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blueberrypancakesworld · 3 months

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Shattering sapphires tear under love

Aemond x prostitute!reader

warning : +18, smut (handjob), mommy kink, body worship, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, cuddling, crying, family issues and mommy issues, kissing, no use of Y/n, Aemonds just needs a little love

Summary : The death of his nephew, whether intentional or unintentional. A fact that had consequences and left the prince at a low point he hoped he would never reach…to be the disillusionment of his family. A prince of the realm crying broken dark in the dark finding escape with his other gem…

Info : OH MY GOD Aemond in the trailer and now seeing him a dream came true (even though I thought it was Rhaenyra at first strangely enough) this picture is just incredible ahhh. I knew I had to write it now have a lot of fun with it I had it again very much ;)

the aemond gif (very pretty by the way) is from @barbieaemond thanks for that and check out the blog

masterlist

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Rain and wind he could still feel nature on him. The lightning and thunder that struck around him tried to tear away and devour every living thing in the sky.

The winds tried to whirl him around, but the rugged wings of the ancient dragoness Vhagar were more powerful and had nature under them.

A creature of magic and ancient Valyria blood did not submit to the winds, it flew through them, obeying the commands of its fourth and final dragon rider.

Now it obeyed orders it was not commanded to obey as its mouth full of old sharp fangs closed around Arrax. The dragon's roar was barely audible, but the last look he gave his nephew was the one that burned into his eye like dragon fire, breaking his sphair.

He looked into those dark eyes and saw nothing but fear in the knowledge of death. I killed him. The blood and the torn body parts of the little dragon seemed to close around Lucerys and the prince and his dragon rushed to the water. It was as if Vhagar and the sky could control themselves again.

The anger subsided and he stared at his trembling hand, covered by a leather glove, which he had reflexively stretched out. Pathetic. It had happened, it had been done, and the sound of Vhagar's wings carrying him home seemed to be the only thing left of the world.

His pounding heart, his trembling hands and the burning pain of his scarred skin where his eye had once been seemed to be only the beginning of this nightmare. But the worst part of arriving back in the city, in King's Landing, in the castle that was his home from the towers to the courtyard and the throne room, was meeting his mother's eyes.

The initial touch of fear that something had happened to him during the storm, ,,Aemond, thank the gods you're all right," had drawn him into her arms for a moment, but this changed to an uncertain and nervous one when she saw how upset her son actually was.

When she saw that he didn't seem calm and almost cool like his violet eye showed emotions of fear and sadness that he didn't have until now at least. ,,Do you realize what you've done?" the loud voice of his grandfather and hand Otto Hightower echoed in the room intended for the small council.

He had never seen his grandfather so full of anger and hatred, at least not towards him. I was always better than him. A glance at his older brother only confirmed that he found it amusing that their sister's bastard was finally dead. The violet of the two brothers met and yet he could see that Aegon gave him a silent sign.

He would be on his side no matter what…a small certainty in time. ,,Aemond! By the crown, do you know what this means?" even his mother shouted now, his wonderful, strong mother, his queen dowager.

The woman who had held him when he was wronged, the blood running from his ruined eyes no more than scarred flesh now. The woman who had fought for him, his brother and Heleana, against a woman, his older half-sister, who had gotten everything.

She had had a hard time and he had let her down a reality that hurt as much as her grip on his arms. Pressing her bloody fingernails into the dark fabric of his sleeves, he could have sworn they left small marks. ,,It means war, mother," he replied calmly, regretting that it came across as cold, but inside he cried out for forgiveness.

The pain behind his eyes was like dragon fire itself, his fingers clenched into fists again and again to stifle the trembling. He almost backed away when his mother and grandfather made a move towards him, thinking they were going to hit him. Just as useless as Aegon.

But with the rise of Aegon and the opening of the door as Criston stepped in, both Hightowers paused to give their son and grandson a look that burned itself into Ameond's eye just as Lucerys had.

The same dark accusing eyes, he was to blame, he had disappointed…he was only the second son after all. ,,To war then', Aegon had interrupted the entrance, giving his younger brother a curt nod to disappear for a while, surrendering to the voices of his family, with wine the new king would be able to bear anything.

Leaving the room hastily before anyone could grab him, the prince of the realm disappeared into the dark corridors to escape to his chambers.

It was as if his heartbeat was mingling with his overly rapid breathing, the trembling of his fingers would not stop and whether it was the third cup of wine or the food that tasted of nothing, not even the old Valyrian books could calm him down. He almost shouted at the servants to leave him alone and even Heleana he was too afraid to let her see him like this.

She herself doesn't deserve you. But he knew from the sound of her shallow words that she already knew what had happened to him. ,Two dresses, silk shattering eye shattering castle under dragons…mother will understand dear brother" he had heard her voice as she had probably turned almost dance-like through the corridors in her hands her insects flying and crawling around and also that his ,,Thank you Heleana" which came across like a stifled whisper was heard by her.

His face hidden in his hands, leaning slightly hunched over on the armchair in front of the fireplace, seemed to break in his emotional thoughts. ,,Get a hold of yourself," he hissed angrily that he had become such a thing because of a boy…he had murdered and disappointed…he didn't deserve it…didn't deserve the love of his family…his mother.

It seemed to get worse with every moment, his usually too big room suddenly too small and suffocating. The light of the moon shining through the window let him know that there was King's Landing, a city that was always open to him. His gem was still there.

Not a decision but rather a feeling of attraction without overcoming it, he made a decision within himself. Turning away from the armchair that raised the fire that made his spahir sparkle and reaching for his cloak, he walked out of his chamber at the hour of the wolf.

He had evaded the guards with his brother since he was a child. The steps still the same feeling of uncertainty and curiosity as then. The time his brother had grabbed her and pulled him behind him towards the city, towards the Street of Silk.

The Street of Silk lay on the hill of Rhaenys, a street notorious for lust and whimsy. But it was the place, it was her place where he knew she was the only one who was always good-natured towards him.

Deep down inside, whenever he heard the faint jingle of his coin purse, he knew that at the end of the day it was just a service he was getting with money.

But maybe this was exactly what he needed, a service, a woman, a woman who would embrace him and not see him as what his family, his mother despised him for today. Coins are the life of a whore.

He pulled his hooded cloak low over his face, covering his face as best he could as he knocked on the door and heard the activity behind it. Or at least he knew what it looked like in there again, a den of lust that had been no stranger to him since he was thirteen.

After another brief moment in the darkness, the door opened and he saw the familiar dark curly hair of the older woman. The mother of the brothel. ,,At this late hour, my…customer," she said and he saw her eyes peering easily under his cloak. It was her, she was his first, he was her most endless.

He would not forget her and even though he had hated his brother, he had simply left him in the brothel while Aegon had disappeared into the building with several whores of both sexes.

So Aemond had been taken by her most of the experience and to this day he lied to himself. He could have had a younger one but even inside, hell she knew he had longed for nothing more than a mother's approval.

A fact that lay unsaid between them all these years until he found his new gem. It no longer remained unsaid. ,,Is she there?" he murmured as she grasped his hand again as she always did and almost patted it.

She led him through her large house past the customers, the young men and women she was one of the oldest but every brothel had to offer a complete age range. The silk on the bodies that were naked underneath gave a look of lust but his eyes were mostly on the floor or on his companion.

,,You know she's always there for you, my prince. I thought something a little more robust was needed," she remarked and he felt her rubbing his hand as they both knew exactly what it was. ,,Robust soon…but no, something more caring," he replied and stopped when they arrived in front of the door decorated with silver.

The silver he had paid for was evidence of his many visits and he was not surprised that the silver showed the shape of dragons and fire. His gemstone marked by the prince's coins.

He heard the older woman's laughter make her curls bounce as she broke away from him and paused, ,,Anything you wish for my dear she, me or anyone else my house is always open to you…she will take away your guilt" she said and winked he instantly tensed and had to suppress a sigh. Her eyes were guilty and cleverly she had to realize what her customers wanted.

But she could and had always read him just as well. Pulling the golden dragon coin out of the small pouch and throwing it in her direction and catching it, he only heard her laugh and saw the knowledge in her eyes before he had too much to do and went into the room.

His cloak still lay over him as he walked into the largest room of the house, the double bed with a sett curtain, the finest furniture and ornaments with murals, even relatively expensive jewelry could be found here.

It was the prince's second room and everyone knew it. He heard her humming a song as she always did when she looked in front of her mirror and combed her hair, cared for herself and enjoyed a cup of wine.

,,Who is it?" she asked into the room and waited for his answer but his throat seemed dry, suddenly those suppressed emotions came back. He felt the pain in his eye, his fingers were trembling and he couldn't control himself, it was terrible.

As he approached her, the cloak still on him, he saw that she had seen him in her mirror and put a knowing, gentle smile on her lips. ,,A cloaked man…who could that possibly be? What pretty thing is hiding underneath?" she asked knowingly and rose to her feet, making her sapphire necklace sparkle in the candlelight and her dark, almost green silk dress flap.

All gifts he had given her to transform her into something that was not him by blood but that didn't matter here, here in his own realm…not today, not yesterday and never.

She came closer to him and gently undid the clasp of the cloak, taking off the hood and tying the dark garment. He saw the hint of a smirk as she always did when she wanted to make a joke.

But just as her hand was about to rest on his cheek, she paused and saw in his violet eye what his mother had seen. ,,My Saphier, what's wrong? What's worrying you that it hurts, my prince?" she asked and took his hand with her other hand, seeming even more surprised to feel the slight trembling.

She slowly took off his gloves and finally her warmth met his coolness and for a moment she just continued to watch him. Skillful eyes always saw what a client needed but her prince, the perfect second son, what had shaken him so?

Slowly his hand take the warmth on his cold he always seemed cold. Slowly moving him towards the couch, the two-seater next to the bed was actually his favorite place. He listened to her there when she read him books and he combed her hair against his and told him about Vhagar and the dragons.

It was almost a sweet moment they shared, but with his stillness and tenseness, she tried to whisk him towards the bed. A soft smile on her lips, moving her hair around and already making a lurid sound, she stopped when Aemond didn't follow her. ,,I didn't want to disappoint you," he said suddenly, his violet eye looking at the floor for the first time.

Seeing how she immediately changed again she listened, trying to figure out what had happened. ,,You can never let me down," she murmured, taking her hands off him and walking to the bed alone instead, leaving it up to him if he wanted to keep talking, if his violet eyes were detached from the green in her dress, the image of his mother screaming at him.

Meanwhile, the muffled thud of pillows and furs could be heard in front of the lit fireplace in which the dark wood was burning. She sat down on the furs, her legs apart and her fingers gently, almost carefully, stroking the green fabric from her shoulders. I'll take you again and again. Her body dancing through the flames cast shadows that were slowly taken over by Aemond.

She showed him her upper body, the bare skin the sapphire necklace seemed to be the only thing still covering her, the look in her eyes invitingly caring...motherly.

Waiting for him on the fell, her arms outstretched to him, his name spilling from her lips, ,,Ameond...my darling...come here" she brought to him knowing that he wanted and needed the flattery, the praise. Knew that she could give him what he needed, even if she didn't yet know what had happened, she would find out.

Slowly, almost appathetically, he reached for the top layer of his clothing, opening the heavy leather and the expensive dark fabrics to let the cloak fall to the floor. ,,Your darling," he murmured and she saw the flash of his gemstone as he came closer to her, slowly kneeling down in front of her still expecting a blow.

But instead her hands went to his light-colored hair, twisting a few strands back and forth before she combed her fingers through it. ,,You smell of fire and smoke... have you been flying on Vhagar again?" she asked, her eyes closed, trying to feel his reaction a little, knowing that she would only trigger more nervousness in his gaze.

A question, an everyday life, an everyday life with a protector, caring, motherly, full of empathy. He felt himself slowly stop trembling, probably imagining that everything would be all right again while she was asking him. ,,Yes, we were on our way to Storm's End," he revealed after a moment of silence, hearing him exhale almost shakily, and she knew that Storm's End was the seat of House Baratheon, even a whore had a knowledge that was due in no small part to her.

A long flight of revenge and duty. Leaning forward slightly, she let one hand wander over his shoulder to his chest while her other hand continued to play with his hair.

She skillfully and slowly began to undo the buttons and the shuttles, making small noises that were drowned out by the crackling of the fire. ,,Tell me Storm's End is far away my dear, was there a reason?" she asked quietly and slowly slipped the top off his body, pulling it down his beautiful almost porcelain-like body over the small and larger scars from fighting and the cold.

But as soon as the clothes came off, she felt him tremble again as if he had the shivers. ,,Shhh not yet I'm here mother is here dear" she whispered to him giving him a gentle kiss on his sleep still playing with his hair as she began to kiss his neck and back.

Sensed that it had probably happened on Storm's End, that the smell of fire and smoke couldn't just be Vhagar, that the rain had left a few drops on him. What had happened in the air that night?

She paused again for a moment as Aemond moved slightly, she saw him lift his hips slightly to remove the leather trousers, tossing the piece carelessly into the room and yet not turning to her.

The prince slowly lay down by her again, but she didn't ask him to do anything else. She watched him, seeing his features only slightly shadowed by fire, knowing that his violet eye was coated with softness while the gemstone still flashed. ,,Stay with me, never leave me," he demanded, his hand reaching behind him to grasp hers and she sensed he was still reaching for something she wasn't aware of. She didn't have the same coldness as her, she didn't have the same life traits as her...she wasn't what had given birth to him.

She was not the woman who could beat him with a single word, a single lift of her voice...but she was a woman who came closer, a substitute for the prince who longed for love.

,,I'll never leave you Aemond, I'll stay with you right here and you'll stay in my lap with me where nothing happens...what happens doesn't matter, you understand?" she asked, exerting a barely perceptible pressure on his body, making him lie down slowly, stretching out her legs so that he could position his head correctly in her lap.

She could finally see his face when he wanted to, but he could also turn away from her at any moment. But he decided to look at her, she saw him looking at her with something like loss in his eye as she continued to play with his hair. She saw how needy he was, how needy he was in her lap.

He needed it after his journey after his flight after his anger had made him do something.

She heard him inhale almost shakily as his body shifted slightly into a fetal position and she stroked his hair again. ,,I-I...killed Lucerys," he admitted, silent tears flowing down his cheeks and he closed his eye, taking in her eagerness for a second before she relaxed again and leaned forward to embrace him in his prone position.

His hands holding onto him over the scars and old wounds, her own fingers stroked over his body, twitching to tell her when to stop or continue. The prince was someone she found joy in wanting to take care of, it was a love for him. Your jewel is mine.

And he continued to close his eyes, trying to erase the memories of his nephew, the boy who disfigured him and he got no revenge. ,,It was an accident...nothing more it will all be over my lovely...let it go" she whispered to him letting his hands continue to wander over his body stroking over scars hearing his sigh and slowly moving towards his center letting his mind wander for a moment before she began a few gentle strokes.

He felt a sigh mingling with a sob as his fingers clutched at her legs and neck and he pressed against her, trying to forget the horrible scene and all the pain inside him. Letting the mix of hatred and anger mix with excitement and lust.

He bit his lip, not wanting to let out a soft sound that would make him feel like it was his own fault if he heard himself ,,Shhh it's okay, let it go" she reminded him, her other hand wandering gently over his face, intertwining with his hands, feeling him tremble slightly as her hand on his cock lightly passed over the tip for the drops of pleasure to gather and the lustful noises in the room intensified alongside the distant music.

,,Mhh I-I uhg didn't want it," he murmured, moving his hips lightly with her gentle, quiet pace as she felt him cry, moving him lightly back and forth like a mother moving a baby back and forth in her arms, talking to him while she continued to make physical love to him.

,,I know you didn't want it...I'm not angry or disappointed Ameond" she assured him, placing gentle kisses on his head as he continued to press against her, more lustful sounds escaping his lips and tears wetting his cheeks.

She picked up the pace and lifted her hand from his lap, taking her time to let him know she was there, ,,The sight of Lu-Luce he," Aemond murmured again as he glanced at a velvety red pillow and moved into her lap, his legs resting slightly above hers and his head tucked into the crook of her neck, her hand continuing to stimulate him as she kept reassuring him that everything would be alright while he moved his hips harder and harder, his fingers digging into the fabric of the blankets and pillows.

,,I know, but I'm here, you're the prince, nothing will happen," she kept talking to him as she watched him open his closed eyes, his pink cheeks flushed with lust and his lips curled up to look at her as he sighed into the kiss and she made a sound of pleasure herself as he turned slightly and let his lips trail over her torso.

He kept kissing her and his anger and hatred, his sadness and worry seemed to slowly disappear and louder and louder noises left his lips, which were easily suppressed by the sucking on her breast. The king and prince fascinated by one and the same jewel.

He didn't know that he had the same calm expression as the king when he was in her arms but it didn't matter, she cared for the one-eyed prince, her good boy who only needed his mother one way or another, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry mother," she heard him murmur and saw him look briefly at her, showing a kindness and understanding that drew him into another kiss and she felt him approach his climax.

She nodded assuring him that all was well and saw his face show the mix of shame, fear, lust and pure devotion it was pure beauty. Beauty for which she was and will always be with him because she knew he would come back he was a dog of the king with the mark of a dragon.

A young man fascinated by his uncle and holding deep feelings for his nephew who is better than him beyond death in a way Aemodn could never be.

But most of all he was dependent on her, he got no care from the Dowager Queen and every time he came back to her she loved him that she knew he would come back. ,,I always love you my dear Aemond...and now let go and rest and dream of memories and times past" she commanded him as she saw the anger in his confused mind penetrate him and he let out another whimper before his body stirred slightly and he clawed at her before he poured himself into her hand with a loud moan.

She still held him through his high point, stroking his head and giving him a sort of goodnight kiss as a lullaby came over her lips and she wiped her hand on the pillows before covering herself and him with a blanket.

She felt how it took a few moments before the pain relaxed completely and, at least for a few hours, a sleep that did not make him wake up with guilt and fear in the arms of a woman, a woman who could show him affection.

She would always be his jewel, and she was prepared to accept that if the sapphire broke, she would always be there to pick up the pieces.

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@ladythornofrivia , @omgsuperstarg , @girlypieee , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @mymoonempress

#hotd #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond smut #prince aemond x reader

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sunlighthroughthe-ashes · 15 days

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this whole episode; i kept thinking of these lines by cameron awkward-rich: 'please—what’s the word for being born of sorrow that isn’t yours? for having a family? for belonging nowhere?'

families can be zones of so much buried violence: whether it's seokryu's 'eomma' and 'appa' projecting their own life experiences onto their innocent daughter; or seung-hyo's mother accepting the same necklace over and over again; because her son is too distant to even realize that he's giving her identical gifts. their relationship is too impersonal for him to even write anything on her card. episode 8 hurt so much — and it hurt because it's real. this is what families are like: swallowed hurts and silent resentments. pain fisted in your hands like a weapon as you fight to be heard — to be wanted as your own self; and not just a vessel for your parents' unfulfilled aspirations. this is the trauma that tons of us carry.

one of the first things they tell you in therapy if you're not an only child is that you and your sibling do NOT grow up with the same parents. both you and your sibling experience entirely different versions of your parents — because the circumstances which they're in differ so greatly during each of your births and subsequent growths — and it can feel so utterly disheartening and unfair.

seokryu is the standard: the model child; the person her parents pinned all their hopes on. as such; she's never allowed to be anything less than perfect. because he's a boy, because he was sick, because he's younger — dongjin is indulged and pandered to and doted upon — even when he's being irresponsible. all her life seokryu has been side-stepping her own needs and wants; just to keep her parents happy — sinking into her own sacrifice until there was nothing left but burn-out and broken dreams. it shattered my heart to hear her mother say she'd rather have seokryu back in the US and married even if she's unhappy there — because that would mean she would get to boast about her daughter and receive gifts from her. that's not love — that's entitlement.

seung-hyo is the only person who truly loves seokryu for seokryu — for who she truly is, flaws and all: and that makes it doubly hard to witness her keeping him at arm's length at the end of the episode. the way he says that the reason he can't be friends with seokryu isn't because she's a woman, it's because she's seokryu — is so simple and profound. he sees all of her and accepts it — loves it. and that is so, so, rare. the act of true witness is sacred — to be seen as you are is a privilege.

(as far as the sickness storyline goes: i'm afraid to say i saw it coming. i wish the writers were more original; but i don't think seokryu will die. still, it doesn't sit well in my mouth. they could have come up with something better for conflict if they really had to.)

#love next door #tvn love next door #love next door edit #kdrama #kdrama lover #tvn drama #tvn #rom com kdrama #jung jung couple #jung hae in #jung so min

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simpingland · 10 months

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Combing her hair // Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: reader is too concentrated in the idea of being favored by Rhaenyra to notice that the Princess is actually, way too fond of her.

Dragonstone had been a stifling place for you from the first day. Full of damp, dank, stony mountains, the presence of dragons had replaced the roses that grew in Highgarden. Since you had been sent as Princess Rhaenyra's ward, your duty had been reduced to helping Lucerys with his duties and putting up with Jacaerys's chatter. Your so-called mentor seemed unwilling to heed you, pacing the castle listening to the Maester's whispered words, spending entire evenings in the room with the stone table talking to her husband Daemon, and when she retired to her chambers, only her sons and Rhaena were allowed to enter.

Occasionally you would feel her leaning against the doorway of the room where you and Rhaena were studying with the septa, though you never thought of her watching you when her niece was in front of you; when she spoke with you she was gentle, but your need to impress her seemed to motivate her to underestimate you. Sometimes you would find her watching you from afar, as if trying to discover some hidden secret or intention in you, but you would only get nervous and offer her a smile, wanting to be invited to participate. She always averted her eyes quickly, and you had to get on with your day.

