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tyrannosaurus-trainwreck · 3 months ago

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Sorry, still not over Darcy critical-failing that proposal! Not that sorry, though. I have no idea why Pride and Prejudice hits so hard when most of Austen's other novels are like "They're fine! I like them! Anyway..." for me.

But, here's the thing. Darcy is being an asshole. Darcy isn't an asshole, generally, but he's really being one about his whole Regency Era situationship with Lizzie. Like, he rolls in on day one with this giant fucking chip on his shoulder, acts like he's too good for everyone, and why? Well, he's rich, and he's got lofty connections.

Except who's he rolling with right then? His spineless dustmop of a bestie and his bestie's godawful sisters. Bingley's the sort of guy who can be peer-pressured out of being in love!

Like, you know that thing where you have a friend, and they introduce you to another friend, and that friend is such a wet sock that you find yourself reevaluating your friend because they're hanging around with this guy? Like, okay, Darcy, do you have friends, or do you have toadies? Is this your bestie, or did you find a gentleman's companion that you didn't have to pay?

Later on we meet his aunt, who's the goddamned worst.

Like, we all hate Mr. Collins, right? This woman has Mr. Collins over twice a week for a quiet evening of performative dickriding. That's the kind of taste Darcy's family has. Voluntarily spending hours with Mr. Collins on a regular basis.

There's no talking about Mrs. Bennet's lack of decorum or matrimonial grasping or entitlement without talking about Lady Catherine flying in on her broom to scream at her nephew's fiancee, right? Especially considering that her basis for doing so is a cradle engagement that she seems to have never spoken to her nephew about as an adult and a fucking rumor that she assumes pertains to Lizzie.

She doesn't even talk to her fucking nephew before spending half a day in a carriage to make a blazing spectacle of herself in front of the entire Bennet household! He finds out she did that afterwards when she tries to make him break off the nonexistent engagement that she's announced to half the fucking kingdom by that point.

I mean, unexpected point to Mrs. B, who notably did not even walk down the road to Netherfield to act disappointed at anyone.

Also hard to get on too high a horse after Georgiana's near-elopement with the country's biggest asshole! Like, oh, the Bennet sisters are embarrassing? The Bennets lack propriety?

Buddy, you hired a sex trafficker to look after your sister and then your sister almost fucked the one-man-crime-wave son of your late property-manager. And you didn't even manage to hush it all up properly! Sure, he's keeping your sister's name out of his mouth, but he's running you down like a dog in every other respect to the whole county!

Like, "Oh, look at me, I'm Fitzwilliam Darcy! I'm not going to lower myself to correcting any of The Plebes who now think I deliberately misadministered a will to fuck over The Help out of cheapness and spite, especially when all it would take is one conversation with That Fucker's commanding officer, but god forbid I ever have to go out in public with a Bennet! I might die of shame and secondhand cringe!"

So he's got all of that going on, and then he busts in on Lizzie with a proposal that's got huge "I don't consent to being attracted to you" energy and runs her entire family into the ground. This is after Lizzie's spent approximately three centuries being negged by his mannerless nightmare of an aunt, so that's at least one extra level of "Really, bruh?" in there.

And then he fucking claps back at her rejection! Instead of going "Oh. Huh. Whoops. Guess I'll just have to go marry one of the other ten thousand women lined up waiting to marry me!" he's like "What the fuuuuck did I ever do to you, you fucking menace?". At which point she checks him so hard he spends the next three months bluescreening and looking up how to be polite to people you haven't already known for five years.

So like I said, he is being an asshole here. He knows how to act right, he just hasn't bothered to do so once since posting up in Netherfield because idk, he's on vacation or some shit.

Critically! However upsetting Lizzie finds The Proposal Incident (half-hour crying jag, spends the rest of the day hiding in her room), she is at no point worried about Darcy's subsequent behavior.

This is while she still thinks he genuinely did Wickham dirty and before she's had a chance to get character references from the 500 people working at Pemberley. This is the guy about whom her dad later says "Kidding-not kidding I can hardly say no to this rich fuck, can I?" when asked for his blessing. This is after Mr. Collins literally said "I've heard no means yes these days" to her fucking face and then her mother tried to make her marry him anyway.

