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mikkomacko · 9 months

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New Year’s Resolution

Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: smut, a bit of a daddy/breeding kink

Part 2

Babbling and stumbling, Nico shoulders his way back from the bar and towards you. The silver beads around his neck sway as he messily approaches the tall table you’re perched at, the drinks in his hands tittering towards the edge of the glass.

You bite back a laugh as he continues to chatter to himself about god knows what, any words made unintelligible by alcohol and the music in the club. Digging a lip gloss out of your purse, you hide your giggle with the glittery tube as you apply a coat.

Nico presses himself up close to you, chest against your shoulder as he slides your rum and coke towards you. You tuck the lipgloss away again, tilting your chin up towards Nico as he takes a swig of his beer.

His gaze settles on you, eyes zoning in on your glossy smile and you watch his already dark eyes grow even more black.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, dipping his fingers into your hair, “I love having a pretty girl.”

Heat floods your cheeks and you purse your lips to keep from giggling. Nico always gets a sweet tongue when he drinks so you don’t shy away from his loving look at bars anymore but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still fluster you.

“Thank you,” you say, holding his gaze as you sip the drink from the little black stirring straw. Nico blinks slowly, licking his own lips at the sight of your puckered ones. “For my drink and for being sweet.”

His already flushed cheeks turn a shade darker, dimples sinking into them as he grins. You’ve barely placed the rum and coke back on the table when he leans down to kiss you, his fingertips pressing into your scalp. You grab his bicep, steadying yourself because Nico drunk and in love is a force to be reckoned with.

He dips his tongue into your mouth, wrapping his other arm around your middle and drawing you up to him. The fresh beer bottle presses into your side, ice cold glass on your skin that makes you shiver and fold into the warmth of Nico’s chest even more.

“Schao!”

Nico reels back from you, lips red and wet as he looks behind you for whichever teammate called his name. You settle back into your seat, still holding tight to Nico’s arm as you haphazardly wipe away any smears of lipgloss around your mouth.

You don’t hear whatever Jack shouts to Nico but your boyfriend does, nodding along as he sweeps his finger through your hair. Absentmindedly, he twirls his finger around a strand, playing with it and you take another drink from your sweating glass, trying not to smile too widely at the sweet man standing over you.

“M’gonna play pool with Jack,” Nico addresses you, tugging playfully on the strand of hair he’s been fiddling with. “Come watch?”

You nod, collecting your purse and drink. You nudge Nico back so you can stand up but he doesn’t budge, smirking down at you and drinking his beer. Rolling your eyes, you climb to your feet and come chest to chest with him. He smells like cologne and the bar, the yeasty scent of his beer flooding your nose. You must make a face because he laughs, placing a hand on your back and moving to guide you towards the rows of booths in the back.

Jack is awaiting your boyfriend impatiently, tapping his foot like a child with a pool stick in each hand. You squeeze by him, meeting his pointed gaze with an innocent batting of your eyelashes.

You find a seat with Bratter and his girlfriend, smiling as the two greet you as if you hadn’t seen them earlier in the night. Nico is pulling at your purse on your shoulder, tugging the bag down your arm. Glancing over, you find him digging through the main pocket until he finds a stick of gum. Dramatically, he pops the gum into his mouth with an amused smile before handing your purse back.

Laughing, you set it in the booth next to you, turning back to your conversation. Nico kisses the top of your head before he goes, finally joining his alternate for a match against Timo and Luke.

You keep chatting for a bit, sipping your drink and occasionally checking on Nico. The club is starting to get more packed in the general floor area and you realize midnight is quickly approaching so you and a few others head to the photo booth before it gets too hectic. A Happy New Year headband is distributed to you as well as blowers and poppers. Bratter finds a top hat and Nicole glasses.

Peace signs and funny faces, kisses to the cheeks of Bratter and you hugging Nicole with him pouting behind you, the camera flashes and flashes. You’re taking the last photo of you and Nicole downing your drinks with arms intertwined when your boyfriend sneaks up.

Him and Bratt catch you two at the last second, arms snaking around your waist and lifting you into air with a shocked laugh as the flash goes off. It almost looks like the two boys planned it but you’d imagine it’s just whatever telepathic co-dependence they’ve acquired over the years of playing together.

Nico smells of mint when you turn and sling your arms around his neck, the gum he swiped earlier smacking obnoxiously as he smiles. He’s drunker than he was before his game of pool and judging by the wet spot on the collar of his shirt he had to pay the price of losing with a shot.

“You’re druuuunk,” you tease, slipping your fingers under the edge of his beanie.

“So are you.” He responds, voice heavy and thick with his accent. You laugh, the last bit of your third drink of the night making you feel a little loopy and light. Fiddling with the short edges of his recently trimmed hair, you nudge him backwards until you’re out of the way of photos.

Nico finds your mouth, the hand that had been on your waist slipping down to fit into the back of pocket of your leather pants. Heat creeps up your neck, fueled by the stirring in your belly as Nico’s large hand palms at you.

“Come down Neeksy, it’s not midnight yet.”

Siegs shoves at Nico’s shoulder, jolting you two apart and Nico looks over at him with annoyance. You two separate enough for him and Nico to start chatting in Swiss-German, something you’re still struggling to understand when you’re sober let alone drunk so you tune out.

Hugging Nico’s arm, you peer up at him with big moony eyes. He’s so handsome with his kiss bitten lips, that stupid piece of gum still visible with every laugh. His voice sends pleasant chills down your spine, his words deep and sloppy from drinking. But most of all, he looks happy. Yeah he’s got that drunk, cocky swagger that comes with almost every attractive NHL player but he’s still himself. Giggling and talkative, eyes dark and lidded but still welcoming.

You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, how shiny his neck is with sweat and you can almost picture the shimmer you know rests on his chest and collarbones and everything beneath his clothes. Suddenly you want to forget all about midnight in favor of taking Nico home.

By the time Nola is drawing you into a conversation you’re about to be a puddle on the floor.

“Hm?” You hum, blinking out of your daze and meeting Nola’s gaze. She laughs though you know by the teasing look in her eyes that she can see right through you.

“What’s your resolution for the year?”

Nico and Siegs focus in on you now, awaiting your answer and while you wish you had something good to say, you’ve never been a resolution person.

“Oh I don’t have one. I can make changes and goals whenever I want, I don’t need a new month to do that.”

Unsurprised by your answer, Nico just laughs but the other two scoff and complain, listing off the pros of doing a January reset.

“Mine is to drink more water,” Nola says and you applaud her even if you think it’s a bit dumb to only start doing that because of a new year. “And mine is to stop drinking alcohol.” Siegs adds, lifting up his glass of water as if proving his success already.

“What about you Nico?”

Nola’s question makes him stop and think, which you weren’t expecting because Nico has the same views about resolutions as you do. But his eyes twinkle with excitement and something you don’t recognize as he shrugs, looking from you to his friends.

“Not sure yet, gotta think about it.”

Siegs ribs him for not being prepared but Nico takes it all in good fun. You ponder that look in his eye, curious as to what he’s up to because you know he does and says everything with intention.

“Come on baby,” Nico pulls you from your thoughts. “S’almost midnight.” All the Devils and friends cluster together in the middle of the vip section, Timo and Jack now standing on the pool tables and you cringe, knowing they’ll be paying to reupholster that later.

Guiding you by the hand, you think Nico is leading you towards the others but he simply drops off the empty drink glasses at a messy booth table before tugging along to the back room. It’s quiet and cold compared to the rest of the bar, and you crowd into his back to maintain some sort of warmth.

Nico finds his way into the single use bathroom, nudging you in before himself and then kicking the door shut. You barely catch the sound of the lock before he’s taking hold of your face. Warm hands squish your cheeks together, puckering your lips and he giggles cutely.

“Know what I want for my birthday,” he says after moment of just looking at you, words still slurred but more serious than he’s been all night. You’re tempted to tease him that new years comes first but you know how much he hates having a birthday close to a holiday so you stay quiet. Rather than answer, you wrap your fingers around his biceps reassuringly and raise a questioning eyebrow.

He hesitates, sweeping his gaze over your face as he gnaws on his bottom lip. It’s not until he meets your eyes does he speak. “I want a baby.”

It’s not news to you, his wish. You’ve had the marriage talk, the baby talk, the everything talk. And you both decided that the whole white picket fence in a large house with children and a dog is in the cards. But a time limit was never mentioned, instead both opting for a feeling it out vibe.

You suppose Nico is feeling like he wants to be a father. And that, you realize is what was twinkling in his gaze before. It was unknown to you because this is uncharted territory, being parents. Maybe it’s a similar glint he gets on the ice when he’s in charge of the team, when he’s ready to step up.

“I can’t have a baby in four days,” you say because you need time to think. Could you guys do this? Are you ready to do this? To change your life and your body forever?

Nico doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t even smile. His eyebrows pinch together, his thumb beginning to stroke over your cheek.

“M’serious,” he grumbles “I’m ready. To do this. With you.”

You soften, frowning at the annoyance and hurt in his gaze. Of course you knew he was serious, he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean but you didn’t realize just how serious he was. You wonder how long he’s been thinking about this.

“I know baby,” you soothe, “sorry I know. I just-what if we’re just drunk and horny?”

He lightens up a bit, the pinch of his forehead smoothing out. “I am drunk. And horny,” he confesses with a small laugh. “But I’ll still want this tomorrow when I’m hungover and mad and again when I’m sober and tired.”

A while, you decide. He’s been thinking about this for a while. There’s no way he hasn’t been and judging by his confidence, he’s got it all figured out in his head. The timing, the money, the change it would bring to both of your lives. He’s prepared to do this with you.

And how could you say no? Of course you want children with him. How could you not? He’s the most perfect man you’ve ever met and by the way he wrangles hockey boys you know he’ll be a perfect father.

“Ok,” you agree. “I’m ready if you are.”

It’s like a weight has lifted off him, his whole body relaxing and his lips twitch into a smile. You laugh, running your hands up and around to his neck. Drawing him closer, you tip toe until his mouth meets yours.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“100%?” He presses, running his nose along the side of yours.

“Yes.” You breathe against his wet lips. “I want to have your baby Nico.”

His chest rumbles with a suppressed groan, Nico’s eyes squeezing shut and nose scrunching in both pain and pleasure. You giggle, kissing at his chin and jaw as you paw at his shoulders.

Outside, the muffled cheers of the minute countdown reach your ears.

“You know, they say whatever you’re doing at midnight is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year?”

Eyelashes fluttering, Nico blinks open his dark eyes to peer down at you. “Gets those pants off then. I wanna be between your thighs.”

Sloppy and hastily, you yank your boots and jeans off as Nico tugs at his belt. His drunk fingers fumble and by the time he’s got it off and unzipped his jeans you’re removing the beanie from his hair and tossing it to the side. You yank at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours and bite at his collarbones. He lets you manhandle him for a second, pulling the shirt over his head himself before he’s dipping a hand into his boxers, maneuvering them enough to get his hard cock out.

Giddily, you jump at him so he can lift you up around his waist, your feet locking above his ass. You wrap your arms around his neck, needing something sturdy to hold onto. Stroking through his hair, Nico manages to push your underwear to the side, enough for him to line up the swollen tip of his cock with your entrance.

You moan softly, shifting your hips lower to pull him in even more and Nico takes that as his sign to drop you down onto his cock fully. You gasp for a breath, squirming as his thickness stretches you open. Whistles and cheers sound throughout the bathroom, the celebration in the bar echoing into you both and Nico laughs softly, pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Happy New Year sweetheart.” He tells you, his fingers rubbing circles into your lower back.

You smile, smooching a wet kiss to his lips. “Happy New Year baby,” you mumble, sneaking your tongue into his mouth. He moans, chasing your kiss with his own tongue and grabs your ass with both hands.

Slow and steady, he moves you up and down on his cock, leaning backwards until his shoulders rest on the wall behind him. You have no idea how he’s capable of holding you like this, moving you in his large hands but it makes your stomach tighten in pleasure and you clench down around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, panting heavily. You whimper, dropping your mouth to the side of his neck as his cock brushes that velvety spot inside. “So good baby, gonna make me a daddy?”

Clinging to his shoulders, you nod pathetically. “Yes Nico, gonna make you a daddy. Please let me make you a daddy.”

His mouth finds yours again, flipping himself around so he can press you into the wall. His thrust grow quick and strong, fucking up into you like a man starved. Your brain goes fuzzy under the haze of him kissing you silly and driving his cock into you. He takes short shallow breathes, pulling away to mumble drunken nonsense about filling you up, about having you on his cock all night long until you’re swollen with his baby.

It’s frantic and hot, a new side of him you’ve never seen before and it has your orgasm rising quickly. Whatever breeding, baby-obsessed persona that has taken over him is driving you wild and you’re practically sobbing into his chest when you reach your peak. You bare down on him, thighs straining and burning as you work with him to stretch out your own orgasm and help him reach his.

When Nico does come it’s instant and strong, his hold on you tightening as his cock twitches and his orgasm burst from him. He mewls and groans, his voice cracking as he whimpers and you encourage him with soft fingers through his hair.

“That’s it Nico,” you murmur, your own voice rough and scratchy. “That’s it baby, let me have it all.”

Your toes tingle and you’re unsure if it’s your fading high, the alcohol, or how tightly Nico has you pinned but you don’t care. You fight off every tired muscles, every burning limb and just hold him. He buries his face in your neck, hot breathes making your skin sticky as he takes a few shallow ruts of his hips into you.