Ever since you were a child you had dreamed of the brave and powerful woman that Rhaenyra was said to be, and when you met her you knew it was absolutely true. And so it hurt you all the more that the person you most wanted to impress paid you so little mind.The disinterest of the noble boys of the palace in you hurt far less than the disinterest of the princess.Rhaena laughed at your cringe, saying you were in love with the princess, and you shoved her away, not understanding that she was absolutely right. No one informed you of anything, despite having a mind as sharp as your hearing. You understood the princess's disinterest in a ward when the Hightowers were indirectly on the throne. But still, it broke your heart to eat alone in your room and to be glared at by the children when you were in a mood. Daemon was the one you feared most in the castle. He wouldn't even speak to you, he said, because your father was nothing more than an airhead who offended him years ago.

Sitting at one of the windows, your reading was interrupted by voices shouting at each other, a more heated argument than they used to have. You only understood the word "Alicent" and the word "in love". What followed was a slamming of the door. You walked, curiosity getting the better of you, and though Daemon was already far away, when the door opened again, Rhaenyra found you. She seemed more transfixed than you, her eyes watering and her lower lip trembling, not expecting to see that expression of grief on your face.

"Your Majesty…" you said in a whisper.

"What are you doing here?" She moved her eyes up and down, watching you as she tried to compose herself. She didn't give you a chance to answer her. "Go away."

"I just wanted to…"

"Leave! I command you!"

And you turned away, not knowing who you hated more, the princess or yourself for being such a coward. The day passed slowly with the young princes trying not to mention Daemon, trying to ignore Syrax's stiff pangs of grief at the absence of Caraxes, or the absence of the Princess in the hall at dinner time with her children, the time when she never failed. You put little Joffrey to bed, the only Targaryen who seemed to respect you and asked the favour of giving his mother a small paper ship he had made himself that afternoon. You had intended to give it to one of his ladies-in-waiting or servant, but when you found them all gathered in the hallway and facing the door, you forgot that option.

"She won't let us in," one informed you.

"Someone should see if she's all right." The suggestion made her smile wryly.

"She's the Princess, we shouldn't bother her."

"But she's also to be looked after…it's your duty, in fact."

"Well, let's see if you dare to go in."

In another circumstance you would have joined that princess-fearing group, but you were too moved by the idea of being the princess and no one treating you like the sad woman she was at the time. The Targaryens may have been more than human, but they had a part of it that still entitled them to affection. You picked up your dress to climb the step leading to Rhaenyra's door. You gave the guard an unfriendly look as he approached to lead you away, but stepped inside and carefully walked slowly, hoping that Rhaenyra would have the sound of your heels as a warning.

It seemed all the tears had long since been shed, but her face was no less stern at the sight of you. She rose from the spot on the bed where she sat and stood dignified.

"I have told the ladies not to disturb me." She sounded angry, and it sat badly with you.

"I'm no lady's companion." You struggled to get them out, but your voice did not tremble.

"Nothing that happens in this room is of your concern," she said flatly. You were about to walk away, but there was something about her tousled hair that made you feel sorry for her.

"It does concern me, Princess…" she was confused by your serious tone. "I am your ward…"

"Indeed, and I ask you to leave."

"And what else?" You cut her off. Your hands hid Joffrey's little ship. "What else do you ask of me? Is the thought of helping you such a horrible thing for His Majesty?"

"What? Are you rebuking me?" She took a step towards you, never having paid you so much attention before.

"…" now your fear was returning, but you would not be frightened. "I am here to learn, because I am a good pupil and I thought, as my father thought, that I might be of some use here, but I don't fit into a single room in this castle, Princess. And if you do not want me, why do you not allow me to return to my home?"

"Because you are of much use here."

"Is that so? I don't feel that way… you won't let me help you."

"I won't let you help me because you won't know how. I have maesters who know far more than you, guards stronger than you. You're just a girl, and your duty is to learn. What can you do to help me?"

"Well, I'd start by telling you that Joffrey and Luke and Jace have served you wine at the table waiting for you to come down to be with them… and I'd help you redo that braid that's come undone to get you back to the hall. And I would tell you how sorry I am for your discomfort…"

She seemed embarrassed by your words, as if some of them had enlightened her in her ignorance, and she turned her eyes away from you to return to her surroundings. She nodded in acceptance of that rebuke, and then looked down at your hands. You opened them, revealing at last the gift of her son. You held it out to her and saw her smile a little, a crooked smile, so characteristic of her. Her hand caressed yours as she picked it up, and you watched her as she looked at it. The candles darkened her hair, but it was still magnificent, and her walk was so graceful that one knew who entered by the rhythm of her steps. She sat down in a chair and turned her back to you.

"Comb my hair… I feel like a ride." She pointed to a brush and you were a little offended by the order, that wasn't your duty, but that's something.

You did as she asked, gently, although that was not your forte, you enjoyed the softness of her hair, and from the mirror opposite you could see her, with a tear falling. It was an impulse, but you did not regret it when you wiped her cheek with a finger, gently but quickly, and she looked into your eyes.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty…" she must have seen you blush, but she smiled and took your hand before you pulled it away from her face again. They were strong hands, hands that had led a dragon.

She seemed to want to tell you something, but she instead ran her finger across your palm as she watched you closely. The same impulse you had to wipe away her tear, she had to kiss the back of your hand. Only she didn't apologise, she just released it gently.

When you plaited her hair into a simple braid, she smiled at you and walked away, leaving you alone in the room, unaware that something was stirring inside you. The last thing you heard that night was Syrax's flight back and forth, sleeping very little, still feeling the princess's kiss on your hand.

In the days that followed, Rhaenyra's eyes followed you more than before, and her mood seemed to change. She seemed to care little for her husband's absence, and spent long periods of time in the room where you were. She went so far as to ask you to stay during a meeting with her aunt Rhaenys. You got to share walks with her on the beach, where she would tell you about the things she had seen during her tour in search of a husband, and she would encourage you to tell her about your childhood in Highgarden. She used to push your hair away from your face when the wind was harsh and dodge your gaze much less. There even came a day when she encouraged you to pet Syrax. It became a habit for you to brush her hair, while she gave you little books she knew you would appreciate. She would confess her worries to you, confirming that, indeed, it was not only the crown that concerned her. Motherhood had dulled her self-esteem and Daemon made her feel somewhat aged and ugly.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Princess," you told her honestly. You had undone her braid and she turned to look at you. You felt a rush of warmth throughout your body as she gently cupped your cheek.

"You should go and rest," she replied, much sweeter than she used to be in her day.

You nodded and found it as hard to pull away as she found it hard to let go of your chin.

"You have beautiful handwriting…" she told you the day she found you alone, by your trusty window. One of your many notes had been picked up by her. "It's as distinctive as you are, sweet flower."

She beamed, as you blushed at the compliment and nickname. You tried to reposition yourself immediately, to pay her your respect, but she kept her smile and moved closer to you, resting her hand on your leg to keep you from sitting up.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I didn't realise I had lost it…" you picked up the leaf to keep it with the others.

"I don't think I have thanked you for being the most efficient and attentive person in the castle," she said calmly.

"I don't think that…"

"I do…and I also think I owe you an apology. I led you to believe that I didn't care about you in the slightest. And it's quite the opposite. I had a duty to mentor you, and I only avoided you."

"No need, Your Majesty--"

"Yes, my dear," she cut you off, your eyes trying to avoid her, but her face was unavoidable. "When I was even younger than you, my heart was very evenly divided…. I loved Daemon. And I loved… women." Her hand parted from your leg, leaving you a special space for you to hate her. And yet, she remained dignified in her confession. "I've always… I've always paid attention to you. And precisely because I liked watching you too much, I have consciously avoided you."

Before you could respond, before you could even assimilate her words, she disappeared. And he had already gone back into his rooms when you understood everything. And if you didn't go in that time it was because it took you a sleepless night to work up the courage to tell her what you thought.

She was meditating again in the room with the stone table, watching the fire crackling, the whole castle asleep, and she heard your footsteps but did not turn around.

"It is most unfair…" she turned her head just a little towards you, "to hear your words and leave me alone at once. What do you expect me to do with them?"

"I thought they would be words of relief."

"Well, they would be for your relief and not mine, Your Majesty." At the tremble in your voice, Rhaenyra turned in alarm. "You wish me to leave?"

She approached you quickly, unsure of what to do when she had you close to her. She looked you up and down, and pondered what to say only to shake her head.

"No, I don't want you to leave…"

Her hands held out in front of you, holding each other to restrain herself from touching you, but her rings glistened and you longed fervently to caress them. You took them both, and she let herself, and the space was limited, with her sweet breath close to your lips. You lifted one of her hands, and upon her palm you groped a soft kiss. And with a gentle push of Rhaenyra's hand, she moved your face to her lips and you occupied them. Both her hands now in your hair and yours on her cheek.

Such soft lips, fuller kisses than the ones she received from Daemon, Rhaenyra felt unable to tear herself away from you.

"You have been occupying my dreams for hundreds of nights…" she confessed.

"And you occupy all my thoughts in the day, my queen…"

That made her smile. The room of the stone table would henceforth witness the thousands of hidden glances that carried with them nocturnal kisses.

#house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryan x reader #rhaenyra targeryan x fem!reader #hotd x reader #one shot #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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pinkykats-place · 4 months

Text

Ivar (Vikings) x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked are mine.

Mostly female reader inserts.

Some contain mature content.

GIFs are not mine.

Finnish polka

Ivar the Boneless x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

Jealous Games

Ivar x floki’s daughter!Reader

Summary: One day, your father enters your room, unveiling that your parents want you to marry Ubbe. Though, the past years you grew feeling for another man: Ivar. You never told anyone about your true feelings for the man but now that Ubbe is supposed to be your husband, you feel utterly broken down. Refusing the offer, you leave the scene, only to discover a life changing secret...

She’s Real

Ivar x fem!Reader

Summary: Family dinners never go as expected.

Whispers of Love

Summary: Reader is new in Kattegat and catches the attention of a certain Ragnarsson.

Some Good Advice

Ivar x older!fem!reader

Voyeur - Part 1

Ivar the Boneless x fem!Reader

Summary: You catch Ivar watching you bathing.

Early Mornings

Ivar x female!Reader

Summary: You find yourself in a delightful situation after waking up, but are suddenly interrupted by an unexpected visitor...

Shy

Ivar x f!reader

Summary: As a child reader had a crush on ivar and followed him around. He ends up saying mean things about her to his brothers, not realizing she can hear him. He ends up realizing he has feelings for her but she ends up moving away. Years later, she returns, and she's extremely pretty. Ivars hoping to confess how he feels, but his brothers have also noticed how pretty she's become.

Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Summary: Ivar is having dreams of you, of the goddess he sees on walking his nights. You prove him things, show him things and he can’t handle your ways or the fact they are just dreams. Until one day battle proves him wrong.

army of ivarrsons

ivar the boneless x fem!reader

summary : Ivar has always thought of himself to be a failure of a man, his legs did not work like an normal man, his prick did not work. The only thing he was good for was being a prince and a warrior though he wasn’t all that good at being even those in his eyes, but then along came a woman. One so pure, so beautiful she looked to be a goddess amongst men. And with those sweet words she spoke “I will bare you many sons ivar the boneless.”

In Love with a Monster

Ivar x Princess!reader

Summary: Being in an arranged marriage, you told your husband was a monster.

Does it hurt? Bleeding every month

Ivar x fem!wife!Reader

Summary: you find out your husband, who had two partners before you was clueless when it came to women

Affection

Ivar x fem!slave!reader

Summary: Reader helps Ivar prove that Margrethe was wrong about him.

Redemption

Ivar × reader

Truth or Dare

Warnings: ivar being insecure, drinking, brief mentions of sex, kissing

Rumors aren’t Always True

Ivar x Slave!Reader

Summary: When rumors start to spread that Ivar can’t satisfy a woman, you decide to put his mind and ease and show him that it’s not true

Right Beside You

Ivar x thrall!Reader

Series: Imagine being ivar’s slave

Summary: Your first journey to England. Ivar took you with him to avange the dead of his father with the great heathen army. But you are afraid, the feelings he putted there maked you that ... afraid to lose him. What if he never came back? What if you never would feel his touch again?

SOLD! (TO IVAR)

IMAGINE BEING SOLD TO IVAR BY YOUR DESPERATE MOTHER.

I Can Be Your Biggest Fan

Ivar the Boneless x slave!Reader

Summary: You are a slave and have been most of your life but because of this you got the chance to meet the most handsome man you’d ever seen...cripple or not.

A Gift From Thor

Ivar the Boneless x healer!Reader

Description: You are a Viking healer, who travels the world to learn all healing techniques. After an unfortunate tumble from a ship you get lost at sea. As Valhalla becomes more certain you pray to Thor for love and boy does he deliver.

The Wanderer - Part 1

Ivar x fem!shield-maiden!Reader

Valkyrie - Part 2

Ivar x fem!Reader

Summary: You meet Ivar again after a battle.

Fate - Part 3

Ivar x wife!Reader

Summary: wedding night

Healing Hands

2 Parts

Summary: your mom was ivar’s healer but after she dies it’s up to you to help ivar

A Proposal

4 Part Series

Summary: Ivar and reader share a moment, but are separated by miscommunication

The Girl Ivar Loves

4 Part Series

Summary: When you lose your parents and other arrangements fall through, you find yourself living with the Ragnarssons in their cabin. Much to the chagrin of Ivar who complains about you at every opportunity he gets.

The Aftermath of Intimacy

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Summary: The shared moments after your intimate hours always were your favorite. His aftercare and love embraced you in Ivar's vulnerability. You loved it so much.

Take Care of Him

modern!ivar x reader

summary: heahmund takes a vacation from his physical therapy job. except he doesn’t exactly tell his most impatient patient.

@ablueeyesangel ’s Masterlist

@akamaiden ’s Ivar Masterlist

@ijustwant2write ’s Masterlist

#reader insert recommendation #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar x slave reader #ivar x thrall reader #ivar the boneless x female reader #tumblr fic rec #ivar the boneless imagine #tumblr fic recs #tumblr recommendation #vikings x reader #ivar x reader #ivar x fem reader #ivar lothbrok x thrall reader #ivar the boneless x thrall reader #ivar x wife!Reader

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greeneyessmize · 4 months

Text

So, about Marina.

We need to talk this out. Let's go through her journey step by step.

Upon arrival, Marina thinks she may just be waiting on letters from George so they can run away together but she is losing hope. Then she realizes she is definitely pregnant. Then come the fake letters.

Desperation and survival instinct start to gnaw at her. She is looking out for not only herself. She does try to change that but fails, and accepts that the pregnancy is going forward.

So she decides to make the best of it and find a husband as soon as possible. Preferably a nice, naive, young man with decent enough money.

She has several, and I do mean several suitors, she could choose from. But she settles on Colin Bridgerton and his sweet puppy dog innocence.

She knows Pen is fond of him, but she blocks it out. She doesn't care. She focuses on Colin. The easy low, ripe hanging fruit. Who wouldn't?

Then she realizes Pen actually loves him. This will not stop her. She will stamp out this crush to ash if she has to. She's betting her life on this. Pen means nothing to her here.

She is not in this for love. Love betrayed her and put her in this mess. She wants an easy marriage with no uncomfortable questions. Right and wrong don't matter because she has already had wrong done to her.

Now Colin.

He's a young man. Hopeful, bright eyed, romantic, inexperienced.

He participates in the marriage mart because some of it is fun. There is not too much pressure on him as a 3rd son. He gets to dance and flirt, and chat with Pen. How is that not delightful?

Then along comes Marina. She is a glittery new addition to the ladies he has mostly seen here or there all his life. And everyone is interested in the shiny new toy.

Then she shows interest in him. She flirts with him. When she could seemingly have almost anyone, she lets her eyes brighten for him.

He is easily charmed. Marina, for all he and the other boys of the ton can tell, is an attractive young woman. When she decides to show him singular attention he believes it is love and his easygoing heart wants to return that, being a genuine and open person.

He is easily manipulated into an engagement, thinking that this is natural and right. But his passion never really shows, does it? He pulls back from kissing her when she is scandalously forward with him. He does not seek extra excuses to meet her in the market or at tea or at the garden entrance to the Featherington estate for example.

No. He just insists he is a gentleman.

Then he drops her as soon as her manipulations are revealed. He is angry. He is hurt. But it's like a betrayal of a new friend, not a truly wounded heart. A passionately in love man would try to justify her actions or find a way to get past this. But he just lets it drop and goes traveling to soothe his bruised ego.

Then, there is Penelope.

Sweet, shy Pen.

She is so happy to have a friend in her very own home who is kind to her. It seems like a dream come true at first. She says lovely things about Marina in LW.

Then she realizes Colin is truly interested in Marina. She hates it, but doesn't fight it at first. Penelope has already in many ways given up on Colin ever looking at her the way he looks at Marina. So she bites her tongue. She doesn't discourage the two from becoming closer, but she is not doing much to stop it either.

Then she finds out Marina's secret. She learns about George and cake and that Marina must marry in one way or another. Pen wants to help. She really does.

But she just can't stand that Marina would trick Colin. Her love for Marina is enough to ignore her tricking anyone else. Her love for Colin is so much that she wants him to be happy any way possible.

And she knows figuring out the first child is not his and then duplicity of Marina's affections would not make Colin Bridgerton happy. Unlike most men in the Ton, he knows what love is. His parents were a love match. He would understand eventually that Marina was just placating him whenever he engaged with her emotionally.

So. Having appealed to both Marina, who crushed her heart into bits efficiently, and Colin, who metaphorically ruffled her hair and told her to run along... what options were left to Pen?

Directly tell someone like her mother? She already knew and approved. Violet? Well isn't that terrifying to a shy young woman who still wants Colin's friendship? Eloise? Too mercurial, she might support the match or at least loudmouth that it was Pen who told her. Again potentially ending her friendship with Colin.

Remember, her friendship with Marina was already over, Marina just did not know it yet. You can't brutally crush someone's most treasured, secret desire (realistic or not) and have them continue to love you like nothing happened.

So, Pen uses her last resort when she learns of the pending elopement. The one thing she can do to save Colin from unhappiness and to keep her one small shred of her own happiness: being Colin's friend. She revealed Marina's secrets to the Ton.

Did this maximize damage to Marina? Yes. Did it also damage Colin? Fractionally, both compared to what was dealt to Marina and compared to the damage he would have suffered in a marriage where Marina came to merely tolerate him. (As evidenced by her entire unamusement at his olive oil joke in Season 2.)

Don't forget that Penelope also hurt herself in this. You don't sob in your best friend's arms in celebration. She broke a part of herself to do this to Marina and to Colin. She probably doubted every second of everything and a part of her always will. Her price was not public, it was not outwardly devastating, but she took damage too.

----------

In conclusion, Marina and Penelope were both some level of wrong and Colin was the blind fool in the middle. The flavors of wrong were very different, and so were the levels of damningness.

In their own ways, I can forgive each of them. Admittedly, I forgive Pen more. But that has to do with my life experiences. Former wallflower here, married to a man who is now her best friend. I have never gotten pregnant and been abandoned (though being dead is hardly George's fault here). But I can understand how desperate, how calculating that could have made me, at least in that era. Especially with people like Portia Featherington as your primary caretaker and maternal figure.

I really hope that Pen and Marina both get a chance a chance to gain closure over this peacably before Marina dies. I don't think Pen deserves to feel guilt over Marina's death. Especially as book Marina seemed to have severe depression and well, Marina is likely to have depression too considering her loss of George.

Now, if part 2 of Season 3 could just be here already, that would be absolutely lovely!

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton season 3 spoilers #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton season 3 #eloise bridgerton #polin bridgerton #bridgerton s3 spoilers #marina thompson #marina crane #george crane #colin my wife bridgerton #penelope x colin #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington #lady whistledown

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suuuupernovaaa · 2 years

Text

nim

nim [nim] adj. timid, shy

Anonymous Request: Can we please get some shy Neteyam? Like he suddenly realized his best friend no longer looks like the kid he met when he was young and he starts getting shy around her and she thinks he doesn’t want to be friends anymore so he ends up confessing to her?

After an entire lifetime together, you can't figure out why Neteyam is suddenly pulling away from you - and it breaks your heart.

1,601 words

It was so long ago, that you could not remember when you had met Neteyam. You were too small. Your mothers were close friends, and so you and your siblings spent a lot of time with the Sully children.

Just Neteyam and Kiri at first, and then Lo'ak soon after and later, Tuk.

You and your sisters loved the Sully children, and the seven of you were often found together, along with your human friend, Spider.

As you grew, the intricacies of friendships changed, but the love and foundation stayed the same. As you rapidly approached adulthood, it became very clear that your younger sister, Jinorah, and Lo'ak, would probably end up as a mated pair. It made sense to all who knew them - where Lo'ak was boisterous and sometimes acted without thought, Jinorah was quiet, and always very thoughtful. They were a complimentary pair - and you were happy for them.

When you were younger, you'd had your eyes on the eldest Sully, Neteyam, but now at nearly 20, you thought that dream was a little bit silly.

To hope for the eldest son of Taruk Makto, the next Olo'eyktan, was a little bit foolish. He could easily choose any woman in the clan that he wanted, and so you put that dream away, only to take out and look at on the rarest of occasions.

The two of you had a very close friendship that brought much joy to your life, and that was certainly enough for you.

Neteyam wasn't sure exactly when he'd noticed it. He remembered, when you were 16, some of the other boys talking about you... but he'd laughed at them.

You were Y/N. You'd been in diapers together, learned to walk together, grown up together.

As you neared 18, the talk became more frequent. It was almost like he couldn't escape it, and it drove him nuts. It was the same as if someone had come to him, telling him how beautiful Kiri was, how they wanted to make her their mate... it was just annoying.

But lately, something strange was happening.

You sat across from him at the fire, late when almost everyone had gone home but a few stragglers, and as the flames danced in front of your face, he saw what so many else had seen.

You looked like... a stranger, almost. It felt as if he had never seen your face before. The dramatic curve of your eyes, the fullness of your lips, the way your long neck lead down to slender, strong shoulders... had you always looked this way?

