#honestly be the change you want to see in the world so i will probs just casually gif some pretty ship scenes as i watch

[xoshepard]

Legend of the Galactic Heroes

The Thirteenth Fleet Takes Off

[idksmtms]

I Sit And Watch You... (tolerate it p2) (Daemon Targaryen x Niece/Wife!reader, Criston Cole x reader) - evermore series

P1: tolerate it

A/N: After intense and popular demand, I decided to write a part 2 to ‘tolerate it’ even though the goal for the series was one fic per song… ANYWAY! I hope you guys enjoy it! And sorry that it took me so long but I went soooo overboard writing this… 

Summary: After the realisation that your husband not only does not love you, but has been in love with your sister since before you were even married, you feel adrift in the world. But then suddenly, like a flame appearing in the dark of night, your heart is reignited by someone. This poses an entirely different problem for your poor little heart. 

Word count: ~17k (my god...)

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, Rhaenyra’s younger sister, canon typical incest, INCEST, age gap, unrequited love, angst, like a lot of angst, like ANGSTTTT, depictions of depression, bedrotting due to depression, cheating, insecurity, self-hatred, self-abuse, SMUT, PinV sex, oral (f!receiving), sex-related shame, feeling shame after having sex, just really sad tbh, forbidden relationship, probably OOC characters but I honestly can’t give a shit bc I want to write angst, probs typos (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You weren’t sure how long you drifted between sleep and wakefulness in the dark comfort of your bed. Every few hours one of the maids would poke their head through the crack in the curtains and ask if you were alright, if you wanted or needed anything. Sometimes you wouldn’t answer, would simply stare off into the distance as if you were watching worlds they could not see. Other times you would shake your head despondently, slow and stiff, your eyes not moving from the spot they had latched onto. 

Once you had turned to look at the young girl standing at the side of your bed, the curtains pulled back a little and her frowning face shadowed by the sun from behind her. You had simply stared into her face and your eyes had slowly begun to fill with tears until she panicked and slid the curtain shut and rushed out of your room. 

You never wanted anything, never needed anything, the maids noticed. They could see tear tracks on your cheeks from time to time, could see the dampness of it on your pillows, and they often muttered to each other about your state, but not a word was said to anyone unless they took notice of it themselves. 

The entire week you stayed in your bed, your father knew nothing of your state. He had washed his hands of you the second you had been married off to Daemon, and his sole focus in his slowly dwindling life was Rhaenyra. He had asked after you only once and received the response that you weren’t feeling particularly well. He had frowned, asked the maids to keep an eye on you, and left it at that. 

Rhaenyra, hearing of your sudden sickness had come to inquire after you but had received no response from the curtained bed and had felt too awkward around you since your wedding to even try and breach your little confinement. She had stood just beside the bed for a few moments, head tilted up to the ceiling as she tried to think of something, anything, to say but eventually just sighed and wished you well before hurrying out of the room. 

Alicent came by to visit you once every day. After hearing of you taking to your bed on the first day and refusing your meals by the evening, she had told Ser Criston to take up a post outside your door and inform her of any changes. She always came to sit on the edge of your bed for an hour to simply watch you or offer idle words about her days. She liked to believe you only responded to her, for you would often simply grasp her hand with shaking fingers as she sat with you, and closed your eyes to listen to whatever she had to say. But despite her best efforts, her gentle words to try and convince you to get out of bed or to at least change out of your nightgown went unanswered. 

Daemon visited you once in the entire week you were abed. When you had not shown yourself for dinner on the first evening, he had asked for the maidservant to check on you. He had become accustomed to having meals with you, to the comforting drone of chatter in the background while he sat at the table, and it felt freakishly odd not to have it. Though he was often described as a chaotic person, he was disciplined, and once set in a routine enjoyed keeping it that way. 

When the maids returned with a quiet “the Princess said she is not feeling well and has gone to her bed early”, he had simply shrugged and moved on, eating his meal while reading a scroll on the Valyrian histories. But then you were nowhere to be found on the second day, and the third, and when half of the fourth passed and he heard whispers of your complete absence from all of your duties, a tingle of discomfort had settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t say he was worried about you, but something in the air suddenly felt off and he wanted it fixed as soon as possible. The world being out of order simply wouldn’t do. 

In the sunlight hour just before dusk, when everything was bathed in a yellow slowly turning to orange and gave the world a warm hazy glow, he marched all the way to your chambers (the ones he had been supposed to share with you). When he had found Criston Cole standing guard at your door, he had almost snarled out loud like a disgruntled dog. He paused for a moment, grimacing as if someone had just put a lime in his mouth without his consent, and then pushed through the doors before remembering you were unwell and might be sleeping. He became quieter then, turning slowly to close the door behind himself and walking with light footsteps. 

Though it was still daytime, your room was pitch dark, illuminated only by the thin cracks of light that peeped between the curtains. His eyebrows furrowed, hands clenched into fists at his sides as he searched the room for any threat but found nothing in the low light. When he found the curtains around your bed closed, his heart began to thump wildly in his chest. For a moment, when he reached out and gently grasped the edges, he wondered what he would find in the bed. Would there be a corpse, rotten and shrivelled from how long it had been there? Or would there be an assassin, an attacker ready to pounce as soon as he illuminated them? 

He pulled the curtain back only enough to look through with one eye, but what he found was nothing more than the sad sight of a girl asleep in her bed. Though it was warm in the room, becoming almost stifling, you were under the covers. You were on your side, curled around the pillow you clutched tightly in your arms, and for a second he imagined that that’s what you would look like in bed with someone. Your hair was splayed out behind you messily, all over the pillow and some strands fallen upon your cheeks. Your mouth was parted just a little, lips moving with soft steady breaths. Your cheeks were flushed, and he could see the shine of sweat creeping forward from the back of your neck. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stood there, watching you sleep, but he had found it difficult to tear himself away. How did one manage to look so sad while asleep? He wondered as he noticed the puffiness around your eyes and the way your fingers clenched into the pillow as if it would be taken from you at any moment. 

There seemed to be nothing else wrong with you, no gauntness in your cheeks or skin rash in sight, no visible ailment from how much of your body he could glean, but he decided to find the maester before the day was over. He left as quietly as he had entered, tucking the curtain closed again and shooting Criston a sneer as he came back out and strode down the hallway trying to remember where the maesters kept their quarters. 

You were in your bed for a week, leaving only to use the chamber pot behind the changing dividers before clambering right back into your bed. All your meals were brought in and left on the little table just beside your bed, and for the first three days were returned to the kitchens untouched. It was only after the third day went by, when Christys, once your nursemaid and later a kitchen hand when you had no more need of her as a child, noticed your third breakfast returning without even a nibble and made her way up to your chambers. 

She gently pulled your curtain back and stared at your pathetic little figure curled up under the sheets and sleeping though it was midday. Your eyelids were puffy and dark circles had begun forming under your eyes despite how much you seemed to have been resting. She placed the tray on the little table then sat down on the edge of the bed, just as she had once done when you were sick as a child. Her old weathered face was pulled into a worried frown and she gently reached out and caressed your head. Your eyes opened instantly, it appeared that you hadn’t been sleeping after all, and you watched her as if you had never seen her before. She smiled, or tried to, and caressed your cheeks with a little hum. 

“Little princess,” she called kindly, and you felt the urge to reach out and caress her face, all the wrinkles that had appeared since you had been a child under her care. Her skin was beginning to sag a little around her neck and cheeks and her face was all soft and pudgy, as you imagined a grandmother’s to be like. 

She did not try to convince you to leave the confines of your bed, to come out where the sun was shining and to leave the melancholia behind. She simply told you that if you would like to sit up a little, she would help you drink a sip of water, eat a bite of food, and perhaps you would feel a little better once you lay down again. 

You nodded, just one little dip of your head, and allowed her to help you shift your body up a little so you were sitting up against the mound of pillows. You reeked of sweat and the slightly sour smell that came from a stagnant room. Your hair was beginning to get matted and greasy but you did not seem to care about a thing, did not even notice it all. 

Christys brought the goblet to your lips, smiling joyfully as you began to take sips, then gulps as the thirst you had ignored took control of your body. You finished two full goblets before you were sated and lay back on the bed with your eyes closed for a moment, heaving as if you had been running through the halls with Rhaenyra as you had once done as children. Christys gently caressed your head, smiling fondly as you leaned into her touch. 

“Would you like to eat something, little princess?” She asked quietly, and you only opened your eyes. You looked unsure, as if you were aware of the world around you for the first time, and she didn’t give you the chance to refuse, simply brought the plate into her lap, spooned up a little bit of the broth, and brought it to your lips. Slowly, you opened your mouth and accepted it, humming softly when you realised it was the slightly spicy southern soup she used to make for you when you were sad as a child. 

You looked at Christys with your big eyes wide open, as if you were waiting for something, and she almost began to cry. That was exactly how you used to look at her when you were just six summers old, eyes wide, mouth open, as you waited for her to feed you another bite. But there had been nothing so despondent about you back then, no air of defeat hanging around you. What had happened to you that you became like that child again? 

Christys smiled at you, a thin watery smile, and held up the spoon again, watching you swallow the broth once more and gently saying “my good girl”, squeezing your hand in commendation as you allowed your lips to relax and smile for the first time since you had entered the bed. 

Once you had finished about half the meal, you shook your head and slowly began sliding back down under the covers. Christys simply nodded and placed the plate back on the tray. She gently took a hold of the covers and pulled them up until your chin, tucking them in a little around you before bending down and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Rest well, my sweet princess,” she whispered, and when you closed your eyes, you finally looked serene. 

On the fourth day, just as night fell, a maester came to see you. You were sat up in bed again after Christys had come to feed you your dinner and had decided to stay sat up even as she left to bring the tray back down to the kitchens. Though the despondency hadn’t left you still, you felt marginally better now after eating and being doted upon by both Alicent and Christys. 

You still had no plans to leave your bed, you had become very quickly accustomed to the little space you had created for yourself in it, and were suddenly beginning to feel a debilitating sense of worry every time you imagined stepping foot outside of it and facing the rest of the world. Despite this, after your second day of proper meals, you were considering reaching out of your little cave and grabbing for a scroll or tome you might have left upon your little table if something still happened to be there. 

But just as you had finally resolved to do so, you heard the doors open and one of your maids announced that a maester had come to see you. You said nothing, hoping perhaps that your lack of an answer would send them away, but one curtain was simply pulled back and the maester gazed down at you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, as if you had been caught doing something you should not have been doing, but he smiled gently and came closer as you gulped in fright. 

“Your highness, word is that you have been taken ill for the past few days,” he spoke jovially, as if hoping his joking tone would heal you, but you simply shook your head and dipped it down to look at your lap. 

“Thank you for coming maester,” your voice was hoarse and croaky from a lack of use, and you quickly grabbed the goblet that Christys had left on your table to both take soothing sips of water and give your hands something to do. “But your visit is unnecessary.” You tried to smile but it wouldn’t show, and eventually you looked up at him with earnest eyes, hoping he would leave as soon as you were done speaking. “Though, yes, it is true that I have been confined to the bed, it is myself that has done the confinement. What ails me is not a matter of the body, but one of the heart.” You chewed on your lip, feeling as if you had said too much, but the maester smiled understandingly and gestured to the edge of your bed as if asking to sit. You nodded. 

“Your highness, if I understand correctly, you have been in your first quarrel with your husband, and it has much affected you.” You began to shake your head, to open your mouth to deny his claim, but he went on without allowing space for interjection. “But it is the way of marriages to have disagreements. You and your husband will likely have many more before the time of either of your deaths - gods willing it be a long time from now - but it is nothing to worry over so.” You pursed your lips and let him speak, hoping the spiel would end quickly and he would be out of your hair.  “And if you believe your actions have caused your husband to abandon his love for you, then know that it is he who came himself to find me and instruct me to visit you out of concern for your wellbeing.” He smiled almost triumphantly, and began standing from the bed as if he had solved everything already, but you looked up at him with a little frown. 

“Daemon went to you?” Your voice was small, confused, and he nodded quickly. 

“Yes, just as the sun set he found me and told me that you had not been out of bed for four days and nights and to heal you at once.” You nodded, not knowing what to say, and watched him walk out of the room, disgruntled that he had not closed the curtain behind himself. 

You were unsure as to the weird churning in your heart. It was all warm and giddy at the thought of Daemon being concerned for you, visiting you while you were asleep and then hunting the maester down for you. It was an act of caring, if not love, and your poor battered heart already began to churn with hope that maybe he could love you if he did not already. But then you were seeing him leaned over Rhaenyra, hair flopping forward onto his forehead. You saw the way she twisted back and forth at the waist teasingly, eyes dancing with mischief as she bit her lip and waited for him to bend down and kiss her silly. 

The hope crashed, the despondency returned, and the cycle began once more until you felt you were going mad and began smacking your head against the pillows until your brain felt physically shaken. You wanted to cry, but you were all cried out. You wanted to scream, but you had no voice. You wanted to run, but you couldn’t move. In the end, you lay back on the bed with your eyes closed and let your mind spiral. 

Why did he not love you? What was it you had done that made you unworthy of love? Or maybe it was not what you had done, but what you hadn’t. You hadn’t been pretty enough; you were always noticing blemishes on your skin or fat in places there shouldn’t be or the fact that all of your mother’s beauty had been inherited by Rhaenyra, the realm’s delight, your father’s precious and beautiful child, while you were left to yourself without compliment or radiance. You weren’t funny enough; you never had a joke on hand to tell, you weren’t confident enough to tell it anyway. You couldn’t command a room the way Rhaenyra could, or make everyone burst out with laughter at the simplest of words. You always felt stupid despite the amount of time you spent reading or conversing with maesters or travellers. You weren’t loving enough; your smile didn’t instil warmth in the hearts of others, perhaps your kind words weren’t kind enough or your efforts to demonstrate your love were not worthy enough. You simply hadn’t been enough. 

The final two days you spent in your bed, you spent thinking. What would you do when you were eventually forced back into the world? How would you continue on? It was obvious that you could not stay hiding in the little world you had created for yourself, if only because you desperately needed to bathe or had begun wanting to visit the library to pick your next read. You didn’t find the answer while still in your bed, but on the sixth day, Christys finally convinced you to get out and properly stretch your legs before having a bath. 

“A good stretch, a nice warm bath, getting dressed in your prettiest clothes, will do wonders for you little princess. You may not feel all the way better, but something will have changed and you will be the better for it.” You had nodded, thanking her in a small voice and slipping out of the bed as she went to get the maids to start your bath. 

You shivered when your feet touched the cold stone, and though your muscles were stiff at first, it felt good to walk the length of the room over and over until your weakened legs began to shake. You had pushed the curtains back not only on the bed, but on the windows too and had felt your spirits lift as the afternoon sunshine filled your room. 

When all the maids came in to fill the tub set at the side of your room, they smiled with relief and tittered over the state of you. With the sunshine and the friendly faces and jovial chatter, your mood began to rise again and despite the ever-present sadness that still lingered in the back of your mind, you felt good for a little while. 