By the way he hisses and shivers you know he’s feeling the sharp stings of his oversensitive cock, yet he still knocks his hips into yours. You don’t think it’ll actually do anything more, him torturing himself by trying to fuck his come deeper into you but you don’t complain, instead enjoying the aftershocks of your own high.

Finally, he settles, still buried to the hilt but holding still. You give him a moment to breathe, to ground himself again before encouraging him to look at you with a soft tug on his hair.

Hooded black eyes finds yours, his cheeks red and sweaty with long strands of hair stuck to his forehead. You brush them back, cupping his stubbled jaw in your palm.

“If we planned this better you could’ve been fucking me in our bed.” You say quietly, a small smile rising on your lips.

Nico blinks sluggishly, fucked out as he hums his disagreement. “I like this better. ‘Sides, it was the beer that made me ask you.”

You kiss him softly, stroking his cheek. “Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, and the boys. Everyone kept asking me for a resolution and what I want this year and yeah. I decided I should just do it now, as my resolution or whatever.”

Tilting your head in confusion, you wonder what his plan had been before tonight. How long he would’ve waited to tell you that he was ready. But right now isn’t the time to quiz him, not when you need to get cleaned up and rejoin the party outside.

“I like this resolution,” you answer. “Think I’m gonna steal it.”

He laughs, nuzzling into your hand and closing his eyes in exhaustion

“M’tired but I don’t want to put you down.” He mutters. “Don’t want to pull out yet either.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you admire him for a moment. His long eyelashes, his thick eyebrows and perfectly curved nose and he’s pretty pink lips.

“We can do it again at home,” you promise “think it might take a few tries anyway baby.”

He grumbles, scrunching his nose. “No I think I did it now,” he argues “but I still want to do it again at home. And on my birthday.”

This time you do laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, as you mentally piece together a plan for getting the both of you dressed and into an Uber home.

The hardest part, you decide, will be getting away from the team without them bugging about where you disappeared too.

And you were right, because as soon as you and Nico return fully clothed and put back together again he’s loose lipped and cocky. You’re hurrying to gather your purse and coat when Timo ribs him for not popping champagne with them and Nico proudly puffs his chest out, wrapping his arms around you lifting you into the air like a prize.

“I was too busy popping one into my girl,” he says casually. “M’gonna be a dad this year!”

Mortified and blushing, you kick Nico’s shins until he puts you down as Timo and everyone hoots and hollers. You spin to face your drunk boyfriend, smacking at his chest but you can’t even be mad when you see the innocent glee in his eyes, the sweet smile he gives you like you’re the greatest gift in the world.

“Nico,” you whine, unsure of what to even say. He doesn’t catch the hint, slinging his arm around you and pulling you into his chest. That sweet tongue of his murmurs into your ear how much he loves you, how excited he is to have a pretty baby to go along with his pretty girl. And you melt into it, cheeks red as you hide in his shoulder.

“Cap,” Holtz says, shaking his head as he smack Nico’s shoulder. “Starting the year off with a bang huh?”

You burrow further into him, embarrassed as he laughs and laughs.

The only solace is knowing that you’ll get to remind him of his big mouth tomorrow morning.

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #Nico hischier smut #nico hischier blurb #nhl #new jersey devils #nj devils

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bagerfluff · 7 months

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Your My Rose

Nico di Angelo x Male Reader

Prompt - Royal AU

“No” Nico sighed.

This was the tenth woman that Nico had rejected. What’s happening, you ask. Well, Nico was a prince. He was the only royal left in his kingdom. So Nico needed to find someone to marry and have at least one kid with.

So all of the women gathered and waited to see if Nico would accept them and marry them. But there was one little problem with that, Nico was gay.

And in love with the gardener.

But nobody could know that. It wouldn’t be a problem if the gardener was a girl, but he was a boy. A boy named Y/n. You were about the same age as Nico, maybe a little older. You worked for Nico’s mother, the Queen before she died.

You worked because you didn’t have any family and you needed money and shelter. Nico’s mother, being the kind woman she was, took you in. As long as you tended to her flowers. Nico grew up with you.

You were one of his only friends.

You were kind, caring, shy, and funny. You made Nico smile after the death of his family. How could Nico not love you? But nobody could know. Though you loved Nico back, that didn’t matter. Nico didn’t want to marry someone that he didn’t love.

That’s what if mother said, “never marry someone you don’t love”. Maybe she said it because she knew her son was different or maybe she was just smart. At first it was fine. Nico could reject lots of girls because there were plenty more.

But girls were running out and people were getting suspicious. Higher ups, people part of the court wanted to bring in princesses and women from other kingdoms. Nico hated that idea, but he hated the idea of marrying someone that wasn’t you more.

Nico glanced down from his throne.

Nico saw the last girl. She was short with even, short brown hair. Her dress had holes all over it and she looked terrified. At first the guards brought higher up woman. Ones with lots of money and status. They just weren’t royal.

But Nico could tell that they were desperate. Bringing any woman that they found. Nico sighed and picked his head off his hand. Nico moved his arm off the armrest and looked at the girl.

Everyone in the room was silent. Nico could see people praying out of the corner of his eyes. “No”, Nico said sternly. The girl let out a sigh of relief, something very few did.

Nico got up and started to walk away. Nico knew that people were going to talk to him. Try to change his mind. Nico didn’t want that. “Your Highness!”

Nico turned around to see one of his guards running towards him. Nico took a deep breath. Nico turned around and folded his arms over his clothes. A black and gold robe. They looked like a suit but more free.

“The Crown Guard wants to speak with you”, Nico turned around. “Well, I don’t want to talk to them. Tell them and everyone else that I’m done for the day”, Nico walked away. Nico heard the yelling but he ignored it.

Nico walked until he was right in front of the doors of the garden. At this time of day you would be working. You reached up and grabbed his crown.

Nico looked at it.

It was a silver ring with gold and bronze flowers around it. Nico loved it. He remembers taking it from his mothers head and wearing it. A bittersweet memory. Nico never wanted this. His older sister was meant to take the crown.

But she died.

Nico wasn’t even ready. He was a child when he was crowned. Now Nico is older. He knew he had to do this but he hated it. Nico wished that he could just run away with you. Nico placed the crown back on his head.

Nico pushed the doors open and walked out. The garden looked the same. It always did, you were very good at your job. On the right was a big tree. Nico remembers having picnics under that tree. And running around with his sister.

Nico grimaced.

To the left was a big patch of flowers. All different types of flowers. His mother told him the names of all of them but Nico can’t remember them. There was a large fence around the entire thing and beaches litter the field.

Nico heard humming and looked over to his right. There you were, wearing dirty clothes with even dirtier hands, with a smile on your face. You were watering the roses against the building.

When you looked up and saw Nico your smile widened. “Hello Beloved”, you placed the watering can on a bench. You walked closer to Nico and kissed his forehead. “Be careful”, Nico chided. “I know, but I couldn’t resist”.

Nico smiled slightly. You were as worried about being found out as Nico. Nico walked over to the bench where you placed the watering can and sat down next to it.

You moved the watering can to the ground and sat next to Nico. “You okay?” You asked. Nico was a little mad. He didn’t feel like talking but you always knew when Nico was upset. “They brought more girls in”, Nico said and that's all you needed.

Nico had told you this before.

How he hated what they made him do. Nico’s told you how he wants to run away. Nico’s told you how he wanted to marry you, that might have made you blush. “It’s okay” “No it’s not”, Nico grunted.

Nico looked over at you. Despite being covered in dirt Nico still thought you looked amazing. Hair fluffy from running your hand through it, skin tan from being outside all day, smile always on your face.

Nico looked away and looked at the flowers in front of him. They were daisies, or that’s what Nico thought. They were bright, not one hint of them dying. Neither of you said anything, you knew not to.

Nico needed a minute to think. “Well”, you looked over at Nico, “do what you want”. Nico looked at you confused. Do what he wants? What did Nico want? Nico wanted peace, to live his life how he wants to. He wants to marry you and rule his kingdom with you by his side.

He wants you. You stood up and walked in front of Nico. You grabbed Nico’s hands and held them in yours. “Whatever you do I’ll be right by your side”, you kissed Nico’s hands.

You dropped them and picked up your watering can. “And I’m sure they would be proud of you”, you walked away. Nico knows who you are talking about.

And Nico believed you.

Nico spent the rest of the day watching you work.

You two talked when you took breaks. Talking about the day, making out. It helped Nico calm down and get ready to sleep. A guard came out and told Nico it was time to rest.

Nico got up and walked away as you said goodbye. Nico wanted to stay, but you two had to be careful. Nico didn’t want anyone to know yet. He wanted to savor the time he had with you without everyone knowing about it

But what you said made Nico think. He would have to think about it more, but Nico had an idea about what he wanted. The guard walked with Nico all the way to Nico’s room. Then the guard bid Nico a goodnight and stood outside the door.

As Nico walked in he immediately got out of his clothes. There was no one to help him, Nico didn’t like that. So Nico removed his clothes and placed them down in a noticeable spot. So one of the maids could find it.

Nico then switched into his bed clothes. They were much more comfortable than his royal attire. Nico walked over to his bed and removed his crown. Nico looked at it before placing it on the table next to his bed. When Nico looked over to his bed he noticed something.

A single rose.

With the thorns plucked off, on his pillow. Nico knew who it was from. Nico smiled as he picked up and smelt it. Nico looked at the rose with a smile before placing it in a jar, with other flowers.

Nico got into bed and turned so he was looking at the jar of flowers. Each one made Nico smile. Nico blew out the candle and closed his eyes.

As wind blew into the room from the open window that overlooked the garden.

#lgbtq #nico di angelo #nico di angelo x reader #nico di angelo x male reader #percy jackson x male reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #heros of olympus x reader #heros of olympus #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa

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starbabyg · 11 months

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Daddy Jack and Baby Jack | Jack Hughes Drabbles

I have so many daddy Jack drafts that are a fourth done but rn I’m loving writing smaller works and having requests come in to respond to. This is kindaaa based on those works.

Jack has a baby girl first, and what’s a more fitting name for the future J Hughes legacy than Jaqueline

The first thing Jack does when he finds out you’re pregnant is buy little skates. He can’t wait til baby can walk so he can get them on the ice

Although you wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret until you were further along, Jack couldn’t help but call everyone he knows to tell them the news

“I nutted in her, and now we’re having a baby Quinn” “Err, ew? Okay? Congratulations?”

Every time Jack sees something baby related he buys it. No hesitation. The baby room is so filled that it’s starting to get hard to walk in.

Baby girl looks just like her mama but with Jack’s smile. She is literally the splitting image of you, which Jack loves so much

Although she looks like her mama she acts just like her daddy. She has all the same mannerisms as Jack. You even caught the two sleeping the exact same, turning and shuffling at the same time

All the boys love to call her Jaq Jaq but Trevor calls her little Hughes

Speaking of Trevor, the two of them are always going at it. Y/n and Jack find it hilarious to hear Trevor argue with a literal child

She of course as the first Hughes baby is spoiled to deathhhh, which you try to lay off but between her dad and uncles you really can’t help it

Uncle Quinn and Uncle Luke are always taking her out to do something. When things go quiet and she’s nowhere to be found the first thing you do is Group FaceTime the two boys, and on one phone your baby will pop up on the camera saying “hiiiiiii”

Jack gets jealous when he sees baby girl bond with his brothers or friends on the level they do

“I though I was special,” he’ll grumpily say

But at the same time he is so happy everyone loves her as much as he does

He takes baby girl to every single practice and game in hopes that she will like the sport

Which of course she does

She goes to every game wearing an 86 jersey and a red and black tutu sometimes even little tiny devil horns

But one time she wore Luke’s jersey and Jack felt so betrayed

He literally took the jersey off his back and told her to put it on

At first she was scared of the Devils mascot but now she can’t leave it alone

Baby Jaq hates being in the box seats and much rather prefers being right by the glass so she can say hi to daddy

The amount of times Jack skates by just to tap the glass and say hi >>>

Ofc all the players have to say hi to her at least once or she gets mad at them

She’ll go into the locker room after the game and go up to them like “I know you saw me say hi why didn’t you say hi back?”

Baby Jaq loves to walk the red carpets with her daddy

She feels like a little superstar and thinks all the pictures being taken are for her

Secretly one of her fave players is Nico

He always says yes to playing with her before and after games so she likes him the best

You catch them playing with dolls together while he’s supposed to be in practice

And while he’s on the bench baby Jaq tries to tie his hair up and put bows she brought on him

Nico actually wears it under his helmet but you can see the little pink and yellow bows sticking out

Jack and Luke get jealous because why did she choose Nico to give a makeover to??

Next thing you know everybody on the Devs is wearing bows in their hair

Baby Jaq is just everything to Jack, she’s his whole world and best friend aside from you

He’s just so happy he can raise a little human alongside the love of his life

#Jack hughes Drabble #daddy hughes au #starbabyg #jack hughes headcanon #Jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes one shot #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hughes bros #luke hughes #daddy Jack au

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raphael-angele · 7 months

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If Hades raised Nico and Bianca and took them to Camp later-er

Nico's Garden

With Hades raising Nico and Bianca, it means that they were also raised by Persephone. Now, whenever Persephone was away for spring and summer, her garden would be attended by Nico since Hades would be too busy and he would often take Bianca along to train her for...the throne. Nico would come along sometimes but he doesn't like just standing around, watching his papa work.

