tell precisely when Alice arrived home to ask about her evening. She spoke quickly and almost tripped over her words. 

“What happened with you and the doctor? And don’t you act coy with me or lie to me.”

“Well,” Georgie arched his spine as she ran her hand down his back, “he brought me another coffee, but it was decaf this time since it was evening. We talked about Stevie, of course, and you know my concerns about him.”

Bitsy cut her next sentence off. “You know that’s not what I want to know. Tell me what happened after!” 

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, knowing she had every ounce of Bitsy’s attention, “we talked for a long time, and he asked me to dinner. I said no—”

“—What?! Are you crazy?

“No to tonight, Bits, not to anything. I gave him my number so we could plan something for another night.”

“Thank God, you almost gave me a heart attack there.”

“I’m not stupid. Maybe a bit impulsive, or foolish even, but not stupid.” She thought for a minute, knowing she had been standing on the edge of a precipice. Alice took the plunge, giving him her number, and she knew everything would change. She just didn’t know how yet.

Next chapter

taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker

#daniel brühl fanfic #daniel brühl fanfiction #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction #modern laszlo kreizler

[dragonbanexxi]

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire.

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

Son of Daemon Targaryen x Rhea Royce

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The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to Queen Alicent’s dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wants. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

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Chapter 1.

“We’ve been summoned to King’s Landing Lad.” The Lord Regent of Runstone said solemnly. His eyes shifted to his ward. A handsome boy of ten and four.

The boys face shifting with worry.

Rhaegar Targaryen Royce. The sole child born to the late Lady Rhea and Prince Daemon Targaryen. He had his mothers raven curls that he sported half up and half down; just as she had once. Ser Gerold was convinced Rhaegar was the boy Rhea always wished she was.

His ward was pure Royce; save for his eyes. Unlike their more common Honey Brown irises the boy’s Valyrian blood had been determined to shine through somehow; giving the boy sparkilng lavender ones.

Daemon Targaryen could not deny his son once he looked upon Rhaegar’s eyes. No matter how desperately he wanted to.

“Have we done something wrong uncle?” He asked brooding.

Rhaegar was ten and four going on to five and fifty. “Relax your face lad at this rate you’ll get wrinkles before twenty.” The older man teased.

Causing Rhaegar to laugh heartily. “King Viserys wants to see you.” The air was again serious.

Rhaegar couldn’t understand why the King would want to see him. In fourteen years Rhaegar had only seen his grace once; and that didn’t count since the heir of Runestone had been a mere babe.

Ser Gerold continued by reading a portion of the letter.

“The years haven’t been kind to me Ser Gerold. I’ll confess this to you in confidence; my health is deteriorating slowly and only the Gods know how much longer I’ll last. That is why I’m formally inviting you and my nephew the Prince Rhaegar to court. I wish to make up lost time with the boy. I also wish for the prince to make friends with my sons. Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. I have something special planned for my nephew but I will wait until you both arrive to King’s Landing. I will eagerly await my nephew The Prince of Runestone.”

Rhaegar didn’t know what say. A part of him wished his sires family would just leave him alone. He was quite happy in the Vale; among the vast rolling hills and meadows. He could ride through his lands and hunt as he pleased, answering to no one but Uncle Gerold. Though even then, he wouldn’t have to for much longer.

“See the humor in this Rhaegar. All this time we have referred to you as Lord Rhaegar now the our gracious king informs us that it is in fact Prince Rhaegar!” Gerold used his so called ‘majestic’ voice to make the point.

The raven haired boy rolled his lavender eyes.

“And here I thought Rhaegar Stone had a nice to ring it. I’m not worthy.”

Both Gerold and Rhaegar laughing boisterously now. Their bellies were beginning to hurt from their outburst laughing.

“Well lad I believe we must begin to pack. It’ll take us a fortnight to arrive to capital. We mustn’t keep his grace waiting to long.”

The boy brooding was more. “I suppose we can’t refuse a king?”

Sighing the lord regent said “Aye, I suppose we can’t.”

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