He was snapped out of his stupor when you met eyes with him, and he quickly looked away, feeling suddenly nervous.

Oh no.

For weeks, he avoided you. Anywhere that you were, Neteyam wasn't. Anytime you asked him to hunt, or ride, or swim, or anything, he was busy.

At first, you shrugged it off. After three weeks of this, you were beginning to take it personally.

Kiri had no idea what was wrong with him, and Lo'ak was too busy with your sister to notice or care. Tuk and your youngest sister, Bumi, were too busy with whatever they were into lately to care too much if Neteyam was avoiding you.

It was starting to really hurt. You realized how much time you spent with Neteyam. Any time anything happened to you, he was the first person you wanted to tell. He was the only person you wanted to go hunting or riding with, or share the evening meal with.

You felt a little lost without him, and weren't sure what you were going to do if you never figured out what was wrong.

This was getting really, really ridiculous. Neteyam felt like an idiot most of the time, but every time you got near him, he completely clammed up. His mouth went totally dry and he got kind of jittery and sweaty all over, and he had no idea to talk to the person who had been his best friend for nearly two decades.

He could see it was bothering you, but he didn't know how to broach the subject with you. It was his greatest fear that he confessed how he was failing, and he lost your friendship forever - but if he kept avoiding you, wouldn't he guarantee that same result?

"You're being a moron," Tuk told him after nearly a month of avoiding Y/N. "She's sad all the time, thinks you don't like her."

Neteyam rubbed his temple, and knew his youngest sister was right; he was being a huge idiot. He could either risk losing his best friend by telling her how he felt, or guarantee he would lose her by carrying on like this.

"She's swimming right now," Tuk said. "She told me she was going to ask you to come, but knew you would just say no." She shot a glare his way, and he deserved it.

"Thank you, Tuk," Neteyam said, and set off to find you.

The day was very hot, and the water felt beyond amazing. You floated, eyes closed, taking in deep breaths... and trying not to think of Neteyam.

The last month had been painful, and empty, and cold without him. It was no use denying it anymore. Neteyam was not just your best friend, but he was the man you loved, and you had to figure out a way to fix this.

You couldn't really figure out why you hadn't confronted him before then, but you had never gotten in so much as an argument with Neteyam... you didn't know how to confront him!

You decided to get out of the water, dry off, and find him. Standing up in the middle of the pool, you reached up to ring the water out of your hair, and enjoyed the sunshine on your face. All wet like this, it didn't feel hot - it just felt warm and cozy.

When you opened your eyes, Neteyam was standing at the edge of the water, his jaw practically on the ground.

You have got to be fucking kidding me, Neteyam thought when he arrived at the spring he knew Y/N liked to swim at best to see her standing in the middle of the water, smiling into the sun, her arms behind her head as she pressed the water from her hair.

She had never looked more stunning. He wanted to burn this image of her into his brain.

When she finally noticed him, she gave a little yelp.

"Neteyam!" she hissed. "You scared me."

Neteyam charged into the water.

Without so much as a word, Neteyam waded in the water towards you, a determined and serious look on his face. Water splashed up around him, soaking him and hitting you, and when he reached you, the two of you stood in silence, water up to your waists, for a long and heavy moment.

And you burst into tears.

Neteyam's look of determination melted away into a mixture of shock and concern.

"Y/N, no..." he whispered, bringing his hand up to cup the side of your face.

"What did I do, Teyam? Why are you avoiding me?"

Neteyam pursed his lips. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I... I'm ashamed of myself."

You reached out and put your hand on his shoulder. "Please just tell me."

He still held your face in his hand, and he ran his thumb over your lips, making you gasp.

"I was embarrassed because I realized, how I feel about you, is not how I thought I felt about you."

You sighed. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I never noticed how beautiful you've become. It's not just beautiful, it's something else. You are perfect. Every part of you. The way you move, and talk. The way you hunt and fish. The way you take care of your sisters, and my sisters. I am in love with you, and I was worried if I told you, you might not feel comfortable being my friend anymore."

Of all the things you imagined had been the issue, Neteyam being in love with you hadn't even been on the list. It hadn't even been in the top ten.

"So you thought you would just avoid me and ruin our friendship, to avoid ruining our friendship?"

He brought his other hand up to wrap around your waist.

"I told you it was stupid, and embarrassing."

"You are stupid," you said, but you weren't mad anymore, and you didn't feel hurt anymore.

You felt absolutely elated, and you couldn't stop a smile from creeping across your face.

Neteyam's lips spread into a wide smile to match.

"You love me, too," Neteyam replied, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.

"I always have. You have wasted a month avoiding me when we could have been doing this." With a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, you pulled Neteyam down to bring his mouth to yours.

It was soft at first, and then it became urgent, as if this one kiss had to make up for all of the time that you had lost.

"Be my mate," Neteyam whispered between desperate kisses. His hands were in your hair, down your back, over your hips, back up to your neck; he couldn't get enough of you.

"Of course I will," you replied, and you pulled away from each other just enough to catch your breath and smile.

Even if he was a shy moron, he was your shy moron - and now, he would be forever.

#neteyam #Neteyam x reader #Neteyam fic #avatar #avatar twow

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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Note

I am politely asking for a bit more on Königs son the angst is so yummy 🥺

König loves his baby boy... Until it starts to talk.

He absolutely adores the baby when it’s born, he can’t sleep at nights because he has to go and check if the boy is still breathing in the crib. König loves to hold him close and rock him in his lap, wants to give him baths and even changes the diapers, is so invested in the little chubby nugget that it’s a bit perplexing to see him so babbly cuddly towards someone who isn’t this poor Prince’s mother.

But when the boy doesn’t need him so much anymore, when he starts to show independence and express his own will, starts to walk and run and hide and talk back to him, it makes König uncomfortable.

He’s not in control anymore, he’s not needed. He’s the one who’s always away, he’s the unfamiliar face, the stern voice, the “strange man”, the one who makes the boy look angry or afraid. He becomes the bad guy.

It’s not bullying if his own son doesn’t prefer him, König knows it. But it still hurts to feel like an alien in his own home. It feels like a personal insult to be the last choice once again.

König’s son sees his father as a judge, a tyrant, a competitor because every time he’s home, mum’s all hearts and smiles. The parent who’s supposed to represent the whole world to our Prince suddenly becomes weak and clingy and needy.

And for what? For some big foreign man who stares him down as if he’s nothing but dirt under his boot. Asks him if he’s been nice to mum and if he’s helped her with the chores. When mum’s not in hearing distance, König tells him he shouldn’t trouble her with his crying and whining... If he’s nice and behaves, König will bring him toys from his “work trips”.

He rarely brings any because “he couldn't find anything”. Mum is the one who gets foreign delicacies, perfumes and the like. König’s son soon understands it doesn't matter how well he behaves because it will never be enough.

In his dreams, he tries to kill König every now and then. The old bastard only laughs. He laughs, even in his dreams because he’s weaker than him, not a threat at all, only entertaining when he gets mad… He laughs and just won't die.

Mum comes first, always. Whatever she says is the law. Whatever she wants, she shall have. The way his father worships this woman is eerie, disturbing, and invokes so much jealousy that König’s son is not sure who he’s even supposed to be jealous of. This stupid fucker or his mum who seems to lose brain cells every time this dick returns home and disturbs their peace?

Girls are both Madonnas and whores to him after he has watched this tyrant become a babbling, spineless mess over an upset woman. The world quakes everytime his mum is unhappy because her happiness is paramount. The only time he has seen König in tears was when his mum refused to talk to him one evening: the argument was about him, of course, and how König should apologize to their son, not to her. It takes manipulation and a passive aggressive lioness to make König say he’s sorry, but it does nothing to help the situation, quite the contrary. Who would give a fuck about a forced apology?

König’s son becomes a covert people pleaser who feels lonely wherever he goes. He’s a mama’s boy whose father seemingly hates him, an angel and a demon in one man, someone who believes his worth is measured by the things he achieves in life. How well he performs, how much money he makes, how independent he becomes. With women, another one always bites the dust, with work, he never seems to find his passion. And wherever he goes, whatever he does, nothing is ever enough.

The only way for these two to find a common ground is if the poor Prince manages to settle down with some patient, loving woman who gives him a child. A grandson or a granddaughter would make König fold and become a babbling mess once more; he's so pathetic and harmless with the baby that no one can be angry at him even if they wanted to. König would kill anyone and everyone who tried to hurt his family, even a blind man can see that.

Reconciliation happens slowly but surely, even if it's another kind of hurt to see the old man give this child all the love his son would've begged his knees bloody for. But beggars can't be choosers (and apparently a king's son has no crown), luckily König becomes softer in the head as he ages so a time may come when he thinks back on what he's done and finds the balls to wholeheartedly apologize. Might demand a touching family Christmas dinner and some whiskey though.

#könig's son #könig angst #happy ending #kinda...

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mischiefmaker615 · 15 days

Text

Love is Gone

Song/Inspiration: Love is Gone by Dylan Matthew and SLANDER

Requester: Violet_lov3e (wattpad)

Rating: PG14

‘’you are dismissed.’’

Odin’s sharp tone was enough to bring Loki out of his daze as he blinked back to reality and pulled his eyes off the familiar woman before him. even from the steps in which he stood near the throne, he knew exactly who she was the minute he laid eyes on her.

She wouldn’t want to talk to him.. not after how things ended..

She was only here for the royal and political aspect on behalf of her family.. or something like that, Loki had stopped listening to their conversation with Odin long since the doors had shut behind them. He recognized her family, and even now they still didn’t matter when he had her in his presence.

She had looked at him to, but not so much as the love and longing he had in his eyes, but of sadness and hurt. The memories were still there, her eyes held onto them as she pulled her eyes away far sooner than Loki had as their parents spoke with each other while they stood at attention. It wasn’t until she began turning away to follow her father out the door, when Loki’s body tensed and went to move forward.

‘’not right now my son, let them settle first.’’ Odin warned in a gentle tone that would have surprised him if he wasn’t busy watching the woman that used to be his walk out of the throne room.

Time.. he would give a little bit more time.. as much time as needed if that is what gave him a positive chance at at least speaking with her.. after all, they were to stay for the next three days as guests while the court would go over matters between the realms.

The night couldn’t have fallen fast enough, Loki wandering the halls as if he had a high chance of running into her. A false dream, he knew she never usually liked to wonder during night fall. a small smile pulled at his lips at the mere memory at how she would always get cold and ask to return indoors in the evenings. Which is why it quite surprised him to see a familiar figure wondering the gardens, a figure that very much resembled her body shape.. the body shape he’s memorized so many times under touch and gaze.. walk with a cloak and hood deeper into the garden.

He followed.

He kept a good distance behind her but from what he could notice, she was strolling not so much to go somewhere specific, but a pace that would suggest she had much on her mind and needed somewhere to do it. For her to be out at night, odd for her, it suggested something else..

‘’if you wished to talk, we could have chosen somewhere more comfortable for you..’’ Loki whispered, causing her to spin around, body tense at the sudden voice but found no one behind her.

With hesitation, she took a step back before turning herself around, only to jump at the sight of the second prince of Asgard standing before her, hands clasped behind his back with a careful expression on his face. ‘’I know how much you hate the cold.’’

‘’..what are you doing here?” she asked, a slight disinterest in her voice as she looked away from him, body relaxing now that she knew who had stalked her. Loki was many things, and although things had ended badly between them, she knew she wasn’t in danger.

‘’the better question darling is, what are you doing here?’’ he asked gently and stayed put where he stood, as if he didn’t wish to scare the butterfly before him as she rubbed her arms. ‘’you aren’t fond of night walks, I dare say you were perhaps risking running into someone?”

Her silence and lack of eye contact confirmed he was right but he was careful as he spoke. ‘’..you wish to speak about something?..’’

‘’more like..’’ she said quietly, always being honest with him from the start, shy or not but still kept her eyes down. ‘’I was curious if someone else had something to say.. after all this time.’’

Loki stiffened at her words. So this wasn’t about her, she wanted to know if he had something to talk about.. about a particular subject. His eyes followed her gaze down to the ground, doing his best to try to think of what to say as she had seemed to back him into a corner on this one.

He thought about what happened every day since she had left him. he had practiced every day of what to say to help ease her pain, his pain, to have a small percentage of means that would bring her back to him. by the grace of gods he knew she was only here because of royal duties but the fact that they were both present now was the blessing. One wrong move and he could lose her forever.. again. When he saw her foot threaten to step back, his mouth spoke faster than his mind.

‘’don’t-.. don’t go.. tonight..’’ he said slowly, and by how low his voice was he wasn’t sure if she had heard him, but by her pause, he knew she did as he squeezed his hands together behind his back, doing his best to find words.

‘’ I'm sorry.., don't leave me, I want you here.. with me.. I know that your love is gone, and I can’t change what I did.. you deserved the truth from the start and I kept it from you-‘’

‘’you used me’’ she said harshly, hurt in her eyes as she looked up at him, her body just as stiff as his as he seemed to flinch at his words.

‘’I know.. I know I should have never pursued you for rights to the throne.. but on that journey between us.. I found myself.. truly falling in love with you.. by the time I had realized my true feelings, you had found out the intent only and had left-‘’

‘’I remember.’’ She said coldly, not to fond of the recap that had divided them long ago and he slowed his words down, knowing he was losing her as he drew in a breath.

‘’it’s selfish of me.. I want to ask to let us fall in love one more time.. it tears me up when you turn me down.. how you’ve left.. there is not a day I haven’t thought about you and regret what I had done..’’ he spoke carefully, his body trembling at how he was forcing himself against his instincts to speak his thoughts, his feelings, but she deserved the truth he never gave her before.

The sound of a light thump drew her eyes back over to him, widening to see he had sunk to his knees now, his eyes down cast as he took careful breaths while his cape fanned out behind him. his fingers gripped his thighs, rubbing his hands up and down now and again as his mouth tried to find words before his shoulders sunk. His eyes raised, a small hint of liquid sorrow shown in the moonlight that threatened to fall down his cheeks while he took a deep breath.

‘’I can't breathe, I'm so weak,.. I know this isn't easy Y/N..’’ he whispered, her sweet name leaving his lips like a song she hadn’t heard in a long time.

Her expression was blank, hard to read but her body wasn’t as tense as it turned to face him directly as he stayed put in his submissive position. As much as he would love to avoid her eyes in that moment of shame, he kept them on hers, ready to do her bidding if she so much as inhaled to cut him off. Upon her silence, he carefully continued as he shook his head.

‘’I am not asking you to take me back, all I wish is for your forgiveness and the truth upon a matter- I know I do not deserve anything from you, not even a reply, but I wonder since the day you’ve left and even now.. Don't tell me that your love is gone?”

She looked upon him with silence, her eyes gentle but still hard to read as he watched her almost like he was asking permission to stay. When she said nothing but merely studied his face, his eyes finally down cast and yielded, starring at the grass below him and felt he should be beneath it with how he felt.

He wanted the throne, and upon finding out she was a royal, saw this chance to gain one- even if it wasn’t Asgard’s. He wooed her, courted her, made her feel like the most perfect woman in the realm on his arm and even took her to bed when all his previous lover’s would vanish before dawn. She had stayed. He began to love her, want her, need her, his actions began to come from his heart and she would drive him crazy when they were apart. Yet with a simple mistake, the truth seeped out and she had fled without so much as talking to him, but he knew why. It had been nearing a decade and not once did he stop thinking of her, asking about her, wanting her.. needing her.. he would give up the throne if it meant giving her back. Yet now within her presence,..

‘’I don’t deserve you Y/N..’’ he whispered.

The night air seemed to get cold, his cape that flowed in the gentle breeze gave him a light tug. His knees began to ache but he didn’t dare to shift. His eyes stayed down, his breathing careful as if one wrong move, one blink, and she would be gone. By her silence, he almost thought she was as he tensed with anxiety at the thought, but a warm, soft, delicate hand rested against his cheek caused him to flinch back.

His eyes were wide, still down but trying to register what he was feeling as he saw her elegant dress about a step away from him. if he peaked a little upward, he could tell she was bending down a little, her out stretched arm belonging to the very hand that caressed his cheek and a thumb rubbing his skin. For a moment, he thought it would be a trick before she would strike at the spot she had chosen, but it never came as he stayed still.

With small hesitation, he risked it and leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed at her gently touch while his body slowly began to relax and crumble. He felt a tear finally fall down his cheek, not even moving to rid of it as he embraced his relief freely and pondered on the confusion that was there as he slowly looked up.

Her eyes were sad still, yes, but there was a relief there as well as she looked down at him from where she stood. Her body was relaxed, trembling but he would wager it wasn’t all from the cold as her other hand rested against her knee in her bent position, supporting some of her weight while her fingers gripped the fabric of her dress in a nervous habit.

‘’I never stopped loving you Loki..’’ she whispered, her sweet voice almost caressing his as he closed his eyes and lowered his head, almost as if a great relief washed over him as he leaned forward, his forehead resting against her legs or else he probably would have collapsed here and now.

‘’I know you loved me even when I found out the truth. I just needed time to forgive you from the beginning of it..’’

‘’take all the time you need darling.. I will make it up to you in every second of my life for as long as I am breathing..’’ he whispered and raised his head, bringing himself up from his knees and to his knees before she placed her hand onto the top of his head, stopping him.

His eyes raised up with curiosity and hesitation, wondering if he made a wrong move by literally moving but noticed the familiar mischief in her eyes and he felt a tug at his heart, the corner of his lips threatening to raise as she spoke.

‘’you can start making it up to me now..’’ she whispered, pushing gently against his head until he was sitting on his heels again and his eyes moved a bit in front of him, smirking as his mouth began to water.

‘’as you wish darling..’’

Note: DM a song for your very own Loki Musical Mischief one shot :D

Tag List: @foxherder @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz

#loki x reader smut #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki odinson #loki #lokifluff

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 7 months

Text

Once upon a dream

Warning: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of cheating, mention of death, hurt comfort

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!reader, Tess Servopoulos x Fem!reader, Tess Servopoulos x Joel Miller

The only thing Emily ever wished for was a family, to be the mother she never had to two sons and a beautiful daughter always three children specifically.

Emily always had dreams of becoming a mother one day but it was never in her stack of cards so she shortly gave up the idea. Her dreams would always be just dreams not until she met Y/n, she was everything Emily had ever dreamed of in a spouse.

Only Y/n wasn’t hers

They had met at a local cafe after Emily had accidentally bumped right into her forgetting her coffee as she left in embarrassment. Y/n went straight after her with the drinks in hand never guessing she would end up at her brother’s workplace the bau.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Hotch asked confused Emily froze before turning around to face the woman. “You know each other?” She asked so unlike herself Penelope would’ve laughed Derek too “Aaron’s my older brother, you forgot your coffee” Y/n smiled.

Fast forward six years later

Emily going from blind date to hookup after hookup to get her mind off the now married woman who she still imagined a life with. Two sons and a beautiful daughter she told herself or even just one child would suffice maybe a cat if children wasn’t an option. She loved Y/n so violently it made her sick and everyone could see from a mile away- everyone besides Y/n although she loved Emily just as fiercely.

When Emily had “died” the other woman was inconsolable it damaged Aaron knowing he had a hand in this by not telling his sister the truth. Instead watching as the woman got married quickly to the first person who showed her simple kindness and their marriage seemed was almost out of convenience. Having met the woman while away trying to escape the life she once knew in Virginia moving to Boston and back again.

Y/n Hotchner became Y/n Servopoulos

Aaron couldn’t watch as his sister saw Emily for the first time once more after apparently being dead, how her hands trembled and eyes watered. The echo of her heels as she quickly left, Emily broke down that day one thing was certain nothing would ever be the same.

Y/n soon revealed she was pregnant with a little boy that shattered Emily’s entire world but she was happy for the woman. Though she couldn’t help but laugh when the baby was born looking just like his Uncle, to Emily Y/n was glowing and Tess well she was there.

Her son was named after an old friend Alex.

Theresa and Emily never got along always classed as competition in the other’s eye but they remained civil around Y/n never wanting to upset her. When Y/n was pregnant a second time Tess was around a whole less always giving Emily a chance to be by the pregnant woman’s side.

It was tough at first trying to win over the woman but Emily had her ways she would beg for Y/n’s forgiveness

A second boy named after his Uncle Aaron, Benjamin

Emily stood beside the woman until Ben turned two, Y/n and Tess were getting a divorce so Emily had the boys whenever she could. Tess had met someone while she was working away from home, some man named Joel from Texas. Joel Miller the same man who did the renovations on their holiday home who even had a daughter of his own.

It wouldn’t be until another year when a move would be made there was a routine the children had made that included Emily. You both would cook dinner- well you would cook and after spending time together you both would get the boys ready for bed and tuck them in. This night however as Ben snuggled into his pillow his little hand reached for Emily’s “stay mama” he yawned as the woman went to stand.

Tears spread on her waterline as she gazed down at him “of course my sweet boy” she smiled and once the kids were asleep you both retreated to the living room. Cuddling on the sofa watching some shitty reality tv show you gazed up at Emily “thank you” was whispered against her jaw. “What for?” She glanced down at you “for everything, for staying” soon enough your lips had met before you were on top straddling her.

Dreams slowly stopped being dreams another two years later when you and Emily had gotten married with just the team a few friends and your two sons as guests. Emily was over the moon to have a family to call her own, to have a reason to go home just knowing she was needed filled her with pride. Emily had gotten a taste of motherhood and she wanted more as you both laid bed post bliss she brought it up she wanted another child.

Two sons and a beautiful daughter

Her dreams were now reality as you welcomed Olivia into the world, Olivia Benson the Senior having to be the one to drive you to the hospital while Emily was away. She held your hand until your wife burst through the doors with the team behind her, you would birth a daughter who was the perfect mix of you both.

A little girl with Emily’s nose and eyes while she had your hair and mouth, Emily couldn’t help but pepper your face in kisses. “You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you” it made her think if she would ever be in this position if she hadn’t bumped into you that day.