So, Nico would go to Persephone's garden and take care of her flowers while she's away. Which is also how he discovered his powers.

"Oh no..." Persephone heard Nico whispered under his breath. "Nico? What's wrong?" She asked, tending to the other corner of the plant box. "Nothing!" Her step son shouted, a bit panicked. The goddess heard whispers of 'please' and 'no' from him. Slowly and carefully, Persephone walked over to Nico's side of the plant box.

When Nico noticed her presence, he turned to face her, hiding something behind him. "Nico, what happened? Did you hurt yourself?" She asked, kneeling to his height to inspect for any injuries he may have sustained. "No, no, I'm alright. I'm not hurt." He said. "Then what's that behind you?" The goddess asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. When she turned back to look at him, tears brimmed his eyes. "Please don't be mad." He cried.

"I promise I wont get mad, Niccoló. Let me see." Hesitant, Nico stepped aside. Behind him were her favorite flowers. She and Nico had planted these some time ago before leaving last spring. They were wilting. The yellow pigment had faded off to a brownish color and the petals began to fall off of the flower. They drooped down, and the leaves looked crusty.

Persephone quietly gasped and looked at Nico. He fiddled with his fingers and looked at the ground. He didn't want to face her. "They just... all of a sudden." He murmured. Persephone's face went from horror to a soft look. As the goddess took a step forward, her child took a step back.

"Nico," she called, stretching her arms out for an embrace. The small child couldn't help but do so. Persephone lifted him up and placed him onto her hip. Fearing of making things worse, Nico curled up into his mother's arms, and kept his hands tucked under his forearms and buried his head in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mammina" he cried.

Later on in camp, Persephone and Hades visit Bianca and Nico. While Hades watches as Bianca is training in archery, Persephone wanders around the garden run by the Demeter kids. She watches as they work and go around the place then she spots a small ball of black hair working with them. As it turns out, Nico has been helping them with the garden for some time now. Despite the multiple invites to tend to the plants, Nico was always hesitant and didn't accept unless he was wearing at least 2 layers of gloves.

In her human form, of course they don't recognize her. But Nico sensed her immediately and looked over and waved hi.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #nico di angelo #bianca di angelo #persephone #hades

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audreyscribes · 8 months

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Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

💀 HADES: God of the Dead and Riches 💎

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

You’re not claimed in a way like the others. Instead you come across a pale faced boy with black hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a leather jacket. The ensemble he wore screamed something to you and he introduced himself to you as Nico, child of Hades. And you’re one of his half-siblings.

Whether you’re like him, a child of Hades displaced out of time before the Oath was made after WW2, or a child born after the oath was rescinded, Nico has been finding any Hades’ demigods he could find. If you didn’t know better, you would think it was his life mission.

When you arrive at Camp, whether Camp Half Blood or Camp Jupiter, people already know who your godly parent or blood is when Nico is with you, but the claim over your head is just icing on the cake. It is the sign of the cusp of fall and winter together, the silence that presides over it.

People give you a wide berth of respect, awe and fear. Not surprising given how powerful Hades is.

Regardless, Nico sticks by your side and helps guide you. He teaches you how to handle the dead and the more peskier ghosts, but ultimately, he doesn’t let you feel alone. You tell your story to him and he tells his.

You’re also introduced to Hazel who seems the complete opposite of Nico but you realise that while children of Hades both stick together but are very independent. Solitary but not isolated.

While it may be bothersome and sometimes unsettling seeing ghosts and spirits, there are perks; you can reanimate and see dead and loved animals. You always tell the doggos they are good boys. That or the hellhounds.

“Hello Darkness, my old friend”- ‘The Sound of Silence’ by Simon and Gafunkel.

Regardless if you’re Greek or Roman, when people diss and don’t believe that the planetary Pluto is not a planet, you will get bad and they will know to never diss Pluto.

Dried flowers, fungi, antiques, faded memories, abandoned buildings. Once filled with life and encompassed with what could be death. Many do not appreciate them but they open themselves to you, and you and your siblings remember them. You carry old, past clothes on your backs, you gently touch the dried petals of flowers with their faint smell still cling to you. You see the hands that touched the antiques, touches of human life. You see the abandoned buildings and know that they were built and housed life in them with their shelter.

While you may be part of Death’s domain, you greatly cherish life; the people in your life and that help shape you. When you love someone, you love them to a beyond that transcends death.

You know about shadow traveling as Nico helped you go through it. At the minimum, you can fold yourself into the shadows and be unseen like Hades, but at the most, you can travel to any place where shadows preside over. You find its easier to travel to places wherever Hades’ domain presides over; you can travel more easily to places of death (i.e. cemetery, battlezones, altars) and riches (i.e. mines, the world trade centre, places of great bounty, banks). A rare power of a child of Hades may call things forth from the shadows, whether its things you place into the shadows or using the shadows to your will. You can grab an objects’ shadow to your advantage or use your hands to create shadow shapes to ‘life’. It is rumoured that once, a child of Hades that possessed that skill was able to freeze a person with their shadow pinned by them, and was able to kill them by simply cutting off a person’s shadow.

Like Hades, you may seem aloof and stern in matters, but on the other hand, this can be seen as fair and honourable.

When the children of Hades gather in one place, you all give off an Addams' family vibe. The aesthetics, the attitude toward things. Hades is Gomez and Persephone is Morticia, you can guess where it goes from there.

You looked at Nico, who introduced himself as your half-brother. You tried to find the similarities you two shared and while it isn’t entirely physical, there is an air around him that draws you in. A solace if you will. It’s been more than 70 years since your original time and now here you are, in the 21st century. You thought you had died and now you were here, breathing. You could feel the anticipation turning into dread when you would eventually realize the math of your birth era and now.

It was a stark change from your time, yet in some sort of attempt to grasp your sanity, you started to find similarities, things that seemed to be the same from your time and this time. It calmed you down but also at the same time, you were a bit overwhelmed where your half brother had taken you.

McDonalds, he said. You looked at the meal he had bought and inspected it. It was different yet strangely good? The soda-pop however, was entirely bizarre but still delicious (sickeningly sweet you thought).

You both ate your meal as Nico gave you a rundown of the situation. The existential weight of being children of Hades and Pluto was, especially after the creation of the Big Three Oath after the world war, and how it was absolved not too long ago in this time by a son of Poseidon. Then came the eventual appearances of deceased children of Hades and Pluto, which you found out were either killed in the wars, or were deliberately hunted down by Zeus and Poseidon; much like Nico and his sister Bianca.

Nico tried to give you a rundown of what times are like now and their delicate situation, but even then, Nico wasn’t too knowledgeable given everything.

Silence fell between the two of you, as you tried to process literally everything. You tried to speak but the knot in your stomach and the weight in your throat was getting heavier. It was becoming awkward and you looked at Nico, realising he too was out of his depth. You found some amusement that he really must be your brother if the two of you were both socially inept.

You saw Nico open the two red box with the golden arches, before he took out the two toys. You looked at them, wondering really how the meals costed. Toys weren’t very cheap back in the day, and while you had a feeling manufacturing must’ve improved, to have a toy come with a meal must be costly…but you were sure of how much Nico paid as you watched him to get a handle on today’s currency.

“So uh….which of the kids meals toys do you want?” he stammered.

You stared at him with wider eyes as you saw him slowly shift in his seat in awkwardness. Everything came to a head as the hilarity of the situation dawned upon you. You started laughing as Nico looked at you like you had grown a second head.

“I’ll take this one” you chuckled, taking the toy before wiping away the tears, “Thank you Nico.”

“I mean…I eat here pretty frequently-”

“I mean finding us” you said, as Nico blinked at you owlishly. You placed a hand on top of his in a reassuring gesture. “You went through a lot and you’re just as young as us, yet here you are, finding the rest of us who may be wandering limbo and offering us toys.”

“Well…it’s not fair” he tried to play off.

“None of it is fair,” you noted, “But this is.”

Nico stared at you before nodding. “We have to go to Camp to get you settled in,” he started.

You hummed as you helped clean up, “Perhaps yeah…then where next?”

“What?”

You smirked at Nico, “If you want to go alone, you can but if you’re going to find the rest of us, count me in.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot to digest.”

“Probably, but we’re demigods, I doubt things are going to be normal for a long time.”

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gnomeonamelon · 2 months

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Hello! Part 2 of my designs: Thalia Grace and Nico di Angelo!

In honor of reading (/listening to) The Demigod Files for the first time, I decided to do the other Little 3: Greek Edition) next! For the sake of reference, Thalia is 27 chronologically/ 17 physically and Nico is 19 (I'll explain).

The rules I set myself to for these redesigns were explained in Part 1 where I did The Trio.

Notes Below (and a poll please I need help):

Thalia:

The ears probably need the most explanation here: I like the idea that becoming a hunter changes you more than simply immortality. They are made up of humans (demigod and mortal) and nymphs, so I threw traits in the blender- the humans become more nymph like, and the nymphs become more human like (always including their bond to a specific place/ thing in nature being broken).

The only other thing of significance I did that wasn't just design flavor was change her hair color from black to brown. I just thought the color worked well with her complexion and differentiated her from the others more.

I keep bouncing around with who should get Aegis after she becomes a hunter (I'm almost positive she never uses it again after TTC)

Nico:

When I was working through the seven total children of the Big 3 and their ages, I realized that I wanted to make it conceivable that any of them could've been the child of prophecy (or seen that way) at some point. I was able to do this fairly easily for everyone else but had to get more creative for Nico. Currently, I'm working with the idea that Nico and Percy are the same age, they have the same birthday.

Once Nico is introduced and Bianca joins the hunters/dies, no one knows who's going to fulfill the prophecy. This adds more tension as he is seemingly evil, and no one knows where he is most of the time. This would probably make everyone but especially Annabeth really suspicious. It would go back and forth for a while before eventually turning out to be Percy.

Ok! On to the actual design: I wanted to go with something different for Nico's outfit as he has a couple early in the series. My personal favorite of these alternates is the black trench coat, so I went with that. Combined with the heeled boots, curved, almost cutlass looking kopis, and cross the body sash for the sheath, he looks very piratey to me with his more formal shirt and pants all being 1940s inspired.

He also has a lot of elements that I at least always forget about. He has a chain belt in BotL that I have never seen in fanart before, so I wanted to include it. I also wanted him to wear his (now skeleton themed) armor since the poor boy needs armor if he's going to go to Tartarus.

It's hard to see at a distance, but there is a key embedded in Nico's sword. Given that the Underworld is described with prison/ door motifs (ex: The Doors of Death), I like the idea that underworld gods have different keys.

When fighting Melinoe, Nico finds (steals) a key that allows him to summon ghosts without the ritual (its criminal that the Ghost King didn't come back in this story).

#Who should I do next?#Part of me wants to do Beckendorf- Selina- Clarisse #And the other wants Zoe- Pheobe- Bianca #or maybe I do someone else idk???#Nico has not seen the sun in 22 million years #Luckily he gets a sun of his own <3 #The lore of the Keys are subject to change #I wanted to share some proper designs for the kiddos #(and gain future reference for myself)#Limen Au #riordanverse #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #The timeline got reshuffled #pjo #thalia grace #nico di angelo

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punkeropercyjackson · 7 months

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Related to my prev post:

I don't give two shits if Bruce is written like a bad dad if it means we get good writing for everybody else since i think minorities are more important than a white cishet male nepotism baby unlike his butch lesbian counterpart who's judaism is an actual fundamental part of her character and since he's been written as abusive so consistently over the years it's in-character anyway

Dick can be both bi/pan and demisexual and there's more evidence for the latter than the former so making him be sexually loose is aspec erasure and mspec stereotyping and he dosen't have a thing for redheads,he has a thing for black women and to me the only guy he seems to like romantically is Roy and that adds on to his demisexuality since they're childhood best friends

'Catholic guilt Jason' is a shit headcanon that misses the major and critical part of him being Red Hood that he didn't feel the slightest bit bad about killing people and the point of his redemption was learning remorse,afrolatino Jason isn't based on stereotyping but him filling out so many black and latino cultural aspects and if any hcs for him are stereotyping it's the one that he's a slut because he's a very handsome and hot and cute goth punk man

Tim is perfect the way he is and dosen't need power ups or to get 'punished' for the oh so horrible crime of being a realistic teenage boy,he's not JUST huge a loser or a super cool dude but both at once and it's bad writing and fetishistic to ignore his wide range of relathionships that consists of mostly of women to make him a 'guys guy'

Stephanie is heavily autistic and bpd-coded so she's far from a 'normie',much less an 'it girl' but people see blonde hair and blue eyes and throw away everything else about her because that's all she's worth to them or call her an abuser and a pick me just like they do irl bpdtistic women and she's also canonically pastel/indie punk and a Team Mom but gets her presentation switched to basic and made out to be a womanchild instead

Cass had a million times more moral conflict than Jason ever did,would never in her LIFE wanna be feminine even in the chinese way and would be butch in it instead,turning her scattered speech into sign language is ableist not unlike(but not on the same level as)changing Babs' type of wheelchair disability and she'd be a better Batman than any male character in existense

Duke is only a golden child in the sense he has a yellow motif and is as disruptive and authentically quirky as his siblings,We Are Robin is a better team than the canon Outlaws,his powers are cooler than any Al-Ghul ones you could come up with,he has more femme energy than Tim does and Carrie Kelley ain't shit and only gets brought back to replace him because DC is antiblack

Damian's introduction mentality was a result of not only child abuse but also psychological grooming to get him to dehumanize himself and all his bigoted comments are explained either by him being like 12 or his writers trying to demonize brown people and anybody who thinks he's a bad person is a super-sized pissbaby with no sympathy for kids of color,shipping him with Jon is making a bisexual man into a ped0phile and Jay is good even if aging Jon up wasn't and he should be friends with Maya,Suren,Nell,Colin,Kathy,Maps,Tai and Miles,Gwen,Peni,Pavitr,Hobie and Margo from Atsv and Nico and Hazel from Pjo instead of Billy Batson or Danny Fenton or ANY Mcu characters

Talia is super hot but should be drawn in accurate arab clothes instead 'sexy assasian gear'(not that these two can't co-exist but you get what i mean),her personality is extremely rich and her stories are mega interesting,she's a good mom to Damian and literally never 'took advantage of Jason' seeing as That Scene In Lost Days was decanonized by it's writer who said it was ooc for her on his part,she should've been a mom figure to Stephanie in her Robin Days too since they would get along and she deserved her own run where she takes over Lexcorp to transform it into a force for good and become Superfam-adjacent to free herself from having only male connections

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moa-broke-me · 1 year

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PJO characters as gods:

So there was a post going around about the idea of PJO characters being treated as gods in a thousand years or so, and I like the idea, but some of the godly placements felt a little off to me LOL, so I decided to make my own pantheon. (not sure how to order these, lol)

Percy: God of the ocean and all its creatures, of water in general, hurricanes, earthquakes, cities, family, and horses. Titles: The savior of Olympus, the good son, the loyal husband, retriever of the bolt, king of the gods. Sacred items: Stuffed animals, particularly bears (panda pillow pet), any item colored blue, but especially food, like candy or cookies, bull horns, and pens. Sacred animals: All marine life, the black pegasus, the black dog, and the ophiotaurus.