They steeped you in the bath like you were tea, letting your skin become pruny as they washed your hair three times over, then scrubbed you down like you were one of the old dirty carpets from the storeroom. You felt pink and raw, like a new skin had emerged from under your old one and the world was a little brighter again. You even laughed when one of the maids made a joke about the habits of debauchery of one of the stableboys. 

You picked out a beautiful blush-pink dress that had been made from special fabric brought from Dorne. It was light and airy, designed more in the Dornish fashion leaving your shoulders and arms exposed except for thick straps that held the dress up on your upper arms. You twirled giddily in front of the mirror a few times before sitting down to have your hair done, you never could help yourself from it when you were in that dress. 

The maids enjoyed seeing you so alive again after the past week of worry and woe. They giggled happily and clapped for you, and were excited to do your hair. They weaved intricate braids and gathered some of them into a twist on the back of your head while leaving others to fall down your back over the last layer of your unbraided hair. They even wanted to rub rouge on your lips and cheeks and line your eyes but you had politely refused saying you were enjoying the feeling of being clean and fresh-faced, and would keep yourself that way for the rest of the day. Though you had been worrying about your beauty a few days prior, you knew you looked the way you did and couldn’t change it. If you weren’t pretty enough for Daemon, for anyone, you would simply have to learn to accept it and live with it, no matter how much you wished it to be otherwise. 

When you opened the doors to your room by yourself for the first time in a week, a little jittery to face the world once more, you were surprised by the guard who stood across the hall from your chambers. He was not your usual protector, the fresh faced Ser Arryk you had become used to, but a stoic faced Dornishman you believed you had seen trailing Rhaenyra before her wedding, but you couldn’t be sure. 

You gazed at him for a moment, at the shiny black eyes he averted to the floor as he bowed stiffly in his armour, the thick and beautiful hair combed perfectly back and the faint beard he sported around his mouth and over his jawlines, just past a stubble but not very much. His skin was beautiful and golden brown, like he had been born with the gentle touch of the sun, and for a moment you lost yourself while looking at him. He was exactly as you had imagined a knight to be, tall and dark and strong. He was limned with lethal power. 

You smiled, polite and surprised and small, and though he did not return it, only nodded in acknowledgement, you could see his face soften slightly and settle into something a little more gentle and blurred around the edges. You stepped a little closer, still a respectful distance from any man who was not your husband, and curtsied as if you were not the princess but a serving girl passing him in the halls. 

“Hello, Ser,” you began, voice almost whispery, “I mean not to offend, only to inquire where Ser Arryk has been off to and left you to his usual duties.” You were warm, and polite almost to a fault, Criston thought, and he had to purse his lips for a moment to stop a smile breaking out on his face at the innocent yet slightly smiley look you offered him. 

“Your highness, I am Ser Criston Cole,” and he bowed again as if he had not already done so when first laying eyes upon you, “and fret not about Ser Arryk shirking his duties. He has simply been posted elsewhere for the past week as the queen has personally asked me to oversee your protection while you were unwell.” 

“Oh,” you breathed out, smiling in both realisation and fondness as you thought about Alicent sacrificing her trusted guard for you. “The queen is a kind soul,” you spoke with reverence, smiling at the floor for a moment before looking back to him. He had been watching you the entire time, as if he simply could not avert his eyes lest you disappear in a cloud of smoke the second his attention was elsewhere. “Well, if you are still on duty as my protector, would you care to accompany me to the library for the afternoon? I am in desperate need of new reading material.” You asked it as if it was not his job to follow you everywhere you went, as if he needed convincing to accompany you and wasn’t under threat of being a deserter, a traitor to the crown if he refused. 

“Wherever you go, I will follow, your highness,” he stated simply, holding his hand out as if telling you to lead the way. You nodded in return, but stood still for a moment as if you were a bit dazed and lost in your surroundings. Then you shook your head a little, like a puppy shaking water off its fur, and continued down the hallway with your light, graceful steps. 

As you walked, Criston a stride behind, he watched you with curious (and apprehensive) eyes. You had always been a distant, rather obscure, figure in his life. Someone he walked past in the hallways of the Keep or only knew by name. When Rhaenyra had first chosen him to be a new member of the King’s Guard, he had been briefed on the entire immediate family, anyone who he could possibly be assigned to if he was not with Rhaenyra, and of course you had been included in it, but he had not been told much, and had never needed it either, for Rhaenyra took up so much of his time and never spent any of hers with you. Not once had he heard her mention her younger sister, nor meet with you for more than a moment in passing in the hallway during which he bent his head in respect and allowed you two your privacy.  

There was only one moment he remembered clearly from that time. He had been strolling through the gardens with Rhaenyra on an idle and rather humid afternoon. It felt like the entirety of King’s Landing had been poured in syrup, each movement one made was slow, lethargic, succumbing to the heat of the summer. Rhaenyra, still in her youthful blissfulness, her mischief knowing no bounds in her rebellion against her father and Alicent, had been slowly twisting her way down the path, twirling a plucked flower in her hands as he followed. She would occasionally speak to him, say something witty or sarcastic or give a boring observation about something or other, and he would hum or nod or offer whatever thought had conjured in his head at the time. Though it was boring, it was also comfortable. 

Then, a light tinkling laugh carried over the air making them both pause. They couldn’t see you yet, you were past the next curve and some bushes still hid the courtyard from which the laugh came. Rhaenyra paused where she was on the path, staring ahead and continuing to twirl the flower in her hand before turning around and walking back toward where he stood. 

“I have suddenly changed my mind,” she spoke quietly, eyes distant as she chewed on her lip, “perhaps finding a cool sitting room somewhere in the Keep would be better suited for this afternoon.” He only nodded, he could sense the change in her mood, the pensive air that now hung about her, but before they began walking, hurried little steps came down the path and you were barreling into their view. 

“Oh!” You let out a surprised little sound, pausing and almost falling backward in your surprise as you brought a hand to your heart. He watched the fabric of your dress, flowing and beautiful, sway with you, your bare shoulders and the long bell sleeves draping down your arms. The light fabric and the way it moved around you like air reminded him of the time he had spent in Dorne, of the trees swaying in a midsummer breeze. Your cheeks were flushed and a happy little smile widened your mouth, eyes sparkling with girlish joy. Your hair was braided in the fancy way all Targaryens braided theirs, but there was something more free and wild about yours compared to Rhaenyra’s. “Sister,” you breathed out quietly, smiling almost bashfully when you looked upon her. He could tell neither of you were close, but you seemed to put in much more effort to be kind to her than she did in even acknowledging you. 

“Sister,” Rhaenyra responded, almost curt, a tight-lipped smile pushing uncomfortably on her face. 

“How do you fare on this fine day?” You asked, clasping your hands in front of yourself. 

“Fine,” she answered simply, and a rather awkward silence fell between you as you nodded, pursing your lips and suddenly looking rather downtrodden. 

“I’m sorry to have intruded upon your leisure time,” you spoke quietly, “and excuse any impropriety I may have shown in running through the halls, I was simply excited. I…” you looked down to the floor and bit your lip to control your smile. “Some special new thread has been brought in from Dorne and I wished to immediately start on my new embroidery project.” You spoke as if she had asked after you, when Criston had noted a clear absence of not only Rhaenyra’s questioning of you but of her seeming interest in your presence. But you continued as if you were used to it, as if you believed she wanted to ask these questions but simply chose to let you speak, and something churned in his stomach at the thought. “I would like to embroider my dragon saddle with some designs, and this thread would be perfect for it, hardy but pretty,” and you looked at your hands giddily as if you were already holding it. Then you seemed to bow your head for a moment as you said your goodbyes, “I shall leave you to your leisure, Sister,” and you walked off hurriedly past them, as if you hadn’t noticed his presence the entire time. 

As he looked upon you now on the way to the library, he realised a change had overcome you since that time. Just as one had overcome him. Though you were dressed more in the Dornish style, like a summer sky on the hottest day of the year, you reminded him more of the monsoon rains at the island’s southernmost tip, warm drops of rain falling from orange-grey skies at sunset. Your steps were no longer light and dance-like. Though they were still graceful, they were careful, measured. You held yourself differently, much more still, and he couldn’t imagine you skipping or running girlishly through the halls. Even your face, having grown a little more, had taken on a sombre quality. Your eyes were thoughtful, slightly closed off, and… sad. And your face rested on something serene now, something gently heartbreaking though you were neither smiling nor frowning. 

He followed you all the way into the library and then back and forth through the spaces between the shelves. Occasionally you would turn to him and point out a tome you had once read as a girl, or the scrolls you had only just returned the week before. Then you would smile up at him, as if his silent company was most cherished by you, and it soothed something in him he didn’t know was hurt in the first place. 

Later in the evening, when all the candles had been lit and you had been returned to your room to prepare for dinner and Criston had been relieved of his duties for a few hours by the return of Ser Arryk, he found a messenger from the queen requesting his presence in her parlour. The entire way there, he thought about you, as if his mind could find nothing else interesting other than the way you had gently refused him from taking the books from your arms as you traversed through the library. Though he had taken the first few, when he began to reach for the little pile you had accumulated in your arms to add to his own, you had shuffled away from him with a little huff, saying “you have quite enough load as it is, Ser Criston. I may have been…” you hesitated before choosing your next word, “unwell for the past few days, but I am no invalid, and am perfectly capable of doing my own hefting.” And at that you had hefted the pile a little higher into your arms, and he could see them trembling a little as you hurried your step a little to reach one of the tables. 

“My apologies, Princess,” he had answered with the hint of a teasing smile, and you had beamed up at him as if that little show of emotion was everything you had wanted and more. 

“Unnecessary and therefore unaccepted,” you had quipped before turning your back on him and dropping the books onto the table. 

As he thought about it on his walk to the queen’s sitting rooms, he had to swallow down a chuckle that threatened to break out at the memory. Though most of the time he had spent guarding your rooms was uneventful, those few hours were joyful and distracting. Even as you had sat at the little table, forearms leaned against the edge, it had been satisfying to simply watch you scour the pages, your lips moving as you read the words. A sudden request for you to read aloud to him had even entered his thoughts at one point, if only to hear your soft voice a little more, and he had needed to clear his throat at the intrusion upon his mind. You had glanced up at that, eyes wide and asking if he was alright without saying a word, and he had simply bowed his head so you would continue undisturbed. 

When he reached the doors to the queen’s rooms, he knocked three times. He was quickly told to enter in her quiet yet firm voice, and found her sitting at her writing desk as the toddler Helaena crawled about the floor near the fireplace with her maids while another cradled the baby Aemond. Alicent beckoned him to close the door and come closer, and he obliged quickly, coming to stand right beside her desk and leaning down a little so he could hear her clearly over the children’s babbling and the chatter of the nursemaids. 

“Ser Criston,” she began, heaving a breath out that made her shoulders drop a little and folding her hands one on top of the other on her desk. She smiled up at him as if content and a little weary. “You have been a loyal knight, and a comforting presence for me in my time at the Red Keep. Do not think I am dissatisfied with your service as I request of you what I am about to do so,” and she paused, pursing her lips for a moment and looking at her two children before turning back to him. “I would like for you to change your posting to be sworn guard of Princess Y/n. I trust you will find a worthy replacement for yourself at my side and will not question whomever you choose.” She paused again, eyes pensive and mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of ways to explain her thoughts. She closed her eyes, no more than a long blink, then sighed long and low. “I have feared for her since the day of her betrothal, and I fear still that the toll of her marriage is becoming too much to bear. But the princess is self effacing, and would never dare to burden another with any of her worries or woes. I simply wish for you to be the loyal knight to her as you have been to me, and if you see a change in her spirits, or any… behaviours displayed by her husband that may be a cause of concern for her, come to me with these observations and I shall do my best to aid her with the hand she has been dealt.” She smiled up at Criston as if to say ‘you understand, don’t you?’ and he nodded, glancing about her desk as if he was already thinking about everything she had said. “Good,” Alicent finished simply and dismissed him with a wave of her hand telling him to start as soon as possible. And with that, he went to find Ser Arryk and realight upon his duties at your side. 

You were usually quick to be ready for dinner on time, never wanting to keep your husband waiting lest it harden his heart to you anymore than it already was, but at your first dinner returning to his company since your discovery, you took your time. Until the last second you toyed with the option of simply not attending, saying though you had felt better during the day, the bout of wellness had ended and you needed to take to your bed once more. Even sitting at the vanity as your maids redid your hair and applied rouge to your lips and cheeks, your bed seemed to call to you, a siren song begging you to return to your self-imposed conferment and spend the rest of your days hidden away. But you could not. 

When you were ready to leave, you were surprised to find Ser Criston Cole returned to his post. He had informed you of the change of guard before he left, but you had believed he would be gone for a whole shift before returning (or not returning at all). He nodded to you as you walked out, and you paused just in front of him with a surprised smile. 

“Ser Criston! You told me Ser Arryk would be returning as my guard for the evening!” He nodded sheepishly, looking away for a moment, and you almost caught a little smile brewing at his lips before his face returned to its natural stoicness. 

“The queen has decreed that my oath of service to her be transferred to you, your highness,” and the way he said it was so simple, a man following an order. 

“The queen?” You asked, frowning a little in confusion. 

“Yes. I hope you are not put-off by it, your highness. If you wish to choose your own King’s Guard or have Ser Arryk return to his duties, I will speak with the queen myself on your behalf.” He seemed eager not to upset you, brown eyes widening a little in earnestness as he spoke, and you smiled, waving off his concern. 

“No, no, Ser Criston, nothing like that. You have served Alicent well in your time with her and if she trusts you, then I do so as well. I simply wonder if she has done this out of some misplaced concern about my wellbeing,” but the way you said it was warm, as if you appreciated that she had done it nonetheless. 

“I could not say,” he replied quietly, but the way he looked to the ground made you believe he was holding something back. You decided not to question it. 

“Well, off we go, Ser Criston. I believe I am late to dinner with my husband,” your joviality was forced, he could see it in your distracted eyes and the tight smile you tried oh so hard to keep up. Your back was rigid rather than the naturally straight posture you usually kept from years of training, and your clasped hands in front of you were fidgeting with the rings upon your fingers. 

He could see the wedding band you had been given, a band of gold around a big fat ruby. It screamed more of your husband’s tastes than your own, gaudy compared to the delicate jewellery you had worn during the day.

 He thought it rather funny that you wore a ring on the same finger of your opposite hand, this one more simple, a thin band of silver inlaid with tiny sapphires all around. The blue was bright against your skin and your dress, and though it seemed often polished, it looked a little worn and old. He wished to ask you about it, but simply bit his tongue and followed you to the next wing in which the dining room you and Daemon used resided. Once more he noted how odd it was that husband and wife ate dinner together but not ever in their own chambers. 

He stopped outside the doors, turning his back on them and subsequently facing you, and he noted the way you were stopped just in front of them. You were staring ahead of you fearfully, as if whatever lay behind that door was the greatest enemy of all, the thing you feared most in the world, and you seemed to revert to the little girl you had once been, hands shaking and lower lip twitching as if you were about to cry. The urge to comfort you as one would a child raised in him, and he gazed upon you with a pitiful, dog-like sadness. He cleared his throat. 