She preached a full on sermon about the man's shortcomings to his face immediately after saying she wouldn't bounce on his dick if it was the last one on earth and after the adrenaline crash wasn't like, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck my entire life, he's going to burn down the vicarage and frame my father for tax fraud."

Everything that she's seen with her own eyes about this snobby bastard tells her he's not going to go crying to his aunt and get her cousin's patronage revoked. He's not going to go out of his way to fuck her or her family over. He's pissed, and he was definitely playing the ass with that proposal, but he's not going to lash out over it.

So this is Lizzie seeing Darcy at Peak Asshole, with extra assholery that he didn't even do but he couldn't be bothered to tell anyone he didn't do, and Lizzie's still like "omg you're such a fucking prick, how do you even get out of bed in the morning" instead of "Well, RIP to my prospects, there's no way that man doesn't have the lot of us consigned to a convent by parliamentary decree now."

#pride and prejudice

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linatron · 1 year ago

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Please give me the strength to finish these

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whizzing-fizzbee · 4 months ago

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I’ve never seen anyone use this but can you do a fic about first time Ominis, and he slowly drags his wand down MC’s body to see her

Hi anon! I loved this request and hope it's what you were aiming for. I love when intimacy becomes much more than standard smut.

I'll Look After You

Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (all characters are 18+) Words: ~3450 Summary: After you told your boyfriend, Ominis Gaunt, that you're ready to advance your relationship to the next level, he's nervous, especially since he can't see you. You show him you'll always be there to look after him. Tags: F/M, second person POV, reader insert, no y/n, smut, loss of virginity Notes: Characters are 18-year-old seventh-years.

Read below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt was easily overstimulated. That came as no surprise to those who knew him, given his sensitivity to sound and touch. Though he could not see, he always seemed to be acutely aware of everything happening around him.

That’s why the sound of the pelting rain already had him on edge. It’s not that he disliked rainfall; in fact, it often soothed him. But tonight, its harsh drumming against the extravagant windows of the Great Hall made him tense.

Ominis didn’t fear much these days. After all he’d been through, fear was an asinine concept. He’d survived a grueling childhood full of torture and torment. He’d watched his parents turn his siblings into pawns — all part of their grand chess match to maintain pureblood status. He’d lost his beloved Aunt Noctua to Salazar Slytherin’s sinister games. Then he’d watched his own best friend delve into the dark arts in desperation to save someone too damaged for repair.

But the most terrifying task Ominis had faced was you. You scared him more than any unforgivable curse or secret scriptorium. You were the only force that threatened to dismantle the great Ominis Gaunt, because you were the only person he loved.

But lucky for him, you loved him back.

Your relationship blossomed from the close bonds of friendship (rooted with traumatic ties, thanks to Sebastian Sallow) to a trusting romance crafted with quiet intimacy and mutual adoration. The past three months had been a daunting whirlwind of beautiful moments, but the most intimidating one was yet to come. And that’s why Ominis Gaunt was presently sweating over his roasted potatoes at dinner.

You were enjoying dinner at the Ravenclaw table, blissfully unaware of the war raging inside Ominis’ head. Or so he thought. In truth, you knew your boyfriend well enough to detect his trepidation days ago.

It started the previous weekend, when you and Ominis spent a quiet, cozy evening in the Undercroft. Sebastian had gone to Feldcroft, leaving your shared secret space reserved just for you and Ominis. It was then that you mentioned to Ominis you were ready to advance the nature of your relationship.

“Wh-what?” he stammered at your revelation. You smiled at him, though his cloudy eyes stared straight ahead.

“I think we should have sex,” you said, your tone steady and bold. “Don’t you?”

Ominis fiddled with the sleeve of his robe as he searched his mind for something to say. The honest, unabashed answer was yes – an irrefutable, resounding yes. But there was more to it than that. You knew that, but you also knew Ominis would be too apprehensive to say so.

He was a virgin. You weren’t, thanks to the summer before your sixth year when you had a fling with Garreth Weasley. You told Ominis so and he didn’t mind, though you knew that made the task even more daunting for him. You had something, someone to compare him to. Ominis had spent his entire life being told he didn’t measure up to his family’s lofty standards and demands; what if you decided the same?

“I suppose so,” Ominis admitted carefully. “But you know… you know I’ve never-”

“I know,” you interjected with a gentle tone. “And I promise, I’ll look after you. I always do, don’t I?”