Annabeth: Goddess of war, strategy, intelligence, wisdom, practical knowledge, civilization and the building of houses, the study of history, and the mind. Titles: The general, the architect, favored child of Athena, queen of the gods. Sacred items: Knives, rings, clay beads, coral, silver, and popcorn. Sacred animal: The owl.

Clarisse: Goddess of war, revenge, anger fueled by love, triage and midwifery. Titles: The eager soldier, slayer of the drakon, retriever of the golden fleece. Sacred items: Spears and weapons in general, wool/fleece, and chariots. Sacred animal: The boar. Often depicted bloodstained, charging into battle without armor.

Frank: God of war, animals, change, the transition from boyhood to manhood, of the duality between strength and gentleness. Titles: The reluctant soldier, the changeling lord, the young praetor. Sacred items: Bows and arrows, playing cards (mythomagic), charred wood, and a silver medallion on a red string (the canadian sacrifice medal) Sacred animals: The bear and the bee, both the most common depictions of him as an animal.

Reyna: Goddess of war, patriotism, fidelity, independence, leadership, strength, sorority, and resilience. Titles: The shield, the politician, guardian of Athena (bc the athena parthenos). Sacred items: Cloaks, gold, silver, and oat cakes (oatmeal cream pies). Sacred animal: The hound. Often depicted either shielding a little boy with her cloak or braiding hair with her older sister.

Hazel: Goddess of jewels, caves, broken curses, witchcraft and the mist, art, death and escape thereof. Titles: The princess of the underworld, the queen of magick, the illusionist, the dead girl who rose again. Sacred items: Schist (because... obviously), pencils and oil pastels, gold, shrimp stew (because gumbo), Tarot cards, and caramel candy. Sacred animals: The horse, the stoat, and the black cat. Often depicted either drawing or riding horseback, usually with her older brother, but sometimes alone or accompanied by her husband or one of her friends.

Nico: God of darkness and shadows, death, decay, loss, longing, love of all kinds, language, diplomacy and forgiveness, insomniacs, immigrants and orphans, mourners and outcasts, and sewing. Titles: The bereaved, king of the underworld, the ghost king, the romantic, deliverer of Athena (again, the statue, not the actual goddess). Sacred items: Playing cards (mythomagic), soft suede leather, fried bits of chicken (mcnuggets), sewing supplies, oat cakes (again, oatmeal cream pies), Posca (not the pen; the drink. it's like an ancient roman gatorade), pomegranates, anything colored green or black, and memento mori rings. Sacred animals: The bat, cerberus, unicorns (because unicorn draught), all stray animals, and any animals or insects that feed on carrion. Commonly depicted either weeping or accompanying his little sister or husband. (@yonemurishiroku you're gonna love this one)

Bianca: Minor goddess of death, darkness, rebirth and reincarnation, sisterhood, and the hunt. Titles: The broken promise, thief of the forge, slayer of Talos. Sacred items: a carved statuette of her father, and a bow and arrow. Sacred animals: None. Most often depicted climbing onto the back of Talos, or comforting/bickering with her little brother.

Will: God of medicine, light, summer, and the sun. Title: The healer, the sun. Sacred items: Candy bars, medical equipment, lamps, summer fruits, and anything colored yellow. Sacred animal: The cat.

Thalia: Goddess of lightning and storms, maidenhood, the moon, the night sky, wilderness and the hunt. Titles: Queen of the skies, the hunter, guardian of sanctuary. Sacred items: Leather, golden fleece, the severed heads of dolls (bc of the 'barbie is dead tshirt), and pine trees. Sacred animal: The black eagle. Commonly depicted dressed in black and silver, behind a shield emblazoned with a terrifying face.

Jason: God of clear skies and wind, daylight, law, leadership and fatherhood, heroic sacrifice, child soldiers and the military. Titles: Prince of the skies, the retired praetor, the golden boy. Sacred items: Eyeglasses, dense chocolate cakes (brownies), peaches, swords, silver wire (staples), bricks, and feathers. Sacred animal: The wolf. Often depicted with a spear lodged in his back.

Piper: Goddess of love, the heart, beauty in all its forms, charisma, music, wealth, and fame. Titles: Beauty queen, the snake charmer, the dove, the silver tongue. Sacred items: Knives, jewelry, anything colored in pink or light purple. Sacred animals: The dove.

Silena: Minor goddess of love, specifically first love, regret, noble sacrifice, grieving widows, and disguise. Titles: The young lover, the spy, the bleeding heart. Sacred item: Armor. Sacred animal: None. Often depicted wearing armor while lying on her back, bleeding.

Drew: Minor goddess of beauty and adolescence. Title: The betrayed. Sacred items: Seashells, seafoam, cosmetics, perfume, and really anything with a strong, pleasant scent, like herbs, flowers, or incense. Sacred animals: None. (side note, I made up most of this just because canon gave us Literally Nothing)

Leo: God of fire and the forge, machines, invention, humor, cookery, and runaway children. Titles: The engineer, the orphan, builder of the Argo, the forge, the devil, and the trickster. Sacred items: Tools, oil, cinnamon, cooking utensils, and bronze. Sacred animal: The dragon.

Charles: Minor god of the forge, blacksmithery, and fallen soldiers. Title: Courage of the gods, the young lover. Sacred items: Canned fruit, promise rings, and green fire. Sacred animals: None.

Tyson: Minor god of blacksmiths and the ocean, specifically underwater volcanoes. Titles: General of the Cyclopes, the rising mountain, brother of Percy. Sacred items: Peanuts (because peanut butter), shields, watches and clocks (because of that watch that becomes a shield that he made for Percy), ships, and canons. Sacred animals: None.

Grover: God of animals, nature, wilderness, music, empathy and emotional sensitivity, and the young. Titles; The protector, the searcher. Sacred items: Pan flutes, walking sticks (those crutches he used to blend in), flowers, cheese (bc of the enchiladas), apples, and any kind of plant life. Sacred animal: The goat. Often depicted as half-goat-half-human, sometimes wearing a wedding dress.

Rachel: Goddess of wealth, youth, rebellion, nature, art, hedonism and impulse, and prophecy. Sacred items: Hairbrushes, art, and art supplies. Sacred animal: The yellow bellied armadillo.

Sally: Goddess of the hearth, motherhood, writing and literature, women, and survivors of abuse. Titles: The sculptor, the author, the victor, the good mother, queen among women. Sacred items: food, especially the blue kind, and books. Sacred animal: The snake. Often depicted either holding a little boy behind her or holding up the head of medusa.

If there's any character you want me to do next, please tell me!

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riordanness · 5 months

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when i was drowning - [p.jackson]

wordcount: 0.7K

warnings: almost drowning

requested: yes!! @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch6190

I should have known going swimming on my own would become a disaster. But technically, it was also the best day of my life.

Being a daughter of Hades is hard. Being the sister of Nico di Angelo is hard. Being a demigod is hard. But being in love with Perseus Jackson? That is the opposite of hard.

His sea green eyes that sparkle when he laughs. How he runs his hands through his scruffy black hair, making it even messier. How he fights with his shiny sword like nobody's watching. How he cares for the new campers, jokes with his friends, and always eats blue food if he can manage it.

I think it’s impossible not to fall for Percy Jackson. It’s the easiest? most natural feeling in the world.

Anyways, I’m a bit of a loner. Most campers don’t tend to want to hang out with the creepy death twins, so both Nico and I decide to be alone most of the time. Over the years here at camp, Nico has been in and out a lot, shadow travelling all over the world and even into hell once.

I’ve stayed here at camp all this time. I spend my time alone. I’ve tried to redecorate the Hades cabin (Nico made some terrible decisions as a young child and I am desperate to fix it). I do classes alone or sometimes with the Apollo kids (Will Solace is dating my brother, and he is like a brother to me).

Sorry, I’m getting off topic. Solangelo does that to people.

So on that shiny summer morning, Im walking down the dirt path to the lake. I’m glad I’m alone. I’d never dare to swim with someone else. No that anyone would want to do that with a Hades kid. We’re “creepy and dark and mysterious” or whatever. Which isn’t true. Yeah, I’m a introvert, but so are a lot of other people.

I have the weirdest feeling someone is watching me. I whirl around, but see nothing. Huh. I decide to ignore the strange feeling and just relax a little.

I wander down to the canoe lake, strip down to my sports bra and bike shorts, and dive off the end of the pier.

Unfortunately, I misjudged my dive. I landed wrong, felt my leg bend weirdly, and plummeted into the water. My head hits something hard, and everything goes black.

The next time I open my eyes, they see the somewhat blurry ceiling of the infirmary. Yellow light fills the room, warm and sunshiny and very Apollo cabin themed. I’m not sure I like this aesthetic so much.

“Y/n!”

It’s Nico. He rushes over and sits down on a stool beside me. “Damn, are you okay?”

I groan, my head suddenly spiked with pain. “Um. I think so? What the hell happened?”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, you almost freakin drowned. What were you thinking? Going to swim alone?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing. “So… what happened?”

Nico gives me a look. “You hit your head, we think. You would’ve drowned, you know. Except for Percy…”

I’m immediately paying attention. “Percy?” I ask curiously.

Nico looks slightly amused, and also annoyed. “Yeah, Percy Jackson. You were gonna drown, but he saved you. Lucky he happened to be walking past, which is weird, cause he was supposed to be at archery practice then.”

I flush slightly. “He… he saved me?”

Nico nods. “Gods, you’re hopeless. Stop getting all flustered over him.”

“Hey!” I complain. “Says you, whenever Will walks in the door.”

“Shut up.”

I smirk, and even though my head hurts something awful, Percy Freaking Jackson saved me in a canoe lake today. And that’s enough to make this my best day ever.

#percy jackson #pjo #fanfiction #to read #fanfic #walker scobell #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fanfic #daughter of hades #nico di angelo

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 9: High Noon]

A/N: Thank you so much for the love that you have shown this series! Only 1 chapter left... 💜

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 7.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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As rumbling slate-grey clouds roll in from the North Sea, Alonzo takes you across the bridge to meet the soldiers from Navarre. It is your idea, and one that the Duke of Hightower would be proud of; you are learning how to think like him. To go without bathing or changing your gown first is your idea as well. You want them to see Nico’s blood under your fingernails, the scarlet handprints on green velvet, the evidence of your exodus from London written into the lacerations of your flesh and the earth in your hair: dust, dirt, leaves, blackberry seeds. You tell them what Daemon did to Kunigunde, what Baela did to Nico, how all of it was in pursuit of you and the child you carry. And when you first meet these soldiers, you can see in their faces that they are fresh and arrogant—sharpening arrow tips, swinging swords, laughing as they spar with each other—but not entirely sure why they’re here, Iberian men on English soil, champions of a notoriously dissolute would-be king married to a Navarran princess they’d never seen with their own eyes. But now they have. And as they listen to you, their faces change: to horror, to outrage, to total understanding of what it would mean for one of the greatest kingdoms in Europe to be under Daemon Targaryen’s dominion. It is a blind, bottomless hunger that no one could consider themselves safe from. It is a recklessness that could threaten not just a nation but a continent.

They bow to you, they kiss your mangled hand, they ask if they may tear scraps from the hem of your gown to keep like relics of a saint. They smile at your belly and, when you invite them, place their palms delicately upon it to feel the future blooming there. They admire your sword, still stained with Baela’s blood and gore. They cross themselves when you describe what it was like to feel Daemon’s poison shredding your children from your womb, once, twice, again, again, the first time you’ve ever spoken so plainly of it to any man but Aemond, without shame and without abridgement. And they swear to defeat the Blacks for you and the family you have built here.