“Your highness, admonish me if I break any code of impropriety,” he began quietly, not looking right at you but somewhere just above your head. “But if you do not wish to dine with your husband, I can carry in the message for you and escort you back to your chambers at once.” 

You turned to look at Criston, into his eyes that had softened much since you had first met and the little crinkle just above his brow. You smiled, albeit it being thin and watery as you suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to cry, but you shook your head. You wiped at your under eyes until you felt that your tears had dissipated and took deep breaths until your lips no longer shook and the lump in your throat had been swallowed down. 

“No,” you shook your head, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them and shaking your head again. “No, that will not be necessary.” But you smiled at him in thanks, and reached out to gently touch the forearm he held over his stomach. Though you only touched metal, your fingertips tingled and you felt like your septa would come running in to scold you for touching a man who was not your husband. Nothing happened, and you simply curled your fingers inward and brought the fist to your side. Criston watched you like you were created anew before him. And then you opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind you swiftly, and leaving him to the silence of the hallway, and the crackling of fire in the sconce directly ahead of him. 

For the first time you entered the room when Daemon was already seated at the table. He looked back as the doors opened and found you striding in with your head held high, more confident than he had ever seen you before, and he raised an eyebrow at the spectacle. Your lips were pursed tightly, and your eyes were wary, but he couldn’t see it. You walked all the way to the table and sat down swiftly across from him, folding your hands in your lap and only looking so far as your own plate. He hmphed, twisting back to sit properly in his seat and resting his elbows on the table as he watched you. You glanced up, and when you noticed his eyes on you, you seemed to wilt a little like a leaf being boiled in front of him. 

“It seems you have recovered, niece,” and after a moment, you nodded. He never called you wife, you realised. No endearing name like dearest or ‘my heart’. It was always either your name or ‘niece’. 

“Yes,” you answered, and then the servants were bringing the dishes to the table and you two remained silent until they had returned to their spots against the walls. 

Daemon felt a little startled as he poked at the chicken on his plate. It was so… quiet. Usually by this point in the evening he would have been briefed only on the contents of your morning, and though he often lost himself in his thoughts or simply didn’t pay attention, the chatter in the background had become surprisingly… soothing. He looked up at you, but you were simply swirling your soup around and around with your spoon. The silence was grating. He clenched his jaw and put his knife and fork down onto the plate with a little ‘clink’ sound. 

“Was that Crispin’s voice I heard at the door?” He asked a little tersely, and your eyes were wide as they shot up to him. Wide and almost fearful, he would think. “He stood guard at your door while you were sick, you know? Has Alicent finally tired of her dog?” 

“I-” you gulped, glancing all over the table but never at him. You looked anguished, pained, and he wondered if whatever had kept you sick in your bed had not fully left you. “It’s Criston.” 

He looked at you, blinking a little quicker, mouth a little open. Your voice had been small, like the voice children used to wake their parents from their beds, and he couldn’t quite believe you had said what you said. 

“Come again?” And he put his hand to his ear, leaning in and squinting his eyes exaggeratedly, all a show for his heart had begun to pound a little in his chest. 

“His name is Criston. Ser Criston Cole,” you answered, and he clenched his jaw so hard it throbbed for a moment after he released it. You still refused to look at him, and it was beginning to irritate him to the ends of the earth. Though you had not been a particular fan of eye contact before, whenever you had spoken to him at the wedding, at the dinners that followed, you had always looked up at him with big eyes and a tentative little smile. Always looking for his approval. He simply hummed and leaned back to continue eating. 

The dinner was entirely silent after that, and though you left feeling relieved and a little stronger, Daemon was left unsatisfied, something suddenly unsettled in his chest as he watched you breeze out of the door in your fluttering gown without a look back. 

Two weeks on from that day, and you had established a new routine. You would spend the morning hours as you had done before, ensuring everything in your husband’s personal life was perfect, from newly ordered bedsheets and the restuffing of his pillows, to ordering only his favourite cuts of meat and ensuring the squires polished his armour regularly. Perhaps it was out of habit, perhaps out of social convention that you had never once flouted, or simply because despite your anguish when you even thought of him, you may never stop pursuing the need for your husband’s love and approval, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it. 

These hours were usually rather hazy in your memory, a series of yes’s and a grey melancholic sheen over your eyes, but after a slow and lazy lunch (usually in Alicent’s company) you always felt better for the latter half of your day. 

You did what you had once done before your marriage, carrying a book or your latest embroidery project in your arms and meandering through the courtyards until you found one devoid of people (or at least devoid of a crowd) and settling down under the shade of a tree. Since your marriage you had found the company of your ‘friends’ grating. Some found pleasure only in the love of their husbands, speaking on and on about the gifts of jewellery and flowers and the showers of attention they received while you simmered in jealousy and an overwhelming feeling of failure. Others found pleasure in telling racy stories of their escapades in the bedchamber(often not with their husbands) and here you too were jealous or simply lost. They described feelings and sensations you had only ever known in hints, desires you didn’t know one could desire, actions of those desires you didn’t think were possible. 

Soon you felt so estranged from them all, so alone in your circumstance, that you simply avoided the gatherings. Though you did sometimes miss the camaraderie of the ladies, the easy laughter and womanly loyalty, you found that it wasn’t such a devastating loss. Especially when you found such a thoughtful companion in Ser Criston Cole. 

He was as stoic as many a knight of the King’s Guard, but you found a certain kinship in his silence and soft looks. He seemed to understand the sadness that seemed to tinge even your happiest moods. He never questioned the sudden onslaught of tears that sometimes attacked you during the day, only offering a handkerchief if you began looking around desperately for one. Nor did he question why you avoided the wing in which Rhaenyra and her soon to be growing family lived, even if it was at your own expense. Or why at even the barest hint of Rhaenyra’s voice you turned and almost ran in the other direction. Though he often only spoke when he was spoken to and usually chose the least verbal answer, his consistent presence and vigilant watch over you was comfortable. It may be only a job for him, but to always have someone watching over your safety and comfort felt… frankly, amazing. 

“Ser Criston?” You looked up at him from your place nestled between the thick roots of an old oak tree in the western-most courtyard of the keep. 

It was one of the colder days of the summer though the sun was shining brightly. A brisk breeze had picked up over the evening before and rarely settled. You were dressed in your Targaryen colours, a black dress with red accents, and if it hadn’t been for the bright pops of colour he would think you had donned your mourning shroud. 

Your hair had been left undone for the day, and you seemed to enjoy the freedom of letting it fly around you untamed. It made you look younger, wilder, and Criston found it an enjoyable sight. You seemed a little bleary after your lunch and laid your head back against the trunk of the tree as you read. You had tried to convince Criston to sit down multiple times and though he refused each time, you chose not to comment about the way he sometimes leaned subtly against the trunk of the tree. 

“Yes, Princess?” He answered, tilting his head down to look at you. You smiled, you derived a secret kind of pleasure when he addressed you so. 

“Would you enjoy this more if I read aloud to you? I fear you must find these afternoons rather dull.” Your smile was almost teasing, and you were successful in eliciting a little smile in return. 

“Do not trouble yourself on my account, Princess,” his voice was soft and he looked away from you to smile at the floor. Your entire body suddenly felt warm and almost giddy. 

“It would be no trouble, I am already reading after all. I simply hope to ensure you do not find my company exceptionally boring,” you said it with a little laugh, bringing your hand up to your mouth as you giggled, and you couldn’t be sure if the sound you heard was actually the little huffing chuckle you believed it to be. When you looked back up at him, his eyes seemed to shine and you wanted to push your face so close to his that those eyes were all you saw. You cleared your throat and averted your gaze as the tips of your ears began burning. 

It was quiet for a few moments, only the rustle of the leaves and the soft sounds of your breathing as you lay your head back against the tree and closed your eyes.  

“I enjoy your company,�� it was soft, low, barely audible, but you heard it and your entire body tensed. You refused to open your eyes for a moment, wanting to sit in the words, in the pleasant feeling of being liked, of being enjoyed. When you did open your eyes again and look at him, he had already trained his gaze somewhere across the yard. You cleared your throat and began to read aloud. 

Since your wedding, your husband came to visit your bedchambers once every fortnight. He would knock quietly on the door at the hour of the bat, when the moon was highest in the sky, and enter before you could say anything. Upon the sight of him, you would usually begin walking toward the bed, climbing over the covers to situate yourself in the middle. There were very few candles lit at that hour, and everything was shrouded in a soft secretive light. 

He would be quick to follow you onto the bed, simply undoing the laces on his trousers and slipping them down a little so his cock could bob out. There was never any need for either of you to get undressed further than this. 

Usually he would have you on your hands and knees, a pillow shoved under your hips and another below your head so you could rest the side of your face against it. It was carnal, and unfeeling, how you imagined animals coupled in the wild. You often felt a little sick afterward, like for a moment your body had not been your own, and you would wait to move from the bed until you heard the door close behind him. It was different this time. 

Your spirits were lifted after an enjoyable afternoon reading to Criston and though you continued to stay silent at your dinners with Daemon, you were too lost in your own thoughts to feel tense and skittish. You allowed yourself to be lost in the memories, to imagine the breeze blowing over your skin again and pretend you could hear the leaves rustling above your head once more. 

Daemon had tried to initiate a conversation a few times over the weeks since your silence began, but you answered sparingly, either humming a response or shrugging or simply nodding. He had again attempted this night, but you hadn’t even bothered to answer any of his inquiries, staring off into space as you slowly chewed on your piece of chicken, an odd show of rudeness from you. He had simply taken to watching you instead. 

You were dressed like a true Targaryen princess, a bright red dress like you had bathed in blood. The sleeves weren’t really sleeves for they were cut down the middle and hung from your shoulders at your sides and your arms were bare despite the cold day. Your hair had been threaded into one large braid and you wore gold jewellery, delicate ruby drop earrings to match your dress and wedding ring. Your mother’s ring, the one gift she had left you days before her death clashed with the rest of your clothes but he had never once seen you without it. 

Daemon was not often surprised with himself, but as he looked upon your face he felt he had never seen it before. He traced the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the set of your brow bone and the flesh of your cheeks with his eyes. The curve of your eyelashes, the shape of your cupid’s bow, the slant of your eyebrows, was all new to him. You looked exactly the same as on the day of your wedding, but he felt he had not seen his wife before. And an even greater mystery, something random and unexplainable, was the sudden desire to know her. 

When you finished your meal and were about to leave, he stood with you and began following you out. Upon realisation, you paused just before the door and turned to look at him. He raised an eyebrow for a moment, but when you didn’t continue on your way and simply kept staring up at him in confusion he sighed and walked to stand just in front of you. 

“I shall accompany you to your chambers this evening, wife,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him, “to share some wine and… converse.” It sounded almost painful coming out of his mouth, as if he was uncertain and disguising it with a false bravado. But you could see the way he glanced away from you and to the corners of the room, the way his hands fidgeted a little with each other and how his body looked like it was desperate to march out of the room but his entire willpower was devoted to keeping him standing exactly where he was. 

“Alright,” you whispered, and a blush filled your cheeks like hot water being poured into a mug. Surely sharing a cup of wine was a euphemism. You twisted the fabric of your sleeves into your hands as you walked half a stride behind Daemon. 

All of Criston’s training had to be used when Daemon came walking out of the room shortly followed by you. He had endured the look of disgust that overcame Daemon’s features as he laid eyes upon him, then felt his heart melt at the little smile you offered. More and more he felt himself fall victim to your charms and each passing day had the feeling of a march closer and closer to heartbreak. 

He had begun to follow you, as was his duty, but when Daemon heard his heavy-booted footsteps, he paused and turned around with a fake smile of kindness and a very real look of triumph in his eyes. 

“You may leave us, Crispin, I am experienced enough in combat to protect my wife,” and for a moment Criston thought Daemon would try and wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Take a break, visit a brothel.” Criston couldn’t control the grimace that moved his lips. You were looking at the wall, hands twisting and twisting in the fabric, and he watched you with the sudden overwhelming need to take your hands gently in his and kiss each of your fingers until your hands relaxed. 

“Would you like me to relieve my duty for the evening, Princess?” He asked quietly, as if only your voice mattered, and not once had he looked up at Daemon since your uncle spoke. You smiled, equal parts joyful and thankful, and looked up into his eyes. 

“It is alright, Ser Criston, you deserve some time devoted to yourself. But when I next open my door in the morning, I expect to see you there,” the order in your voice was so joking and pathetic, the fake frown on your face shining with mirth; he half expected you to wag your finger at him. He smiled, not for the first time resisting the urge to reach forward and press loving kisses to the backs of your hands, and bid you goodbye with a bow before walking off in the other direction. 

You stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, when Daemon cleared his throat behind you. You turned around and gazed up at him through your lashes. Every ounce of irritation Damon had felt a moment ago seemed to suddenly become secondary. He held out his hand to you, and you simply stared at it. You could see the calluses on his fingers from where he gripped his sword. He wiggled his fingers, watching you with raised eyebrows as if you were going dumb before his eyes. Slowly, with a hand that twitched like a skittish deer, you settled your hand into his. 

He looked down at it and felt his chest bloom with warmth at how small your fingers were against his, how gentle they looked against his palm. He wrapped up your hand in his own and gripped it firmly, not tight enough to hurt but you would have to tug against it if you wanted to get away. Your fingers became warm and a tingle went up your arm. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad feeling. 

He led you all the way back to your chambers and even held the door open for you. He didn’t let go of your hand as you passed him, instead following quickly after you and closing the door quickly behind him. It made a loud sound as it closed, not a slam but the sound of wood hitting wood a little hurriedly, and you jumped, trying to tug your hand out of his. He didn’t let it go, simply shushed you a little and led you to the little seating area by the fireplace. He settled you into a chair and, finally letting go of your hand, went to the side table that had a jug of wine ready on it. You turned in your seat and watched as he poured two cups and brought them back to you. He smirked a little when he noticed you but didn’t say anything. He sat in the chair next to yours with a little huff and sipped from his glass. You simply held yours in your hands and looked into it. 

“Will you not say anything at all to me this evening, wife?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if he was teasing or there was a harsh edge to his voice. 

“What would you like me to say?” You asked quietly, not moving your eyes from the cup of wine but watching him through your periphery. He paused at that, eyes trained on you in the way you imagined he faced a problem on the battlefield. 

“Hm, that is a rather good question,” and he smirked as he took another big gulp from his cup. He drained it right after, and you watched him get up and refill it. You hadn’t touched anything more than the cup the wine was in. You turned to watch him again. 

Daemon stood at the table with the jug of wine and stared at it. Then, slowly, he put his own cup down and spun on his heel. He walked back over to you, eyes on your face, and your breath caught in your throat. He was not walking quickly, but not slowly either, and it felt like a lifetime before he found his way to you. He gripped where your head met your neck and used his thumb to lift your head until you were craning it up to him. Then he bent at the waist and pressed his mouth to yours like he was sipping wine right from the centre of the barrel. 

You didn’t quite know what to do with your hands, and the fear of tipping over the cup of wine made you grip it until your fingertips turned white. Your eyes stayed open, but you couldn’t see anything more than a skin-coloured. Your mouth had opened a little in a silent gasp when he had first kissed you, and he used his lips to open it further, to plunge his tongue into your mouth and taste you. He tasted of wine and the slight sourness of alcohol, and you remembered how much you’ve always disliked the drink. 