Ominis nodded in silent agreement. He knew you would take care of him. You’d always gone out of your way to help him, whether it was fetching his ingredients during Potions class or helping him tie his shoelaces – without magic – because you enjoyed small acts of service to show him you cared. Ominis didn’t need your help – he had his wand for guidance and magic for completing tasks – but he allowed you to assist when you offered, because it was a mutual form of intimacy that had nothing to do with physical touch.

But now, you wanted physical touch. Ominis did, too – he’d wanted that since the day he met you, when his wand signaled something special about you when you neared. Sure, he nearly took your head off when he scolded you for daring to set foot in the Undercroft (again, Sebastian’s fault) but even then, something about your presence made Ominis stutter. Now that you were his, he spent a distressing amount of time thinking about you on a much more erotic level.

So now that you’d voiced your desires, Ominis had spent the past five days nervously preparing. You hadn’t pressured him – hell, you hadn’t even brought up the topic of sex since that evening in the Undercroft, but Ominis knew it would happen tonight. Sebastian was leaving for London to visit Anne at St. Mungo’s for the weekend.

Neither of you discussed it. There was no need. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that it would happen tonight, and you were both preparing in your own ways.

Ominis was desperate to ensure everything would be perfect. Though he didn’t come across as a romantic at the surface, he’d fight like hell to make you happy. Of course, you regarded yourself as being fairly low-maintenance. You didn’t expect grand gestures, nor did you need to be swept off your feet. You merely wanted your boyfriend to remain the kind and gentle person you’d always known.

Regardless, Ominis had already made arrangements to have three-dozen peonies delivered to the castle – one bouquet for each month you’d been in an official relationship.

He also had plans to tidy up the Undercroft. He didn’t need eyesight to know the room was dingy and dusty, not quite the scene for romantic endeavors. He decided he’d try his damndest to make the place more cozy and less, well, creepy.

You and Ominis had plans to meet in the Undercroft at 8:00, but he slipped from the Great Hall, his food largely untouched, around 7:15 to prepare. When he noticed you were no longer seated at the Ravenclaw table, he assumed you had returned to Ravenclaw Tower to freshen up.

Ominis returned to the Slytherin dungeons to fetch the flowers that had arrived in the afternoon. He frowned as the tip of his wand hovered above the peonies. He realized he had asked for deep pink because it was your favorite, but he didn’t know what that actually meant, nor could he verify he’d received the right color. What if they were light pink, or white? Were they romantic enough? What if you were disappointed by them? He sighed and shook his head at his absurd anxieties before exiting the Slytherin Common Room.

He froze when he stepped into the Undercroft.

“Y-you’re early,” he stammered as he sensed your presence.

“So are you,” you mused. You couldn’t help but smile at Ominis’ clear disdain. You should have known he’d have the same idea as you.

You arrived an hour early to the Undercroft to make your own preparations. You’d transformed the old tattered sofa into something much more plush and comfy. The cobwebs that usually clung to the corners of the room were cleared, and the table that typically housed Sebastian’s old collection of dusty books was now covered with flickering candles.

Ominis blinked as his wand scanned the room, revealing your work. “But… but I was going to do all of this,” he said.

“You didn’t have to,” you laughed. “Besides, we both know I’m better at transfiguration spells anyway.”

“But I wanted to surprise you.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Ominis, you know I don’t like surprises,” you pointed out. He sighed and extended the flowers toward you.

“All of those are for me?” you asked with a smile.

“No, they’re for Professor Sharp. Of course, they’re yours.”

You snorted at his sarcasm and took the bouquets. “I love this shade of pink,” you said happily as you conjured a large vase. “Though three bouquets is more than enough – rather excessive, honestly.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you.”

You gazed at him softly and moved toward him to hug him around the waist, the flowers forgotten on the table. “You always do nice things for me,” you noted after you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Like helping me with my Divination assignments, and keeping me out of Azkaban.” You smirked as you watched the corners of his lips curve in a faint smile. “Anyway,” you continued as you tugged gently on Ominis’ hand to guide him toward the sofa. “Let’s sit. Tell me how your day was.”

In all honesty, neither of you gave a flying fuck about Ominis’ day, but you wanted him to feel at ease. It was the same type of day he always had and you both knew it. His evening would be much more interesting.