Yes you were the bosses little sister but you had lead a similar life in a different town what if ran through her mind until she felt your cold hand on her cheek. She smiled brightly down at you as she leaned down to kiss you softly ignoring everyone in the room “thank you” she whispered.

“What for?” You chuckled tiredly with a dopey grin “our family” Emily held onto your free hand “I love you Y/n Prentiss” ignoring Hotch rolling his eyes fondly.

“I love you most Emily Prentiss”

Dreams do come true to those who wait Emily found.

#imagine #wlw #angst #emily prentiss x daughter #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x oc #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x sister #aaron hotchner x sister!reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss #tess the last of us #tlou tess

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 days

Text

Being Zoro's dance teacher would involve...

Prince!Roronoa Zoro x princess!reader. Animanga characters who have not (yet) appeared on the show are mentioned.

*****

💚 Zoro is the adoptive son of King Mihawk of Kuraigana. While neither is a particularly affectionate man, they care deeply about each other; Zoro is grateful to Mihawk for having given him a safe home when he was an orphan and for having taught him everything he knows about swordsmanship, and the older man is now aware of how lonely his life was before that stubborn, overconfident but fragile boy crossed his path. The young man has given him much to be proud of: he is brave, clever, resilient, generous, loyal, and will make a splendid King one day… especially with the right Queen by his side. Unfortunately, unlike most young men his age, Zoro is completely uninterested in finding a spouse, whether for personal or social reasons. He does like girls, Mihawk is quite sure, just… he is perfectly satisfied on his own, and since he’s still so young, and his father is in excellent health, Mihawk has no intention of forcing him to marry and produce an heir.

💚 On the other hand, since the prince is by now almost an adult, it won’t hurt to introduce him to a few suitable ladies, both in the kingdom and abroad, in the hope that he finds one he likes. Mihawk would be particularly pleased to see his son marry princess Nami, second daughter of Queen Belle-mère (the elder, princess Nojiko, is engaged to prince Ace of Foosha kingdom) of Cocoyashi, a kingdom with which Kuraigana has just sealed an alliance. Zoro is a very attractive young man and would make a fine husband for even the highest-born ladies; the only problem is, Zoro has virtually never spoken to a girl in his life, and would probably be unable to impress one. Specifically, Zoro is completely unable to dance, a pastime most ladies and princesses appreciate and take part in; also, more matches, both the love sort and those decided by the future spouses’ families, have been sealed during a ball than in any other situation. Mihawk hopes his son will find a wife who appreciates him for more than his ability to do a double reverse spin but, he decides, it won’t hurt if he’s able not to step on his partner’s feet, and to avoid throwing her to the ground because he turned the wrong way during a reverse embrace. After all, his heir will come of age in just a few months, and the occasion will be celebrated with a great ball, which many princesses and highborn ladies will attend. They -he- need someone to teach Zoro how to dance, and more broadly how to interact with women and impress them.

💚 Mihawk’s choice falls on you, a fellow princess, younger child of a King whose realm is a longstanding ally of Kuraigana. You have started dancing when you were barely capable of walking, and your talent as a dancer is well known; also, the king reflects, a woman his age will be better suited for teaching Zoro to interact with potential brides. So, Mihawk writes to your father, explaining his request and asking for your assistance; he wants you to come live at his court and be his heir’s tutor in the art of dancing, to transform him into a suitable groom. While surprised, you are happy to accept: dancing has always been your passion, and more than once you reflected that had you not been a princess, nothing would have made you happier than opening a school and spending your days teaching others the art you love so much. King Mihawk’s offer is probably the closest thing you will ever have to the realisation of your dream, and so you beg your father to allow you to go.

💚 Two weeks later you’re at Kuraigana, curtseying deeply in front of the King, who is favourably impressed with your grace and elegance; he also tests you -”I hope you don’t mind, but I wouldn’t put my son’s future in the hands of anyone but the best teachers”- having you partner one of the court’s noblemen for a few rounds of the court’s most popular dances. Relishing the challenge, you perform admirably, and Mihawk is reassured he made the right choice.

💚 “Allow me to introduce you to your pupil.” he then says, gesturing to a person who has been waiting in a corner, unseen, ever since you entered the room “Zoro, this is princess (name); I’m sure you’ll do your best to welcome her in our kingdom, and will scrupulously follow her directions.” And so you find yourself face to face with your pupil, who advances towards you with the same enthusiasm of a prisoner on his way to the gallows. “It is a pleasure.” he mumbles as he stares at his own feet, while his father looks on disapprovingly “I appreciate your help, my lady, and I swear I will do my utmost to please you.”

💚 The prince is a very attractive young man, which you can’t help noticing, like you can’t help noticing the three -three!- swords he carries at his belt; you curtsy deeply, and then there’s nothing you can do but stare at each other, suddenly embarrassed and unable to find something to say. The last thing you want is to remain silent, since you’ve been called at court especially to teach the prince to talk to ladies such as yourself, so in the end you force yourself to say a few words about how happy you are you’re going to work together, and how you hope he’ll enjoy learning from you. Then fortunately you are dismissed, a comfortable set of rooms having already been prepared for you at the palace, to make yourself at home and rest… until that night, when your first dancing lesson will take place.

💚 And so, your new life as a dancing teacher begins. You and prince Zoro practice every day for two hours in the palace’s ballroom, and it is immediately evident to you that the task you have accepted will be very hard, perhaps almost impossible, to successfully accomplish. You are determined to do your best, to be patient and helpful with your pupil and not to complain if it takes him days, or even weeks, to master the easiest steps; in short, you want to be an encouraging teacher, the sort a pupil can pose questions to without fear of being reprimanded for not having learned already. Unfortunately, it seems at first all your good intentions are wasted, because your pupil seems at first as gifted at dancing as a fish would be at flying.

💚 Zoro -not prince Zoro, not your highness; he made it very clear on your first day that he finds titles completely superfluous, at least in your current situation. Since we’ll spend time together every day we might as well do without formalities, right? You can call me Zoro and I’ll call you (name), he pointed out. You had to recognise the sensibleness of his proposal, not daring to think what your father would think, knowing you’re letting a man you’ve known for no more than two hours call you by your first name- is completely unable to dance, which you thought impossible for a man who grew up at court; he doesn’t know the name of the most common steps, and can’t even tell a waltz and a foxtrot apart. It’s clear he has no interest whatsoever in the art you love, you could almost say he actively hates it, which is perhaps not surprising, since many men consider dancing a feminine art from which to stay away, lest their masculinity be put in question, but you really wish you could understand why, because that might be the only way to unblock a situation that in the first days of your permanence on Kuraigana seems lost from the start. Mihawk has told you how imperative it is that his heir makes a good impression on his coming-of-age ball, and you’re determined to help him as much as you can, but even with the best intentions you can’t teach a student who doesn’t want to learn.

💚 Zoro never skips your lessons; sometimes he’s late in joining you in the ballroom, but you’re soon informed that is due to his abysmal sense of direction rather than lack of interest or disrespect towards you. Clearly unenthusiastic, he does pay attention as you show him how to move, or explain why this particular dance is different from others, and can even replicate a simple sequence of steps after you’ve shown it to him a few times. He has less sense of rhythm than any person you know, but he’s smart enough to understand that the basic figures of a certain dance are based on the repetition of the same movements, whether there is music or not. When you ask him to dance by himself, arms raised to hold the body of an invisible partner, he manages, even though he still stumbles and occasionally takes the wrong step, and you do see him improve, slowly but surely. If what you had been asked to teach him were solo dances, the sort one performs by themselves, or group ones, you’d probably be able to make a decent dancer out of Zoro in a matter of weeks, and maybe even a respectable one with a little more time.

💚 Unfortunately it’s couple dances that Mihawk has entrusted you with teaching his heir, and tuat he would be mainly called to perform during balls, and it’s then, when he has to dance with another person, that Zoro freezes. “Put your hand in mine… no, the other hand, that goes on my side… yes, here, and… left foot forward… left foot Zoro, and… aah…!” Soon you have to exchange your delicate dancing shoes for a more sturdy pair, because your pupil keeps stepping on your feet, and he moves so awkwardly a couple of times he almost throws you to the ground; he forgets steps he had executed on his own only five minutes ago, turns the wrong way nine times out of ten, and is suddenly incapable of following the music at all. While until now he had patiently, and dedicatedly, listened to your teachings and done his best to follow your instructions, he is suddenly anxious to conclude your lesson and get away. Truth to be told, you can’t help but get the impression he doesn’t want to dance with you; he doesn’t mind when you’re giving him directions, showing him the steps and correcting him as he dances on his own, but when he has to partner you it’s a completely different matter: Zoro treats you as if you smelled bad, or had some terrible infectious disease - as if, in short, being close to you, sharing your air and touching your hands, were unbearable.

💚 It is perplexing, and frustrating, and also hurtful. Zoro is clearly a solitary person, unless he has known someone for years, and the friends he spends his time with are all men, but in the days since your arrival at Kuraigana your relationship had become cordial, if not exactly friendly. Zoro is quite introverted and taciturn, but as you dined with him and his father or shared a brief walk in the gardens after a chance encounter, you always found a topic to discuss, and you never had the impression he disliked you. What reason would he have? You had never met before, and you’ve never mistreated him when he made a mistake during your lessons -unlike one of your own teachers, who had the unpleasant habit of hitting you on the back or the legs with his cane when he was unsatisfied with your posture- and while he could probably find a more pleasing way to spend his evenings than learning to dance, he told you he’s determined to do his best to please his father. You really don’t understand why during the second part of his lessons, when he has to put into practice what until now he clearly made an effort to learn, he invariably looks like it physically pains him to simply hold your hand and put his on your hip.

💚 You have tried asking him what the problem is, whether you make him uncomfortable and if there’s something you can do to make him more at ease, but he never answered, simply mumbling that it’s not your fault and that he’s sorry, all if it looking at his feet -a habit you’re still desperately trying to make him get out of as a dancer- rather than at you, and offering no explanation for his behaviour. You can’t force him to confide in you, but you fear that if Zoro does not overcome whatever problem prevents him from dancing with you, you will never be able to teach him to dance beyond the very basics. You can always decide to go home; no one is forcing you to remain at Kuraigana in the role of dancing teacher to the prince, and for all his intimidating attitude you know Mihawk won’t get crossed, or worse complain with your father, if you explain to him that you don’t think you can help Zoro, even though you did try your best. The last thing you want is to put your pupil at odds with his father, who he respects immensely and who will be highly displeased to know his heir had his dancing teacher give up after only a few days, but perhaps what Zoro needs is a different approach, a person, preferably more experienced than you, with a different method who will succeed where you have failed… unless, of course, the prince of Kuraigana also treats them as if the simplest touch were an agony he can barely stand.

💚 One night you try teaching Zoro the basic figures of one of the most popular dances of the kingdom, which requires the man to circle his partner’s waist with his arm as he holds her hand in his. You begin the lesson determined to give your best shot, your last attempt before admitting defeat, but unfortunately it goes even worse than usual; Zoro does passably well for the first part of the lesson, making it clear he actually listened to your instructions and is doing his best to follow your steps, but as soon as you ask him to assume the position, he immediately looks away, as if steeling himself, and is only able to perform -badly- a couple of steps, his body almost physically rejecting yours, before giving up, and brusquely stepping away from you. “This is so stupid!” he exclaims, frustrated, and that is what really sets you off; as a princess you have been taught to keep your opinions to yourself unless asked, but you can’t stand it - you can’t stand him, and the way this stubborn young man insults the art you have dedicated your life to. “How dare you? Dancing is not stupid!” you cry out, pressing a finger to Zoro’s chest “Dancing is an art that has existed as long as humankind has, and you have the courage to dismiss it because you lack the intelligence to appreciate it? You are the fool, since for days you’ve been wasting my time and yours and you can’t even tell me why! If I really am so - so unbearably hideous in your eyes, at least have the courage to tell me to my face!”

💚 Zoro stares at you, flabbergasted, but you see realisation dawn on his face as you turn and stomp -which is proof of how upset you are; as a princess and a dancer, it comes naturally to you to move as lightly and gracefully as you can, but Zoro has brought out the worst in you- out of the room, leaving him alone. The next day, you beg to be excused from the lesson, blaming a terrible migraine, and spend the evening in your room, packing for when, tomorrow morning, you’ll talk to the King and ask to be allowed to return home. Part of you is actually saddened by this failure, and wishes you could have shown Zoro the beauty and the joy that can be found in dancing. You also wish you could have made friends with him, since the prince has many of the qualities you respect and appreciate in people, but the interest is clearly one-sided, since the simple fact of being close to you makes him uncomfortable. You were probably wrong to raise your voice at him, but what is done is done, and after tonight you are pretty sure Zoro will never want to see you again. You really hope Zoro finds someone he feels more at ease with and can learn from, but you can’t help feeling sad, and disappointed, that your first and perhaps only chance to be a dance teacher was a complete failure.

💚 You try to go to sleep early, in anticipation of your departure tomorrow, but two hours later you’re still awake, tossing and turning in your bed; in the end, with a sigh, you get up and put your dressing gown on, wondering if a short walk in the castle’s gardens will help you fall asleep. It will be highly awkward should the King, or Zoro, see you, for different reasons, but you’re pretty convinced you’re safe: the gardens will surely be deserted this late at night, and by now you can move around in the palace well enough to go unnoticed. A few minutes later you are crossing a long empty corridor on the ground floor, not far from the ballroom, when an unexpected noise reaches your ears, the sound of metal clashing against metal, grunting and muffled cries; a sword fight is taking place, you realise as you approach, the ballroom having turned into a field of battle, and the contenders are not two of the palace’s guards, or courtiers who decided to settle a dispute letting their weapons talk for them. It’s the King and his heir… Mihawk and Zoro.

💚 You knew Zoro is a swordsman; it would have been hard not to know, since he carries his three swords wherever he goes, even though you ask him to leave them on a chair during your lessons, not to mention that with a father who has long been considered the world’s strongest swordsman, it was probably natural for him to develop an interest in the art. You have also heard someone mention father and son spar almost every day, as soon as both of them have a free hour, but you never saw them, and perhaps that’s why you instantly forget your programme of walking in the gardens until you feel ready to return to bed, and remain to witness the duel, peeking from behind the door.

💚 The fight is violent, even brutal, not a simple spar or a friendly match but a serious battle with the two opponents actively trying to hurt each other, so much that at first you wonder if you shouldn’t go call someone to separate them. Soon, though, it becomes clear that Zoro is not attempting to get rid of his father to conquer the throne, nor is Mihawk punishing his heir, like your father occasionally did with you and your brother using his belt; they are training. “Now try a reverse grip, and don’t lower your guard!” the King explains as he effortlessly wields his huge black sword, clearly not restraining himself even though his attacks could easily kill a less experienced adversary “An overhead strike is not appropriate if you’re not right in front of your opponent, you better parry and then a lateral lunge…”

💚 Zoro is wielding all his swords, the third in his mouth (!), and is… well, he’s exactly what you wish he were during your dancing lessons: at ease, enthusiastic, determined to do anything to succeed as he parries or evades his father’s blows and does his best to counterattack. He’s a formidable swordsman, even someone like you who has never wielded anything larger than a steak knife can see it, but clearly at a disadvantage, struggling to even just keep up with Mihawk, but there is a savage joy in his eyes, the exhilarating feeling of a man who is in his element, focused on the fight above all, willing to get hurt if it means hitting his target. There is a brutal, uneven but compelling sort of elegance in the way the two swordsmen dance -yes, dance- around each other, exchanging blows and trying to break through the opponent’s defences, the clashing of the swords in the place of the gramophone’s music, and parries and lunges playing the part of the steps. You know Zoro can’t win, but as you observe the fight you find yourself cheering every time one of his blows is successful, or when Mihawk silently compliments him with a nod of his head. There is no trace of the awkwardness and unease you have gotten used to during your dancing lessons; if Zoro could be half as thrilled, at ease and motivated then as he is now as he battles his father, you reflect, he’d become a first-rate dancer in a matter of weeks.

💚 As you look at your pupil, excitement and elation and resoluteness evident on his face, you know this is exactly what you look like as you dance, when you let the music carry you to the point you don’t even feel your feet hurt and even the least coordinated partner becomes graceful, and you’re flying without the need for wings or magic. The sword is Zoro’s passion, just like dancing is yours; you may be as different, and your interest as incompatible, as it is possible to be, but for a moment you feel him close, almost able to perceive the emotions that animate his body. This is when you begin falling for him, even though you don’t realise it yet; when you see the real him, beyond petty fears and untold truths, shining through, the instinctive joy of knowing you are doing what you are meant to.

💚 The duel finally ends, as you expected with Mihawk emerging victorious even though the King does have words of praise -well, of not criticism- for his heir’s performance; the two exchange a few words before Mihawk leaves. “You’re not coming? It’s quite late.” he points out, and Zoro answers that he wants to practise a new technique before going to bed. You remain hidden in your nook while the King leaves the room, and once he has disappeared around the corner you return to look at Zoro, well aware that is not exactly polite, not to mention proper, to spy on him, but you can’t tear your eyes from the heaving, aching young man in front of you, who you feel as you were seeing from the first time… and you sort of are. Zoro takes a minute to drink from a water pitcher placed on a little table in a corner, wipes sweat from his forehead with his shirt -and you’re not as fast as you should be to avert your eyes when the fabric is lifted to expose his toned stomach- then, unexpectedly, he places the sheath with his swords against the wall… reaches the middle of the room… lifts his arms…

💚 … and starts dancing.

💚 If your father were here he’d tell you how unladylike it is to stare at someone with your mouth hanging open, and you’re quite relieved he’s not here, because gaping is exactly what you are doing, left completely speechless by the scene in front of you. He’s performing a simple waltz, counting the steps under his breath, which you have told him to avoid as much as he can because dancing should feel or at least look natural, but otherwise better than he’s ever done during your lessons, even when you let him dance by himself. If this is what he can actually do you’d call him, if not a natural, at least a quicker-than-average learner; does it mean that even if you’re not touching, it’s your presence that disturbs him, making Zoro unable to reach his full potential? Is he simply more at ease practising without a public, like it happens to many artists and athletes? But even so, why is he doing it now?, on the first day he hasn’t been forced to attend a dancing lesson - a freedom he should relish, especially after your tantrum of a few hours ago; you know the lessons were Mihawk’s idea, and how important it is for Zoro to have his father approve of him, but…

💚 “One-two-three… one-two-three… front-back-front…” Zoro keeps repeating in a whisper, stumbling a bit but then quickly catching himself, and you’d happily remain here looking at him for the rest of the night, and this is why you decide to make yourself known, because no matter how unexpectedly pleasant and sweet that chaste form of intimacy, and how lovely it is to look at Zoro, the real Zoro, free of the expectations of his father and the court, you know you’d be terribly embarrassed in his place, not knowing someone is observing you.

💚 “Good evening.” you murmur, abandoning your hiding spot to reach the centre of the room, and Zoro, startled, is immediately suspicious, even on edge, as if you had caught him as he committed a crime. “What are you doing here? Were you spying on me?” he asks, arms by his side and feet still in a waltz position, and you admit that, having accidentally stumbled upon him and his father on your way to the gardens, you remained to observe them duel… and then him, as he practised his dancing. “I’m sorry, I know it was discourteous.” you admit, which Zoro does not deny “It’s just… you were exceptional.” “You’re exaggerating, I’ve been dancing for less than two weeks.” “You do dance better than I could have imagined, but I was actually talking about your swordsmanship; you… you were amazing, Zoro. I’ve seen my brother use a sword, and there are many capable warriors in my kingdom, but no one is like you; you held your ground against your father, which is not something many people can say. But it’s not simply that you were fighting to win, or for your life; I… I could almost see you pouring your soul in your sword, as if that was what you were put on earth to do; you… you look just like I feel when I dance.”

💚 Zoro is clearly affected by your words, flattered by your compliments and… touched by your ability to understand exactly what he feels as he fights, the sensation of being one with his sword, as if the weapon were an extension of his arm and he could feel every blow it parried on his body, metal and flesh fused in one. He does consider you an intelligent and sensitive person and he does know how much you love dancing, but he never thought you could be similar in that respect… that no matter how different the arts you are passionate about are, you both made them a huge part of your lives, even beyond the objective importance they assume in your everyday lives. Zoro has already been called to fight for the safety of his kingdom, or for his own life, many times, but he would still keep his swords by his side and train with his father even if the whole world were at peace; and he doesn’t doubt you would still dance on your own, even in the narrow space of your room and without music, if balls had been outlawed. Yes, maybe you are more similar than he had imagined… two people who have made of their art a purpose in and a way of life, something that makes their very existence more worthwhile.

💚 Suddenly as he regards you, and while many would not describe him as the forgiving sort, he’s no longer angry about having been spied on; he’s not even angry you all but shouted at him earlier today, even though you humbly ask for his forgiveness. You end up sitting side by side on the floor, having the first frank, open conversation in the two weeks you have known each other, and finally, without even having to ask him, Zoro shares with you the reason for his awkwardness as you dance together. “I don’t find you… repulsive, at all.” he admits, the relative darkness of the ballroom hiding the slight flush that has crept up on his cheeks “I mean, you don’t smell or… there’s nothing wrong with you; it’s just that… I’m not used to being so close to a woman, and I’m not… quite sure what to do.”