It was an odd sensation that brewed within you as he kissed you and tried to coax your response. It was something you had wanted for so long, a simple act that should have been common between man and wife that you had been denied as long as you had been able to call yourself a wife. And now that you had it, you had it so freely given and initiated by the husband who hadn’t desired you, an uncomfortable mix of triumph and repulsion, glee and disgust made your stomach churn. You found that you no longer wanted the kiss he so freely offered and it made you want to cry with disappointment. 

He pulled away, not far so you could feel his heavy breaths against your lips and his eyes blurred together in a hazel slash. He simply watched you, gaze switching between your eyes, and for a moment he looked dissatisfied. Was it you that caused it in him, or was it his inability to see what he wished for? He moved his hand down a little from the base of your skull to the back of your neck and caressed his thumb along the front of your throat. The thought that he could simply press inward and strangle you flashed in your head. 

Daemon leaned down again and as you closed your eyes in preparation, he used his other hand to pluck the cup of wine from your grip and deposit it on the table. You watched the wine slosh almost to the edge but swing back the other way before it could spill. He used the same hand to grasp your arm and urge you to stand. You did without struggle. The hand on the back of your neck was uncomfortably warm and the callus on his index finger was rough against your cheek as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Come to bed,” he whispered, and you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the edge of the four-poster. He turned you around and began undoing your braid until your hair fell in waves down your back. He caressed it, soft and reverent, before undoing the back of your dress and slipping it over your shoulders. The top fell down to your waist and he pushed it over your hips until it was in a heap at your feet. He kissed along your bare shoulders, first on the left then on the right, and smiled against the skin when you shivered. His hands moved up and down your arms, warming you up, and goosebumps pimpled on your skin. He pushed the straps of your shift down your arms, and you let him. The crumpled fabric slipped easier over your skin and joined the pile on your feet. 

Everything was hazy in the world, like smoke had filled the room and you could feel it only slightly against the back of your throat. You were not you, and the room was not your room, but some ethereal version of each thing. Nothing of consequence would occur in these moments. 

He turned you around then, and gently cupped both your breasts in his hands. He caressed them, ran the pads of his thumbs over your nipples as they hardened in the cold air, held their weight in his hands and felt the hot underside of your breasts. Your breath was shallow, chest quivering, and he bent down to kiss each breast, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made you gulp with a dry mouth and throat. He licked each nipple, bit each one, and when your hand came up to grip his arm as you swayed a little, he pulled away. 

“Sit and lay back,” he ordered, gripping your hips and guiding you backward until your thighs hit the bed and you were sat on the edge. He reached up and pushed your shoulders down until you were flat on your back with your legs hanging over, toes just barely brushing the cold floor. You felt like the dolls you had once played with, stiff and inanimate, moved only at the will of others. 

Daemon was quick to rid himself of his clothes. His jacket was already crumpled on the floor and his shirt was thrown through the air to land somewhere on the stone floor past your bed. The laces on his pants were undone so quickly you thought he might rip them right off, but he simply loosened them until he could push them and his underthings off. 

Daemon got on his knees between your legs and carefully raised them so your knees bent over his shoulders and your calves rested against his back. He pulled you forward a little more and gazed at the space between your legs. Your skin was tinged yellow from the candlelight and he had never thought a woman more beautiful than in that moment. He moved his hands up your thighs and rested both flat on your stomach. He pressed his face to your core, licking over your lips and between the seam until the taste of you was imprinted on his tongue and your slick was smeared over his mouth and pushed its way down to his chin. 

You lay back with your eyes clenched shut and your mouth open, chest heaving as you panted like a dog. Your hands were twisted in the sheets and the skin on your chest had gone red. Your mind was somehow rooted in your body yet floating away at the same time. You existed in every cell, every sensation, the feeling of his wet tongue against that little spot right at the top that made fire erupt in your stomach made you moan louder than you ever had. You hadn’t even known you were capable of moaning. 

Daemon lapped against you like a dog licking up a treat, wide and wet and rough against the inflamed little nub that twitched with your heartbeat. He felt you cum on his tongue, felt the quiver of your stomach against his hands, the way you curled upwards a little. He tasted it, the sudden increase of slick against his lips. He seemed to drink your entire being as he kneeled between your legs. 

You looked down as he pressed his cheek to your inner thigh. His face was warm against where he lay it down and you could feel his heavy breaths over your core, like gentle fingers brushing over the sensitive skin. He met your eyes, his dark and looking black in the dim light. For a moment you wanted to get up and run. It was not your uncle but a demon between your legs, sent to the world by the old gods to devour you. You pushed up, suddenly scared, but he was quick to slither up your body and press his mouth to yours, press his tongue to yours, fill you with the light sticky taste of your core. You heaved against his mouth and one of your hands came up to clutch his shoulder. He took it as encouragement. 

Daemon lay his weight over you and stared into your eyes. You could feel his hand at the apex of your thighs, haphazardly grabbing his cock and bumping the tip against you until he found your entrance. You held your breath, the pressure in your chest steadily increasing, and waited for the inevitable sting and drag. It hurt less for the first time, more like tiny concentrated bolts of lightning zipping along the flesh inside you, and you huffed out a breathy sound, both hands clutching at his arms as he pushed into you. 

Each time Daemon bedded you, he always made this expression, this look of pain and pleasure that had his eyebrows scrunching together and his mouth opening as he closed his eyes. This time he kept his eyes open, as much as he could anyway, and looked straight at you as his hips met yours. Your spine felt fluid, like it no longer existed and therefore you were incapable of movement. 

“Tighter than a virgin,” he huffed out, and you clenched around him which only made him rock his hips. You weren’t sure if you liked his words or not, a little grimace on your face. You began to close your eyes as his hips began to slowly rock into you, gulping as you panted, but he gripped your chin tightly in his hand. “No, keep looking at me,” and so you did. 

It was painful to look into his eyes as he pushed into you. You felt the pleasure shooting from your core, the natural tightening of your thighs around his hips, but an equally painful internal turmoil mingled with it. You looked into the blackness of his blown-wide pupils and saw the darkness of the hallway in which he had stood kissing Rhaenyra. In his grip on your chin you imagined how Rhaenyra felt when he had gently tipped her chin up to press his lips to hers reverently. You wondered if she knew the weight of him on top of her exactly the way you knew it now. 

Daemon leaned down and broke eye contact to press his face into your neck, to smell your skin and sweat. He panted against you, eyes closed in the blackness of the little space around his face and he pushed his hips in and out faster despite how much he wanted to keep everything slow. He wanted to feel you, to know you as intimately as a man and wife should know one another. He knew nothing else but this. You whimpered a little into the air, like a bird falling from a branch, and he wrapped you up a little tighter in his arms. 

The coupling was quick. You found it easy to fall over the cusp after the time he spent on you with his tongue, and he seemed eager to follow soon after. When he finished, he lay himself on top of you for a little while, breathing heavily and allowing the sweat on your bodies to dry a little. You felt suffocated. You wanted him off. But you said nothing. 

Eventually, Daemon rolled off of you and used the edge of the sheets to wipe himself off. Then he clambered onto the bed and lay across it properly, sheets at his waist and head settling into the pillow. Your limbs were stiff as you got up, and your core felt sore. You settled your weight on precarious legs, and made your way to your little private area behind the divider. A bowl of water was set on a little table and you dipped a washing rag into it before slowly cleaning the seed from your legs. You were careful, and your fingers were soft against the tender flesh between your legs, but you only stopped when every crevice felt clean. Perhaps this was the reason you weren’t getting pregnant, you thought, but you couldn’t stop. 

Your nightgown was hanging over the divider and you quietly pulled it on, settling the fabric around you before slowly making your way back to the bed and getting onto your side. Daemon watched you curl your knees to your chest and sit against the pillows, only allowing the sheets to cover your feet. You rested your chin against your legs and let out slow breaths. He couldn’t see your face properly because of your hair falling forward but he was desperate to. He reached out and gently pushed some of it back. Your eyes were closed and he couldn’t tell what you were thinking about. He simply sighed and reached out to rest his arm over your feet before closing his eyes. 

The only candle that had been left burning was on the little table beside your bed, and it watched you sit there for an hour. When you had felt Daemon’s breathing slow down, you had opened your eyes and watched the door. When you were sure he was asleep, you gently slid your feet out from under his arm and crept over the edge of the bed. You didn’t put on slippers and stood for a minute to shiver as the cold from the floor seeped into your toes and heels. Then you crept to the divider again and gently brought down your robe from the corner and slipped your arms into the sleeves before tying it at the waist. You looked back to see if Daemon was sleeping only once, then walked to the door. You opened it so slowly the wood made not a hint of sound, and when you were finally outside you let out a deep breath. 

You weren’t quite sure why you had come outside in the first place, but you felt a little better. You turned to the right and there stood Ser Criston against the wall just beside your door, watching you in the dim light. You watched him in return, the hair that curled a little inward at the nape of his neck and the pink tint of his lips. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmed you and you rushed toward him, wrapping your arms around his torso as you sobbed against his chest. 

Criston wrapped you up as much as he could with his armour still on, but he pressed his cheek down onto your head and shushed you as you cried. Your sobs were soft and muffled, your tears smearing on his armour and your cheeks as you hiccuped in his arms. He smoothed a hand over your hair, down your back, then cupped it around your waist. 

When your sobs began to quiet a little, your hiccups not as frequent, you pulled away quickly and stood against the wall across the hall, curling in on yourself as you used the edges of your nightgown to wipe at your eyes. Only your laboured breathing filled the hall, and the creak of his armour as he stood to attention again. You waited until you felt like you could open your mouth again without dissolving into sobs and turned to him with splotchy cheeks, a shiny nose, and red eyes that made you look like a little girl again. 

“I am sorry, that was inappropriate of me,” you whispered, and your voice was gritty and painful. He simply shook his head, pursing his lips for a moment before looking away from you and into the fire of the sconce directly in front of the door to your chambers.

“Nothing happened, Princess,” and you smiled a little, huffing out something akin to a laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

You pulled the sleeves of your nightgown and robe so they covered your hands, then pressed one of your fists to your lips and nose as you leaned back against the wall directly opposite to Criston. Your other hand came around to grasp your elbow and support it against your stomach, and you looked into Criston’s eyes. They were the colour of the bark of oak trees, the darkest honey, the sweetest chocolate from Dorne. 

“I don’t like my husband,” you whispered, and it felt criminal to voice the opinion out loud. You looked around a little, as if he would suddenly be standing at the door, ready to punish you for it, but nothing happened except Criston huffing out a laugh. You smiled at the sound, a warm, gruff, sort of sound. 

“Truth be told, I do not like your husband either,” and you giggled at that, pressing the smile into your fist. 

“I-” you paused, averting your eyes to the floor. “I like you though.” You glanced up to see his reaction, but he was looking at the wall ahead of him, and his face didn’t change. 

“I’m not sure that is a wise decision, Princess,” he said simply, as if he was reading it off a paper, and you laughed, thinking he was joking, being sarcastic or self-deprecating, but when he didn’t join in your laughter you stopped. Your cheeks burned and you were overwhelmed with embarrassment. 

“I did not mean-” you cut yourself off, biting your lip until it hurt and then biting it a little more. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, and he shook his head, frowning, looking down to the floor. 

“There is nothing to be sorry for, Princess, I simply meant that I am a knight of the Kingsguard and-” 

“Ser Criston, I know, I would never put you in a position to even question your oath let alone any imagining of you sullying it!” Your voice elevated a little in your hurry as you held out your hands and looked at him with wide eyes. He turned his gaze on you, some inexplicable expression on his face, and you blushed again, curling your hands against your chest and leaning against the wall once more. You trained your gaze on his feet. “I enjoy your company, and I respect you.” You watched him shuffle his feet a little. You were both quiet for a little while, letting the silence cover you like a soft blanket. 

Criston’s hands tingled with the need to reach out and caress your face, his heart strained against his chest with the need to meet your own, to press your two bodies together and press your mouth to his and kiss you until he couldn’t breathe anymore and then keep kissing you. 

You let your gaze trail all over his body, to the muscular shoulders hidden behind armour and the white cloak hanging from them. His neck seemed soft and blurred compared to the rest of him, and you wanted to reach up and caress the light dusting of a beard on his chin and cheeks. You wondered how coarse the hairs were. You wanted to kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. You wanted to know what the skin felt like under your lips. 

“If it was a different world…” he trailed off, but you knew what was to come next regardless of him saying it or not. 

“I know,” you whispered quietly, taking a deep, shuddering, breath in and wrapping the robe tighter around you and following it with your arms. 

“I know,” he repeated back to you. You were both quiet again but the air felt a little heavier. You swallowed and closed your eyes.  

“I would love to kiss you, right at this moment,” you whispered, eyes reopening slowly to look at him. His eyes were on the ground but his lips were parted just slightly. His breath was shallow and his hands clenched into fists at his side slowly. You felt like you were watching everything he did a second after it happened. 

“I would love it if you kissed me, right at this moment,” his voice was low, gravelly, and you took a little step closer, a shuffle. 

You wanted to reach out and touch his stomach, feel the muscles beneath the shirt. You wanted to touch his shoulders, feel them tense then release as you ran your fingers up them. You wanted to caress his neck and gently press your fingertips to his cheeks to see how plush they were.

 Instead, you slowly made your way toward your chamber doors. When your shoulder was level with his, you looked at each other. His smile was so soft and warm, so kind and gentle, that you felt the tears begin to climb up behind your eyes. You looked back to your chamber doors and opened them just as quietly as you had done before, slipping inside and closing it behind you. You looked around the room for a moment, unseeing, then walked all the way back to your side of the bed. You blew out the remaining candle and got under the sheets right on the edge so not even Daemon’s outstretched hand could touch you.  

You and Ser Criston never spoke of that evening again. But sometimes, when everything was quiet and you were alone, you would look into his eyes, and know. 

After the night he kissed you for the first time since the wedding, Daemon suddenly felt like his entire life was off-kilter. He could not escape thoughts of you. He could not escape memories of you. 

At first he found himself sitting at the edge of the training pit, watching the gold cloaks spar as he awaited his turn, and all he could think of was the image of you in your wedding dress right after he had kissed you, blushing cheeks and cut lip smeared with spit and the mix of his blood and yours. As he took his midday meal in Rhaenyra’s solar across the table from her, he saw your frown as you told him you were still a maiden. As he flew on Caraxes on a hot afternoon, he saw the relief in your eyes as you lifted the strap of your shift back onto your shoulder. 

He began to wonder about you, about your days and nights, about what books you enjoyed or the temperament of your dragon. Each day brought new questions about you that he pushed away because they were unnecessary and only served to drive him mad. 

He noticed himself noticing you. His ears would perk up if he heard your voice somewhere in the distance, and something in his chest would jump a little. Your perfume lingered in the library after your visits, and if he happened to visit at just the right time, traces of it would gently touch his nose and his stomach would suddenly feel warm. Each time he entered your room for your fortnightly fucking, he found himself dallying longer and longer before and after, simply to gaze at your belongings and learn about you. 