“It was fine,” Ominis replied, his voice edged with nervousness as he sat next to you, his wand resting at his side. You curled your feet beneath yourself and leaned on him to rest your head against his chest. You could practically hear his heart rattling. Though he was always warm, his frame felt particularly hot. He’d normally relax in your presence, melt at your fond touch, but right now, he was tense. His knuckles were white while his nails dug divots into his smooth palms.

It was exactly the kind of behavior that made you love Ominis to begin with. For as poised and proper as he always appeared, he became so pliable when it came to you. Tonight, though, you didn’t want him to feel flustered. You only wanted him to feel you.

“Ominis,” you started gently, your hand resting atop his. You squeezed it assuredly, as if it would ease his curled fist. When he unflexed his hand, you laced your fingers with his. “Just relax. It’s me.”

He nodded silently, his chest still puffed out.

“Maybe you should take your jacket off,” you offered. “It’s awfully hot in here, all these candles, you know?” You helped Ominis ease his jacket off and tossed it on the armchair across from you. “Better?”

“Better,” Ominis admitted, though his voice was a croak.

You began to wonder if this was a bad idea. Maybe he wasn’t ready for sex yet, and you surely were in no place to pressure him. You loved him far too much to ask him to do anything that made him uneasy. You’d done enough of that your fifth year during Sebastian’s little downward spiral.

But did Ominis know that? You realized you’d never outwardly told him you loved him. You were certain he’d felt it, but maybe he needed your reassurance, and this seemed like the right moment.

“Ominis,” you said carefully, your hands holding his. You paused, your eyes searching his expression for any sign you should stop yourself. But he remained patient, curious to know what you had to say. He always wanted to hear your thoughts. “You know I love you, right?”

Ominis’ eyes widened immediately. You watched him inhale sharply and held your own breath as you anticipated his response.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, I love you too, you know.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I feel like I was supposed to be the one to say it first,” Ominis sighed. You rolled your eyes.

“How very chauvinistic of you,” you quipped. Ominis glowered at you and you grinned. “Now that that’s out of the way, I want you to know that we don’t have to do anything tonight,” you continued. “That’s not the point of our relationship. I’ll never ask you to do something you don’t want.”

“I know,” Ominis said quietly. “But I do want it. I just… want to get it right.”

“Nothing can happen tonight that will make me think any less of you,” you noted.

“I know,” Ominis said again. “I just wish I could see you. If I could only see one thing in this world, it’d be you.”

Your eyes softened at his admission. Ominis was often vulnerable with you, but he rarely discussed his vision. He’d come to terms with it long before he met you, but it still felt cruelly unfair that he couldn’t look at the one person he loved.

“Ominis,” you said softly. “I know you can’t see me. But it’s always felt like you can. You see me in ways no one else does. That’s why I love you.” You sat up straighter to turn and face him as you reached for his wand hand. You lifted it until the tip of his wand rested gently against your chest. “Besides, even if you can’t see me, you can feel me.”

Ominis’ breathing became louder; so loud, you started to grow concerned he was having some sort of respiratory attack. But when you shifted again to stand, he snapped a hand around your wrist. The tip of his wand remained pressed to your chest.

The air inside the Undercroft seemed to shift, as if it understood the change in both of your pulses. Now, the room hummed with a sultry energy, its braziers bouncing their flames above you.

Without another word, you slowly began to unbutton your blouse. You moved slowly and deliberately, allowing the tip of Ominis’ wand to detect your every move. Its ruby tip cast a soft glow across your skin until you were bare chested.

“Ominis,” you said steadily as you stood. You slid your shirt all the way off and added your skirt and undergarments to the pile on the floor, leaving you fully exposed. “I want you to feel me. I want you to take your time and feel me until you can picture me.”

Ominis stood, his wand guiding him to your waiting form. You held your breath as your heart began to thump. The cool tip of his wand found your shoulder and traced gently over the ridge of your collarbone. It sent a shiver down your spine.

When the wand reached your chest, Ominis stopped. You could sense his hesitation to explore you on such an intimate level, but you remained patient. Slowly, the crimson tip cast itself against your right breast and followed the curve until it reached your nipple. You drew a shaky breath, though Ominis was breathing heavier.

As Ominis’ wand found your other breast, its tip showing him the goosebumps scattered across your flesh, you couldn’t help but notice the bulge forming in his pants. When you licked your bottom lip in arousal, Ominis seemed to sense it. He shifted from one foot to the other, his flushed cheeks matching the glow of his wand.