💚 You are left completely speechless by his explanation, which is the last you would have ever imagined. “You are saying… that you are shy?! Not that… there’s nothing wrong with it…” you hasten to add, to which Zoro raises an eyebrow, as if momentarily doubting your sincerity. “But, Zoro, there’s nothing wrong with two people touching each other as they dance; as long as you maintain the correct position, and you don’t take advantage of the proximity to grope, which I know you would never do, no one will ever accuse you of impropriety. Maybe… you have promised yourself to someone, and you don’t want to disrespect them if you dance with someone else?” “Of course not!” Zoro answers, openly surprised you could think he has a partner, as if he had never even considered the possibility; do swordfighters usually prefer to remain celibate, with their sword as their only lover? Or are all the ladies in Kuraigana’s court completely blind, unable to notice the unquestionable attractiveness of their prince? “It’s just… I never had a mother, or a sister, or to be honest a girl friend since I was little, so I never knew how to talk to them, you know? Or what to do when I’m with them, and since most girls like dancing…”

💚 He’s really shy, you realise with a sudden, unexpected surge of tenderness, not to mention the relief of knowing he doesn’t hate you, or find you repulsive, for some mysterious reason. Poor Zoro, he’s the sort of man who considers women a completely different race, with inscrutable rules of their own, and he probably fears that not knowing how to act in their presence, he’ll end up looking like a fool, or a brute, and shaming his father. “Well, in my experience, and while I know well how complicated and ambiguous court etiquette is, many ladies will appreciate it if you simply treat them with kindness, and try not to step on their feet.” you point out “Come to think of it, that is the second reason why your father asked me to come here, is it not? To teach you to talk to women, to make a good impression on them; don’t worry, once I’m done you’ll be the darling of all the ladies of the continent.” “Thank you, but I’ll be happy if they don’t consider me a barbarian after knowing me for five minutes, and they survive a dance with me without bruises.”

💚 You share a laugh, the way friends do. “May I see your swords?” you ask then, still curious about that part of Zoro’s life, so important for him but that you have glimpsed at tonight for the first time, and the young man by your side seems happy to show you his weapons, explaining the history and strengths of each of them, and even invites you to hold his favourite, the Wado Ichimonji, in your hands, to feel how light it is despite the exceptional durableness of its blade. “I wish I could learn to wield it.” you murmur, lost in your thoughts, and Zoro grins. “Really?” “Well… it’s something I’ve never done, you know? There are female swordfighters in my kingdom, but I never thought about joining them or learning. Maybe I should have, you can never know…” “I can teach you if you want.” “Excuse me?” “I can give you swordsmanship lessons, just like you teach me to dance; it’d be a way to repay you for all the time and effort you devote to me.” Zoro proposes, more and more excited as he explains his plan to you “I can tell my father I require more time for my dancing lessons, and no one will disturb us; I must have a blunted sword somewhere… come on, I am sure you’ll love it!”

💚 In your heart, you doubt you’ll be any good, since you have never had any aptitude for weapon fighting -or hand-to-hand, to be fair- and you’re probably too old to learn something completely new, but after all, you decide, why not? You know Zoro will not make fun of you for your clumsiness and complete ignorance of the most basic rules of swordsmanship, and you like his enthusiasm at the prospect of having a -or maybe you as?- pupil of his own. “Alright; I promise I’ll do my best, even though I doubt I’ll ever be worthy of joining the King’s Guard.” you say, and Zoro smiles at you, clearly excited. “You want to bet I’ll prove to be a better teacher than you are?” he jokes, and you smile at him. “I’m sure I’ll prove to be both the better teacher and the better pupil, even though you started your lessons two weeks ago…”

💚 You spend a few more minutes with Zoro, who tells you about his training, that his father started when he was barely five years old, and that an inexperienced witness like you might find excessively hard, brutal and even cruel, but that Zoro welcomes with joy, despite the more or less superficial wounds his father often inflicts him, and the fact that in fourteen years he has never been able to best his teacher, because he knows the King wouldn’t be so hard on him if he hadn’t faith in his potential as a fighter. As he tells you about his swords, of the techniques he has learnt and of the many opponents he has bested, Zoro’s eyes shine with joy, the enthusiasm evident in his voice; it’s quite a difference from the withdrawn, awkward or in the best of cases distant young man you had come to know. Maybe, you reflect, now that you’re finally free from his embarrassment and fear of coming off as inappropriate, the two of you might become friends, able to both teach and learn from each other, and to appreciate your time spent together. As Zoro’s hands touch yours to adjust your grip on the sword’s hilt, you think that nothing would make you happier.

💚 In the end you both decide to go to bed, since sunrise is only a few hours away. “Lesson number one: a gentleman always offers to accompany a lady somewhere.” you tell him. “But your bed is only fifty paces away.” “It makes no difference, it’s the thought that counts.” Zoro rolls his eyes, secretly amused. “Very well; can I walk you to your room, princess (name)?” “No, thank you, prince Zoro; but thanks for asking.” “Oh, you are unbelievable…” In the end, it’s you who has to help Zoro find his way to his rooms; standing in front of the door you say good-night, and to your surprise, he bows and kisses your hand, much more at ease than he was doing the same on the day of your first encounter. “I’m glad we… I mean, that we talked and there are no problems between us.” he murmurs, his breath warm on the back of your hand as he avoids your eyes “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

💚 You only sleep three hours that night, but you wake up the next morning feeling well-rested and ready for a new day, your intention to tell Mihawk you have decided to leave and return home completely forgotten - at least for now. You and Zoro share a secret smile while you sit at the breakfast table, and that night you present yourself at the ballroom wearing the only pair of pants you own -for riding; you doubt it’s the appropriate clothing for a duel, but you have nothing better- and clumsily fail to grab the blunt sword Zoro tosses you. Amused, he helps you adjust your grip on the hilt, explaining that the grip must be firm but delicate, otherwise your hand will hurt. “Ready? Now try to hit me, however you want.” he invites you, and not knowing any better you launch yourself at him, swinging the sword that is, obviously, taken from your hand in a matter of seconds. “Keep your sword in a defensive position until the last moment before attacking, or you’ll be dead before you get to touch your opponent.” Zoro explains “And you’re not using a broadsword, there’s no reason to use both hands to hold it…”

💚 After five minutes of repeated assaults during which you spectacularly fail to even touch your opponent, Zoro helps you assume the correct position -feet as apart as the width of your shoulders, straight back, knees slightly bent, sword raised at a forty-five degree angle in front of you- and then teaches you a few simple movements, parries and lunges both, that you practise and practise until you’re sure you can repeat them in your sleep. A couple hours and Zoro deems himself satisfied with your performance, and concludes your first lesson. “So? How was it?” he asks, half excited and half nervous, as if fearing you could decide to throw in the towel after a single session; he clearly still hasn’t the faintest idea of the sort of person you are. “I had fun; and I can’t wait to do it again.” you admit “I’m sorry I was so terrible, Zoro, you’re used to training with your father…” “You did well for your first time; and I’m sure you’ll improve rapidly. Now, you want to take over?” “Excuse me? Oh, right…”

💚 You had almost forgotten you also have a lesson to teach, but after Zoro places the swords against the wall, and you both take a minute to drink some water and wipe your sweat off, he returns to you, looking as determined as he was as he fought his father, and you hurry to turn the gramophone on. You tell your pupil there’s no need for him to practise on his own anymore, having seen with your eyes how well he can dance when he believes there’s no one observing him, and so, without wasting any more time, you help Zoro assume the correct position, an arm around your waist and your hand in his, only a few inches separating your bodies. “I can’t believe it is considered proper for a man and a woman to be this close.” he mutters “We can practically k… I mean, if I had bad breath you would smell it!”

💚 (he doesn’t, fortunately)

💚 “I know; in fact, that is the reason. Most of the time it wouldn’t be proper for a man and a woman to be so close, so dancing is a relatively appropriate way for them to have… a moment of intimacy. Not that there is something inherently romantic or sensual in dancing.” you hurry to add; the last thing you want is for Zoro to fear some princess he’s dancing with will take advantage of the situation to let her hand wander “I mean, it is absolutely fine to simply enjoy the music or talk with your partner. Now, are you ready? One, two, three…!”

💚 And so, almost miraculously, you are dancing, your partner still a bit clumsy and slower in his movements than he should be but leagues better than he was only twenty-four hours ago; you move together in a simple, repetitive sequence of steps, and Zoro smiles as he realises he had nothing to fear. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression I… disliked you.” he murmurs after a while “The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.” “I know; and let’s not talk about it again. I’m happy things are clear between us now.” you answer sincerely, and before any of you knows it you have danced successfully for a whole hour, and both of you are satisfied, even though your feet hurt. “Same time tomorrow?” you ask Zoro, and he smiles in return. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

💚 It’s like you have finally found the key to open a particularly sturdy door, to find the treasure hidden inside. Now that misunderstandings and awkwardnesses no longer exist between you and Zoro, he quickly begins improving as a dancer: he’s still rigid, a bit clumsy with the movements he hasn’t been rehearsing for weeks, but every day he’s a little better, and you are confident his father will be more than pleased with the results at his coming-of-age ball. Driven at first mainly by curiosity, you in turn develop a strong interest and fascination for the sword, and the moments you spend learning to wield a blade are soon your favourite during the day. It is tiring, painful, your body sweating and bruising under your clothes, your hand aching as you grip the sword’s hilt, well aware that Zoro could easily parry your every attack, blindfolded and with one hand behind his back. Being a swordswoman is, in short, as different as it can be from being a dancer, and this is why you like it so much: it’s something new, something you have never done before and that you have to do your utmost to be barely passable at -quite a change, given your long experience and objectively uncommon talent as a dancer- a challenge to yourself you’re determined not to lose. You are not sure you’ll ever be a more than mediocre fighter, but you will do your utmost, you promise in the privacy of your heart, for yourself and for Zoro, in order not to look bad compared to his constant improvement as a dancer and to repay all the effort he puts in his lessons.

💚 As a natural consequence of the time you spend together, your at first cordial but distant relationship flourishes in a close friendship. You and Zoro spend long hours talking, either as you walk in the gardens or you take tea in his rooms; a couple of times Zoro invites you to go riding with him, and while you’re pretty sure it’s because none of his friends is available at the moment

💚 (it isn’t)

💚 you are happy to accept. Soon, Zoro is not only a pupil in whose company you’re forced to spend hours every night, nor someone you hang out with out of necessity, since none of your friends has followed you to Kuraigana; you become sincerely fond of him, at ease in his presence like you’ve never been with a person you have known for such a short time. Zoro is introverted, stubborn, despite his father’s best efforts more inclined to solve a problem with his swords -or his fists, occasionally- than diplomatically, but he’s also loyal, generous, and kind, no matter how hard he tries to hide it under a semblance of gruffness; he’s polite towards even the humblest servants of the court, and you’ve seen him with your eyes as he harshly punished one of the guardsmen who had beaten a young groom guilty of not having readied his horse in time. He’s a good man, a good friend, and he will be a good King, when his time comes; soon, the loneliness you had felt after having to say good-bye to your family and friends disappears… and you can’t help thinking of how you’ll miss him, once it’s time for you to go home. Who knows if Zoro will write to you, or even decide to pay you a visit in your kingdom…

💚 The dramatic, terrifying event that leads you to question the tranquil friendship between you and Zoro takes place very late at night. You have completed another productive pair of lessons -Zoro has finally mastered a particularly complex waltz figure, and you have learned a semi-circular parry that allows you to block your opponent’s attack without lowering your defence- when examining your practice sword, Zoro decides it’s time for you to learn to wield a sharp weapon. “Every self-respecting warrior, even a King, takes care of their sword personally, rather than having a servant or a squire do it; tomorrow I’ll show you how to use a whetstone.” he promises, unaware that you already have a little experience in this particular task, having been friends as a girl with the weaponsmith of your father’s palace. You’ve never exactly used a whetstone, only witnessed him doing it, but how hard can it be? You’ll take care of the edge of your sword by yourself, you decide, and tomorrow you’ll present Zoro with a perfectly sharpened weapon; you’re sure he’ll be impressed.

💚 So you wish Zoro good-night and, rather than returning to your own room, you begin the short trek towards the armoury, where you’re sure to find a wheat-stone. It’s really late and you ought to be in bed, but you’re too excited for your little plan to think about sleeping. Twenty minutes later you are sitting on a stool, your still blunt sword on your lap and a whetstone in your hands as you dearly wish your weaponsmith friend were here to help you, when suddenly you’re not alone anymore.

💚 The man who has stepped into the armoury is a sergeant of the palace guards, recently assigned there from another fief of the kingdom for having killed, apparently in self-defence, a comrade. He is completely drunk, having spent the evening at the tavern, and when he sees you in the armoury, he thinks that you are a servant busy performing a late order from her master, or a village girl who sneaked in the palace to steal some valuables; someone, in short, he can abuse impudently, because she’ll be unable to react, and to defend herself.

💚 He’s wrong.

💚 The man approaches in silence. You’re still focused on the sword when a violent blow collides with your temple, making you see stars; before you have time to realise the danger you’re in, you’re on the ground, with the man above you, a hand pressed on your mouth to silence you. Terrified, unable to move and scream for help, you manage to grab the whetstone that had fallen from your hand and, almost blindly, to hit him in the face with it; the man screams, but when you manage to stand and try to make a run for the door, he grabs you, whispering in your ear that if you scream, he’ll break your neck before the guards on duty can intervene. “If you’re good and make no sounds I’ll let you live.” he whispers, not even trying to sound convincing; as terrifying as it is to realise it, he’s right: no one will come to help you.

💚 Suddenly, as the man’s cold hands start fumbling with your belt, you think about Zoro, and what he would do in a situation like this. He would not passively let this brute abuse him, no, he would fight back, he would show his assailant what he’s capable of, and you are without a doubt less strong than your friend, perhaps even less strong than your abuser, but that doesn’t mean you’re just gonna stand there and let him do as he pleases with you…

💚 Fixed to the wall you’re facing there are several metal hooks, with swords hanging from them that the guards can readily take before the start of their shift, or in case of emergency. Kicking wildly, you hear your assailant emit a cry of pain, and he lets you go long enough for you to reach and grab one of the swords, heavier than the one you have been training with but perfectly sharp. “Let me go or I’ll gut you.” you snarl as you turn to face the man, who has now a hand on his groin, the sword raised in front of you. You have never been so scared, yes, but most of all you’re angry, furious, at this pig who tried to make you -not a princess, not a guest of his King, but a woman with thoughts and rights of her own- his pleasure toy “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you touch me!” The man laughs at your determination, but thank God Zoro has taught you well, and while the execution is not perfect, your blow hits the mark, and soon the man is on the ground, screaming and calling you words you know but had never heard out loud, as the wound you have inflicted him bleeds profusely. You waste no time gloating, but walk out of the armoury to reach the men standing guard in front of the gate, who heard nothing of your struggle. “Please send for the King.” you tell them, your tone calm and measured even though you’re screaming inside “There is something he needs to see.”

💚 Twenty minutes later you’re in the castle’s kitchen, sitting with an untouched cup of chamomile in your hands, while Mihawk has a quiet but tense conversation with the captain of the guards, who had approved your assailant’s transfer to the palace and is technically responsible for the security of the grounds at night, and Zoro stands silently next to you like a sentinel - or a bodyguard. You have no idea who thought of calling him, but you’re grateful; he has not uttered a word, but you saw his shoulders sag with relief when his father told him you were not wounded or hurt in any way. Neither smiles when your gazes meet, but he steps closer to rest his hands on your shoulders, and it takes all the will-power you own not to shift your weight against his solid body; neither of you is aware that the King has noticed the moment of intimacy between you, correctly reading in it much more than what the relatively chaste contact would suggest. He wisely decides not to mention it, at least for now.

💚 A minute later the King is with you, the guards having left; your assailant will live, he informs you, which he will soon have to regret, and Mihawk will make sure he will never hurt another woman in his life. “Forgive me for asking, princess, but what were you doing in the armoury so late at night? Were you… meeting someone?” He thinks you were waiting for a lover, you realise, feeling yourself blush under the King’s piercing bird-stare. You hurry to tell him the truth, explaining that you wanted to sharpen your sword in preparation for your next swordsmanship lesson, tonight. “You see… I have asked prince Zoro to teach me, in return for his dance lessons.” you explain; you don’t know if the King would find his son offering you to use a sword inappropriate, but you don’t want to risk him getting mad at Zoro.

💚 Mihawk does not seem to disapprove though; rather, he commends you for your courage and ability to defend yourself, and apologises for what happened, telling you he’s sincerely sorry you had to experience something like this, and happy you’re alright. “I will understand if you want to return home; and I’ll offer you and your father whatever reparation you will decide.” he tells you, and you feel Zoro’s hands tense on your shoulders. You tell his father that what happened wasn’t his fault, that the last thing you want is to leave Kuraigana, and that you see no reason to tell your father or to demand compensation, especially since thank God nothing serious happened. “All I need is a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow I’ll feel much better.” you optimistically explain, and Mihawk is about to call for a maid to walk you to your rooms when “I’ll do it.” Zoro says. Father and son share a long, intense look that you can’t decipher, and a moment later your friend has offered you his hand to lead you out of the kitchen.

💚 You both remain silent, still hand-in-hand, until you reach your rooms crossing the empty, dark corridors. Like you have taught him to do, Zoro opens the door but waits for you to invite him in, which you do in a whisper; he observes you abandon the blanket on a chair, and then “I’m sorry.” he murmurs “(name), the fault is all mine, I’m so terribly sorry.” “Why should you be? You did nothing wrong, and the decision to go to the armoury was mine. Please, Zoro, there is only one culprit for what happened tonight, I refuse to feel guilty for it and you should do the same.” you point out weakly “To be honest I should thank you; if you hadn’t taught me to use a sword, that man would have probably…”

💚 You can’t finish the sentence; you don’t need to. You cover your face with your hands, and this time Zoro does not hesitate before approaching. “May I embrace you?” he asks, almost shyly “I’d like to comfort you, but maybe you… you’d rather not be touched…” “Of course not.” you hasten to reassure him “I’d be happy to be touched… I mean, if you embraced me.” A moment later you’re held in Zoro’s arms, and you begin crying quietly, your face hidden against his shoulder, because you know you’re safe now, and you should feel proud for how you were able to defend yourself, but you were so scared, and it doesn’t matter if it’s all over now, you can’t stop thinking about it…

💚 And then suddenly you’re moving, Zoro’s arms around you guiding you through the steps of a waltz, and your feet following instinctively. “Zoro, what…?” “I thought dancing would make you feel better.” he explains, and the truth is that it does, even though the beneficial effect is due more to the presence of the young man in front of you than to the pleasant activity he’s leading you in. You adjust your arms’ position, taking one of his hands in yours, and no matter how late it is, and how absurd you must look, you spend a few minutes dancing, with your bed and vanity and wardrobe as your only witnesses; you are no longer crying. “I noticed you told my father our swordsmanship lessons were your idea.” Zoro murmurs after a while. “Well… I wasn’t sure he’d approve, and he wouldn’t get too mad too a guest, and a woman, would he?” “Quite the contrary, I think that knowing you want to learn to use a sword made him automatically fonder of you; hmm, so you did it to protect me…”

💚 He does not comment, but you see Zoro smile. “I’m glad you’re alright.” he murmurs “I know you took care of it, but I wish I could have been there; I would have killed that man with my bare hands.” “Really? For me?” “Of course; I… I don’t know what I would do if something had happened to you.” He looks at you, and you look at him, suddenly aware of how close your faces are, and your bodies, close enough you can feel how fast his heart is beating, but that is alright, because yours is pounding as well, and you’re probably too close, dangerously and inappropriately so, but Zoro couldn’t look less uncomfortable if he tried…

💚 For a short, precious moment, you could swear he’s about to kiss you; that he wants to, at the very least. Heart in your throat, without fully reflecting on what you’re doing but letting your instincts guide you, you whisper his name as you offer him your mouth, feeling his breath on your face… and a moment later Zoro has broken your embrace, even taking half a step back to put some space between you. “Zoro…” “I’m sorry; that was… inappropriate.” he murmurs, a hand pressed to his mouth as if to keep himself in check “I… can’t.” “Why not?” you ask him, half-desperately; you always thought that begging for a man’s attention and affections was the most humiliating thing a woman could do, but you don’t care, not now, not with him… “What would be so wrong about it?”

💚 You receive no answer; avoiding your gaze, Zoro asks you if you want him to send a maid to keep you company until you fall asleep, and then he leaves - leaves you, alone, feeling if possible even worse than you did twenty minutes ago in the armoury.

💚 The next day, Zoro seems to do his best to pretend nothing happened between the two of you - and it technically didn’t, which is the reason why you struggled so much to fall asleep last night and feel embarrassed just thinking about it. You talk briefly at the breakfast table, half-heartedly fighting over the last boiled egg in the bowl, but you can see his mind is elsewhere, and he makes sure to look you in the eyes as seldom as he can. The King looks at the two of you out of the corner of his eye as he butters his toast, but doesn’t comment, politely asking after your swordsmanship lessons, and informs you that both those and Zoro’s dancing classes will have to be suspended for the day, since the court is receiving two important guests: lady Perona, a distant relative of the King who lives on Thriller Bark Island, and lady Hiyori, sister of the Shogun of Wano, who Zoro will be tasked with entertaining during their visit.

💚 Later that day, you look at Zoro walking in the gardens with the two ladies -both older than him, but exceptionally beautiful- and feel your heart yearning, for him, and for the chance to be in their place. Whatever was born in your heart, maybe last night in your room and maybe slowly, silently, in the weeks that preceded that moment, is still too new and raw to give it a name, but it has taken root, and you fear it’s already too late to ignore or forget it. “He seems to be doing well, don’t you think?” the King asks as he comes to stand next to you, and you nod, proud despite your pain; Zoro has behaved admirably and clearly made a good impression on the ladies. Thank God he’s not dancing with them; your heart couldn’t bear it.

💚 “Oh, yes; I’m… quite proud; he’s perfectly at ease, and I’m sure the ladies will think well of him.” you answer, hoping to sound more enthusiastic than you feel, and the King nods, satisfied with the results. “I’m sure they’re not the only ones.” he murmurs, more to himself than -apparently- to you; you turn to look at him. “What do you mean?” “Nothing, do not trouble yourself.” Mihawk says, but you could swear he’s grinning, as if amused by a joke you haven’t caught.