Slowly, it became an irrepressible infatuation. He would watch you from the terraces and balconies around the Red Keep as you sat in the various courtyards, admiring your hair and your dress, jealous of the sun for being able to touch you so reverently in a way he never could.  He would dab your perfume on his handkerchief and keep it securely tucked in his pocket, pulling it out and pressing it to his nose in the quiet of his room on the other side of the Keep. He had even had one of the tapestries you had done removed from the halls of the Keep and hung on the wall across from his bed. He was lost in you. 

In this new daze, he had abandoned his trysts with Rhaenyra and had been shocked to find he did not care when she took a new lover. She had asked after his sudden disinterest, why he no longer visited her in the evenings or ate his lunch in her company. He hadn’t had an answer ready to give. 

In this time, he had also grown aware of Criston Cole’s infatuation with you. He had already thought it odd that the knight had abandoned being the Queen’s lapdog for the forgotten princess, but he had assumed that Alicent had ordered him to and was simply enacting another of her many schemes. He had even scoffed at the idea, laughing to himself that Alicent would gain nothing over him for he was only a husband in name. 

But after all the time he spent watching you, he could see how truly devoted to you the knight had become. He stood as close to you as was appropriate for a knight and not an inch farther. He held your projects or piles of books as he walked beside you, refusing you from taking any load from his arms. If you ever had a request, he forced whichever servant was closest to complete it in an instant so he could fulfil it without leaving your company. 

And he was always looking at you. Sometimes when Daemon watched you in the courtyard with Cole, the knight never removed his eyes from you for a second. You would turn your face up to smile at him and he would already be looking at you. You would return to the book and his eyes would still be on your face. 

It wasn’t just the fact that he was looking at you, though, it was the way the knight watched you. He always had this warm little expression on his face, his eyes a little wide and shiny and full of awe. His mouth was always gentler in those moments, lips softened and hinting at a smile. He seemed entirely at peace in your presence. 

And as Daemon watched you more and more, he realised the knight’s infatuation with you was returned. You were chatty around him, spilling your thoughts or asking him questions. You read aloud to him, made him little gifts of handkerchiefs or embellishments on his cloak that he always refused at first before relenting when you claimed you would be thoroughly upset if he continued to deny you. Your embroidery featured motifs of white knights more and more and you smiled at Criston in a way he wasn’t sure you had ever smiled at anyone else. It made him angry. Angry in a way that could only be soothed by hacking at a straw dummy in the training yard with Dark Sister until the thing had to be replaced. 

When Daemon found you, you were sitting at your writing desk with a parchment in front of you, quill raised as you bit your lip and formed the words in your head. His chest was heaving despite him not having run. The sunshine falling over the desk from the window behind you made you look like a spirit from the stories, all your edges glowing and a shadowy haziness draping your face. He walked right up to the desk, cupped your face in both his hands and kissed you on the mouth.

 It was firm, insistent, his mouth moving and pressing yours open while your mind tried to catch up with the sudden events, your quill dripping ink onto the table where you still had your hand raised. You pulled away after a moment, a frown creasing your brow and lips parted for a moment. You licked them, pressing them together as you swallowed and turned back to face the desk. Your eyes roamed over the little trinkets as if they had not been there before. Then you turned to look at Daemon again. 

He was standing above you, dazed as he gently touched his thumb to his lower lip. He looked bedraggled. Some of his hair had been pulled back into little braids to keep it from his face, his battle hair, but some of it curled with his sweat and other strands had been pulled out as if he had forgotten about the braids and had begun pulling at his hair in frustration. He was only wearing his training tunic, and there were mud stains on his pants and you guessed he had come straight here from the training grounds. 

He was staring at you now, eyes blazing and you shuffled back a little in case he tried to kiss you again. Kissing him was nice, it had never not been at least somewhat pleasant, but you didn’t care for it anymore. He leaned down again but you closed your eyes and leaned back further, holding your hand over your lips. A frown slashed his brow and he gripped the back of your chair tightly. You feared it would crack under the pressure. 

“You would deny your husband?” He spat, and you flinched, curling a little inward as if a pang of pain had hit you in the chest. “Do you deny Cole when you are a whore for him?” And your eyes snapped up to look into his. He was seething, you could practically see the fires of rage behind his eyes. Your own began to fill with tears and he stood up again, taking a step back. His face fell a little as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. He could hear it shudder through your open mouth, saw the quiver of your chest. If you began to cry he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

But then you pressed your lips together, so tight they went white, and opened your eyes. They were no longer filled with tears. You stood up, brushing down the skirt of your dress. You ensured it fell around your waist correctly before clasping your hands together over your stomach and finally looking up at him again. 

“I know you do not love me,” your voice was quiet but steady, and he opened his mouth to speak, to rebuke, but no sound came out. “It is alright,” and for the first time since that fateful day, you felt it truly was. Then your eyes hardened a little, almost imperceptibly. “You are not angry because you love me, or you feel denied by your wife. You are angry simply because you feel that something you possess may be eyed by another.” Then your eyes returned to their usual gentleness, your hands loosened against each other and your entire body seemed to release a little. “But do not worry, husband. Since I was a little girl it has been ingrained upon me that marriage is sacred. One must treat it with the utmost respect, cherish it, protect it with their own actions.” You held your hands to your heart like you were cupping the very notion of marriage against your breast. “I would never dream of defiling its sanctity.” You bowed your head and breezed out of the room before he could even attempt to open his mouth. 

For a long time after, Daemon wondered if you knew of his long ago trysts with Rhaenyra. Though you had not said the words with any sort of obvious insinuation or spite, fear and guilt churned in his gut until he had to sit down and press his palms to his eyes. All he could ask himself was ‘did you know?’, all he could feel was shame and regret. 

He didn’t want you to know. He wanted to take everything back, starting with your marriage. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and cherish you as you deserved. He wanted to spend his hours on his knees in supplication to you. He wanted to follow you around like a dog chasing its master if only you would glimpse at him with that little loving smile you reserved for so few people and press a gentle kiss to his face. He wanted your love. And somehow, he thought as he sat on the floor of his room, back leaning against the side of his bed, I have lost it before I even knew I wanted it. 

Daemon spent much of his life in the aftermath trying to win you back, and it somehow made everything worse. You were always the perfect image of a wife. If he brought you flowers, you thanked him gently, sincerely, then handed them off to a maid to have them put in water. If he brought you jewellery, you caressed it and put it on in that instant, asking him how it looked on you. He only ever had one answer, ‘radiant, my love,’ and you would smile at his reflection in the mirror before gently taking it off and putting it in your jewellery box. If he found fabrics from all corners of the world and had them brought to you for your dresses, you kissed his cheek in thanks, then asked the tailor to create something for you, never your own design. You wore them in front of him, showed him that his gifts were used, and once he had torn them off in his vigour to fuck you, you folded up the dresses and put them in the back of your wardrobe. 

When the gifts elicited nothing more than politeness, he began spending more time with you, hoping you would somehow see his devotion, see a reason to love him. He would find you just before you went to eat your midday meal with Alicent and instead guide you to a picnic in the Godswood. He would bring one of his many books on the Targaryen histories and settle himself down next to you in one of the courtyards. He would lay beside you in your bed after he finished inside you, cheek pressed into the pillow as he watched you until you fell asleep. 

Each attempt had entirely the opposite effect to his wishes. Though you never changed outwardly, never made him feel unwelcome or told him to leave, he could sense how much you preferred to be without his presence. 

And you never acknowledged Criston Cole in his presence. Whether from some deep seated propriety that refused to offend your husband or insult him in the company of others. Whether from some embarrassment that whatever feelings you held for the knight would be so easily displayed from simple conversation, he knew not. But it made everything even worse. 

You spoke not to Criston, which meant you didn’t speak to him either unless he tried to start a conversation. The silence would become suffocating to the point he would sweat through his clothes. You would be oblivious, sitting there humming or simply gazing upon your book or embroidery or letters. And he would be tortured watching you sit under the watchful eye of your knight, not saying a word. 

Each time he returned, he tried to outlast himself, outlast the silence. And each time he failed. It would be five minutes, ten minutes at most, before he stood up and walked out of the door without a goodbye, and somehow he knew that you didn’t bother looking up as he left. 

These little communions were often followed by an overwhelming sense of betrayal and embarrassment. With every failed attempt, every time he fled, he thought he could see Criston Cole’s smug smile. He thought the knight’s secret satisfaction in your favour of him suddenly became apparent on his face and in his gait, that the fool was mocking him for not being able to win his wife’s love while he held it freely in the palm of his hand. 

And then he found a slow decline into shame as he sat in the ruins of whatever furniture or ornaments he had destroyed in that bout. Vases of porcelain were left in shattered little pieces when he thought about the way you looked up at Cole like he hung the stars in the sky. End tables of oakwood were left in splinters as he imagined Cole whispering lovingly in your ears. And each time he sat in the wake, staring at his hands as they bled due to his carelessness, and he prayed to the old gods and the new, asking for your forgiveness. 

The cycle never ended, because however much he tried, however much he inserted himself in your life, you seemed forever content to play your part as a dutiful wife while simultaneously withholding the only thing he wanted from you now. Any other man would not complain about being married to you. They would be ecstatic that no matter how much debauchery they committed, however many whores they fucked and taverns they inhabited, their wife still demurely welcomed them home, ensured their needs were always met, and never deigned to bother them. He hated it with every fibre of his being. 

He wanted you to scream and hit him in the chest in your anger, to call him names and loathe him. He wanted you to glare at him in bed and refuse his kisses. He wanted you to hate him, because if he could make you hate him, he could make you love him too. He could turn those screams and punches into laughs and loving caresses. He could turn the names and loathing into soft words and adoration. He could turn the glare in bed into a soft look of relaxation as you lay your head on his chest and hummed in comfort. He could turn the refused kisses into begs for more. He often thought he was descending into madness. 

Some months later, after everything in the world had jumbled itself around and left Daemon adrift, useless and hopeless to the point of self-loathing, he found himself watching you in the gardens from one of the balconies above the south courtyard. 

When Daemon looked at you, he felt his chest begin to fill with something thick and painful. It was liquefied stone crushing each of his organs, it was hot syrup drowning his lungs. Your smile was sad and gentle as you ran your fingers over the embroidery you had just finished. 

To know he was filled to the brim with love for you and you had nothing more than indifference to offer him now was already a kind of crippling pain he now had to endure. To know he had broken your heart long before he had even cared for it was another. But to live for the rest of his life knowing he had trapped you, that it was the devotion and loyalty you gave him unconditionally simply because you were married to him, that your marriage to him was the sole reason you would never be happy… That was the worst pain of all. 

Taglist: @mornixgstar18 @carmalcandylover @aedhyratargaryen @kamcrazy123 @wallacewillow0773638 @yo-alli @kishie8 @freyathehuntress @moonlightstuffs @snowflames-world @adombtch @snowtargaryen @mrs-kise-ryota-kise-wife @she2rreal @immyowndefender @dantefairyfrogs @vavafaure1994 @loveyouok @tallrock35 @whitehare7701 @claraisme23 @carl-grimes-eye-socket @dilfluvr4evr @seasonswinter @mah1644 @diqnawn @anna-2401 @vanessyyyu @ninihrtss @inkedmetanoia @m3hr33n33

[supernovafics]

lowkey, i wanna see steve in the “i’ll be there for u” world taking care of reader after coming back from a bar with some college friends—he’d be so sweet taking off her makeup & trying not to laugh at her messed up sentences

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k words

warnings: explicit language, drunk!reader, fluff

summary: in which after a night out with some friends, steve takes care of you

author's note: thank you for the request🫶🏾

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Spring 1986

Your main goal when you entered the apartment was to not wake Steve up. 

However, that was almost impossible to do when you were accidentally shutting the front door much louder than you wanted to, and then you were tripping over the pile of shoes that sat next to the door and were actually neatly stacked for once. 

Somehow, even in your inebriated state, you managed to catch yourself and only stumbled a bit instead of falling straight to the ground. You couldn't help but laugh loudly at yourself and then you abruptly slapped your hand over your mouth when you realized how noisy you were being. 

You flicked on the light and then dropped your bag on the kitchen counter before sitting on the floor so that you could fix the shoes. It should’ve taken barely a minute to do and you tried your hardest to focus on the task at hand, but all you could do was giggle at your confusion. And then since you were on the floor, you decided to work on untying your Converses and taking them off, which also proved to be somewhat of a struggle because of your drunkenness. 

It was then that you finally came to the conclusion that you probably should’ve stopped drinking after your third drink. 

Your initial plan hadn’t been to get drunk, and you honestly didn’t even think that you’d end up going to the bar in the first place because it was a last minute plan set up by a few people in your communications class. But then you were lying on the couch in the living room, already in your pajamas at only nine o’clock on a Friday, and you changed your mind. You got up from the couch and traded in your old t-shirt and sleep shorts for a cute enough outfit, and then called Steve at Family Video. 

You told him that you decided to go to the bar and you were very close to asking him if he could meet you there after his shift, but then you remembered how early he had to wake up for his one tomorrow. 

“You okay?” The abrupt sound of Steve’s voice made you jump and drop the sneaker in your hand. The pile actually looked worse than when you started to fix it what felt like five minutes ago. 

“Woah, you scared me,” You said as you turned to look at him. A pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a white t-shirt on. It was when you noticed that his hair looked like a disheveled mess and he was rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes that you remembered what your goal had been when you entered the apartment. “Oh shit, I woke you up. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” He told you with a shrug. “Why are you sitting on the floor?” 

“I messed up the shoe pile…” You mumbled and haphazardly gestured to the sneakers next to you. “Also, I think I’m a little drunk because the floor actually feels really comfortable right now.”

Steve smiled at that. “I think you’re more than just a little.”

“Not true,” You said as you shook your head at him, which he only smiled wider at because your head shake was much more dramatic than you intended it to be.

Steve reached his hands out toward you. “Come on. We’ll fix the sneakers in the morning.” 

You grabbed his outstretched hands and he pulled you up, which you couldn’t help but giggle at. You were simply looking at him and smiling widely before your lips were quickly finding his. 

After only a second, he pulled away, chuckling a little at your eagerness. “Hey, no funny business right now. You’re drunk.” 

Instead of responding to his very true statement, your arms wrapped around him and you buried your face in his neck. “It’s okay. I don’t care.”

You could feel him shaking his head at your words, but he still hugged you back. “I care.”

There was something about the way he softly said the two simple words that made you smile and hold him tighter. You were pulling away after a second, taking a reasonable step back away from him and then holding your hands up in a joking surrender. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep things completely PG.”

“Good,” Steve laughed before he reached out, intertwining one of his hands with yours, and then led you to the right toward your bedroom instead of to the left toward his. 

You sat down on your bed and Steve went over to your dresser, rummaging through it to find some pajamas for you to put on so that you could get out of the jeans and black top you were wearing. 

“Here, change into this,” He said as he handed you a random oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts. You nodded and started to unbutton your jeans. “I’m gonna grab you some water for right now and aspirin for the morning.”