They call you the Queen from Navarre, and so do the Milanese soldiers when Alonzo leads you to them, and then the regiments sent by the Holy Roman Emperor. They have never met Nico or Kunigunde, but you speak of them until the warriors of the Continent forget this; you paint portraits with words, of Kunigunde’s honor and grace, of Nico’s youth and bravery and warmth like the sun. You weave stories like the rhymes of poems until the soldiers cannot think of these princesses without remembering their own mothers, sisters, daughters, lovers, wives. You do not stop until you can see the forge-hot glint of vengeance in their eyes.

Meanwhile, Aemond, Daeron, and Aegon go out to forage in the woods, and they say things to each other there that you will never know about. When they return to the castle with walnut hulls and a yellow-flowered plant called woad, Aemond is more burdened, more somber, his pale blue eye distant and glistening. Aegon cannot stop smiling. He keeps trying to swallow it but it bubbles up again, like kites in strong wind, like the pops and sparks of a roaring fire. The walnut hulls produce a vibrant brown dye and the woad is added to darken it, to muddy it, to make Aegon as inconspicuous as possible. But as rain begins to pour outside and the time comes to coat his ever-disheveled white-blond locks with the brew, Aegon makes one last request. He wants you to be the person to do it.

You sit together on one of the covered open-air walkways that overlook the courtyard and listen to the pattering of rain, the thunder, the noise of men shouting orders and fetching water from the well below. You scoop dye from the bowl and comb your fingers through Aegon’s hair, again and again, more times than you could count, until your hand that was mauled by Daemon’s Scottish deerhound is aching and swollen. Still, you don’t complain. Aegon is doing you a tremendous service by vanishing across the sea. It frees him, yes, wholeheartedly, and that is what’s foremost in his mind and always has been; but it frees you too.

You tie his short hair into a single loose braid as the dye sets. And in the midst of fog and lightning—as you have before, though never this vividly—you look at your husband and see the potential for him to be someone else, under different circumstances, under different stars.

“I hope it wasn’t too horrible for you,” he says after a while, gazing out into the storm with his ankles crossed, knees bent to his chest, arms wrapped around them. “All those times with me.”

“You tried to make it as painless as you could. You were gentle, kind. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“I didn’t believe it at first, you know. That you and Aemond hadn’t…” He gestures vaguely, flinching a little. But it’s a resigned sort of ache. It’s not one he’s at war with any longer.

“But you believe us now.”

Aegon nods. “I kept jabbing at him about it. Provoking him, tormenting him. And he wouldn’t fight me. But he’d flush this deep, pathetic shade of red. I don’t think any man would be so sheepish about something that wasn’t still at least somewhat of a mystery to him. That he wasn’t starving for.”

You rinse the earth-colored dye from your hands in a bucket of well water and avoid his murky blue eyes, the same ones your son always has in your dreams, not knowing what to say. The unvoiced words in the air between you grow clear and unmistakable, like ink on parchment. I’m starving for Aemond too. I have been for almost a year.

“I only ever knew my body as something that was for other people to use,” Aegon tells you. “So I rebelled against that however I could. I made mistakes. I was selfish, irresponsible, callous. There was no room in my misery to truly consider anyone else. I thought I was the only one who felt so trapped. But now I see that it was the same for Aemond. And for you.”

With all of his hair pulled back from his face, with the relief that has quarried the weight from his bones, Aegon looks young and truthful and healthy, even with the bruises of war on him. You try to remember if he’s had any wine since he agreed to go to Navarre. The fact that you can’t recall is staggering.

“Wife,” he says, with heartbreaking softness. “I’m sorry that I was never someone worthy of your love. And that I couldn’t love you either, not in the way you needed me to. Maybe things could have been different for us in another time, another place. I have this unshakeable feeling that’s true.” He glances down at your belly, though he doesn’t dare to touch you. “And I’m sorry that the baby isn’t his.”

You smile tiredly. “I’m not.”

Aegon smirks back, not believing you. “We’re past polite lies, don’t you think?”

“I did regret that the baby is yours. But not anymore. I’m glad that we’ll always have a piece of you with us.”

All at once, he seems very sad. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” And then you amend, meaning it: “I hope so.”

“It’s not that far. You and Aemond could visit someday.”

“Yes. Perhaps we could.” If we’re still alive. And then you notice something else on Aegon’s face. “Oh no,” you groan, giggling.

“What?”

“I forgot your eyebrows.”

He laughs and reaches up to run his fingertips across them, light blond arches framing deep-set eyes, distinctly Targaryen features. They remind you—abruptly and unwelcomely—of Daemon’s. “Jesus Christ. Well, that won’t do.”

“Come back over here. I’ll fix them now.”

Aegon scoots across the stones and presents himself to be transformed. You dip your fingerprints in the dye and carefully cover his white-blond eyebrows with it. Even this close, there’s no genuine heat between you—there never has been, honestly—but there’s a peace now, a sense of understanding that didn’t exist before. Forgiveness, even.

“Wife?” he says. “Although I suppose I can’t call you that anymore.”

“It never meant much. I don’t see why it would now.”

He smiles briefly, then turns serious. “Do try to survive this war. Don’t succumb to heroics. Don’t jeopardize your life more than you already have.”

“It is my intention to endure it,” you reply, startled. “Why?”

Lightning flashes; thunder cracks like crushed bones. “Aemond isn’t like Daeron. I think if something happened to you, it would destroy him. And he would expect the debt to be paid.”

You wait for nightfall to engulf Castle Rising, and when it does—early and tumultuous under the storm—Aegon dons a hooded cloak and departs on Sunfyre, crossing the bridge over the gorge with two of Alonzo’s most trusted men. They’re headed for the east coast where a ship waits to return to Navarre with word of the war effort and then ferry additional soldiers and resources back to the Greens. This particular vessel will carry more than just wartime reports and tales of Daemon’s depravity across the choppy, shark-swarming Bay of Biscay. It will carry the man who was once—and in God’s eyes, will continue to be until his death—the rightful king of England.

From where you, Aemond, Daeron, Sir Criston, and Alonzo stand huddled just out of the rain under the main entranceway of the castle, you wave goodbye. But Aegon doesn’t see you. He sits tall in the saddle as Sunfyre trots into the downpour, mane and tail drenched and windswept, more bronze than golden in the lighting-fractured night. The moon and stars are covered by clouds. Leaves clatter and break off in the ghostly, metal-cool air. Horses nicker restlessly from the small stable in the basement of the castle.

And Aegon doesn’t look back, not even once.

Castle Rising has not been consistently occupied by anyone since the 1300s, but it is used by the nobility as a hunting facility and is therefore littered with the remnants of visitors; you find a trunk of women’s clothes, dusty and moth-eaten but with a few garments that will fit you: a nightgown, a coat of dark brown bear fur, a white velvet dress. There is a large circular bathtub in the stone the floor of one of the bedchambers and Aemond has it filled with well water heated over the fire, salt, rose petals, sprigs of mint, sage, thyme, pieces of olive oil soap brough by Alonzo from Navarre. As you scrub the past three days off your skin—sweat, dirt, horsehair, blood—and loll in water the color of mist, you think of herbs that heal, herbs that kill, how the earth claims lives and then builds them back again. You sip golden, honey-sweetened mead from a chalice Aemond found in the kitchen. You listen to the muffled voices in the other rooms of the castle. Scouts are reporting that accounts of what happened in London are traveling quickly, like a wildfire, like Plague. Gossip sails between taverns like arrows. Prayers are murmured, candles are lit, masses are being held for the women now called the Princesses in the Palace; Nico didn’t die there—and you wish you could stop seeing the blood on her teeth, feeling the weight of her in your arms—but such details don’t seem terribly consequential now. What everyone speaks of is Daemon’s recklessness, his savagery, his incurably bestial nature. What they cannot unravel from their thoughts is the wrath of the Holy Roman Emperor when word of his only daughter’s murder reaches across the sea like grasping vines.

There is a tentative knock at the bedchamber door and then Aemond opens it. He sees that you are still bathing and then—chivalrous, diffident, red flooding into his cheeks—turns to leave.

“No,” you call after Aemond, and he stops. “Please stay.”

He hesitates and then steps inside, closing the door behind him. The crackling fireplace casts an amber hue like dusk; blue-white lightning flashes through the windows. He crosses the room slowly, his gaze dropping to the opaque water where everything from your collarbones down is obscured by a cloud cover of steam and minerals and herbs. There are shapes, shadows, things he’s touched and tasted, things he’s dreamt about for years, things he’s stolen for moments but never owned. You watch him as he circles the bathtub with excruciatingly unhurried steps until he disappears behind you. You don’t turn to look, but you can hear him taking off his sword, his boots, his tunic, his trousers. Then he lowers himself into the tub, sighing as the heat hits him and untangles the tension in his muscles that had become so unremitting he’d forgotten it was there.

He swims over to you, and now that you look at him directly you see that he’s undone his hair. It falls in a long silvery cascade over his back and shoulders, wavy from the rain outside the castle and from the steam of the bath. He wears nothing except his eyepatch. You wear nothing except the glimmering ivy leaf necklace he made for you; it is a flash of gold beneath semitransparent water. Aemond’s arms—strong yet careful, always so careful—skim around your waist as he slips behind you, his hands coming to rest on your belly. He kisses your shoulder and the back of your neck as rose petals bob on the ripples he’s made in the water, breathing deeply, inhaling you. He smells like he always does, like smoke from a fire and musk and leather, steel and parchment, work and war.

“I’m supposed to tell you to watch out for Daeron,” you say, your voice strangled by the memory. “To take care of him.”

“I always do.”

“Will he be alright?”

“Yes. In time. He’s a better man than I am. If it had been you, I’d burn this country to ashes.”

You turn to face him, stroking his scarred cheek with the backs of your fingers, feeling the heat and beads of condensation on his skin. “I can’t lose you, Aemond.”

“You won’t.”

“I couldn’t survive it.”

“You won’t lose me. I swear you won’t. You’ve lost far too much already.”

His hands, large and calloused, are still below the water on your belly. “You carved over them,” you say. “The four dates in the cedar tree.”

“There will never be a fifth.”

“I’m so afraid that I’ve harmed him,” you confess, a whisper like a dark secret. “I’ve been doing everything I’m not supposed to. Running, riding Midnight, fighting with my sword. I’ve slept on the ground and eaten wild berries and whatever vermin Sir Criston could catch. I’ve gulped water from creeks. I’ve wept for days for Nico. I’m drained in body and spirit. I’ve never felt him move. What if I’ve killed him and I just don’t know it yet?”

“Him?” Aemond asks, intrigued.

“I’ve been dreaming of a boy.”

He pulls you in close and touches his lips to your forehead. Your lungs fill with his warmth, smoke, strength, single-minded resolve. “You did what you had to,” he soothes. “To protect yourself, the baby, the realm. It couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t your fault.” Then you feel his lips curl into a faint smile against your skin. “And you must not be so critical of yourself. You haven’t done everything forbidden to pregnant women.”

“Not quite yet,” you reply, and Aemond draws back to study you, his blue eye cautious and seeking, yes—wanting you to be sure, attuned to every angle of your body—but also hungry, starving. You trace your fingertips over the strap of his eyepatch. “Can I see you? All of you?”

He doesn’t flinch away, but you can tell he’s afraid. “You’ll think it’s awful. That I’m a monster.”

“I could never.” And that’s the truth. “Aegon told me about the sapphire.”

“It’s not a sapphire anymore.”

“What?”

“It hasn’t been for almost two years.”

You stare at Aemond, not understanding.

He rests both arms on the rim of the bathtub behind him and says: “Take it off.”

You reach around the back of his head—his white-blond hair damp and unruly beneath your hands—and lift the strap, then gently remove the eyepatch from his face and drop it just outside the tub. The remnants of his eyelids are jagged, palpably violent, open in an eternal glare. In the voided socket—refracting the glow of flames and lightning—glitters a smooth, bloodlike ruby. “Red,” you breathe. “For Navarre.”

“It was the closest I could get to touching you.”

You ghost your thumb over his parted lips. “Not anymore.”

And only then does he kiss you, kind and yet ravenous. His hands cradle your face as you glide into his lap, nothing to fill the space between you except bathwater and firelight. You can feel his heart pounding under the sinew and bones of his chest. You can taste the honeyed mead he’s been drinking because it reminds him of you. And he murmurs, his river-blue gaze rapt: “I’ve never been with someone I wanted before.”

“Neither have I.” Your fingers weave through his silver hair. Your hips press to his beneath the water. He’s hard, and he’s shaking all over, and his breathing is ragged. There is nothing left to stop you, not your husband, not his wife. “Show me how good it can feel.”

Aemond turns you so your back is against the wall of the tub; the cloudy water roils like the sea in a storm, splashing you with wayward droplets. You moan into his open mouth as he grinds himself against you, his hands skating down the length of your body: throat, ribs, waist, hips, thighs. Your ankles link around him, your teeth mark his neck with a string of trapped-blood amethysts. Your breasts are now just above the waves of the bathwater; he strokes your nipples with his fingertips and then lowers his head to drag his tongue over them, to bite lightly at them, to claim you as well with blossoms like violets. The euphoria that he taught you how to feel is sparking up again. You reach down into the water to touch him—his thickness, his length—and Aemond gasps, his lust a mirror of yours. He slips his hand between your legs and watches the pleasure unfold on your face, helpless and building, desperate, begging for him. You wonder how many times he’s done this already in his head, how many lines he’s written about it in black ink. You hope the real you won’t disappoint him.