💚 Something very dangerous has begun blossoming inside you, and you fear that, even if it’s just a natural consequence of the moment of intimacy you and Zoro shared, it will end up hurting you if you don’t put an end to it before it has time to grow. For this purpose, you begin returning the attentions of a young lord of Kuraigana’s court, who you know has looked at you with interest since your arrival on the island; he’s a very good dancer - in fact, he’s the partner Mihawk asked you to dance with soon after you were introduced, to test your ability. You take walks and have tea together - in the castle’s dining room or on a patio, never in the privacy of his or your room. Your new friend is pleasant, attractive, polite and clever; you sincerely enjoy your time together, even though, you must admit, sometimes you can’t help wishing there was another man next to you, holding your hand as he helps you descend a set of stairs or smiling at you as your feet touches his under the table.

💚 It’s dangerous, you tell yourself more than once, unfair towards a man who has done nothing to deserve the unpleasant role of rebound and probably pointless, because not even the most self-controlled person can tell their heart what to feel, or towards whom, but you can’t help it. One afternoon, you and your friend meet Zoro, back from a ride, during one of your walks in the gardens; the two men exchange a polite greeting, and you find yourself observing Zoro’s expression, hoping against hope to find on it a trace of… what? Displeasure? Sorrow? Jealousy, perhaps? But you don’t; the prince simply reminds you of your lesson that night and departs, your gaze following him with a feeling of longing in your heart you can’t stop any more than you could stop the sun from rising every morning.

💚 To all appearances, everything is fine between the two of you: you keep meeting every night for your dancing and swordsmanship lessons, teaching and learning from each other - a perhaps odd situation you nevertheless both enjoy, and naturally look for each other’s company whenever you wish. Your relationship has developed into a firm, sincere friendship, a bond that you cherish and from which at the same time, you can’t help wanting more; you care deeply for Zoro, and you know he’s equally fond of you… even though something changed since that night in your room, since that embrace, a nameless, difficult to define tension that sometimes makes you think that you could be something else, something different but equally precious, if only you could be sincere, throw caution to the wind and tell Zoro what you feel…

💚 Or if he did; unfortunately, it’s not always easy to understand what Zoro feels. Most of the time he seems happy with your relationship as it is; he never asks about your friend, not even to playfully tease you about him like friends do, and when you mention lady Perona and lady Hiyori, fearing to discover he has developed an affection for either of them, he simply shrugs and tells you they were both nice - which could mean everything and its opposite. Zoro told you he never had a lover, or wanted one, whether in the form of an official engagement or as a passing dalliance; most of the time, he gives the impression of being much more interested in swords than in women -or men- and that his feelings for you are purely platonic.

💚 And then there are other moments - few and far between, so much that you could almost forget about each of them or consider them nothing more than random accidents, but you never do. There’s the way he holds you closer than he should, almost possessively, as you dance a waltz; the slight tremble in his hand when he takes yours to help you pass over an obstacle on your path; the genuine affection in his eyes when you catch him looking at you, lifting your gaze from your embroidery or a letter to your father, and the slight flush that colours his face when he realises you’ve noticed. In those moments, you can hope; in those moments, as warmth fills your stomach and your heartbeat accelerates, you can be almost be sure that it’s not simply the romantic reveries of a woman who sees what her heart wants her to, but that Zoro feels the same, that he cares about you beyond friendship, and that if only one of you found the courage, and the right moment, to confess, then no couple in the world would ever be happier than the two of you…

💚 Of course it’s more complicated than that. You’re a princess, and you know well that it’s your duty to marry for the sake of your kingdom and your people, to secure an alliance or to put an end to a bloody war; it’s a role you’re ready and even happy to play, confident that your father will choose a good husband for you, and not simply sell you to the highest bidder with no regards for your happiness. Surely Mihawk is of the same mind, and will one day select a few unmarried princesses and ladies to introduce to his son; who knows if you could be one of them? Your kingdoms have been allies for decades, so a marriage between the two heirs might seem superfluous, but perhaps you and Zoro could convince your fathers, make them see that an union between the two of you would still be beneficial, and wouldn’t the heir of a firm ally be a excellent match for their own child…?

💚 Usually it’s a man’s prerogative to begin a courtship, but Zoro doesn’t seem inclined to confess his feelings - out of shyness, you hope, rather than because he has never even thought about you as a potential partner. Then you’ll do it, you decide; soon, preferably, since Zoro’s coming-of-age ball approaches, and he’s by now a good enough dancer he can keep practising on his own, without a teacher, which means you’ll soon have to return home. The last thing you want is for you and Zoro to have to part before you can tell each other what you feel; you need to act fast. You’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed, take his hands in yours and tell him, Zoro, no matter how grateful I am for your friendship, I have come to care greatly about you…

💚 “You’re distracted.” Zoro points out suddenly, and you blink, momentarily taken aback. “I thought I was doing fine.” you defend yourself, even though there was no trace of accusation in your friend’s voice; you have been sparring for a few minutes and you were able to par or avoid most of Zoro’s lunges. He nods, admitting that you’re improving by the day, but it's nevertheless evident you have something on your mind. “Is something wrong? I know you received a letter from your father today; is he alright? Does it concern your lover?”

💚 You tell him that your father is in good health, thanks for asking, and that the person he has mentioned is not your lover, just a friend you have taken walks and drunk tea with a few times. “Are you sure? Because this morning he told one of my friends he is going to ask your father’s permission to court you.” he points out, his expression unreadable “But it's fine, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Here… I have something for you…”

💚 This time you're not simply taken aback. Completely speechless, you observe the object Zoro has put in your hands: a sword, clearly newly made, with the coat of arms of your kingdom engraved on the hilt. “I had it done by the best weaponsmith in the kingdom; I hope you like it.” Zoro says “I know you’ll never devote your life to the sword like my father and I have, but you seem to genuinely enjoy it, and you’re becoming quite proficient at it… well, I thought you’d enjoy having your own sword. Do you like it?” Zoro asks, clearly more unsure that he’d like to be, and “It’s beautiful.” you murmur reverently as you inspect the weapon, the grip on the hilt perfect for your hand. For a whole minute neither of you speaks, and unfortunately you’re too focused on the sword, because otherwise you’d see the way Zoro is looking at you, and that would be enough to dispel any doubt regarding his feelings.

💚 “I guess now it’s up to me; I’ll have to gift you a pair of dancing shoes.” you point out in the end, making him laugh, but you’re not, because you understand how important this is for him, for a man who is a swordsman before anything else, who has made the sword his religion, his ambition, his cause, almost his reason to live, to give you your own blade “Zoro, I… I don’t know what to say; this is beautiful, and I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll treasure it forever, and I’ll work hard to be worthy of this gift.” Zoro smiles, relieved, and then for a minute neither feels the need to talk; in the end, just as you’re gathering the courage to tell him what you feel, Zoro takes your hand and “You know that it’s going to be my birthday soon?”

💚 Of course you know. On his next birthday, Zoro will officially come of age according to the law of the kingdom; lavish celebrations are being planned, with dozens of important guests, including your father, who confirmed in his last letter he’s going to come, leaving your older brother as a regent; you can’t wait to introduce him to Zoro. “Of course; I know that by now you’re a more than capable dancer, at least for balls and other social occasions, but I hope you don’t mind if I stay until then.” “Not at all; in fact, I’d really like it if you stayed, because… well, because we’re friends, obviously, and also because there’s something I need to tell you. Something very important.”

💚 “What?” you ask, not daring to guess, not daring to hope, but Zoro insists on waiting, and that he can’t tell you before the day of his coming-of-age ball. “Why don’t we return to our lesson?” he suggests then, and you nod, eager to test your new sword, your heart trembling. Hours later, at the end of yet another fruitful lesson, you bid Zoro goodnight, kindly refusing his offer to walk you to your room for a reason you barely dare to admit in the privacy of your own heart. “Zoro?” you call him once you’ve reached the room’s door, and he turns to look at you as he ties the swords’ scabbard around his waist “About my… friend. I really consider him a friend and nothing more; I swear.”

💚 Zoro smiles; you would have to be blind not to see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it; he’s not good for you.” “He’s a perfectly polite person, clever and very kind.” “I know; but he’s not like you. He’s not…” he hesitates before adding “... special.” and then he mumbles a goodnight and turns to fumble with one of his swords. You leave the room silently, the weight of the unspoken things between you a sensual shiver down your spine as you walk towards your bedroom.

💚 Zoro’s coming-of-age ball is only a week away. While the whole court seems busy with the preparations, you spend most of your time helping the honoree practising his dancing; Zoro will probably have to dance with many ladies, including queens and princesses of families allied with his father, and it’s of the utmost importance that he makes a good impression - or at least that he doesn’t cause a diplomatic incident tripping his partner into the punch bowl. You also give him a few tips to help him make a good impression on the fairer sex. “There is no reason to be nervous; in the end, women are people, in many respects the differences in how to relate to them or to men are minimal.” you tell him “Be courteous, avoid swearing, introduce them to other people to make them feel welcome; maybe ask about their interests, take a chair or a drink for those who need them.” “And that would be enough to make them love me?” Zoro asks, clearly sceptical, as he, almost without noticing, executes perfectly a complex dance move that he had already attempted a thousand times, holding you against him, the warmth of his body seeping into your blood. You’re tempted to answer that yes, you wouldn’t be surprised if every single lady who will be at court that night asks for his hand, because Zoro is a man easy to love, and easy to fall in love with; after all you did, without even realising it until you were completely lost. It’s a feeling you had never experienced, so intense and special it makes your previous relationships, short-lived dalliances and unrequited crushes, disappear; it scares you, but at the same time you’re grateful you get to feel it - grateful you got to meet Zoro.

💚 “You’re going to be fine.” you reassure him in the end, as you both bow at the end of the dance “And whatever happens… even in the remote case the evening is a disaster, know that I’m proud of you; I know how hard you worked to learn, and I know your father will as well. It’s going to be alright, Zoro; and even if it doesn’t, I will be by your side.” He nods, more relieved to hear your promise than if you had sworn to stand by his side against a whole army of enemies. “Thank you for everything you have done for me; I know I haven’t been the best pupil, at least at first.” “Don’t mention it; I’m glad I could help you.” you assure him; and then, less sincerely: “I can’t wait to see you dance with the ladies during the ball.”

💚 And finally, the big day comes; guests from kingdoms far and wide have started arriving since yesterday, including your father, who is happy to see you, and to hear Mihawk praise you for all you did to teach Zoro to dance. You can’t wait to introduce your friend and your father, but there’s an equally important, although less pleasant, duty you need to fulfil: talk to your friend, who has just returned from a brief trip visiting relatives, to tell him you don’t intend to continue your relationship. It is, as you expected, a difficult and painful conversation, but to his credit, he reacts politely, thanking you for your sincerity and accepting your offer of friendship; he kisses your hand, and then asks to walk you back to your rooms, which you of course accept. “Oh, look who just arrived.” he notes a minute later, looking out one of the large ogive window of the east corridor; curious, you stop to peek as well, and see Mihawk, standing in front of the main gate, as he helps a woman step down from her carriage, followed by a younger one: they must be exceptionally important guests, you think, for the King to come personally to welcome them. “Who are those?”

💚 “That is Queen Belle-mère of Cocoyashi, and her daughter, princess Nami. I’m sure the prince has mentioned her.” “Why? Is Z-is the prince a friend of hers?” you ask, more and more confused, and your former suitor looks at you surprised, as if you had just admitted not knowing the sun rises in the east every morning. “Friend? No; princess Nami is his future bride; they are going to marry soon, to seal an alliance between the two kingdoms. You really did not know?”

💚 You didn’t.

💚 In the early afternoon, one of the maids comes to the room you have all but secluded yourself in, telling you the prince has asked about you; you ask her to report you’re too busy to answer, and remain in bed, curled up under a blanket despite the relatively warm day, your face hidden in the pillow you have already drenched in your tears.

💚 He’s going to marry soon. You can’t believe Zoro never mentioned it, but after a moment of reflection you have to admit you should have at least suspected it. After all, what better occasion to announce the engagement of a prince or a princess than during a ball in front of so many other royals and nobles? Mihawk probably wanted to make sure his heir wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of his fiancée; Zoro is his father’s only child, how could you not imagine he would be formally engaged as soon as he came of age? The longer you think about it the more you realise how blind you have been, and your heart breaks for it: you taught him to dance, and how to act in the company of women, while in the meantime developing feelings for him… all of it, to prepare him for an union with another bride. Is this why Zoro didn’t kiss you that night, because it would have been improper given his status as an almost-engaged man? You wouldn’t be surprised, given how honourable he is; but then, what of the feelings you could have sworn he has also developed for you, and of his evident jealousy towards you former suitor? Did you imagine all of it? And what of the sword he has given you - a parting gift, perhaps, to remember him by once he has settled with his new wife and you’ve returned home?

💚 Now that you remember, he did say there was something important he wanted to tell you, after the ball. About what? Why would he want to wait until his official engagement? You have no idea, and frankly you don’t care. The three other people you have spoken about it after your former suitor mentioned the matter -one of the maids, an older lady, and one of the castle guards- all confirmed the whole court has known about the engagement for months, since before your arrival in Kuraigana, even though no one bothered to tell you - or who knows, maybe it’s your fault, and you simply didn’t realise the fact was common knowledge because you were too focused on your lessons with the prince, and on Zoro himself, who has now become more important for you than anyone has even been. You really thought he cared for you, and maybe he does; you have no idea of what his feelings towards princess Nami -who is really beautiful, elegant and shapely and with hair of a lovely tangerine-orange colour; you’ve peeked at her from behind a column as the King led her and her mother inside the palace, and had to admit she and Zoro would look lovely together- are, whether he hates her, loves her, or whatever else, but he wouldn’t be the first royal who develops feelings for someone while engaged with someone else…

💚 Does he… does he plan on asking you to be his mistress while he’s married to Nami?! You can’t believe Zoro would propose such a squalid arrangement, but even if the alternative is losing him, even if he confesses he’s in love with you and that would be the only way for the two of you to be together, you’re determined to refuse: you have your dignity, and you’re not going to humiliate yourself into an illicit affair, not even for the man you have fallen in love with. You’ll beg your father to be allowed to return home tomorrow morning, and until then you’ll do your best to avoid Zoro, and his future fiancée.

💚 That night, as the whole court celebrate its prince’s coming-of-age, you beg both your father and Mihawk to be excused from the ball, citing period cramps -the perfect excuse; not the sort of ailment that would lead your father to call for a doctor, a matter a man would not ask to know more about- as the reason, and remain in your room with your dinner served on a tray. You had looked forward to the evening, dancing to your heart’s content and seeing Zoro impress his father’s guests, but witnessing his engagement being announced requires more strength than you can gather. You had bought a new, beautiful dress especially for the occasion, and had also hoped Zoro would reserve for you the most important dance of the evening, the last, but you have no doubt princess Nami has eclipsed you in both regards. You spend a rather lonely evening, chiding yourself for having been so naive not to realise the man you had fallen for was already spoken for, and at the same time unable to regret having accept Mihawk’s request to come to Kuraigana: despite your broken heart, you’re glad to have met Zoro, and to have been his friend, and even though you’ll never be able to call him yours you will carry his memory in your heart forever.

💚 In the end, the music you can hear filtering from the ballroom two floors below ceases, a sign that the ball has ended. You are already in bed, slowly drifting to sleep surrounded by the darkness of the room, when suddenly you hear an urgent, insistent knocking at the door. Your first, mostly irrational, thought is that you’re being called upon because something has happened to your father; you leave your bed and run to the door, but when you open it the person you find yourself face to face with is not the assistant of the castle’s doctor, nor a maid.

💚 “Let me in.”

💚 It’s Zoro.

💚 “Are you out of your mind?” you hiss, suddenly tense; you have no reason to believe he toyed with your feelings, but he’s the last person you wish to see now “Do you have any idea what time it is? If someone saw you now, at the door of a lady’s room, someone could think…” “No one will see me if you let me in.” Zoro answers, stone-faced “I need to talk to you, and no, it can’t wait.” Grumbling, and mentally ordering your heart to stop pounding, you make sure the corridor is empty save for Zoro, allow him to enter, and quickly close the door behind him. “So? What’s so important you felt the need to disturb me so late at night?” you ask, staring at Zoro, arms crossed; in your heart you know he does not deserve your anger, but right now, given what must have just happened, you don’t have the strength to pretend all is well. Zoro is silent for a minute as he regards you, breath-takingly handsome in his dress uniform but strangely tense, hesitant as if he didn’t know how to express what he’s thinking; you wonder how it feels to be engaged, and what he felt as the court observed him slip a ring on Nami’s finger “Why didn’t you come to the ball? And don’t tell me it’s because of your time of the month, because I know you had them last week.”

💚 He knows, you remember blushing a bit, because he heard you complain your stomach hurt and got worried you were falling sick; of course, it’s highly improper for a woman to discuss that sort of private matter with a man, but explaining the real reason for your malaise to Zoro felt natural… because you knew the two of you were past that sort of false embarrassment, and that there was very little you could not discuss frankly, and be sincere about, despite the gender difference.

💚 You don’t quite know how to answer Zoro’s question, and you already know he won’t leave without having received a response; suddenly, as you face each other, like two dancers ready to take the first step, you feel naked, even though you have grabbed your dressing gown on your way to the door. “You haven’t been entirely honest with me.” you point out in the end, and Zoro blinks, nonplussed. “... I haven’t?” “Well, you didn’t have to discuss your personal matters with me, but I found it odd that you never mentioned the fact that you’re engaged.” “What? Who told you? And why does it matter to you that…? Oh…”

💚 Zoro looks flabbergasted for a moment, and then an odd kind of calm seems to fall on him… tension barely kept at bay, not unlike the way you have seen him face his father, swords at the ready, before the beginning of a new duel. “And why…” he finally starts, his voice barely rising above a whisper “Why is it so important to you whether I’m engaged or not? Don’t tell me you’re hurt because as friends we’re supposed to share everything, because I won’t believe it.” He’s right, obviously, and no matter how deeply you’ve come to trust and care for him, at the moment you feel so humiliated you can’t bear to look him in the eyes; Zoro knows what you feel, and you just want him to go and leave you with your disappointment…

💚 “(name), look at me.” “Go away, Zoro. If you care for me, if you consider me a friend, please leave me alone.” “I won’t; not before we can talk. Listen…” A moment later, as you still refuse to look at him, he has stepped closer to take your hands in his. “I am not engaged, (name).” he murmurs softly “If you’re talking about princess Nami, well… my father did ask me whether I’d be willing to marry her; I told him marriage did not interest me, but I would meet her to please him, and he promised to respect my decision. I’ve met her today and she’s… nice; she’s very smart, and pretty, I guess, but I don’t like her that way.” He’s not going to ask for Nami’s hand, he insists, first of all because she’s not available: she’s been engaged to princess Vivi of Alabasta, and plans on telling her mother as soon as she comes of age, next year. Also, for his part… well…

💚 “When I realised you hadn’t come, I asked your friend where you were; he told me he had no idea, and also that you had broken up with him.” “Well, I did tell you I only saw him as a friend.” “You did; but I can’t help wondering if there’s another reason, one that… has to do with me…” You smile; now Zoro is embarrassed, and while you don’t enjoy making him uncomfortable, you can’t ignore the timid, fragile hope that has blossomed in your heart. “May I ask you a question? That night, when you walked me here from the kitchens… were you going to kiss me?” you ask, and Zoro flushes; he bites his lip before admitting: “I was. I… wanted to, at least.” “And why didn’t you?” “(name)... you had been assaulted. Did you really think I could approach you, even with a simple kiss? I thought that at least in that moment, the last thing you wanted was to be touched by a man.”

💚 You sigh, grateful for his discretion. “I wouldn’t have minded, though.” you admit in a whisper “Not with you, and at least for a kiss… or several.” “Glad to hear it.” Zoro admits; he’s blushing furiously now, but you couldn’t tease him even if you wanted, because you are in the same state “For your information, I danced splendidly; even my father was impressed. And I didn’t make a fool of myself even once. You should have seen me, and you could have, if you had come speak to me rather than listening to court gossip; you had promised you’d be there.” “You’re right.” you admit “I’m sorry, it’s just… well, I wasn’t sure about what you felt, and I hoped you would… tell me…”

💚 Zoro admits that this is exactly what he planned on doing after the ball, once he had officially come of age: declare his feelings and ask for permission to court you. “I… already tried, in fact. You probably don’t know, but among swordsmen and warriors in general, there is a tradition… to gift a weapon to one another, as a declaration of intent. I enjoyed teaching you to use a sword, and want you to have one to defend yourself, but I also hoped that… well, that you would understand I was trying to tell you what I feel…”

💚 You softly point out that you had no way to know the hidden meaning of his gift, since all you know about swords, you have learned it from him; but now that you do you appreciate it even more… and one day, maybe, you’ll find a sword powerful and special enough to gift it to him. By now you’re both smiling; there are so many things you should say, but none is more important than the pure, precious feeling of belonging you are both experiencing, trust and friendship and affection all in one, Zoro’s forehead resting against yours as you feel able to breathe freely for the first time in years. Then your eyes meet and “May I?” he asks “I know I shouldn’t be here, and I can talk to your father first thing tomorrow if it makes you…” He can’t finish the sentence, because you have silenced him with a kiss, long and passionate, that Zoro instantly returns, holding you close as you lock your arms behind his neck; when you part, both gasping for air, neither of you feels the need to talk, but you hold each other tight.

💚 In the end, Zoro quietly asks for your permission to speak to your father; he has already spoken to his, and Mihawk has approved his decision -”Seriously?” “Absolutely. He didn’t look surprised, but I could swear he was sincerely happy for us.”- to ask for permission to court you. You tell him that nothing would make you happier, but he better wait for you to come of age as well, in three months, and until then you can write to each other, sharing your feelings in the intimacy of the written word.