“Thank you. You’re the best. I love you,” You said, smiling widely. Your affectionate words right then were actually pretty tame compared to how sentimental you’d usually get whenever you were drunk. You’d done enough emotional drunken rambling to the cab driver you had on the way home. With absolutely no prompting, you told him about you and Steve and how you two had been best friends for years and years and then decided to move in together this past summer and then just recently finally got into a relationship. The driver was actually pretty interested in the story, or maybe it only felt like he was because of your inebriation— you’d wonder which was right in the morning. 

“I love you too,” Steve smiled back at you and then leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. 

You gave him a teasing look. “We’re supposed to be keeping things PG, remember?”

He laughed a bit. “A forehead kiss is the most PG we’ve been in a while.”

“I’m also completely okay with not being PG,” You told him.

“Not happening tonight,” Steve said, placing a quick kiss against your cheek this time before walking to the door and heading into the kitchen. 

You were fully changed when he came back, and the clothes you’d been wearing were in a heap on the floor next to your bed because you couldn’t feel bothered to put them anywhere else. Steve handed you a glass of water and he noticed that you put your t-shirt on backward, but he decided not to say anything about it and only smiled at you. He knew that you definitely hadn’t sobered up in the slightest because you didn’t question the amused look he was giving you. 

You drank some of the water and then placed the glass down on your nightstand. You got into your bed and pulled your blanket over your legs. “You’re staying in here, right?”

“Of course,” He nodded as he settled in next to you. 

You laid down, head easily finding the pillow, and then turned on your side to face Steve and he did the same. He decidedly kept a bit of space between you two because he wasn’t sure what you, or he, would be tempted to do if your legs became entangled and your warmth was radiating right against him. 

“So, how was tonight?” He asked. “I’m guessing you had fun?” 

“Yeah, it was good,” You answered with a nod and there was a hint of a smile on your face. “Missed you a lot. Probably told way too many stories about you to everyone.” You laughed as you covered your face. “I think I became the kind of girl that only talks about her boyfriend. I’ll probably never get invited out by them again.” 

“I wish I could’ve been there to see that,” Steve said, smiling softly and you had to push away the urge you had to run a hand through his messy hair and kiss him. “Wait, did you tell any embarrassing stories?” 

You shifted a bit closer to him and dropped your voice down to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I promise I didn’t mention the time when we were twelve and you were staying at my house and I jumpscared you so bad that you peed your pants a little.”

“Now I don’t know if I believe you because you thought of that story way too fast.”

“It’s just one of my favorites, but I promise I didn’t say it tonight. Girl Scouts honor.”

He laughed as he shook his head. “You were never a Girl Scout.”

You shrugged and poked his side. “Shh, let’s just pretend for a sec.”

Steve only nodded in response and held back his laughter. 

The quietness that prevailed over the next few moments made a sudden wave of tiredness wash over you; it was as if a flip was switched and you were finally ready to pass out for the night. You shut your eyes and let out a soft sigh. 

You heard Steve’s voice after a second. “You okay?”

“Mhm, jus’ a little tired.” You closed the rest of the distance between you and shifted around so that you were settled back against him. You weren’t even really trying to make things non-“PG” between you two; settling in close next to him was always just the most natural thing to do.

“Okay,” Steve said and wrapped an arm around you, another instinctual thing to do. 

“I’m really sorry I woke you up. I know that you have to get up in like four hours,” You abruptly said as your hand found his and intertwined it with yours. “I really did try to stay quiet when I came in.” 

“I think I would’ve found you asleep next to the shoes in the morning if I didn’t wake up when I did,” Steve told you before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

You let out a sleepy laugh. “That’s probably very true.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

the way he came real close to one of laios desperate plans while sleep deprived and hangry several chapters in advance.. he really does know laios huh.

my tags got too long so here they are under the cut

Even tho he wanted to sleep he probs was still listening to everything laios has to say. Bc he is Always Listening and Observing

Interesting in the context of how laios wants someone to understand him - to see him as he is but also the ways in which hes afraid of rejection and being seen as less than human but lacking the monstrousness to retaliate and lash out without regret bc then it would be The natural order of things but hell never be a monster he can only be a human being

but i think part of the reason shuro got so mad is bc he was putting all this effort into being considerate and feeling he got none in return. i think he wanted to be seen too! But i think he overlooked how he feels safe enough to express his rawest feelings w laios

But also i think laios was the first relationship shuro did not just let fizzle out at the first sign of interpersonal difficulty. bc lbr in this manner hes a coward. Disgusted by maizuru being his fathers mistress ? Dont talk it out n continue letting her treat him like a child while ignoring her. concerned hien and him will turn out like maizuru and his father—just let the friendship drift apart w time. concerned abt how inutade views her retainership when he knows his father just sees her as an oddity—dont say shit n just stew in it 5eva

passive aggression warrior!!!

Also interesting laios is like if we can make her monstrousness more manageable maybe she can live among ppl…the projection

The part at the end where toshiros like I know his gait from the sound of the bell by heart so i 100% know its him. he was listening the whole time! like a second heartbeat. Very metaphorical for their relationship. its a challenging relationship for the both of them but they dont give it up bc they care about each other.

thats love honestly i was genuinely moved by the interplay of toshiro laios n kabrus relationship. that laios promises hell eat w kabru on his terms even tho kabru wasnt upfront abt the monster thing initially giving him a motive to return. and how shuro gave him the bell as a promise hed bring him back to the surface no matter what. And he fulfills it even when laios leaves the bell behind bc he knows him so well To the surface and live among other ppl.

bc laios whole life he felt like he couldnt understand other ppl and they couldnt understand him even tho he wanted that connection that seemed so easy to everyone else

but thru kabru and shuro we see that no one in the world understands anyone else completely- thats why they enter the story w awful first impressions. As well as like well. Thats probs how laios comes off to other ppl

shuro calls him back bc the two as his peers are like u already have connections who value you (shuro) and deep connections youve yet to make w ppl who will be important to u going forward (kabru) and theyll both challenge and change deep seated issues about themselves to keep their connection w u alive

[laughing-with-god]

hi!!!! could you tell us anything about the unsaid vow couple? I’d love to know their story w/o the spoilers of course! ❤️

hey I love your blog! So cool to have you in my inbox!

And yes, I do have Unsaid Vow on my Patreon but tbh...I don't really have much backstory established for them as a couple, so this was a really cool ask that made me think. (I do purposefully keep their history kinda of vague tho, as I want the reader to make their own assumptions/stories.)

anyway, here's some random headcanons

I think you guys met at a party! I picture Y/N as a student probably in her first or second year of college. Had a group project and your group partner invited you to a party they were throwing, where JK also was at

He was very popular with the girls and tbh, I think drunk Y/n just wanted some dick and he apprecitated how you didn't sugar coat that

"I don't wanna be your gf, just heard that dick was a 10/10"

He was amused, you were cute and not usually his type so he took you home for the night

Think he was a clingy little bitch after that, kept hitting you up and you probably just thought he was a fuckboy who would keep trying to hit, so you kept letting him

It wouldn't be until another guy hit on you or something that JK would get up in their face like "tf you on my girl for?" that you're like...oh?

You never really had a bf before and I see you just being like "shit, it's college and he's hot, might as well try this out for a few months."

Don't think you guys have a clear anniversary date bc of that, prob just made a guess and picked a day

Honestly I think you would think this was only gonna be like a three-four month relationship

Early college bf Jk was kinda toxic tbh but you gave him passes bc he was hot and u didn't have anything to hide

I think he would keep your location on at all times, be super defensive if you didn't

he'd try to make you delete social media saying it's so toxic for ur mental health but it's actually bc he doesn't wanna share you w the world lol

stroke game had you seeing things and agreeing to whatever istg

I think he'd have a chain or necklace or something so when he's on top you kept getting hit on the forhead with it LMFAO (why do I find that hot tho?)

Took news of your pregancy surpringly well, you were ready to ask him help for the abortion fee and he was like "why would u kill my bby when we can just raise it?"

acts of service king during your pregnacy. isn't like cuddly or sentimental but def was the guy to buy you anything you looked at twice

stepped out after you gave birth to Hugo and had a lil cry

I think it would only be until after you had his son that his family would demand to meet you, I think for some reason JK kept trying to hide you from them

actually had a good bond with Hugo as a baby. kids are difficult to understand but Jk was good with babies. feed them, change them, burp them, hold them. It was so easy and I think baby Hugo liked naping on Jk's bare chest

Anyway I'm gonna leave it at that bc I don't wanna spoil anything lol

[cypheroo]

How they care | Laurence Zvhal and Garroth Ro'Meave ~ ♡

"Cyph your favorite star is reporting from tge trenches (im sick) can I request a sick reader comfort with the boys™️ (Laurance and/or Garroth) idc which versuon also did yu see the s7 thing?"

Tw : Curse words. Spelling mistakes 😭 can be platonic or romantic?

Word count : 763

AN : HIIII! OMG OMG GET WELL SOON! I hope I finished writing this when you felt a little better! Super sorry on the wait again omg but! My thoughts on the new season are super weird bc like wooo! Nice amazing to it! And I'm glad that aph has cleared up (and will clear up) some stuff! Makes me feel better! also I SAW SOMEWHERE THAT LAURENCES VA SEBASTIAN TODD MUGHT COME BACK TO VOICE LAURENCE! AHHH THATS SO EXCITING FOR ME! outside of that, I'm happy that we are getting an ending! I haven't always loved jess but I will respect her for giving us these characters that sure aren't perfect but we love! Happy to see how she ends it and if her channel will change? (Probs not but I can dream) what do you think?

Garroth had been worried sick over you. Had you overworked yourself again? Maybe he hadn't been helping you as much as he should've been doing? Good god he needed to finish this paperwork. He really needed to make sure you were ok. He WANTED to race to your home as soon as he had heard, but he couldn't leave without feeling bad of not finishing his duty for the night, hell hed usually feel bad for even leaving the post especially at night, but you…you were so important, he knew he could trust laurence, dante, all of them to handle it for a night so he could make sure you were alright.

Immediately he rushed out of the guardpost. And immediately to your home. You had given him a key to your home so after he knocked he let himself in. He slowly walked up the stairs and once he saw you laying in your bed, sick and looking weak, he visibly tensed, he continued and before he could come to your rescue Laurence cleared his throat. “Aren't you supposed to be on watch?” Laurence raised a brow. Garroth was taken aback, he didn't even see Laurence in the cloud of his worry, “could say the same about you” the blonde responded with a soft huff.

Laurence rushed over almost immediately, he wasn't doing anything important so it was quite easy to slip away and visit you, there was no way in irene he wouldn't, you were home alone most of the time, who would make sure you didn't lift a finger? Well Laurence couldn't let that slide, so he spent most of his afternoon waiting on you hand and foot. Refilling water, Letting air in, distracting you (he doesn't want you to have any stress at this moment) in any way he could. It was later in the evening but when he saw garroth walk up the stairs laurence didn't know how to feel about seeing the blonde, yes it was nice to know garroth cared as much as he did, but it was so late at night? What was he supposed to help with this late at night?

You let out a soft laugh before sneezing, groaning after which both of the boys immediately looked at you, eyes filled with worry and willingness to run across the world if you so asked for it. But when you simply explained it was a cold that would be away within a few days it was clear these two would have none of that.

So instead of both of those goofballs taking care of you at the same time, they choose to instead switch, one day was garroth and the other was laurence, both would make sure the growing town of phoenix drop would be safe, but would also know you'd be alright and safe.

GARROTH :

- He's actually really careful when it comes to repeating sounds, loud sudden noises, and agitating sounds its odd sure but its something hes sensitive to when hes sick.

- A little careful about getting sick for like…just the first hour. But after he's in all honestly just took a bit to fully accept the costs.

- Makes soup and tea fucking immaculately, oh my god. Ask him to make that and goddess it'll taste so good it's like irene made it herself.

- He is the type to rest his hand on your head any chance he gets. He just likes to keep a feel of how warm you are. Although he feels slightly bad for his rough hands meeting your skin

- In all honesty, I don't think he's totally used to or knows how to take care of someone in such a vulnerable state like this, so as much as he's trying, he understands he may not be the best

LAURENCE :

- Pretty laid back but picks up on what you do and don't want him to do pretty quickly. Don't want him to.

- He seems like a quiet caregiver. Careful to not overwhelm you, he’ll clean around the room a bit to help out if you'll allow him.

- If you're comfortable with it he does personally find it helpful when someones talking to him when he's sick, so if you're ok with it, he's more than willing to sit down and ramble softly so you can doze off.

- He prefers to use a rag to help your face, a cool towel to help relax your heated body, or a warm towel if you are cold.

- He uses a lot of tactics he was personally raised with. Things that originally brought him comfort in hopes that they can help you too!

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings Helping You With Your Protective Hairstyling

Authors Note: I myself do not have textured hair, but I have friends who do. Along with friends who have family with such. I also did my best to research the best I can. DO COMMENT. I want to learn more about cultures and to educate myself after all. I wanna learn, and I want to share. I hope I do my best! If I got any information here wrong, DO say something. It can’t learn and grow if I don’t know, after all!

William ‘Bill’

Since he spent quite a lot of time in Egypt, and by proxy explored many countries for work, he would honestly have some good background in protective styles. He would probably figure out your hair type easy, even. So he’s going to certainly help you when you want to redo your braids. Know where to cut when you need to change them out. Even know when you got braids you smack them when they get itchy. He’s even willing to braid them by hand, instead of magic. He probably even has friends back in Egypt to talk to that can hook you up with the good shit. That good gel and conditioner. Even some fine silk Bonnets, when you need them. He’s going to know them well. Most certainly had colleagues, from Egypt, that had braids or locs even! If anyone will know how to care for your hair, it’s him. Also helps he’s a history buff, so for all you know he uncovered some old texts that can teach him new ways to help!

Charlie

He’s also a world travelver, and can be argued he’s been to more countries than Bill, but he was bit more hyperfixated on dragons over history. Doesn’t mean he knows nothing. He DOES know a lot about heat, and how it affects the world around it. He’s gonna know how to help you deal with that hit of humidity to the hair. Along with keep your hair safe when straightening it. He also knows a lot about locs. Definitely has coworkers with them, or at least keeps their hair under a Duka/wave cap. That’s something he so knows. Such as locs aren’t ’dirty hair’ and just another means of a style. Also that you gotta EARN EM. You need to go through so much to grow them, let alone care for them. He’s gotta respect the effort it takes to make after all. Of course he will help you care for em. Maybe he will ask advice on seeing if he has the hair type to have his own!

Percy

He doesn’t really know much about by much at all. He’s never had a reason to. But he does know how to keep clean. He’s going to help you make sure your hair gets a deep wash before braiding. You’ll never worry about braiding greasy hair, or if your fro isn’t conditioned enough. He’s also a nerd that reads a lot. He will try his best to read up on your hair type, but reading is different than actually working with it. He’s gonna mostly be on washing, combing, and conditioning duty. He’s just got skilled enough to make sure your braids are tight. A tight braid is a useless braid. But washing is still helping a tongue, and he will massage your neck whenever you need to take a break from braiding. Stuff like that can take days, after all. He will try and be as supportive as he can for it all. He’s trying his best, and that’s all that can be asked for.