“Keep going,” you whispered as you felt the wand tip drag toward your stomach. Ominis obliged and you could feel the heat swelling in your core. The wand inched lower and lower, tickling your skin until it glided past your belly button and drifted outward to your left hip bone. It took every ounce of control to contain the urge to buck your hips forward. Instead, you held still, waiting for Ominis to continue.

You could feel the conflict clashing inside of him. He wanted this just as much as you did, but he was terrified by the prospect of any shortcoming.

“Do you trust me?” you breathed. He nodded without pause. You reached for his wand hand to guide it over your body, pulling the tip away from your hips toward the space between your thighs. It hovered there as Ominis’ eyes stared blankly ahead, his jaw clenched in anticipation. The bulge in his trousers was now a tight peak.

You dipped the tip of his wand until it touched your slit. If Ominis hadn’t sensed your arousal earlier, it was evident now. His hand began to shake beneath yours.

“Just breathe,” you whispered. You weren't sure if you were talking to Ominis or to yourself.

Ominis nodded and guided his wand until it pressed gently against your clit. You whined at the touch, your eyes falling shut. Ominis’ knuckles grew taut around his wand handle, as if he could feel your pulse surging through the wood. His hand continued to shake. The shudder sent a jolt through your tiny bundle of nerves and you moaned.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ominis murmured.

It was a special moment upheld by mutual trust; you, trusting Ominis with his wand and power pointed at your most vulnerable spot; Ominis, trusting you to see everything for him.

You released his hand. He seemed surprised, but you already had a plan in mind.

“Can we continue?” you asked gently. He nodded.

You took a step backward toward the sofa and Ominis immediately missed the connection between his wand and your body. But you decided he no longer needed it. You plucked the wand from his hand and rested it on the side table.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “Now that you've seen me, you can feel me. I’ll look after you, remember?”

You guided him by the front of his shirt to sit, your fingers pulling his shirt buttons open as you stood over him. You dragged your outstretched palms across his bare chest and slipped his shirt off.

When you went for his belt buckle, his hands gripped the back of the sofa. He made his best attempt at composure as he listened to you undress him from the waist down. When he was fully unclothed, your eyes scanned him in quiet observation.

You couldn’t believe the two of you had managed to find each other in a life so full of chaos and cruelty. Fate could have dropped you anywhere on the map, or at any point in time, yet here you were, together.

For as wicked as life had been for you both, you felt so fucking lucky to have found Ominis Gaunt.

He sat rigid, unsure what to make of your silence, so you decided that occupying your mouth would occupy his overactive brain. You dropped to your knees in front of him and took him into your mouth. He gasped at the sudden warmth.

Your tongue flattened against his velveteen flesh as you dragged it along his length. When you reached the tip, you wrapped your lips tight and sucked until he glided toward the back of your throat. He moaned above you. As you bobbed your head and familiarized yourself with the only part of Ominis you hadn't known, his fingers tangled in your hair. You couldn’t help but relish the knowledge you were the only one to ever afford him with such pleasure. But you were also desperate for your own.

You released him and climbed on top of him, your legs straddling his thighs.

“Alright?” you asked. You peered at him with affection, searching for any sign that indicated he was unsure.

“Alright. You?”

“Alright.” You smiled and pulled him into a soft kiss. “Still trust me to look after you?”

“Of course.”

With Ominis’ blessing, you eased yourself downward until the tip of his cock prodded your entrance. You felt his breath hitch as you sank lower, slowly and carefully as you willed yourself to relax. The mounting pressure made your slick walls flinch.

“You feel so fucking good,” Ominis groaned. It was enough to make you giggle. Ominis rarely ever cursed. You welcomed the light moment, your laughter easing your body’s tension.

Once Ominis had you filled, his hands felt for your waist. You rocked forward and moaned at the way your walls molded around his cock. You lifted your hips slowly and dipped downward again until you both adjusted to your new bond. It was a dizzying moment, made possible by an intense adoration and the shared desire to prove it.

“You’re so hard,” you whimpered as you drove your hips downward, certain his size could split you apart if you weren’t careful — not that caution was present anywhere in your brain at the moment.