💚 “Can’t you stay here until then? I think I’m in dire need of more dancing classes.” “Hmmm, I should help you perfect your technique then…”

💚 That night you throw caution to the wind, and ask Zoro to stay, which he eagerly accepts. You spend hours holding each other in bed, sharing whispers and kisses as your hands move to explore skin you had until now barely dared to hope you would one day get to caress. “This is why I couldn’t bear to dance with you at first, you know?” he confesses in a whisper as his fingers play with your hair “Because I… I already cared for you, and the thought of touching you made my pulse quicken. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to keep myself in check, and I would end up making a fool of myself.” You assure him that you could have never considered him a fool, and that knowing of his feelings makes you indescribably happy.

💚 “So, my prince, you think you can understand ladies a little better now?” you ask him in the end, as he holds you in his arms once more, your cheek resting against his shoulder, and Zoro smiles. “I think I got to understand at least one.” he points out softly “And that is more than enough for me.”

💚 You get married two years after your coming-of-age, with the approval of both of your fathers, surrounded by your friends, including princesses Nami and Vivi, who you have grown very close to and who are also newly married; by now you’ve become quite capable as a swordswoman, even though Zoro insists there is always room for improvement. Your husband, more handsome than ever in his wedding suit and whose eyes are full of the love you share and that never stops growing, takes your hand to lead you to the centre of the ballroom, and you feel your heart burst with joy, excited to spend the rest of your life by his side. “Ready, wife?” “I’ve always been ready, since I met you, husband.” you assure him; you rest your left hand on his shoulder and let him take the other in his, confident in your heart he’s never letting it go. A moment later you’re following him through the steps of your first waltz as a married couple, your bodies moving as one as the world seems to disappear from around you.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Roronoa Zoro #Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Zoro x reader #Bellona's stuff

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blueberrypancakesworld · 7 months

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Never wake a sleeping Dragon - Yan!Viserys x fem!reader

warning : yandere, obsession, implied overprotective, mentioning of death/war, hurt/comfort , fluff, kissing

Summary : Visery the king in him is the burning blood of the dragon. A thing that most of the people around him tend to forget he is "the peaceful" however when a new Queen is needed a heir for the kingdom the dragon awakes when a storm is starting to geather and obsession is forged. He will not let her get away from his dragon dream.

Info : Never imagined that I would be writting for Viserys but I like the idea of a quiete yandere type that goes full obsession when his love tries to flee. Afterall he is a Targaryen and everytime a Targaryen is born the coin decides the fate ;) And Paddy looks good so yeah....have fun;)

masterlist

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The King of the Seven Kingdoms Viserys, peacefully the first of his name, was the ruler of King's Landing and all the lands. A man who had ridden one Balerion to the Black Death, the mighty beast that had been dead for decades. A man who was always eyed, especially by his brother.

Daemon, the only prince of the realm and his younger brother, on the other hand, was the picture of a Targaryen. Quick-tempered, insanely brutal and lusting after blood and fire. But his brother Viserys was peaceful, enjoying the simple pleasures of music, jousting and building stone decorations.

The sleeping dragon was what his enemies, the common people and the king's court called him. A dragon on a throne who slept and sent his brother and troops instead of unleashing his wrath.

A man who mourned all his lost children with his first wife Aemma Arryn until his only child Rhaenyra was born. The princess of the realm of the rich and handsome.

The beautiful image of her mother and the fieriness of her uncle Daemon who was devoted to his niece. The dragon was happy for some time, his dream, his dragon dreams had shown him a son, another prince, and when his wife became pregnant again, the queen gave birth to the son Baelon through the blood of the falcon and the dragon.

The king was filled with joy, but this was to be taken from him. His own wife condemned to death, his son dead and his daughter turning away from him in her own grief, he had lost everything.

He had lost his flames, his dragons and seemed completely alone. Alone in his chambers, just himself and the dim fire in the fireplace, the unfinished Valyria and the wine at the table. The dragon seemed to have lost his own.

The gaze of the violet eyes of the tired, haggard man had turned away from the fireplace and was looking at the picture of his wife, the painting he had had painted.

Until a knock at the door made him look up. ,,Away!" he had said loud enough for the person to disappear but when his door opened he placed the portrait on his bed and rose to confront the intruder.

The glow inside him seemed to spark and he wanted to be alone. ,,I said I want to be alone!" he hissed and was about to reach for his sword when he saw a woman a little older than his daughter, a lady in waiting, a then still young chick from his wife, the rest of her.

He vaguely remembered her from his grief, how she chose her ladies in waiting, how the ladies enjoyed themselves and spent time together. But after her death they were all gone, he had given them money and sent them back to their families, except for her.

She stayed, her relatives died in the battles in the kingdoms. She was the lady of the house without a seat without a stay and now the only lady-in-waiting who held on to Aemma.

,,My lady… what can I do?" He asked, his voice no longer angry but tired and exhausted. He sat back in the armchair and covered his face with his hands. ,,My king? Lord Hand has instructed me to bring you some food," he heard her voice, still caring for him despite his suffering.

Her king. She should be mourning her kings friend. What sacrifice from such a woman he thought and raised his eyes to her dark black dress. Grief. Saw her coming towards him a moment before he waited for her to sit next to him on the chair.

They had not seen each other since the funeral of his Aema and Baelon, days in which he had not seen her. His Aemma-no, her smile. ,,That's very kind of you…do you mind staying?" he asked her and it seemed to him that as the king, the man with the most power, he was asking her permission.

He saw how she didn't hesitate, how there was only a brief flash of uncertainty about his well-being. ,,Of course, here's some tea from the Maestar," she said and Viserys shifted in his seat even though he was only wearing his loose shirt and trousers, the jewelry on his body made him look better.

Putting on his expensive clothes, however, meant going back out there, following the sad eyes to a throne without her. Glancing at her, his violet eyes watched as she handed him the plate of bread and eggs, the bacon still warm, and he felt his stomach actually craving food.

Only wine and drugged flowers were not food, at least not what he was supposed to have. Until suddenly he heard a cry of pain and wheeled around to face her. Almost throwing the plate aside, he saw that the boiling water had splashed on her hand by coming up in the goblet. ,,Wait," he said hastily and took the cup from her hand and the pot.

The vapor, the heat showing effect on her hand red hot and hurting her. Like the flame of a dragon. ,,It's… all right Viserys," she pressed out, tears in her eyes saying something else and at that moment he didn't feel helpless, not intimidated. He was alive. The fascination, his dream.

The fire, his son. ,,Burned by fire-I mean, did you burn yourself very badly? Wait, I'll get something," he said, feeling his thoughts racing as he rose from her, she would end up making the dream real, replacing his imagination. This woman in smoke and flames?

He fetched a pain-relieving ointment from his bedside cabinet and came back to her, seeing how she had pulled out her handkerchief to dry her tears, but the trembling of her hands made it rather sluggish. ,,Thank you Vis-forgive me my King but you don't have to" she insisted as she watched in panic as the King knelt before her, his hands gently and lovingly taking the cloth and wiping away her tears.

His violet eyes did not leave hers and he saw this dream more and more clearly as she looked at him with respect, gratitude and something he could not interpret. Something he was only told later by his brother. Fear.

,,Please, I insist that your tears should not be shed any more. A gentle healing as opposed to the flames," he murmured, pleased when he saw that she had stopped crying and gave him a grateful look. Applying the slab to the wound the burning disappeared after a few minutes the warmth remained but the fast beating heart in her chest from the shock was slow to recover.

,,Thank you my king… I should go, my presence disturbs the mourners" she replied to him and rose from her seat, the handkerchief falling into his hands before she hurried to the door. The flower in the face of the sleeping dragon, the pretty coin unused and still open to a hand.

As if possessed by something else, he reached for her hand and held it, not wanting her to leave. ,,My lady, please… I expect you to stay with me," the words of the tone that was a command left his lips at the same time. She had no chance of escaping from this room and the flower had no choice but to give up her pretty goodness to him of her own free will. She came back to him, sat down next to him and stayed with him.

She kept her king company as he commanded and for the first time something like joy, devotion and perhaps love seemed to return to the king's heart.

It was a feeling that had consequences, for in the days and weeks that followed, this feeling was transformed into something found in the Targaryen madness. As the blood of the dragons flowed, the king felt a sense of ownership.

She was his possession and for the first time the dragon in him seemed to stir and finally get rid of the name of the peaceful one.

Something his lovely counterpart had no idea what it meant to face a Targaryen.

The next few days and weeks changed to a different rhythm. Instead of Alicent, the daughter of the hand, the king always had the lady called to him, seeking her company at any given time.

In the morning at his breakfast, he had her called to him, his violet eyes showing joy when he saw her figure, the tip of her nightgown sticking out from under her dark robe.

,,My king, you wanted to see me again," she said and joined him at the table where she sat down opposite him. She knew that he was lonely, her beloved Aeamm was dead and she felt guilty for giving comfort to the king as well as the princess and heiress.

The princess Rhaenyra without a mother, who had often come to her, had taken her lovingly in her arms and cried together while they had been more closely connected. But Viserys felt almost uncomfortable in the face of the dragon.

Rhaenyra the young dragoness her warmth was healing but his fire was burning. She had always liked to be there for her king and somehow also a friend, but now it seemed like the stories in the Masters' books. Every Targaryen is a dragon and a dragon obsessively searches for its treasure to guard.

But something told her that Viserys would gradually fall for this side of the infamous coin. Something she was right about and yet she had no idea how far this would go.

The pair's breakfast was quiet as she saw the king's smile, something that made her happy inside, but as the days and weeks wore on, the dragon's fire seemed to tighten around her. When she was not with Rhaenyra, Alicent or her own advisors for her house, she was always seen with Viserys.

The dragon took the first step when he got up one evening after dinner and fetched a box big enough to store several things in. ,,My dear, I want to thank you for everything you have given me in the last few weeks…I could finally smile again and feel something special," he began and opened the gift of a dress and a necklace for her.

,,Viserys this is a sign of unbelievable craftsmanship I can't accept this" she said and turned away the fear that he would command her again was there but the fear of losing her king and husband of her beloved friend and queen into this darkness again no she couldn't do that. Wasn't it everyone's duty to keep the king happy no matter what the cost?

But the blond Targaryen would not be beaten, he had not just let her body mass give way to images.

He had taken her as far as he could from the outside. With the dress, the fabric he had chosen, the necklace of the best metal of Valyrian steel and the ruby, he would touch her for all to see and make her his. ,,But I insist, my love, on a dress as a token of my gratitude for what you have done," he continued, handing her the fabric, a look of shame on her face as she realized he wanted her to try it on.

Looking around, however, she saw that he must have taken precautions because a partition carved out of fine wood with dragon motifs and legends stood in the room that had not been there before. ,,Please, I insist," he said, not necessarily emphatically, but she knew what he meant.

She could not ignore an order from the king. The fabric of the dark dress was surprisingly warm, like the scales of a dragon, and even if he no longer had Balerion, she knew he could have taken any dragon that was still alive or about to hatch.

His violet eyes lay on the wood seeming to peer through it to see her soft body and the dragon's violet eyes showed lust and devotion as she stepped forward a few minutes later.

,,I-I look like a Targaryen," she murmured, the dark black dress with the red embroidery of a dragon and the finest gold escaping her thoughts. It was not the colors of her house, it was not the color of her Aemma, its colors were the colors of King Viserys Targaryen.

He came up to her and circled her, running his hand carefully over the fabric, ,,Handsome and beautiful," he murmured the words of praise before he stopped behind her and she heard the faint tinkling of metal as she listened to the chain.

She held her breath as she felt the cold Valyrian steel around her neck and ran her fingers over it. ,,A Targaryen you will be too for I have decided my love I want you as my new wife as the new Targaryen Queen" he said taking her hands and for the first time she saw his own madness of the dragon flicker in his eyes.

A will of the King a will that made her cry because even though she liked him and had certain feelings for him, a marriage, becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the responsibility that came with it to bear him children was true.

She couldn't say yes but that's how he knew he could force her…and he did. The first traces of his obsession with his madness were laid the day he married her in the tradition of his house.

The tradition she could not escape. And even if only years later he married his second wife Alicent, the story of the Dance of the Dragons would play out as it was foretold, until then his madness with his second wife his flower was the only thing that mattered.

Her colors of the house long forgotten only reflected in the ring her mother had left her, the lands of her house given to a distant relative whose right to finally see his second niece was punished with wrath by the king.

Viserys for the first time any lords who even dared to question the second queen found themselves impaled on the castle walls, their tongues severed or burned by Syrax, Meyleys or Caraxes when the king ordered his kinsmen to do so.

,,All this because of a woman who doesn't even come from a significant house," she had heard Lord Corlys say, who was on his way back to Driftmark with his wife and the two of them had met with Rhaenyra and Daemon.

The king himself knew from the trouble she was causing that lords and ladies were already looking around whispering about what was going on with the king.

,,Help me my lords my princess," she had dared to join the group, the dark colors on her now like an endless dragon pit where fire awaited her every night.

Viserys didn't let her out of his sight, she slept in his bed every night and even though she tried to love him, she was always trying to return the physical contact with kindness.

With each night, with each time, she saw more and more marks on her body that he left behind, not painfully, but she knew that the fabric of her clothes could hardly cover them any more. She had waited as the king released his anger on her kinsman and banished him from the city.

He had robbed her of her right to the title of Lady of the House. ,,Targaryen should marry houses from Valyria the simple flower perishes in fire" she had begged the group Rhaenyra who had asked her for help so many times had tried to help her.

But with every attempt they made to dragon, to bot or to escape with the carriage everything was blamed on a mysterious attenat by the four of them.

But every attempt failed, and the kingdoms watched as the news of Alicent Hightower's second pregnancy spread through the realms with joy in this delight to the fear of Corly, Rhaenys, Rhaenyra and Daemon Visery's second wife.

First Aemma Arryn died the second wife full of mysteries and strange events the jewel of the king which suddenly disappeared and the third wife who brought peace and war for the future.

But what they all didn't know was that in the depths of the castle, when the king went down with the torch in his hand, he went further in than even his brother probably knew.

The old forgotten Valyrian part and influence revealed itself. ,,My dear, I'm back…did you like the metal?" he asked as he walked through the common room past the cells where he had spiked her after her four "attacks". He wasn't stupid he knew that his own daughter and brother had tried to "save" her with his cousin and her husband.

He knew that they did not approve of this marriage, neither politically nor personally, she had only wanted to return to her home to the last people she had left.

Her friendship with Rhaenyra and Alicent was over. Now she would never escape from the castle again, nor from him

Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

It was the place where the king could finally turn to his true treasure. Not his daughter, his wife, his son or his brother. He was with her, with his true dream, with the woman who would bring him his son and promised prince.

Walking into the great room he saw his beloved his Targaryen the clothes he had brought her the clothes he had given her all in the black and red of the house the jewelry, books and paintings were to entertain her when he was not there. When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell.

No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of. Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes.

Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it go?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flabby belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

But it seemed that with each passing month everything would become less warm, the fire in the fireplace not warm, the clothes on her no color and his love was the madness of the dragon she had never seen so strong. ,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Now she would never be able to escape from the castle or from him. Pulling the key from his robe, he unlocked the large door to the cell. The metal gave way and the bolt was pushed back, which was once for the most serious criminals or the people most in need of protection.

When the dragon didn't come to her in his madness, she prayed almost every night and even though time passed, her belly didn't swell. No child wanted to grow inside her, but no, it wasn't her fault, it was something else he was sure of.

Because when he took her, the shadows of her dragon reflected on the wall and the sounds of her love echoed through the room, he knew that the prince had to spring from her womb.

,,My pretty wife... tell me, how are you feeling?" he asked, walking over to her armchair, where she sat, as always, in front of the fireplace with a book on her lap and an absent look in her eyes. Fear had been reflected in it at first, but after an indefinite time every house broke under the dragon sooner or later.

He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, cold and not warm like him, the smile that played around his lips threatening to tip over. The madness only ever lasted until a dragon was no longer entertained.

The grip on her hands tightened for a moment, becoming painful until she finally looked at him. ,,Viserys...you're back...how did it went?" she asked as usual, obviously pretending to him that she was still living on the Hoffe with the others. As if she was always waiting for an opportunity to leave.

But they both knew that she would never leave this room again. ,,The lords are satisfied for a while, don't worry my queen, tell me how your prince is doing" and he put his hand on her flat belly where even after the countless nights of trying. In trying, she had tried to see all this as a story, a book of the lost maiden who would finally be free when she gave birth to the king's son.

,,I try my king every tincture, every meal...even the old books but I don't carry your seed" she murmured and looked at him the violet of his eyes just like Rhaenyras and Daemon's she missed the court, her friends and the sun.

Viserys let out a disappointed sigh he knew it wasn't because of her she never did she was young and of Targaryen blood there had to be a child someday. His hand went from her leg to her hands and took the book from her, his specially chosen book on Valyria.

She knew that ever since he had given her the keldi that he had made her into something. A Targayren tried to transform her in one way and another. His hand slid gently over hers, its softness stimulating, it was something like another time.

But when his other hand slid down from her flat, bare belly and stroked the fabric of her legs, she knew exactly what he wanted. What he was here for almost every time. His initial gentleness soothing the kisses, hugs, gifts and caresses.

But his other way the coin that was thrown this madness was burning. ,,I know you're trying my love and I'll be there for you...for our child" he said softly as he lifted her out of the chair and gave her a kiss.

His warmth burned on her like a fire but it was the only thing she felt that was still real as she returned the kiss. her arms slowly wrapped around him, clinging to the dragon's scales, her knees to his wings, feeling the warmth of his fire as he gently stroked the kelid from her body.

The dragon laid her on the tower of coins, the bed of old wood carved with signs of Valyria. His gestures, words and pain the lust mingled with the pain. But she seemed to react to him again after a long time, to finally feel that burning sensation inside her.

But she looked at him saw the dragon the madness and perhaps it was because of the flames of the fireplace that she saw Balerion the black dread in the shadows, Viserys rising as the dragon Valyrias.

She herself was seized by the fire when she felt him again, as she did every night. But this time it was different it seemed the uncertainty was burned out of her the house she once belonged to the name was irrelevant.

She mattered as his queen...as the woman who would bear the promised prince to the king. Perhaps she herself had fallen into the madness of the Targayren before all this, and now rose as a dragon from the flames.

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#hotd #house of the dragon #king viserys #viserys targaryen #viserys the peaceful #viserys x reader #viserys targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #reader is female #yandere

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writing-for-life · 5 months

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About Love As The Catalyst For Change

Okay, so while I was going through all the panels for March Mania, I also stumbled over these ones again:

And although I’ve read it all a million times and had all these feelings before, I just need to blurt them out:

Love Is What Changes Him

It’s such a central message of The Sandman, but I feel it often gets lost in a million other things. And they’re all important, but so is this one.

Because yes, Dream went with Delirium and found Destruction (and Despair found him btw), and his Destiny was Death. And that whole Desire thing… ‘nuff said. BUT… (major spoilers ahead)

Those panels above are basically the turning point in a nutshell. No, well, the turning point is actually the moment he kisses (and then kills) Orpheus, but those panels are the essence:

He set out with Delirium in hopes to find Thessaly (the pendant Nuala wears here used to be hers, and she gave it to her when she left the Dreaming and him. And I can’t even begin to tell you how I feel about him letting Nuala keep a gift of his ex, who betrays him later by protecting the woman he hurt, and then making it the item that holds the power with which Nuala can call in her boon. One could spin that very far in all sorts of different directions).

But when he comes back after killing Orpheus, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Thessaly was the usual romanticised dream that could never be real. But he finally did find love. For his son. The unconditional kind. The one that doesn’t need anything in return because it just is. And he was loved back, if for a brief moment. But it was real, not a dream. And that love stays real (that’s why it initiates the turn, 3rd act and all that).

I’m reminded again of the words of Frank McConnell in his intro to The Kindly Ones:

“And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.”

(Side note at this point: With all of this in mind, read Dream Hunters [again], and look at all THREE main characters—that includes the onmyōji, not just the monk and the fox.)

And it would be so easy to say, “Well, love killed him then, what’s the fucking point?” Not just the love for his son, but also the love of a maiden who called in her boon (Nuala), the love of a mother for her child (Lyta), the love of a crone for no one but herself (Thessaly).

But we all know that “change or die” was never an “either or”, because it’s an “and both”. And it’s ultimately love, in all its shapes and forms, four times over, that changed him (while it was also part of the death knell, but that’s a complicated one. In any case, it also led to change: To be(come) a new, better, kinder Dream).

Yes, call me romantic or hopeless (although I think that’s the wrong word in this context, because I feel it’s the opposite), I don’t care.

Because that story is about catharsis. And that means Dream is a vessel for our feelings. And the feelings won’t be the same if we change any of this, for better, for worse. Because truthfully: That story is about me. And you. And you.

About allowing love, of whatever kind (this is very clearly not just about romantic love), to change us. And that ultimately means letting go (of control). Just like he did.

Bleurgh, I’m crying. Catharsis 🤣

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rdr2stories · 4 months

Text

"Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?" A rdr fanfiction.

A short fanfiction about Jack Marston.

My uncle stood next to me, the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the sun coming down from above. He held a fishing pole in his hand, his line ended somewhere out in the middle of the river where he had thrown it. My line is only half his length, my small arms could not handle more, he had caught three fish, I had yet to catch anything. I found fishing boring, the flowers in the grass further up the shore looked pretty, they made a nice necklace to mama.

Father, I can’t help but remember that day when you asked me to fish with you, when you grabbed the bucket and the two fishing rods. You looked awkward, but happy somehow, you didn’t quite know what to do with me, I didn’t quite know what to feel. I still found fishing boring but caught a fish before you did, you were impressed and I was unsuccessful in keeping spite from my voice when I told you it was uncle who taught me. You simply replied “oh did he now?”

Uncle was never a good fisherman, yet the day he taught me he told me I was the second little boy he had taught to fish, I used to wonder why I didn’t have a cousin if that was so, but with time it simply made me realise why he hated you.