Fred and George

Angelia is coming in clutch, because she is a “ended on good terms bestie” of them boys. So they know, at least the basics, when it comes to textured hair. Also helps they are incredibly quick witted, so they can pick up on things fast. Don’t get me started on how they probs can invent you different types of hair care products to unlock all the potential magic can offer. It’ll also help that they each can take a side of your head, and keep you entertained when braiding. They’ll make sure you have fun, and cared for. They’ll 100% invent a hair moisture spray to help you when your braids start itching. They would definitely love twists the most, to do to your hair. Hope you like orange and purple extensions. God the hair experiments. They’ll love trying out new hair styles on you endlessly. Hair clips in your fro, trying new braiding styles on your scalp, seeing what kind of extensions they can add. They love your textured hair. You can do so much with it, and they adore it so very much! They love your hair!

Ron

Same like the twins, Ron has a basic knowledge on textured hair. Thanks to Hermione, and Lavender (iykyk) And given it was two different types he has a more solid grasp that not all hair is the same. Hermiones was dramatically different from Lavenders, after all. (Also the Weasleys themselves have their own texture hair, just on the 2a to 2c kind. The weather will definitely make it 3a though.) Anyway, he will ask Hermione for advice anyway. Asking someone who DOES have textured hair, compared to bullshitting. He just isn’t the twins when it comes to faking it until you make it. The amount of times he’s sprayed himself in the face with hairspray is never ending, but he’s a fighter. Definitely will try and make sure he has some kind of wave cap on hand for you at all times. Along with hair comb. Just trying to do things to show he cares. He definitely finds pure joy in buying you bonnets. Something he can get you, and something that will always be useful for you.

Ginny

As the youngest, she learns alot from her brothers. From Hermione, Angelia, Lavender, her Quidditch players, and just typical by proxy of a girl sharing a dorm with girls that have to go through heavy routines for their nightly sleep. She just picks it up, absentmindedly, and doesn’t really notice until she applies it. She also has a lot of people for support when she wants to ask for advice. She WILL make those braids tight, and make sure your hair is pulled so far back you get a face lift. She is a certified ‘Ma’am I won’t have wrinkles until I’m eighty’ level of skill. She’s got you covered, and loves when you keep your hair natural as well. Reminds her of her older brother’s Bill and Charlie. Along with just finding hair pretty in general, having grown up surrounded by so many types. Shes gonna love doing your hair. She has never bern a 'girly girly' so she has fun doing it for others. Safe hands, no worries there!

[cipherdragon]

yeah so i got some isat theories

take note i’m only on arc three + i don’t plan to spoil anything for myself SO DONT TELL ME IF IM RIGHT OR WRONG PLEASE <3

i did accidentally check the isat tag on both here and ao3 so i got possible spoilers which influence the headcanons but whatever

if none of this is right feel free to make this an au bahahha

anyway this went from theories to just me rambling lmao

i’m sorry

loop and the king are probably a part of siffrin

“refer to me with the royal we” loop uses they them and jokingly(?) says to use “we”

king literally has sifs hair bruhhhh

“do you remember?” all three are not from vaugarde

the island north of vaugarde people don’t remember its existence. sif cannot recall where he’s from. HMMM…

reoccurring books sif cannot read. refer to island north of vaungard theory

sif uses he they and this may be a stretch but king uses he/him and loop uses they/them so sif took the pronouns in the divorce (not a literal divorce)

so i’m guessing siffrin, once you basically wear the poor guy down from looping 100+ times because you’re trying to make everyone happy, just GIVES UP and goes “yeah let’s freeze my friends in time THATS GONNA MAKE THEM HAPPY FOREEEEVER :D” but he’s too far gone to realize “wait wait wait no no that’s WRONG” (get this man some therapy istg)

also i think sif is aroace or at LEAST just ace. “yeahh i don’t like the idea of doing things with people in that way” in regards of mira saying she doesn’t want to fuck people during her quest-to-learn-what-is-upsetting-the-poor-girl

mirabell is cisgender aromantic asexual. one of the younger ones. doesn’t really give off any exact age but def 20smthn. they all are except for dile and bonbon.

isabeau is gay transgender (he says he “changed” and he doesn’t use his old name. mood lol) (i swear changing is just hrt but better) - prolly mid 20s

odile just doesn’t care what she identifies as (at least this is what it feels like) but i’m pretty sure she’s cis. she’s deffo in her fourties. or late thirties. gonna get wacked in the face with her book for sure.

bonnie is nonbinary (i don’t got much for the kid) prob 11 or 12

siffrin. oh siffrin. he’s a guy, but he could be nonbinary. he’s def ace to me, but in the “haha i make funny sex jokes while ace” way. maybe he feels romantic feelings. maybe he doesn’t. he doesn’t have time to figure that out. it would be funny if sif was 18 but nah sif’s likely 21-23 (idk the legal age for the world of isat. i GUESS it’s 20? or 21) (sif is an adult, that much is obvious.)

loop? loop doesn’t care. they’re whatever you think they are. they’ll laugh if they think your guess is funny, but honestly they just don’t care. “loop is gay” “loop’s a lesbian” “loops a genderqueer asshole who siffrin REALLY wants to punch in the face” loop’s everything and nothing woooo magic star glitter everywhere (sorry) (loop has no age cuz they’re a star)

sif’s not attracted to isa. isa is attracted to sif. poor siffrin hates how he can’t reciprocate isa’s feelings. he’s worried he’ll upset isa by telling him he doesn’t see isabeau that way. he keeps looping over and over to try to get isa to say he loves sif, sif tries to get the courage to say it back, despite it not being true.

and odile slowly figures out sif’s secret about the loops each loop, but they loop back before she can bring it up to sif.

aight i think that’s everything. i got over 30 hours in this game on my switch and i think some of that is a weird glitch because surely i haven’t been playing that much??? i think it managed to keep adding numbers even when my switch was off. hmmmm.

[pyrrhocorax]

my current hetalia wildlife/natural resources au thoughts i have from your resident wildlife biologist: sweden: i have lots of ideas for him but the idea of him being an entomologist is interesting b/c the contrast of "big scary giant guy, but he studies tiny butterflies" is really fun to me. he has a very entomologist personality to me too based on all the entomologists i know so lepidopterist is my current thought. finland: forester. all foresters i know are unhinged in the same exact way he is unhinged. potentially also a fire ecologist?? i think that would be interesting (give me an excuse to learn about fire ecology more) and i think he would enjoy using a flamethrower. iceland: thinking geologist, prob volcanologist? or he studies auks. norway: less sure of him. thinking mainly about fisheries (not sure if marine or freshwater, both are interesting), mycology, lichenology (this is the main one i am thinking about rn), oceanography, or mountain stream hydrology (yes that is a thing) for him. denmark: having the most trouble with him honestly. maybe meteorology, geography (GIS dude??), soil biology?? maybe even human dimensions (i can see him being a good intermediary between the public and natural resources, like park ranger-esque)?? idk if extension agents exist in europe but he'd be good at that i think. estonia: songbird biologist. bander (or ringer you're european). potentially studying migration trends? breeding output of at-risk species? potentially lab mates with austria b/c sharing same field site. he's uncannily good at mimicking bird calls. lithuania: large carnivore biologist that studies in canids (i.e. wolves), mainly does camera trapping but also darts/radio collars them. looking at habitat usage to hopefully boost populations??? latvia: shorebird/rail/stork biologist?? reminds me of a shorebird biologist i know and i think he'd vibe well with water/water adjacent bird work. i also think him studying beavers is fun because beavers are fun! and i think the riga beaver thing back in the day was hysterical lol OR i think him being an aquatic entomologist would be cool he could be a dragonfly guy austria: also a songbird biologist, but looking at vocalizations/song stuff, does a lot more lab work than field work analyzing vocalizations. maybe studying nocturnal vocalizations during migration of birds across different habitats??? potentially lab mates with estonia. america: ungulates. or maybe specifically cervids. respectfully, as an american, we are overly obsessed with deer. could also see him studying salamanders because they are a special kind of person too that fits the american personality well, and america is home to the most salamander diversity in the world so like. yeah. canada: ducks/loons/grebes, raptors (specifically thinking eagles/hawks), weasels (him being so understated but studying wolverines is funny to me), or fisheries? :/ could also see him being a habitat biologist in general, doing modeling stuff for wider scale land changes? i kind of want him to be a prairie conservationist too. england: botanist is my thought for now? he has a "plant research guy who is 3 years into his phd and kind of regretting his life choices" vibe to me. but he's also the world's crustiest birder outside of his work (b/c uk influenced a lot of the current world birding culture) germany: ngl environmental policy analyst seems up his alley and we need more of those who are good. romania: chiropterist. and before you are like "urg don't stereotype the vampire thing pyrr" it's not that. his personality is just very bat biologist. they are a special kind of people, and i say that with affection, as all the bat people i know are fantastic. specifically could see him being also an entomologist studying the interactions between bats/bugs on farmland to see how bat populations help crop production. still thinking on things though!!! welcome to my niche au.

[gree-gon]

Since you asked, here are some personal Saphira headcanons! (And some more, too!)

Now, before we begin, we have to admit: we've done a lot of lore and world reconstruction for our Reborn AU, which we call Reborn: Rainbow! So if it sounds wacky, it's an AU. Let's go! (There's a lot!!!)

Our biggest ship for Saph is Saphira x Victoria! We think they'd be so cute together and help each other cope in times of need. Saph enrolls for Apophyll Academy to help her with her anger, where she meets Vicki! Their relationship is very slow burning, and it takes a very long time for them to realize they're really in love. Also, Saph x Mako is so so super cute! >W<

Post-championship, Saph remodels her gym to be the Reborn region's official League Conference Arena! She moves her gym battles to Route 4, where she and Charlotte battle in doubles as the last position in the non-E4, specializing in Dragon- and Rock-types! (Charlotte changes her type specialty to rock in Rainbow). They get their own field, too! Laura and Bennett still battle in doubles in the E4, but they have a custom field now!

Along with her new gym, she becomes the sherpa of the Tanzan Mts, so she can still protect her family! She also watches over the mountain range on Route 4 and just gains a fascination for mountains in general.

She wants a family of her own sometime in the future, but she's not ready for motherhood just yet. Vicki, not so much - she can wait a couple more years! XD

Rather than being missing for ten years, Monty and Caroline (the Belrose parents) have been missing for closer to seven years. The Belrose triplets are in for a pleasant but shocking surprise when they discover their parents aren't actually dead, only missing, due directly to the fault of Team Meteor (including some new Meteor OCs we've made!) They're eventually reunited sometime after the events of the game, since we love ourselves a happy ending!!!

She opens up a little bit more in the post-game but still keeps her protective and reserved personality. Vicki thinks this is endearing!

Thank you, thank you, thank you so so sooooo very much for inquiring about our headcanons!!!!!! We really appreciate it and plan on posting about it soon! We love all of your hcs, too! Our ask box is open, if you ever want to ask us!

-Vicky and Saph are really cute together :3 i have a friend that really likes them, you've prob seen her art around here. Thank you for also liking Sharkfang as well ^^

-ohh i see :0 that's a cool take on it !! charlotte changing to rock types is very interesting

-i can def see her liking mountains, it's v in character for her dragon theme

-contrary to most ppl's opinions, i think Saphira would be a great parent tbh

-making your own happy ending with the parents is so real honestly 😭😭 the Belroses suffer sm they deserve something good

- !!! that last one i agree with so much !!! she grows but is still herself through and through

no problem ^^ i loved hearing about them, i may even drop some of my own in your ask box

[xxfillerxx]

Things im looking forward to in the hypmic 2024 albums: (BP spoilers)

EDIT updated

Nayuta Yamada waking up and FINDING OUT about all the drama. Her husband managed to find out a way to wake her up, worked with a new government that staged a coup, his kids disowned him and believed she was dead, and he made 30+ clones that were used for sacrifices on the hypnosis mic prototype. What happens when she wakes up and sees his cast from his broken arm that their son did 😭 i also hope shes actually an interesting character and not just that 'perfect dead wife' trope thingy. Ik i saw a great Nayuta headcanon that i REALLY want to be canon. I also hope we get a Nayuta design drop. Personally, I dont think she'll overly look like Ramuda bc Rei knew what the Ramuda clones were used for, so I doubt hed want to see her likeliness keep dying.

Oh my god the Yamada family drama HAS to go crazy. Like the whole hypmic plot was made bc one guy tried to get revenge on the world or whatever and wake up his comatose wife

I need to see what happens with this info publically. If Nayuta goes public, where does she live? On her own after she divorces Rei (JOKING but pls thatd be so funnyyyyy)? With rei in osaka? With BB? Godddd imagine saburo who didnt have the chance to really remember her and ohhhhhhh my ogddddd

God pls i want nayuta to pick up rapping since she was THE co-creator if not lead in creating the hypnosis mic AND have a cool mic design

ABOUT THE PUBLIC STUFF U NEED TO SEE DH'S REAVTION TO IT IF ITS NOT A SECRET. "You're telling us BB are your kids?! Wait wait you had a wife all this time?! What the fu-"

Mad trigger crew? Idk 🧍‍♂️ we might see more of rios commander, oh yeah id like to see what happens with samatoki and nemu in fighting for their ideals. There is the possibility that Nemu could become acting president or smth so ig if that happens? We see samatokis reaction? Honestly im just 💀💀 worried at samatokis words to ichiro from BP like "alright, if i participate and help in the festival then you have to listen to an order from me the next time that you cant refuse" like that sounds like bad foreshadowing even if prob nothing will happen to him 😭

oh yeah whatever happens to Ramuda AND THE OTHER CLONES OH GOD THE CLONES. do they privately help out at chuohku??? Live pubkic??? I remember chatting in the discord gc like "what if rei sets them up as a scam like u rent a ramuda and they live in ur home rent free for a while before going back". WHAT DOXYOU DO WITH 30 RAMUDAS. Im thinking they probably help chuohku as guard or w/e strictly in rhe building bc itd be chaos if ramuda clones got loose

GENTARO BBRORORORIRIRIROR GENTA BROOOOOOOO GENTBAROOOOO FUCK MAN THATS LIKE WHAT IM LOOKING FORWARD TO THE MOST FUCK. OKAY. THIS IS A BIG ONE. A DOOZY.