He glances to the bed across the room. “Should we…?”

“Yes—”

There is a sudden knock at the bedchamber door. You tear away from Aemond as Sir Criston peeks timidly inside. “Aemond?”

“Not now,” he snaps, husky and panting.

“I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt unless it was absolutely necessary, but—”

“Goddammit, what?!”

Sir Criston steps into the room, staring fixedly at Aemond to avoid glimpsing any part of you obscured by the cloudy, still-quivering water. You note that he doesn’t seem alarmed by the gleaming ruby in the place of Aemond’s left eye. “Our scouts have spotted Rhaenyra’s forces ten miles to the northwest. They’re marching here. If you don’t want to be pinned down against the coast…if you don’t want to dig in for a protracted siege…”

Aemond’s face has cleared. All other thoughts have vanished from him. “We should ride out to meet them.”

“Yes,” Criston says.

“She thinks to catch us unaware because of the storm. She seeks an ill-gotten victory.”

Criston nods. “The latest word from London is that Alicent and Otto are safe. They’ve left Westminster Abbey and Otto is using the tragedy to drum up more support, courting Northern nobles who have been disturbed by the murders, sending letters to neutral kingdoms on the Continent. The people seem to think that the queen has been taken into hiding for her own protection. No one knows where Daemon is.”

“He hasn’t been spotted with Rhaenyra’s soldiers?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean he’s not there.” There is a heavy, laden silence. It is a great advantage to remove Daemon and Caraxes from the battlefield; it is profoundly dangerous for his whereabouts to remain unknown. “And the scouts reported something else as well, Aemond.”

He waits, afraid to ask, not wanting to be disappointed, unwilling to succumb to false hope.

Criston smiles. “Rhaenyra is missing soldiers. She has hundreds less than we’d estimated.”

Aemond’s brow furrows. “She’s still gathering men?”

“No. She’s losing them.”

And no one has to say what he means: that men aren’t willing to back a side that has invoked the fury of the Holy Roman Empire, that even austere, weather-beaten Northerners will not abide the murder of unarmed women and bastard infants. That Daemon has taken a hammer to the bricks of Rhaenyra’s foundation. That his blade is draining the lifeblood from her cause.

“We could end this now,” Sir Criston tells Aemond. “Before the Blacks can regain the momentum. Before Daemon comes back from the South.”

“Before the baby is born,” Aemond muses, almost too softly to hear, and then he climbs out of the tub.

“There is a hidden passageway behind the wall,” Aemond says. His hair is still wet from rain and steam and bathwater; you’ve secured it in a long braid like a silver chain. He’s wearing light armor and his sword at his belt. You’re wearing the white velvet gown you found, a castoff of some English noblewoman who’s likely dead by now. Aemond feels for a specific spot on the stone wall of your bedchamber, pushing and prodding and shoving it with his shoulder. He locates the right place and a section of the wall gives way, swinging backwards to reveal a narrow corridor illuminated by tiny slit windows and filthy with cobwebs and dust. “It leads to the other end of the castle. If there’s any trouble, hide there. To my knowledge, Rhaenyra and Daemon have always done their hunting in Scotland or Northern England. They have no reason to know the secrets of Castle Rising.”

“Good.” You scrutinize the passageway warily.

Aemond looks to Sir Criston. “And you’re staying here with her.”

“Aemond, no,” you say, frightened. “You need him. He’ll be of far more use to you on the battlefield. He can ride Nico’s horse—”

“I can’t take you with me, and I can’t leave you here unprotected.” Aemond is fierce, immoveable. “He’s staying. That’s the end of it.”

Sir Criston bows his head compliantly. “Understood.”

“If I’m not back in three days, accompany her south to London. If I’m killed, you must be her champion. She is to remarry only a man of her own choosing. Do not allow Otto to barter with her, do you hear me? I will haunt you, Criston. I will drag you down to hell myself if you fail me in this. In the event that the Blacks seem likely to win the war, get her out of the country. Take her back to Navarre. Only then are you free to return to my mother’s service. And you may remain there for the duration of your life, as I’m sure would be your preference.”

“Yes, Aemond,” Criston agrees swiftly.

He swore I wouldn’t lose him, you think, but of course those were lover’s words. They age poorly in the stark realities beyond the doorways of bedchambers.

Both of you follow Aemond down to the castle stables. In the rain and the wind, there are soldiers rushing to saddle horses, gather provisions, haul cannons over the bridge and pry them from the worsening mud when they get bogged down in it. Daeron is on Tessarion and directing an officer from Milan how to position his regiment when they get into battle. Aemond leads Vhagar out of her stall and fastens her bridle and saddle. She’s restless, throwing her head around and pawing at the floor with her massive feathered hooves, chomping at men who pass by too near.

“Stop it,” Aemond commands her, and Vhagar settles immediately. Still in her stall—one of the only two horses who will remain here—Midnight blinks curiously at you with her large onyx eyes, chewing contently on a mouthful of hay. Alonzo appears and readies his own warhorse, a chestnut-colored Andalucian he’s had since you were children. Her name is Tormenta.

Vhagar is ready, but Aemond doesn’t climb up into the saddle. Instead he turns to you, touching your cheek, your throat, your golden ivy leaf necklace.

“Ivy…” You can read it in his eye, in the lines of his shoulders and his jaw. I love you.

“No,” you say. And then you echo his own words back to him. “Tell me when I see you again.”

“I will,” Aemond promises, smiling a little. “I will.” And then he mounts Vhagar and canters out of the stable, vanishing into lightning flashes and storm winds.

“He’ll be alright,” Alonzo tells you from where he stands beside Tormenta. “He’s Alexander come back to life. He’s a genius. Strange, very strange, but a genius. Quiet, intense, no interest in brothels, writes more than any man I’ve ever known. And he has these odd habits. Rituals. English superstitions or something. For luck, I assume.”

“Rituals?”

“Si. Like whenever he sees ivy, he’ll stop and take a piece of it. His pockets are always full of dried leaves.”

Instinctively, you skim your fingertips across the necklace Aemond left for you to find under the cedar tree outside Westminster Palace.

Alonzo sees this, sighs, rubs his forehead. “Ay, por el amor de Dios...”

“There aren’t enough words in any language to describe what he means to me.”

“I knew it! I knew something was going on when he sent me that letter about the horse! Why would he write to me when Aegon never has? Why would your brother-in-law be more concerned about your happiness than your own husband? And then when I got here, I asked Aemond about how you were, and he got all nervous—fidgety, red-faced—and ended up rambling about your wit, your skills with a sword, your tenacity. Oh, and…oddly enough…your scent.”

“What? Really?”

“Si. Like I said, a very strange man.”

“What did he say?”

Alonzo closes his eyes, trying to reconjure the words. “That you smell like summer air, gardens, roses and lilies, horses, needles from a cedar tree. Like the earth.”

Aemond’s smoke and I’m the things that burn. An inauspicious pair. You smile despite yourself. He’s been thinking about you too. He’s been just as unable to tear your memory out of him.

Alonzo mounts Tormenta with a grunt and winks down at you, grinning mischievously. “Don’t worry, mi amada. I’ll bring him back safely.”

“Or he’ll bring you. Either way works.”

Alonzo laughs, clucks his tongue a few times to get Tormenta moving, and hurries off after Aemond.

You meet Criston by the doorway of the stable. Gusts of wind carry raindrops inside to pepper your face, your hands. “You must hate me for keeping you from the battle,” you say, but Criston shakes his head.

“I know what Aemond was like before you, and I can confidently say he’s much improved. I don’t ever want to meet the man he’d be if you were taken from him.”

You contemplate Criston as thunder rumbles outside, not knowing what to say.

“And…” Criston says after a moment, glancing to your belly. He seems guilty, like he’s confessing something he knows is wrong and yet is beyond his power to resist. “That’s Alicent’s first grandchild who is destined to stay in England. Depending on how this war goes, it may be the only blood she has left here someday. That’s a cause I would kill for. It’s a cause I would die for, I think.”

And then he locks the heavy wooden stable door, secures the key by knotting it to his belt, and heads back into the shadows of the castle without another word.

You dream of your son; and he looks like Aegon, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s quiet and serious and watchful, he likes to flip the pages of books even though he can’t read them yet, he totters on unsteady fledgling legs to bring you leaves of ivy he’s plucked from the untamable vines that run like arteries through the gardens of Westminster Palace. He has white-blond hair that he wants to grow until it reaches halfway down his back. He gazes rapturously at swords. And when you speak to him, you call him a name you haven’t heard since you left the Continent, one that is almost nonexistent in England: Nicholas.

Criston insists on sleeping on the floor beside your bed. When you wake, you eat solemnly together—bread and apples and cheese from the castle kitchen, wine for Criston and mead for you—and then venture out into the storm to plod through the mud to the stable door and feed the horses. The churning clouds are so dark and thick that it looks more like night than morning. The wind tears at your hair, your flesh, your white velvet gown. Back inside the castle, you peer down from a window to see that the gorge surrounding Castle Rising is filling up with rain; it’s over a foot deep already. It flows in a current beneath the stone bridge like a river. You help Criston empty the buckets that he’s placed under the spots where the ceilings leak and then head towards the kitchen to start preparing lunch. It’s a bit early for it, but you’re insatiable; you rest your scarred hand on your belly as you pause at a window to check the water level in the gorge again.

Lightning flashes, and you see him there on the bridge: tall, armored, half of his long hair held out of his face by a loose, haphazard braid. Stray locks the color of snow lash around in the wind. Rain pelts him mercilessly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He is holding Caraxes’ reins in one hand. The other rests on the hilt of his sword. And beside him is something you hadn’t considered, although you should have. It’s a grey dog three feet tall and over a hundred pounds. It’s the surviving Scottish deerhound.

Sir Criston spots you at the window and approaches, concerned. “Your Majesty? Are you alright? What are you looking at…?”

You can’t answer. You can only stand there and remember what it felt like to have the dog’s teeth embedded in your hand, the way the blood gushed, the power and the quickness.

Criston looks through the glass and then immediately pulls you away. “Get behind the wall in your bedchamber.”

“The dog, Criston,” you whimper. “The dog…”

He stares at you and understands. It will be able to track you, to hunt you. “The wall,” Criston repeats, drawing his sword and leading you there. He pushes open the entrance to the secret passageway, ushers you inside, and shuts it tightly. Then he positions himself in front of you, both hands clutching his sword. Downstairs, you can hear Daemon pounding his fist against the door of Castle Rising’s main entranceway.

He whistles shrilly as if calling a dog, a child, a life that he owns. “Are you home, Navarre?” he shouts through the storm, and you know then that something in him has broken; there’s always been savagery in his words, his actions, but now there is a lilt that wasn’t present before, a lack of composure in his voice. There is only an animalistic sort of cunning that is more lethal than strategic. In the dim light of the passageway, Criston turns to you with raw fear in his dark eyes.

There is more banging at the door, and then it stops. Beyond the thunder and the rain, you can hear the distant boom of cannons.

“Do you know what that is?” Daemon calls. You can tell he’s still near the main door, but that he’s moving around. He’s devising a way to get inside. “It’s the sound of your men dying, Navarre. Soldiers under red banners being gutted and left to drown in the mud. What do you think will be the last thought that flies through Aemond’s mind as he bleeds out and rain fills his eyes? His brother fucking you, perhaps. He couldn’t have the throne and he couldn’t have you. And between you and me, I think that’s the true cause of his obsession. People want what they cannot possess. But then you finally get your hands on it and it decays, it withers, it starts hemorrhaging from all the wounds you’ve put in it with your own blades. It’s for the best that Aemond never had you. It wouldn’t have lasted. What man could honestly love a bitch like you? You’ve never had humility. You’ve never learned to recognize your betters.”

There is a deafening impact and then the feverish snort of a horse, and you know what he’s doing: he’s using Caraxes to kick the door down. There is another strike and the splitting of wood, a third and a great echoing crash as the door blows off its hinges. You hear Daemon’s footsteps on the stone staircase. You hear the gruff barking of his Scottish deerhound and its padding across the floor. One of Sir Criston’s hands settles on your shoulder.

“I know you killed her,” Daemon says, much closer now. “I found her. I cleaned the blood from her face. It was no man’s sword that did it. The wound was too small, almost needlelike. It was a woman’s weapon. It was yours.”

You reach for your sword and realize that you haven’t worn it since you bathed last night. It’s still on top of a heap of dirty clothes by the bathtub. You swallow noisily, full of frustration and terror. You couldn’t overpower Daemon under any foreseeable circumstances. Without your sword, you can’t even hope to defend yourself long enough to get the chance to run away.

“My dog can find you, Navarre,” Daemon growls. He’s in the hallway outside your bedchamber. “He has already smelled you. He has already tasted you.”

Now they’re in the room. Daemon is opening closets, moving pieces of furniture to check under them. The Scottish deerhound is sniffing by the entrance to the secret passageway. It barks twice, scratching at the stones.

“If he opens that door, you run,” Criston whispers in the darkness. “You run as fast as you can and as far as you can, and I’ll try to slow him down.”

“Do you want to know what I did with the Milanese girl?” Daemon says. He’s right on the other side of the stone wall. He rams it with his shoulder, grunting. “I fed her to the hogs. They eat everything, you know. Skin and bones, even the clothing. She always looked like a pig to me. Now she’s with her own kind. Isn’t that a happy ending?”