Instead, you hastened your pace in search of the imminent high. The sounds of your slick union carried across the Undercroft until your moans drowned them out. Your nails pricked against the skin of Ominis’ shoulders but neither of you paid any mind. All feeling was focused on the friction between your legs.

Your back arched as Ominis’ cock prodded your sweet spot, your bobbing hips rutting your most sensitive patch over his tip. The chorus of your moans reached its peak as you felt your walls start to flutter. Your attempt to cry his name slipped out as a choked whimper as your body crashed downward for the last time, the pressure from Ominis’ cock triggering your release.

He didn’t need to see you to sense the way your body responded to him. It provoked his own climax and soon, he was spilling into you with a sharp gasp until his frame relaxed.

You both caught your breaths, your chests rising and falling in sync as you said nothing. The Undercroft felt cool again, as if it knew it could return to its normal state.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently, your eyes studying Ominis carefully.

“Of course,” he rasped. He gazed at you with a fresh, calm affection; much different from the nervous wreck he’d been earlier. His hand drifted from your hip up the curve of your waist until it cupped your face. “Thank you for always being so good to me.”

You smiled slyly and pecked a kiss to his flushed cheek. “Told you I’d look out for you.”

#mdni #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy smut #whizzing fizzbee fanfic #whizzing fizzbee requests

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aurumacadicus · 20 days ago

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Came to enjoy the remake of Jumanji so much more than the original that I genuinely forgot that Robin Williams was going to be killed by a human who didn't have a lofty goal like taking over the world of Jumanji. Dude just wanted to kill things. Including Alan. Man alive 😩

Also the original is like. Way scarier/higher stakes than the remake lol. Alan's dad lost his fortune so he could look for his son (died before accomplishment) and Judy and Peter's parents fucking die and they almost kill their aunt via the game. In the remake, it's more Breakfast Club finding yourself outside of your clique shit.

#movies

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mylackoffaith · 1 year ago

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Dragon's Dreamer - Part II

Summary: Daemon does not like Hightowers. Especially the perfect little hightower bastard girl, who was sleeping in his bed.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x modern!reader word count:1497 words

Daemon always believed the Hightowers were the epitome of dullness and arrogance, parading around as if they owned the Seven Kingdoms with their highborn noses reaching the heavens. The memory of the day he encountered the insufferable cunt—right after the death of his father, Baelon—still lingers vividly in his mind.

The day had been gloomy, the kind that matched Daemon's foul mood on the occasion of his father's funeral. The cunt had been going around, collecting congratulations for his new position as the Hand, and offering condolences with the same fake smile.

Daemon's patience, already as short as a summer night in the North, reached its breaking point. Frustration brewed within him like wildfire, and in a fit of dragon-worthy impulse, he decided it was time to put an end to the Hightower's act.

So, with the grace of a storm, Daemon did what any Targaryen worth his dragon would – he took Otto down, fists descending on the cunt's face.

His grandsire had been furious, as had been Viserys, but Daemon wore his rebellious spirit like armor. The scuffle became the talk of King's Landing, whispered in the shadows and shared over goblets of Arbor Gold in the Red Keep. Otto Hightower, the lofty Hand of the King, humbled by the Rogue Prince in a brawl.

The twit strutted around the Red Keep sporting a black eye like a badge of honor, and Daemon? Well, he earned himself a new moniker—The Rogue Prince. And that marked the beginning of the brewing feud between Daemon and Otto.

The feud continued, each encounter turning into a play. Daemon, with his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel, takes a certain pleasure in needling Otto.

To this day, Daemon has no idea what his aunt Viserra had seen in the Hightower prick to bed him, but he figured it must have been some twisted sense of humor.

Now that he thinks about it, his aunt was fond of charity. Perhaps, in her charitable moments, she thought the Hightowers needed a dash of Targaryen blood to liven up their dull, highborn lives.

That charitable act resulted in the birth of the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, a bastard by name but cherished enough by Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and Viserys to be deemed trueborn. So much that the Hightower girl, while in Viserra's womb, was gifted a dragon egg from his grandsire.

Her arrival, however, bore a bitter sweetness. On the very day this Hightower girl opened her lilac eyes to the world, the realm mourned the loss of Daemon's beloved aunt, Viserra.

The girl's motherless fate left an ache in the hearts of the Targaryens, but Alysanne and Jaehaerys, in their grief, found solace in the babe with ginger locks and white streaks.