He died eight years prior to that fishing trip with you father, meaning it had been eight years since my first fishing trip. I had been just four and when I stood with the rod in my hands again I had been just twelve, it had been just eight years since uncles death, you barely talk about him, your brother, I barely remember what he looks like, but I remember what I had seen him as; my father. He brought me a comic book, and I drew him a drawing of a family, it had been him who had taken the place of the father, not you, I carried not his blood but to me he was my father.

It has been eight years, eight years since your eyes last held disgust, eight years since you last yelled at me, eight years since you decided that you wanted to be my father.

While I forgave I never forgot and I never stopped wondering. Oh father, what did I do for you to reject me? What did I do to be unworthy of your love and why was it first when you decided I fit into your life that you allowed me to be your son? Whatever could a child still growing in the womb have done to make you hate it? I am a creation of love, I shared the blood of the woman you held dear, yet that affection not only did not extent to me it was also cut off from her when she came to carry me.

Am I somehow so terrible that the woman who birthed me no longer deserved the affection of the man whos love created me?

Father, did you forget? That day on the riverbed, had you forgetten the way you used to look at me? The way you never even tried to hide your disgust but would shout it so everyone would hear, you were so ashamed by me that you chose to humiliate your son of four years in front of everyone in the area. I cried to mama that day because my child brain did not understand that you hated her just as much as you did me, that she was just as hurt by the way you shouted at her as I was by the way you looked at me.

Father, did you know I used to hide in my aunt’s skirts yet I could still hear the sound when she slapped your cheek through the fabric? I remember it even now though she has not laid her hand on you for eight years, she wanted you to accept me. I was too young to know then, but I now know what she meant when she said “I don’t care how you feel about me, but at least make an effort with the boy.” Did you yell at her for telling you to love me?

Father, did you know I don’t react to my own name? The one we share? The one given to me by my mother before you decided to give me a nickname because the idea that the two of us would share four letters made you angry? I have never once been called by our name, though it has always been a dream of mine.

When you speak to me, you speak as if your voice has never carried anything but love, I wish it was the truth, and although I am happy it doesn’t give sour comments no more I can’t help but wonder when you decided I was worth your time? Was it first when you saw someone else take the role you had taken for granted?

I know the man you called father, the man I called grandfather, never carried your blood and you never his, yet it was also him you drew on drawings and it was him you taught you to fish. We are similar in that sense and because of that I can’t help but wonder when you took me to that riverbed, did you hope you could teach me to fish?

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

Note

I love the troupe of finding Astarions parents. Can I ask for a request of Tiriel and Alethaine running into an elven woman at a market who looks suspiciously similar to Astarion please? If not that’s totally cool!

Past Grief

Synopsis: There were years when Sylenn Ancunin was happy, but ever since her only son died her life as been all mysery and sorrows. And now she meets a young elf who reminds her of what she lost.

Tags: hurt\comfort, dadstarion, astarion's mother

The fic is set a few months prior The Dhampirs of the Sword Coast

Alethaine's age - 24-years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading! Thank you for being the fastest reader in the wild west!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

There were years when Sylenn Ancunin was a warrior.

She was a fighter, one of the many protectors of Evereska.

There were years when she was a scholar, diving deep into the secrets of elven history.

There were years when she was a mother and a wife – but those decades disappeared into oblivion, a true curse of elven existence.

It’s all gone.

Her first child – a girl – died when orcs ambushed one of the elven towns. Sylenn was still young and the very idea she could overlive her own children sounded unreal. They were elves, not humans! Their children didn’t die unless mortal danger came for them.

But orcs smashed Sylenn Ancunin’s baby daughter against the wall and the elf would forever remember how she held a lifeless body whose every bone had been broken into tiny pieces.

She got pregnant again – sixty years later. Her husband and Thiramin assured Sylenn everything would be fine. Everything… But three human mages killed him, and her sorrow caused Sylenn to miscarriage. Another rare thing for Tel'Quessir. Still weak and bleeding, she put her heavy armor on and avenged them both, slaughtering the cursed wizards like livestock.

Then, she buried her Thiramin and returned to Evereska, to her home, where at last she was among her own kind.

A century passed, slow and peaceful. She married again – never did she love Caeldrim as much as she did her Thiramin. But he was a good friend and partner, and Sylenn was happy by his side.

The only thing she truly wanted back then was to conceive a child. She wanted to become a mother, she wanted this gift she had been deprived of twice.

Sylenn prayed to all of the elven gods. Corellon, Hanali, Sehanine, Naralis…Each of them.

Until one day, instead of a reverie, she had a dream. A silhouette weaved of light placed a small star in her hands.

The gods gave her a child.

… Now, centuries later, Sylenn fears and waits for those memories when she reveries. The moment the healer placed a newborn boy in her hands.

Astarion. Her little star.

He was born with curled silver hair and when he was a child he resembled a dandelion. Sylenn remembers Astarion was a crybaby, always demanding her attention. He wanted his mother to hold him, to carry him around their house. And, should he have a nightmare or some ghostly shadows of his past lives haunted him, he came straight to her, eyes puffy, lips quivering. Sylenn would lull him back to sleep but rarely carried him back to bed.

The boy had the temper of a human, and Caeldrim joked that some of their ancestors must have bedded a N Tel'Quessir. Sylenn’s son was smart and brave, and if she couldn’t find him anywhere, it meant he was in a library – learning new things, new languages, new facts.

Or he could have been in the hills, if the sun shone brightly. Caeldrim’s mother called her grandson Sunflower – for he sometimes would spend hours just standing in the sun enjoying its warmth.

Sylenn taught Astarion to fight. A longsword. Daggers. All possible weapons. She often took him outside Evereska to show him the world behind the elven realm.

It fascinated him.

Sylenn knew Astarion would leave to see the world soon enough. When she would see him again, he would be an adult – and she wished his childhood would last just a little longer.

It didn’t.

Her baby boy grew up. A beautiful elf whose eyes were green like the hills of Evereska and whose hair was the color of moonlight.

There is another memory Sylenn is afraid to re-live.

The last time she saw Astarion.

He was twenty-four. Fully-grown. Handsome and beautiful, taller than other elves, with hands almost as strong as a human’s.

Astarion was standing in front of her in his traveling armor and Sylenn couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I will be fine, o’si,” he told her. “Besides, you taught me so well, I could put up with a devil in a fight!”

“Don’t be stupid, Astarion” she tiptoed and kissed his forehead. “Pity, I didn’t finish the circlet I wanted to give you.” She pointed at the unfinished twisted rope-like headwear adorned with a little star.

“You can finish it by the time I get my adult name.” Astarion kissed her cheek.

And he left. Sometimes in her reverie, Sylenn wants to cry and beg her only son to stay. Besides, not all adult elves leave their homes! Some stay where they were born.

Her Astarion disappeared. That wretched city he went to study murdered him and no one could even tell her how it happened.

After eighty years of receiving no message from him, Sylenn left Evereska one last time and traveled to the West.

To find her son’s grave.

They even buried him like a human – and Sylenn wanted to dig the grave with her bare hands. Her son didn’t deserve to rot in the ground but all strength left Sylenn and she spent a day curling in the graveyard until a guardian came to check on her and took her to the inn.

With the years, Sylenn accepted what happened. Besides, there are fates much worse than death.

Her son could have been cursed. Or turned into an undead. At least she knows he sleeps peacefully in his grave and maybe if the gods allow she will meet him in their afterlife.

Sylenn Ancunin never returned to Evereska. She came to Neverwinter, found her youth friend, a gnome paladin, and asked him to give her a place in his adventuring guild.

At least dying in battle is better than rotting in her own misery.

A reeking scent of death lingers over the cave and Sylenn curses. This part of the dungeon disgusts her, and if it wasn’t for her mission she would have already returned to the surface.

“Well, they told us ‘dead or alive’,” the Dragonborn by her side chuckles and points at a dead human prince whose body is torn in two.

“We need to find the map,” Sylenn sits on a boulder. “I am too old to wear armor.”

“You are not old,” the Dragonborn laughs. “You are what, only a millenia?”

Sylenn cringes. Well, is there any difference between being five hundred years old and a millenia?

“Almost,” Sylenn says. The warrior looks at her with awe – and she knows how she looks in his eyes.

A forever young woman with long silver hair and a pair of emerald green eyes. Delicate and thin but in the full set of heavy armor. Other races in Faerun don’t care how old elves are.

“Let’s set up a camp somewhere it doesn’t stink. And where the fuck is Irbis?”

Sylenn decides she isn’t going to take off her armor. Who knows what killed the prince? And they need the map that leads to the secret dungeons of the Dark Elves. The lord of Gauntlgrym won’t be happy if the party comes back empty-handed – and with his dead son’s body.

“He must have found a whore to spend the night with and forgot about us,” Selynn says. She has never liked Irbis – the human man cares only about ale and gold and would sell all of his companions for a good pact with a devil.

“You have a dirty mouth for an elf,” the Dragonborn notices.

“I’ve been through such shit within my lifetime I have every right to swear like a drunken dwarf.”

Whatever the Dragonborn wants to say next is interrupted by loud steps.

“And who am I supposed to talk to?” A young woman demands and her voice echoes through the cave.

“This one” Irbis answers, letting a stranger approach the corpse.

Sylenn turns her head.

She sees a young woman in a black traveling armor. Her long silver hair, so common for Moon elves, is braided.

“This is Alethaine,” Irbis announces. “She is going to talk to that… body. So good I’ve met a necromancer in these lands!”

Alethaine yawns.

“Good morning.”

“It’s almost sunset,” Sylenn says.

“It’s morning when I wake up,” Alethaine bites her lower lip. “Alae, etriel,” she adds in Elven.

Sylenn meets the necromancer’s eyes and feels a wave of uneasiness.

The girl looks like an elf. Pointy ears, slim and delicate body. But there is something off about her, as if she pretended very hard to look like Tel’Quessira.

But wasn't one.

“Oh, and they say all dragonborns look alike!” the Dragonborn laughs. “Look, Sylenn, you could have been sisters!”

“She looks nothing like me!” Sylenn whispers as quietly as she can. Alethaine’s ear twitches and Sylenn realizes the necromancer can perfectly hear her. “Besides, there is something… strange about her!”

“My mother is half human,” Alethaine says looking at the mutilated corpse. “Maybe, this is what bothers you?”

As if there were such a thing as a pure-blooded elf, Sylenn thinks. No, it’s something else about her that makes the old elf shiver.

“We are so lucky to find someone who can talk to the dead!” Irbis announces. “I entered the tavern, no hope to help the cause and that… that young woman was beating a cleric of Lathander with a book.”

“My dad taught me to beat the shit out of perverts who eye me out,” Alethaine casually says. ‘Hope the bastard has a concussion.”

“I think you broke his spine.”

“Even better!” Alethaine sits beside the corpse looking at the body with such tenderness as if it was a child or a cute animal. “Who is going to ask the questions?”

The Dragonborn pushes Sylenn forward and the warrior approaches. No, the body doesn’t disgust her.

It’s the young elf who scares her.

“Only five questions,” Alethaine says, puts her arm to the dead man’s chest, and mutters a spell. The corpse stirs and its eyes glow green.

Sylenn has witnessed death. But necromancy is so unnatural and disgusting that she hates the very idea of the prince's body being violated this way.

“Where is the map?” Sylenn asks.

The corpse is silent.

“You asked it the wrong way,” Alethaine says.

“Where is the map to the Dark Elves’ lair?”

“They burned it.”

“Fuck. Who?”

“The one who killed us,” the corpse says.

“Who killed you? And where is the lair?!”

“I don’t know.”

Alethaine grabs Sylenn’s hand. “You have one question left!”

“Who killed you?!”

“Shadows.”

And the corpse goes silent.

“Very informative,” Ibris mutters.

“You still have to pay me!” Alethaine says. “Ask better questions next time!”

Sylenn pulls away. Everything is lost. They better run to the town and warn than the Dark Elves will probably try to attack them soon enough…

“Watch out!” Ibris yells.

A shadow detaches itself from the walls and pierces the human with its claws. Blood spills on the stones

Sylenn grabs her sword. The whole place bursts with movement. Shadows, screeching and wailing, surround them. The Dragonborn falls and Sylenn knows he is already dead.

“Oh fuck…” Sylenn mutters.

Alethaine jumps on her feet.

“Do something!” Sylenn yells but the shadows surround Alethaine threatening to destroy the young necromancer with necrotic damage.

But instead…The claws don’t hurt her, as if she was an undead. Alethaine looks pissed and angry as if someone spilled her ale in the tavern. She pushes Sylenn away from the shadows and despite all the heavy armor, the elf feels herself thrown away like a kitten.

“OBEY” Alethaine orders. “BEGONE!”

The shadows curl around her. Sylenn thinks the creatures don’t understand why they can’t hurt the weird woman.

Her eyes glow green.

“I SAID, BEGONE!”

The last thing Sylenn remembers is the shadows running right through her.

Sylenn wakes up her head upside down. She notices a narrow pathway below her and also the fact someone is carrying her on their shoulders.

In a full heavy armor set.

“Easy money, easy money,” Alethaine mutters. “You, guys, didn’t even have loot I could scavenge! It seems like these are bad times for adventuring finances, am I right?”

Alethaine carries Sylenn as if she were a child. More than that, her sword and bow were still on her and it seemed like the necromancer couldn’t care less about the weight.

The sun still shines in the skies and Sylenn suppresses the irrational fear the girl is a vampire.

“Since you woke up, etriel, where to go next?”

“I’m Sylenn. Don’t call me etriel, I am not a noble.”

“All right, even better! So, where?”

… Alethaine finds Sylenn’s house when it’s already dark. She opens the door with her leg and the loud slam echoes through the empty streets.

Then, the necromancer gently places the wounded fighter on the bed and stretches like a lazy cat.

“You are wounded,” Alethaine says. “Do you have bandages?”

Sylenn tries to get rid of her armor but can’t. All her body aches and she realizes she has a burning wound on her stomach.

“Stay still,” the necromancer orders and starts to unlace the straps.

“Do you know how to do it?” Sylenn wonders. “Or you only tend the dead?”

“My mother is just like you. Constantly comes home in her armor and it’s just meat and blood under it. I’ve learned to tend wounds at a very early age. Well, she doesn’t wear heavy armor - says it restrains her in a fight”

“So your mother is a berserker?”

“She prefers ‘barbarian’ but yes.”

Sylenn relaxes and allows Alethaine to bandage the wounds. Another wave of fear passes through the elf when she notices how the necromancers lick her lips at the sight of blood”

“What are you?” Sylenn asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You are not an elf but you look like one. Try to act like one. But you can’t lie to the elves, we know you are not one of us. So, I ask you again, Alethaine, what are you?”

Alethaine sits in the armchair looking straight into Sylenn’s eyes. The girl is so fucking pale she could have been a ghost.

Then she opens her mouth.

“What the…” Sylenn elbows. “Are you a vampire?!”

“I am a dhampir. This is much worse! I once bit my dad’s wrists and the flesh wouldn’t regenerate for a month!” Alethaine smiles. “And it’s a little bit offensive considering I saved you.”

Sylenn lies back on the bed. Dhampirs… Half-dead children of vampires. Sylenn thought they were legends.

But one of them sits in front of her.

“I can leave,” Alethaine says.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Stay. You’ve saved me. Be… my guest.”

It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who doesn’t see a five-century-old elven warrior in her. Alethaine speaks in perfect elven and curses like a sailor. Her eyes burn as Sylenn tells her about her own adventures and about elven history. As she concentrates on the stories, her eyes glow red and she bites her right thumb.

By the morning Sylenn finally manages to get into reverie – and this one is bitter again.

Her leg is broken in two and she limps returning home. Hunting has gone wrong and she fell from the hill, snapping her delicate bones.

She mutters curses all the way back and then collapses in the armchair.

Then she realizes she isn’t alone.

Astarion, her Little Star, stands in the center of the room, arms wide open. His eyes are closed and a smile lingers on his pretty face. He is only fourteen and he still retains many of his child features, but Sylenn can already see the adult he is becoming.

He is in the reverie, deep in his own memories – or, maybe, shadows of his past lives. Or ghosts of his future, should he inherit the prophetic gift.

The sun showers his face in its warmth and Sylenn forgets about pain.

Her boy, the gift from the gods.

She just keeps looking at him.

Until the memory fades away.

Sylenn gets up – her wounds are more or less healed. The elf feels dizzy as she goes downstairs.

And sees Alethaine cleaning the set of armor.

“Good morning, Sylenn,” Alethaine bares her fangs. “You’ve slept like a human.”

“You shouldn’t have…”

“No worries, I don’t want to go outside. That dick of a Lathander priest is looking for me anyway. It’s not like I can't run away from a halfling but if I can keep a low profile, I should. Oh…” She looks at Sylenn. “Are you all right?”

Sylenn blinks and realizes she’s been crying. “I… am. Bad memories. And good ones.”

“I can listen if you want,” Alethaine implores.

“How old are you?” Sylenn suddenly asks. “You look rather young for an elf to be on her own.”

“I am twenty-four. I just look… smaller. Because I am a dhampir, you know.”

“Oh, I see… But we rarely let our children go when they are younger than twenty-five. Though, I let mine.”

“I was raised in a human village, and my mother is half a human…And my dad… well, that's a story for another time.”

Sylenn sits down. She rarely talks about her son but for some reason, she feels like she will die if she doesn’t tell her sorrows to that stranger.

“I had a son. Many years ago. He was your age when I let him go and he died fifteen years later. He was my only one. I still see him when I reverie.”

“Oh,” Alethaine says. “I am sorry.”

Both elves are silent. Alethaine looks out the window.

“You know… I sometimes think that if I die, my parents will never know what happened to me. Or they will decades or centuries later.”

Sylenn bitterly smiles. “We elves think we are invincible. But we are not. Death is a rare guest among us, but there is nothing scarier than an elf burying their child. I lost my daughter when she was four, had a miscarriage – and then my son was just killed. Some clerics even thought I was cursed. Though, almost every human has been through the same shit. That corpse you were talking to is the only son of a local ruler. And he will have to bury him.”

Alethaine is silent. Her face resembles a mask and it’s difficult to decipher her emotions.

Then the dhampir stands up and hugs Sylenn burying her face in her chest.

“I am sorry, Sylenn. I am sorry for what has happened to you,” she says and her words are sincere. Sylenn allows tears to flow down her cheeks as she strokes Alethaine’s back.

What are her parents like, Sylenn wonders. Since she is a dhampir, one of them is a vampire. She mentioned her mother, a warrior like Sylenn. But about her father? Do vampires raise their children? Anyway, whoever was responsible for Alethaine’s upbringing did a good job. A necromancer and a dhampir, she saved Sylenn, tended her wounds, and listened to her.

Sylenn makes a mental note to mention Alethaine in her prayers next time. May her parents never have to go through what Sylenn did.

“Well, I suppose I need to flee the town,” Alethaine smiles. “I think I should go to Waterdeep. I can easily mingle with the local weirdos!”

“Thank you, Alethaine,” Sylenn smiles. “I am sorry for being rude”.

“I got used to elves staring at me as if I were a doppelganger.”

“I-I don’t have money to pay you,” Sylenn gets up. “But I want to.”

Sylenn goes to the basement. Turns off the protecting sigils and takes a small chest out of its hiding place.

“I want to give you something,” Sylenn returns to the room. She places the chest on the table and opens it. “When my son said he would leave me with the first snow, I decided to make him a parting gift” Sylenn takes out a circlet. “But I was no artisan and I didn’t finish it. I was supposed to give it to him when he would return to receive his adult name…”

“But he never did,” Alethaine finishes.

“I finished the circlet anyway but I had no one to give it to. I don’t have children, I will never have grandsons and granddaughters. And this thing just lies here reminding me of what I’ve lost.”

Sylenn takes the precious circlet and crowns Alethaine’s head. The circlet fits her perfectly and suits her hair. The small star is placed in the center of her forehead.

“You can’t give it to me,” Alethaine mutters.

“I can. Take it. It’s yours. Things are made to be used. You are a beautiful young woman, wear it. Besides, I don’t think you’ve had a lot of elven adornments.”

Alethaine looks at the mirror and smiles baring her fangs. Sylenn chuckles: maybe this one is half-dead and a necromancer, but a girl is a girl.

“Thank you, Sylenn.”

“But don’t you dare sell it. If you do, I will find you,” Sylenn threatens.

“I wouldn't even think about it!”

Sylenn hugs Alethaine again. “Uluvathae, Alethaine.”

“Uluvathae, Sylenn.”

Alethaine goes outside and soon disappears in the dark.

Sylenn is alone again. Suddenly, she feels like pieces of her sadness have gone, as if Alethaine somehow took them away. Well, Sylenn isn’t old – she has centuries of life ahead.

Maybe it’s too early to bury herself.

She is going back to Evereska. Her husband, Caeldrim must have died already, he was much older than her – so she needs to pay respects to him. And then… Then she will decide what to do next.

Sylenn has the next reverie on the road to the east. She hopes it will be something neutral, something that won’t harm her soul but the memories are merciless to the elf.

Sylenn enters the library. Her mind is preoccupied with the news about Yuan-ti’s attacks on the elven settlements. Fucking serpents need to learn Tel'Quessir had been here before them and will stay when the snake become ashes.

“Thinking of the snakes again, o’si?” Astarion asks.

He is nineteen, still an adolescent, not an adult. He reads a book on human laws and customs and bites his right thumb as it helps him to concentrate.

“Is there something about them in these books of yours?”

“No. Did you know that humans have so many laws about inheritance and burial?” Astarion flips the page. “Listen!”

Sylenn tries not to show that those things sound boring to her. History, that’s where her interests lie. But Astarion is so enchanted with all these articles and small details and many differences between the tribes and cities of humans that she listens.

At least, she can reverie to hear his voice again.

Sylenn wakes up crying again. She looks at the starry sky and sniffs.

Weird, she later thinks that the necromancer, Alethaine, was biting her right thumb the same way Astarion did centuries ago.

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