Sir Criston pushes you away from him and towards the winding path of the passageway. Go, he mouths, and you listen, tears streaming silently down your face: for him, for Nico, for Kunigunde, for Aemond, for yourself and the son you carry who may never live. And you are halfway down the corridor when Daemon gets the door open.

Criston bellows and rushes at him, forcing Daemon backwards into your bedchamber, their swords clanging together. The Scottish wolfhound, barking manically, bolts past them and down the passageway towards you. As thunder and cannons roar outside and shrieking metal rings through the castle, you sprint to the end of the corridor and burst through another hidden door out onto an open-air walkway. The dog is on you before you can slam the door shut; it’s snarling and mauling at your hand again, the same one, the dominant one, reopening old wounds and igniting familiar, dormant agony. You are reminded of how accustomed you grew to the pain of miscarriage, and the man who was responsible. When you manage to kick the dog away momentarily, you observe that you can see your own tendons and bones through the wounds in your hand.

I have to kill him, you think to yourself. No one is coming to save me. Criston is fighting Daemon, Aemond and Alonzo are in battle, Nico and Kunigunde are dead. I have to kill him myself.

Screaming, turning your face away so the dog cannot disfigure you, you grab it by the throat with both hands when it lunges at you again. It thrashes wildly and snaps at you, yowling, spewing saliva and slimy threads of your own blood. You heave it up and over the railing, feeling muscles tear in your back, your ribs, your arms.

Please don’t let this hurt the baby, you think as you watch the Scottish deerhound plummet into the courtyard below, landing with a nauseating, crunching thump. Please, God, if you’re there and ever have been, let this one live.

You can hear Criston and Daemon dueling, shouts and steel, though the sound is retreating from you; Criston is forcing Daemon down to the ground floor of the castle to buy you more time. You crouch down so you won’t be seen. Your injured hand is trembling uncontrollably. The pain is so overwhelming it’s difficult to think through. Despite the roof that covers the walkway, rain drenches you in sheets that spray sideways in the ferocious wind. Lightning flashes above you, and seconds later thunder explodes loud enough to shake the castle floors. You look down to see Criston and Daemon appear in the courtyard below, swinging and parrying swords as they step around the carcass of the Scottish deerhound. Daemon is more vicious, but Criston has the advantage; he’s steered Daemon to exactly where he wants him, away from you, away from the baby. But he’s forgotten something.

Daemon plunges forward with his full weight. He doesn’t manage to stab Criston, but he does knock him off-balance. Criston tumbles backwards into the pitch-black mouth of the well. You hear his screams all the way down and then the splash of water below. You blink as searing rain pours into your eyes, unable to believe it.

Criston?

CRISTON???

And then, for the second time: No one is coming to save me. I have to kill him myself.

You scramble to your feet and run back to your bedchamber before Daemon can ascend the steps again. You grab your sword off the filthy, bloodstained green velvet gown you arrived at Castle Rising in. You try to twirl it once; your hand, quaking and ruined, drops it immediately. You snatch it back up and soar out into the hallway.

Daemon is coming up the steps. You veer away from him, darting across the open-air walkways that line the interior of the castle. Your thoughts are a maelstrom of panic and horror and red, red pain.

What now?? Where now??

Daemon taunts as he pursues you, twirling his sword effortlessly: “What do you think, Navarre? When I cut that baby out of you, will we be able to tell if it’s a prince or a princess? Or have you not had enough time to knit those parts into being yet?”

“Regardless, they’ve already had more experience with killing than Jace or Luke,” you sling back, your bare feet flying over wet stones.

He roars, rupturing: “You stole a child from me!”

“Only one? Then we are not yet even. Fortunately, you have others.”

He swings at you and you duck into a spiral staircase too narrow for him to easily maneuver in. You race down towards the ground level, towards the earth.

The stable, you think frenziedly. Go to the stable, get Midnight, flee into the countryside and try to evade Caraxes somehow.

You won’t be able to mount Midnight by yourself unless you can saddle her, and that will take time. But it’s the only idea you have. You careen out of the bottom of the stairwell, get your bearings, run for the main entranceway and skitter over the felled door. Your ivy leaf necklace dangles precariously, swaying with the motion of your body. You can hear Daemon’s armor screeching against the walls of the stairwell. He’s nearly out of it. He’s only seconds behind you.

You make a sharp left turn out of the castle and follow the perimeter until you find the door to the stable. The mud is deep and slippery beneath your feet, coating your skin to your mid-calf; your gown is soaked with cold rain. It drips from your hair and your eyelashes, it raises goosebumps on your flesh. You’re still clasping your sword with your mangled dominant hand. With the other, you struggle with the stable door. It doesn’t open. It’s locked.

The key.

The key that’s tied to Sir Criston’s belt. And he’s at the bottom of the well.

“No,” you moan as rain covers you like ivy scales stones, slapping the door with your palms. You can hear Midnight inside neighing and huffing; you can hear her kicking at the walls of her stall.

Next idea, you think, your hand ablaze and throbbing. A new plan. Something to try, anything to try.

You can’t find one. You’re empty. You’ve had two years of suffering and disappointments and desperate, hopeless trying and now you’ve finally hit the bottom of what you can endure, you’re a dry well, you’re a voided eye socket, you’re full of nothing but pain and futility.

Daemon rounds the castle and spots you. He’s on Caraxes. The snorting blood bay Arabian jolts into a gallop. Daemon is monstrously tall in the saddle, his sword held aloft. Sobbing, frantic, you sprint for the bridge straddling the gorge that encircles Castle Rising like a snake, like a wedding ring. Lightning strikes close enough to startle Caraxes; he rears up on his hind legs and Daemon struggles to bring him back under control, pulling roughly at the reins. Thunder crashes overhead and Caraxes—squealing, the whites of his eyes showing—wheels in tight circles, a delay that gifts you threadbare seconds.

Your bare feet hit the stones of the bridge. The sun must be directly above you at high noon, but you can’t see it. Somewhere across the storm of thunder and screaming horses and cannon fire, Aemond is fighting for you and your child and the country you now call home, but you can’t see him either. You can see only rain and lightning and emerald grass that you chase like means something, like it will offer an escape, like it will swallow you up and take you away from here.

The pounding of hooves is very loud behind you. You can hear the whistle of Daemon’s blade in the air.

Next idea.

You drop to your knees as Daemon’s sword sweeps harmlessly over your head and bury your own blade in Caraxes’ chest. The Arabian shrieks and goes sprawling, blood gushing from his mouth and flaring nostrils, kicking and wheezing. One of his thrashing hooves hits you in the small of your back propels you over the side of the bridge. You yelp as you collide with the steep, grassy wall and roll all the way down, clawing at soggy earth that sheds off in clumps in your hands.

You plunge into the river at the trough of the gorge. On your hands and knees, the water is high enough to choke you, and there is more of it with each passing minute. You stagger to your feet, coughing rain and mud from your aching lungs. Your gown is drenched and freezing against your skin. You are half-blind from the torrents of raindrops that sting in your eyes like needles, like blades. Behind you, in the midst of the thunder, you can hear Daemon slide down the side of the embankment and splash into the pooled rainwater below. You stumble away from him, pitifully, hopelessly, your hands cradling your belly. When you glimpse back at Daemon, you can see the glint of his sword reflecting the lightning. Your own sword is up on the bridge, pierced through Caraxes’ heart.

Your bare foot catches in a particularly deep patch of mud and you lurch to the flooded ground, a petrified, mournful cry splitting from your throat. You think of Aemond, Aegon, Daeron, Nico, Kunigunde, Criston, Alicent, the Duke of Hightower, King Viserys, your parents and your siblings and your doomed children. If this was a song, a story, a poem, you would be able to feel them here with you. Instead, you feel utterly alone. You feel that your clock is rapidly ticking down towards zero. You feel that you will never leave this place.

“It’s time, Navarre,” Daemon says as he stands there gasping in the driving rain with his sword hanging by his side. A rod of lighting divides the grey sky above him. “I’ve been waiting for two very long years. But now it’s time.”

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aetherdoesthings · 6 months

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Hey I love the way you write Robin in your story's so i was wondering how would reader react to Robin who got turned into a child, but she still has her memory of a 30 year old... please

hey! thanks for the compliment 😊

forethoughts: woah aether posts consecutively?! anyways, planning to do a beiguang smut or nico robin x fem!reader smut sometime soon. idk that could be my 100 follower special? whichever one y'all want.

notes: gn!reader, comedy? idk it's just my sense of humor.

It was a normal day on the Sunny. Well, normal for you. Normal as in Nami was chasing Luffy around, Zoro bickering with Sanji, Usopp and Chopper in a game of ‘who can get hurt faster’. You excluded yourself from the madness, finding refuge in the private library only you and Robin had access to.

Ah, the privileges you got for being the partner of the resident Straw hat archaeologist.

You were sitting cross legged on the carpeted ground, organizing the bookshelves and dusting the shelves as Robin had requested. As you finished the last row, the door clicked open, before shutting with a bang.

A smile formed on your face at the sound of your girlfriend’s arrival. You stood up, turning around to greet the love of your life. “Robin! I didn’t know you were back so soon. I thought you were-”

A shriek was ripped out of your mouth, as you stumbled back, staring at the figure in front of you. A small petite girl, a third your height was standing in front of the door. She had jet black hair with ocean blue eyes, brows furrowed and a familiar frown on her face. You recognized those ocean blue eyes; you couldn’t ever forget the sight of tranquility in eons. But those eyes didn’t belong on the face of a dwarf.

“What in the fuck?” You stammered, staring at the girl. “How did you get on board?! A pirate ship? Do you know where you are, kid?!”

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s Robin.” The girl squealed, taking a step towards you. You instinctively took a step back, a hand absentmindedly reaching for the sword on the desk. Robin? What in the fuckknuckles? Who does this girl think she is, walking onto the Sunny and proclaiming to be my girlfriend?

“No, no, nope. Robin, first of all, is thrice your height, and her voice is WAY lower than yours.” Your voice cracked, leaking with hesitancy. This girl, wherever she came from, was NOT your girlfriend. You were 50% sure.

“Y/N, please, put down the sword.” NotRobin took another step closer to you, desperation cracking through that surprisingly familiar stoic expression. “Ask me anything. I promise I’m Robin.”

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” You placed the weapon back on the desk, staring down at the kid. “If you’re Robin, use your devil fruit power.”

NotRobin let out a sigh, closing her eyelids. She raised her arms, crossing them in front of her chest. Like a seed germinating, a hand sprouted from your chest, the duplicate fingers flicking your forehead before disappearing with a flower petal. You stumbled back, placing a hand on where the duplicate hand was. That flick had sent your soul out of your body, leaving you paralyzed with shock and confusion. It wasn’t after a while your soul came back, as you faced MaybeRobin, her arms folded on top of each other under her chest, a smug smile on her face.

“T-That was unnecessary!” You managed to regurgitate out.

“Still don’t believe me?” MaybeRobin let out a small chuckle.

Your cheeks flushed red. “W-Well! Maybe you somehow have the devil fruit ability to replicate other devil fruits, and you just happen to know it’s Robin’s devil fruit!”

“Y/N, I love you, but darling your logic is still terrible.”

“Shut up!” You stammered, while MaybeRobin had a devious smile on her face. Of course MaybeRobin was relishing in your embarrassment. Actual Robin would do the same. You thought to yourself.

“Okay, then.” Recomposing yourself, you faced MaybeRobin with a serious look. “If you really are Robin, who confessed first?”

“You did.” MaybeRobin answered without hesitation.

“Lucky guess. Where did I-”

“In the crow’s nest. During my turn to watch over the Sunny. You crept into the crow’s nest in the middle of my turn, and confessed, and then we stayed up there the entire night cuddling and watching the stars.” ProbablyRobin answered with a monotone voice, as if she was repeating a speech she was forced to memorize a hundred times like it was nothing.

You stared at ProbablyRobin with a shocked look, but quickly pursed your lips, not letting ProbablyRobin know she was right. “Lucky guess. If you were really really my girlfriend, you would know that-”

“You have a birthmark on your left thigh near your-”

“OKAY, OKAY. I GOT IT.” You shouted at the top of your lungs, glaring at Robin with a warning look. Robin let out a giggle, placing a hand in front of her mouth. That laugh. That laugh that caught your heart. That laugh that made you fall in love with the girl that spent her life running away from the world. Bending down, you faced your supposed girlfriend, looking into those familiar ocean blue eyes. “Riddle me this then, if you really are Robin, why are you a kid?”

“Perhaps our last fight in that laboratory had some lasting effects. I do recall one of the scientists hitting me with some sort of chemical.” Robin answered nonchalantly.

You stared at Robin, jaw glued to the floor. “YOU GOT HIT BY UNKNOWN CHEMICALS AND YOU DIDN’T GO TO CHOPPER?!”

“I went to Chopper, rest assured. He’s certain this is… whatever this is is harmless and will go away soon.” Robin smiled at you. An uneasy feeling churned in your heart, as you hesitantly placed your hands on child Robin’s shoulders.

“This is… weird.” You stated, giving Robin the same lookdowns she would always give you.

“I know. But it’ll go away soon. Everything will return back to normal.” Robin reassured.

“No, I mean, yes. Yes, this will go away soon. I’m just saying, this is weird. My girlfriend is a child.” You made a vomit sound. “I’d never imagined that sentence coming out of my mouth. Euch. Please tell me this will go away soon.”