It had stung when there had been no celebrations for Daemon claiming Caraxes, but when the girl's egg hatched in her cradle, the old King and Viserys didn't put her down for days on end. The small room echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of an infant dragon.

Daemon, still young, didn't quite warm up to the girl. In fact, he harbored a dislike for her. She seemed to steal away the attention that was once solely his.

Before her, Daemon was the youngest Targaryen, the darling of the family, and now, this Hightower girl had shifted the spotlight. It wasn't just his favourite aunt Viserra he lost; it was the undivided focus of everyone around him.

Days melted into nights, and the halls of the Red Keep echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of a dragon-blessed child. While Daemon brooded over the lack of attention, the little Hightower girl grew up under the watchful eyes of her Targaryen kin.

Jaehaerys, in his grandfatherly pride, declared her the "realm's jewel" when presenting her to the people of King's Landing. But for Daemon, she remained a constant reminder of what he was compelled to share—his place in the sun, his family's gaze, and the undivided attention he once claimed as his birthright.

Pious and pretty, she was the ideal princess of the Red Keep, a vision that Jaehaerys delighted in showcasing. To the people, she became a prized possession, a radiant gem adding luster to the Targaryen legacy.

Yet, for Daemon, her brilliance cast shadows over his own accomplishments, leaving them diminished in the face of her grace.

Whenever Daemon voiced his discontent to Viserys, his brother's response was a dismissive eye-roll, steadfastly aligning with the girl. Daemon found himself pitted against the perfection she effortlessly embodied, his protests falling on deaf ears.

To make it worst, Caraxes, Daemon's dragon, seemed infatuated with the girl's dragon, Stormsong—a stunning, pure white dragoness with hints of pale blue that could steal anyone's breath. Painfully, Daemon found himself conflicted, for, despite the rivalry, he couldn't deny the beauty of Stormsong.

It was downright comical how Caraxes would gallantly soar across the skies, hunting for prey like a knight on a quest, all to lay the spoils at Stormsong's feet.

The absurdity reached its peak when Stormsong, regal and nonchalant, would casually accept Caraxes' offerings. No grand displays of gratitude—just a quick nibble, a dismissive flutter of her massive wings, and a return to her stoic disinterest. Caraxes, the poor love-struck fool, was stuck in a loop of hunting, presenting, and being ignored.

"She's just one dragon, Caraxes, not the damn Queen of Love and Beauty." Daemon had tried to convince his blood wyrm.

Caraxes rumbled in disagreement, his gaze never wavering from Stormsong, who was being groomed and licked by her mother, Dreamfyre. Stormsong was a dragon version of the little Hightower, if there ever was one.

The peace was short-lived as Stormsong grumbled at her mother, pulling away. With a soft thrill, the dragoness took flight, her wings cutting through the air with grace that made even Daemon paused momentarily.

But he quickly shook off his distraction, turning to confront his blood wyrm. "Do not even think of—" Daemon's words were abruptly silenced as Caraxes took flight in pursuit after Stormsong.

Caraxes was nothing if not determined. It was embarassing to see his dragon reduced to one of those pitiful lovers in those books Aemma reads.

Everything in Daemon's life was affected by the girl. A constant thorn in his side. The Hightower girl, despite being a bastard by name, had the uncanny ability to steal the limelight.

Stumbling in after a night of indulgence in the finest wines, Daemon was greeted by a scene that would make even the most seasoned warrior question reality. There she was, the little Hightower, lying in his bed like she owned the place, completely in the nude.

Daemon, not one to be easily flustered, blinked a couple of times, wondering if the wine had played a trick on him. But no, there she remained, sprawled across his bed in all her ginger-haired glory, softly snoring like a dragon who'd had a few too many sheep for dinner.

A mix of confusion, irritation, and a hint of amusement flickered across Daemon's face as he surveyed the unexpected guest. Can he have one day where this girl doesn't create havoc in his life? Apparently not."

"Did you lose your way to the sept and mistakenly wander into a dragon's lair?" he quipped, his tone a blend of sarcasm and genuine curiosity. The girl remained blissfully oblivious, undisturbed by the chaos her mere presence was causing.

Daemon considered waking her with a nudge or a shout, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation or the wine still coursing through his veins, but he found himself oddly captivated by the sight of the girl in his bed.

Just for tonight. He can deal with her for one night.

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