Robin giggled. “Be glad you only said that to me, not to the others. Otherwise everyone will start seeing you in a different light.”

“Hey! Not my fault! My girlfriend right now is LITERALLY a child!”

#one piece #op #nico robin #nico robin x reader #child robin #aetherasks

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0lshadyl0 · 1 year

Note

Any HCs or scenarios on Yandere Hancock boa ?? I think she an interesting character 🥰

Of course, my dear, she is a fascinating character, in fact, she is my favorite female character after Nico Robin, I am weak to black haired women with cool powers and sad past.

Yandere Boa Hancock headcanons

• Brave of you to assume that she is not a yandere in the canon, that is, she has all the points to follow for her character to be a yandere, especially a delusional yandere

• sad past with traumatic events, no friends, position of power, no one contradicts her, she gets lost in her own fantasies, lives in her own reality and obsesses over a person beyond what is sanely possible, yeah she checks all the marks

• But, she would only become obsessed with her romantic interest if he has a very specific personality (for example, Luffy)

• Ok, let's say that the key for her to fix her eyes on you is that you have heroic tendencies, that is, she likes people with a good heart, willing to do what others would consider crazy in order to help others. the others (such as hitting a Tenryūbito, better yet, killing one)

• or just a very kind person with a great charisma, very positive mind but who doesn't take shit from anyone

• if things happened naturally, I'm pretty sure Hancock would be obsessed with a woman, Luffy is an exception to the rule (call it the power of the script thanks to being the protagonist of the series)

• Let's remember that the first men in her life that she met were the Tenryūbito and they are the worst experiences that a young woman like Boa could have, emotionally, physically and sexually (I'm 200% sure that she was raped by a good number of them, that's why despite being in love with Luffy she never sees herself having children with him… probably she can't even get pregnant due to irreparable damage to her sexual organ or simply they removed the ovaries so that she could not get pregnant by the Tenryūbito since she was a slave and the slaves are not worthy of having a child with a being as noble as a Tenryūbito is)

• Anyway, when she fixes her eyes on you, in her head she already begins to live in a world apart

• You've probably seen each other a maximum of five times and most of it in battles, possibly you saved her from some dangerous situation but not paying much attention to her, but in her head, you two are already engaged

• Yes, she is the type of women who, from a very young age, dreamed of getting married and having a large family full of love, a dream that has been transformed into only having a partner to love and be loved by because of the Tenryūbito and all their shit

• She is a relatively easy yandere to deal with, since the word of her s/o is divine law for her, she will never question you, nor will she go against you, she will not hesitate to put herself in danger or give her life for you, she literally will kill for you

• But, keep in mind, she is very jealous and in an unjustified way, nobody can look at you because she is already asking questions and imagining scenarios where you abandon her.

• Because, despite all that she says about being the most beautiful woman in the world, she actually has low self-esteem due to her past as a slave, she doesn't feel that she is worthy of you, because she is dirty

• But if you tell her that you are not interested in that person or deny knowing about the existence of the person who made her jealous, she will believe you without a shadow of a doubt.

• You can tell her that the sky is green and for her, yes, ultimately the sky is green and she will turn anyone who says otherwise into stone

• She is a stalker, she will follow you everywhere and will always be watching you, of course, at a respectful (Hinata-Naruto style) distance if the two of you get into a relationship, she will stick to you like gum, she is unbelievably clingy and has no idea of the meaning of personal space

• She is one of the few yanderes who have no sexual intentions, because she is traumatized with sex (she has never known about vanilla sex or consent) and considers it torture, she loves you too much to do you any kind of harm

• Oh, but if she were to get over her traumas and discover that sex can be enjoyed and is a way to stay connected to the one she loves, man, get ready for a long ride

#shady answer #one piece #yandere one piece #yandere posts #one piece headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere hancock #yandere boa hancock #yandere boa hancock x reader #one piece imagine #one piece boa hancock #boa hancock

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itsmmatchaa · 7 months

Text

YAO MEI

will this anger ever dissapear?

♱˙⁠SEX: yes (bro can shapeshift so biology doesn't apply to him)

♱˙SPECIES: fallen angel

♱˙NAME: Yao Mei (妖媚) — yāo mèi, it means seductive/bewitching ; (angel name: Azazel)

♱˙NICKNAMES: yao yao, boss/big boss (by Nico)

♱˙OCCUPATIONS: currently the owner of a cozy but known cafeteria (he does his best to scare away his costumers but somehow more and more come to see him, so he just goes with the flow) and a hobbyst/indie singer

♱˙AGE: ??

♱˙BIRTHDAY: has no day of birth so he choose the day that he decided to live like a human: 11th november

♱˙HOMETOWN: heaven (literally)

♱˙HEIGHT: 198cm

♱˙APPEARENCE:

♱˙EYECOLOR: dirty gray, his eyes are like a eternal thunderous sky. they are sharp and thin, very much like a blade

♱˙HAIR: kinda wavy, almost straight raven black hair, neck length with blonde strands on his nape, reminiscent of his angelic features

♱˙SKINCOLOR: Yao Mei has a nude skin, a bit yellowish? Has a eternal golden glow on his skin, he is a fallen angel after all (no he doesn't glow like Edward unfortunately)

♱˙BODYINFO: man is ripped, he's Niccolo's numero uno gym buddy (and the only that can go with Nico's crazy schedule and exercises without dying). Yao Mei has broad shoulders and strong arms from his training with swords by the time he was in heaven and probably has something to do with the drums he play? Yes. Has guitar player hands and veiny arms. He has a tongue piercing, a erl piercing (the one that goes through your nose bridge), lip piercing and pierced ears

♱˙ABOUT YAO MEI:

“I had another name before”

he was an Archangel, a warrior of god. highly respected amoung his peers in heaven for his serious and diligent nature until the celestial war took place. when he was still an angel, he received the name Azazel. he greatly admired Lucifer and was close to him, so when Lucifer fell, he went directly to confront God and asked: what happened? why did that happen? why him? And when he was not received, quite the contrary, he had been rejected, he decided to go after Lucifer alone.

Lucifer was smart and knew very well that Azazel had a desire, an urge to free himself. and taking advantage of the trust of the very devoted Archangel, he started to put ideas in his mind, planting seeds of doubt, twisting words into a winding path with no return, taking advantage of his good heart. Lucifer convinced Azazel to transform into a snake and tempt Eve

“Don’t you think it’s wrong, Azazel? The way they hide things from the humans?” Said the one who was once God's golden child, his brightest light.

And Azazel noded, of course, who would disagree?

“You could do that for me, couldn’t you?” Lucifer questioned again, scraping his wings on the ground and closer to Azazel

The Archangel replied, with a smile, oh poor innocent child

“But of course, for you, I would.”

And he did

if you think Lucifer was the one turning into a snake and making Eve taste the fruit of forbidden knowledge, you are mistaken. It was Azazel. And you think it was Eve biting the fruit? no my dear, it was Adam, but who would belive poor Eve? Why your think man have "Adam's apple" stuck on his throat? thank Azazel for that endless curse. And the favors for Lucifer didn't stop there, but he felt like he was doing something great for the first time in his existence. Azazel felt like a little pet, a lapdog, when he was in the heavens, he knew that they and other angels could be doing more to guide humanity, Azazel had the desire to help humanity, so he constantly took human or animal form to walk around among mortals and help them in some way.

He has a very good heart although he appears to be apathetic. and I felt that just raising faults in the courts of God was too much for him. The more he walked among humans he saw how miserable they became and saw that no being in the heavens did anything. He was tired, he couldn't take it anymore, and in front of everyone in the heavens, he rebelled.

“I can’t stand being bossed around by anyone anymore. I think I've always had that in me, that place is suffocating. Paradise is suffocating.”

It was not long before the once respected archangel was cast out, falling with many others, and raising his sword against the place that was his home, in the war that once split the heavens.

What Azazel didn't expect was that when he joined Lucifer, the one he admired most, the one he believed, the one he trusted; he would in the end receive the same treatment as he had in heaven. He had already fulfilled his purpose, now he was nothing more than disposable to Lucifer. He followed Lucifer because he was tired of being God's pet and in the end he became Lucifer's pet.

His rebellion was of no use.

In the end, all he was left with was the unfortunate nickname of snake, the venom of god, his sword and his wings. These were the only things that had been left for the angel once respected in heaven. this was Azazel. The angel previously charged with the task of raising human faults and enumerating them before the Divine Court, during the annual judgment of humanity now limited to Lucifer's pet. The snake, the scapegoat, the poison of God, Azazel. The title that Lucifer gave him "the prince of Wrath" served more as a mock than a gift.

“I wanted too much, I think. I just wanted to do something for my own will, not His, I wanted my freedom. Look what it brought me.”

Azazel rebelled once again, without looking back.

♱˙PERSONALITY: a good person. He genuinely is. However he was so heartbroken before, so shattered that he cannot stand being around people anymore, he cannot stand the betrayal, the disappointment that would come with that. At the same time he is oh so, so desperate to be loved, to love, to be given and to give in. He is a reliable and responsible one, he cares for people around him. He knows how ephemeral and fast a human life and even moments and time itself can be, he has seen so many times before, dripping through his fingers both lives and time.

He's most serious, doesn't talk much and just hums or lift his eyebrows as a way of saying yes or no, call him emo if you like (that's what he is, this fucking emo). Can appear as cold and sarcastic, and sometimes he can be a little bit theatrical. He's the type: as-long-you-don't-annoy-me-I-won't-kill-you type of person. He's not the type to laugh, he can scoff a laugh and smirk, but a full laugh? Nah.

Values his independency more than anything and is not the type to get involved in conflict HOWEVER, if it's something that really piss him off, my god you better start praying, for real, it's not afraid to throw punches or buy a fight that its not his, he's collected but has a heart different from the other angels.

Even if he seems collected and calm, his mind is a eternal turmoil. He is the original prince of wrath after all. His calm personally comes from many years of self discipline and control. Even so, it doesn't matter how much he push away, how much he meditate, how much he tries to vent with music and singing. He still has anger in his head, his heart still ache. He's not a holy being anymore, anything is better than going back to heaven. He's not a demon either. What is he? Is he now deemed to be pure anger? To haunt the world with his pitiful existence?

♱˙LIKES: his peace, the smell of coffee and after rain, the sound of the cafe bell when someone go past the door, the rustle of paper bags when he prepare a to-go snack, the rumble of the milk blender, low bass, jazz, cold breeze, black cats and dobermans. He really enjoy cooking, most of the pastries and breads on the cafe are made by him. Loves to sing, probably is a angel thing. Black beer, and black coffee. Also likes his crucifix that he carries proudly around his neck, he do enjoy to go on church and hear the choir, probable because it scratch his brain and make his relax a bit. He's fond of paganism and often lit incenses around the cafe to whoever god or deity feels like listening to him he doesn't pray too, he's too proud to ask for forgiveness or help.

♱˙DISLIKES: the bible, however unlike Niccolo that has a disgust with the bible and churches in general, Yao Mei likes to read the bible out loud and proceed to say: "nu-uh that wasn't what happened, look at this they made me seem like I'm a fool". Hate any kind of form of betrayal, so yep if he ever hear someone on the cafe talking about being cheated he'll probably going to beat someone ass that night. It's not very much found of default vodka? Like, the no flavoured one. Hates when the cafe gets too crowded or when there's too much kids inside, specially if they're the noisy ones. He doesn't like much kids by the way, it reminds him of the times he was a guardian angel (he hated taking care of toddlers). Hates hospitals with burning passion. He claim to hate Niccolo but he know deep in his heart that Nicco is his bestie, either he like it or not, also he hates when Niccolo don't wash the dishes after he eat. Doesn't like to pray, since it bring him bad memories but it's often to see him speaking alone to himself, specially when he feels alone. He'll never admit it but he's grateful for Niccolo's noisy ass and personality, Yao Mei would be in a way bad state of mind if wasn't for him.

♱˙TRIVIA:

his name was supposed to be Mei Yao and he had a red skin

he was my second oc not related with an existing universe like anime or whatever (first was Ghostien), i wanted to draw a demon and just made him out of nowhere, i still have the sketch of him

he choose his name because it was the first thing he heard after he fell from heaven

dislikes people (me too) but his cafe is well known around town not only because of the good ambiance and music, but because the barista and the owner are very attractive

plays guitar, bass, drums, anything, it is music a angel thing? Yes

think that cats are nice, and im thinking about giving him a hairless black cat with sum very edgy but silly name like edgylord or graveyard idk

his holy weapon is a sword

The crucifix he wear was a gift. Is used to hurt and burn his skin but he got used to it, it's like a eternal reminder of his origin and also a mocking to the heavens

He also is always with two bracelets, one in each wrists, he always wore bracelets on his angel form so it's kind of a bad habit of his, same thing with the crucifix, used to hurt and burn since it was holy silver

Yes he was the snake that lured Eve and Adam. But different from what we hear, I like to think that Adam was the one who bit first and lied that was Eve, and that was the first betrayal, so Yao Mei cursed all mankind to always carry Adam's apple in their throat because of that lie

Lucifer named him as the Prince of Wrath, so he is the original Sin of Wrath

His voice when he sing sounds like Vessel

@itsmmatchaa ; don't copy, rp, translate, or use as your own ; last edited: feb/2024

#oc x reader #monster oc #oc #monster oc x reader #falleng angel #angel #angel oc #fallen angel oc #angel x reader #fallen angel x reader #nephilim #.yao mei

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