1) so gentsro took on his brothers identity THIS MESN THAT HE TOOK HIS NAME AS WELL, RIGHT??? WHAT IS GENTARO'S PREVIOUS NAME. IMAGINE IF HIS BROTHER WAKES UP AND THEN THE FIRST THING HE SAYS AS HE SEES GENTARO IS A NAME WE HAVENT HESRD BEFORE AND WE ALL GO "OH FUCK THATS GENTARO"

2) does gentaro still go public with chuohkus info as revenge??? Maybe not since hed just be focused on his brother waking up and all

i will be calling gentaros brother gentabro to ensure no confusion

DO THE YUMENOS GO PUBLIC WITH THE INFO??? gentaro is a celebrity rn with massive success so what happens? Do they still keep the switch private as gentabro does whatever and gentaro keeps living as his brother? Do they publically announce it? Just swap and gentaro changes his appearance a little so gentabro is still the author? Do they both work on publushing under the same name? I need to knoooow

FLINP POSSE MEETS THE YUMENOS. PLEASE bc of gentaros yume no kanata song MAYBE gentaro was still at least a little cynical and not so trusting before so IM GAINE IF HIS BRITHER IS LIKE PROUD OF HIM FOR MAKING FRUENDS. fling posse meeting them will be chaotic like "YOU HAD A BROTJET??????"

oh yeah whatever happens with dice and his mum. Im p sure thatll still be kept a secret but itd be so funny if it got revealled to FP

Ooohhhh id love to see jakurai reunited with his horrror movie protagonist son (WHY did he ring jakurai AND PROCEED T9 TELL HIM EVERYTHING WITHOUT HEARING HIS VOICE). maybe jaku gets emotional amd all then introduces him to Matenro 😭😭

Whatever the FUCK is honobono's deal and if things get resolved AKA she goes to jail for 1000000 years and whatwver needs to happen for hifumi to resolve stuff a little and put some closure on it

Homobono mic and spesker reveal PLEASE. oh god the honobono typos go crazy i once spelled HONKbono as well as bonobono just minutes ago.

PLEASE KR SHAKES BARS LIKE A MONKEY WITH RABIES I NEED HER MIC AND SPEAKER REVEAL STAT. girl doesnt even need a rap ability bc she only needs raw power to win

um ill update this list in the afternoon tomorrow bc i need to fucking studddyyyy exams start next week wish me luck! I will write a fuckton more of stuff i needd to see dw.

Addition still studying for exams hoping to crush it! Anyways:

i think everything jakurai and hitoya has been resolved already so not much need for that. BUT. IMAGINE IF JAKURAI AND REI MEET AS THE DILF DUO. I had a meme for this lol

DH? I dunno if anything needs resolving for DH aside from DH's reaction to rei and his family.

We need a Honobono and Shakku Harai showdown 😭😭 maybe its just bc shakku knows his son so well that his rap/sermon was effective but CURRENTLY THESE 2 ARE UNCONTESTED. pls shakku defeat the final boss

ummm ig thats all im mostly just looking forward to the gentabro stuff and everything related to the Yamada family. Like the hypmic plot would NOT be this convoluted or exist if it werent for Yamada dysfunctional nuclear family drama lmaoooo

OH YWAH HONOBONO MIC AND SPEAKER DESIGN AND NAYUTA DESIGN TOO PLS

Pls let nayuta be intwresting and not a perfect dead wife trope plz 🙏🙏

PS I FORGOT YEAHXI WANNA SEE WHOS THE PRIME MINIZTER NOW LOL. Is it otome stepping back up? Nemu despite being 19? Ichiro brime binister real? Im so curious.

[forgottenarthur]

OOC | Arthur & Marian

MOOOOOOMMMM!!! eeeee! so happy to have her here heehee ok so!! arthur and marian! as we both already know all too well arthur's got some issues but one thing he's really got down pat is that he loves his family v much and would do literally anything for them!!!! and marian is the stars in the sky as far as he's concerned!!! she deserves the whole world and he hates watching her miss out and honestly just wants to fix it for her!!!!! she just has to say 'i want--' and he's already out there tryna make it happen!!!

ok so im abt to crash so imma copy & paste some stuff from a [ comment i did recently to ciara ] bc i ended up talking a lot abt my hc's re: arthur and marian and, obv, this was all before you were talking abt taking her so obv this is all 100% just hc's and id be delighted to change any and everything around now that you're here, but i figured it might be a good jumping off point!! ok so:

DIATRIBE TIME: arthur def sees himself as the head of the ~marian branch~ of the varmont household if you will – the mini household within roderick’s household in a way…idk how to describe it hahah but he’s the eldest son in a profoundly patriarchal/primogeniture setting, and so they’re ~all his responsibility to look after, including his mother in a way since she’s a woman!!!

honestly idk if arthur can really even articulate how grateful he is to ciara for ~being there honestly!!! i think marian probs tries but ultimately its different like they’re both responsible for e/o and she’s not a varmont by birth and, even growing up as bart’s kid rather than roderick’s, ciara at least knows the burden of #growingupvarmont  arthur, offhandedly: wow, i bet its nice to be bart’s kid me: *winks*

[re: the revelation of arthur's potential true parentage:]

and also itd def reshape his views of his own mother, who he’s always i think been super protective of, and always felt kinda brokenhearted for bc he felt it i was sooooo obv that she loves roderick sooo much and frankly waY more than roderick loves her, but then it turns out she was sleeping around w someone else??!!??! (nm that roderick was too alkjsdfakljsdf) and even the rationale would feel sordid and materialistic to him, like just an excuse or at worst, a grasping powerhunger grab for the throne etc so yeah!! his notions of both his ~biological parents will be shattered akjadsfkljdsfsd just a generally fun time for everyone honestly!!

so yeah like i said these were musings from before and are totally flexible and all of them represent only arthur's ~impressions which may or may not be correct at all anyway (we already know his impressions re: his dad DEF aren't right hahahaha) so yeah obv lots of stuff we can do but these were some notions i already had locked and loaded so, since im abt to crash (hopefully anyway! i have an early morn tmrw hahaha), i thought id share 'em! <3

[artistsmellslikeunemployment]

Zaheer stole the medallion of Guru Lahima or whatever his name was because he was looking for a proof of his suspicion that flying was a real possibility. Had he taken it for other reasons that would be an earthly possession. Since P‘li’s death (that he didn’t even mourn about) he was able to fly, indicating her being the last tether that kept Zaheer from „becoming wind“.

But does that mean he was unconvinced of what he was planing? This „mmmh as yea my thoughts make sense, let’s do it and see if it turns out correct“ has an immense casualty rate. And this requires being indifferent to guilt, doesn’t it? Because how can one be incorruptible, opening all Chakras, and still do these horrible things? Is it a higher form of morality that I don’t reach? One life in exchange for millions? Does it mean a sin is only one under the lens of subjectivity?

mf literally took the head dive, not knowing for sure if it would work…

Later:

Anyways,

It always irked me to see this incongruity. How should that be possible to become spiritual but commit homicide without lying to oneself and live in illusion?

So here’s my take:

Zaheer was completely disconnected which is really fascinating honestly in the context of higher spirituality. Well, he didn’t become enlightened but simply unlocked a rare and old form of bending then i guess? Maybe the ability to fly opens up to one when unaffected by fear. Zaheer‘s fears don’t concern his lover anymore, not possible death or the death of others, not his body. Because he disconnected from it.

I mean, the premise literally says „Empty. And become wind.“

The (what was it, fire?) Chakra Aang opened didn’t rid him of his fears, he just learned to let the fear flow through him.

Maybe that’s the difference… also, balance doesn’t mean sameness. Because that’s stagnant and subtends the flow of energy and natural cycles etc.

Zaheer thinks the existence of „power“ is inherently flawed, like a perversion of nature that he has to eradicate. So he deprived himself of the same. Forming no bonds, only expedients. Not seeing that having relationships with friends and family is the power that saves lives, Korra‘s life. Right?

To answer all that we’d have to define what „power“ really is I guess.

It can’t be the possession of a skill, an ability or even tool. Those things are all neutral. What isn’t neutral is the intent to use them -> so is power the autonomy to make decisions? That you can’t take away. Is it a devised concept with no real manifestations? But blackmail and oppression are real effects merely when one is in the possession of aforementioned mediums.

Where am I going with this?

In the end it comes down to exactly what Zaheer says - those instruments in the hold of a few is a problem when the power should be with all. So that holding needs to be gone. Now in order to achieve that you gotta be the one person that can overpower the powerful. That’s contradictory to his belief.

I end up where I started: Zaheer doesn’t know what he’s doing XD

But my dude does not cause revolution as he thinks, he forces evolution. Isn’t that the real perversion?

We all agree that changes are necessary in the political world of Avatar but one cannot destruct a system without offering a replacement or else the same corrupted system will rebuild itself, just worse.

I know the Red Lotus thought the natural order of things is disorder hence no system at all. But without any clean up effort the mindset taught under the old system won’t vanish into thin air. Criminals released from prison would be just as impulsive and scared and self-righteous. People need a little education which needs to be organised in some way. Or else every individual will take justice in their own hands. Zaheer even needs to educate his own team about which direction they want to go:

Does he think the solidarity will magically appear in the heads of people? Why should they react any differently from Ming-Hua? He can’t be the only one knowing shit.

I think his problem is that he let go of too much, sacrificing his sensitivity.

One who does not know fear forgets how the scared people think.

Zaheer is much like a monk: regulated. But there still is a distinction. The nomads do not abandon their human flaws, Aang could feel his excitement, Jinorah demanded recognition, Gyatso engaged in joy and Yangchen expressed her anger. Zaheer Never shows any of that.

He has an idea of how the world should operate but doesn’t know to get there because the driving factor for such a world are the simple people who grew up paranoid about making their living. Setting them free won’t gain them a sense of how to interact without paranoia.

I don’t know if any of that makes sense. I started typing without direction. Hope you had fun reading my cobbled together comprehension of Zaheer…

[sommerregenjuniluft]

20 asks for fic writers

thank u @plecotusauritus, @kaaaaaaarf, @pinkthekla & @kaleidoscopexsighs for tagging me🥹<3 ily all

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

four but we only talk about three of those😌🤘🏼

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

about 13.8k words (i have no idea where to look this up i typed it into my phone calculator lmao)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

on my ao3 marauders, in the Docs marauders, haikyuu, atla and on Wattp*d🤬 young royals & shera lol (i was like 15 years old ok)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

🤓 my number 1 though is Always Pushing her Luck with a stellar one hundret and ten because yall are some sluts for a good lesbian smut fic

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!! i love interacting with people on art no matter if it’s theirs or mine<3

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmm i think Teeth actually? not really angsty but maybe it kind of makes you go 😬😳 or WAIT maybe my very first jeg microfic thing, the Stag one yknow.. where James is dead😁

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

again, from my ao3 one’s probably Ribs but microfics probably just all the fluffy ones, i’m looking at the cookie baking one here esp, also Walk and Carry

8. Do you get hate on fics?

nope! but i was lowkey concerned for the new non-con fic jdkskd But so far so good hahah

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

why yes i do. mm mostly the unhinged kind in some way hdksks but ig the lesbian wolfstar one is very tender too<3

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

not crossovers per se but we love a good AU of another fandom universe, my marauders Maze Runner Au is very dear to me, we’ll see if she ever sees the light of the day

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge no

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nopesie

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no but! i will have to kick @pinkthekla cass and me in the ass to make it happen someday because the world deserves to see one james potter horny and humbled

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

this changes all the time honestly and they’re all very very close to each other but i’m gonna have to say iwaoi on top because their chemistry is just unmatched and something i hold so close to my heart, they just mean a lot of comfort to me! so thats prob why

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

hm, i mean i’m only 20 i have all the time in the world. but perhaps that one barty in a maids dress smut one shot? not sure i’ll come back to that one again but who knows!

16. What are your writing strengths?

i think i can do a dialogue quite good but it’s hard for me to get into a zone or scenario where it comes to that naturally, but whenever it does happen? i’m super happy and proud of the result (that’s why i like my hitmen jegulus microfic so much)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably that i’m not really good at creating a storyline/plot djskks that’s something that does Not come easily to me and probably one of the only reasons i havent really finished any of my big fics or even their first chapters. If i have a plan/ a prompt or something in general i can orientate myself off of it flows super easily (all the microfics and Ant Pile) but coming up with something of my own is very hard and i often feel kinda bad about it too :,))

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

would love to, i have some smol things planned for mira mi amor that i will probably go and bother @appreciatedmoron bea about as well as my two irl bsfs since they’re quite good at spanish but besides that i’d only really trust myself with german since thats my first language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

actually shera i think

20. Favorite fic you've written?

i really love Ant Pile atm but from my published one’s i couldnt really choose actually djsksk i really like the metaphors and visuals i came up with in Ribs though <3

np tagging: @rottin6, @maliceofminds, @strezzlecki aand idk anyone that sees this and hasn’t been tagged yet!! (i see yall liking these i Will bully u in the dms)

[sorryimananti-romantic]

angel!yeosang singing to reader "oh my body, i don't wanna stop until the break of dawn" before he.. well.. went into retirement.

but yes!! i could definitely tell how much you keep improving after reading dazzling light (from 2022 btw.). and this is NAWT saying you were bad at it before 🙅🙅🙅 however you have changed positively so, yep yep yep!!

you remind me i forgot to mention some in my rblg, ofc. the way in which you build up to plottwists NOW is much more difficult (/pos) to foresee as a reader. sometimes it's nice to have a straight-forward plot and be able to tell how it's gonna end and other times i love to be pulled in by secrecy and be whiplashed by endings i did not see coming (*kisses out to An Empire of Dreams and Illusions*)

also, i love to see how over the amount of works you've written, it's really noticeable that you push to create and write worlds, lores, characters the yumi way™. everyone gets inspired and motivated by others and arts of many ways, being able to use that energy and make something out of it that is so Y O U is 👏👏👏 never an easy feat. 🩷

embrace the cringe. be the cringe. [insert burning elmo gif here]

every creation is a contextual piece of their time and place. not every rework is necessary but no harm recycling ideas or getting inspired by previous works. i heard it's good for the planet.

i don't remember WHEN our wedding took place but i am also not opposed to a runaway marriage, endless honeymoons, no consequences. that.. always ends well in fanfictions, right?..

what'd ya think about a honeymoon in south korea and japan? we could take the ferry from busan to fukuoka and really channel that deluyuyu travel boyfriendism

○ chron 🃏

WENT INTO RETIREMENT- (but yeah that's pretty much what happened lmao)

ahaha thanks yeah, i understand! like the writing style obviously improves the more you write but i think i'm more creative with my plots now? sometimes i do like writing predictable stuff like if there's a friends to lovers fic, there's only so much you can do lmao. but yeah i'm glad that it's getting harder for you all to foresee the direction of my fics AHAHA i like that-- i always leave hints tho ;)

AHAHA the yumi way™ i'm gonna remember this :') i've actually heard that a lot about my fics and honestly that's prob my fav part about writing like i can create my own universe and do whatever i want with it. but yes, even when i'm inspired by sth else, i just like to make it as unique as possible! that's very true, thank you for noticing and pointing it out!

oh i am the cringe ahaha it's a part of me i can't deny that but yes. thank you for that :')

oh so you wanted a step by step huh? i see i see (i just presumed the wedding happened already oops KJHFDJKGH) but omg. your honeymoon plan is perfect it's actually my irl dream to do that so you've read my mind :') we shall channel exactly that :') oh to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom with you :'))

[cranetreegang]

Random question. Favorite author/s?

I love this question!

Got me really thinking and most of them are on AO3 haha! But, this is probably a way longer post than it needs to be BUT LET ME GUSH!

FanFic Authors

Krebony - I love their story You Are My Home. It is such a sweet Ominis story and I am praying for the day it gets updated cause I am invested in what happens. I love the way Ominis is written (strong and sweet and protective and cunning) and it's a super sweet story with angst.

Lana_Morrigan - I love her Arcana - Julian story The Mirror Cracked. I love how she incorporated fairy tales into her story and it was just such a fun and heartfelt read. I enjoy reading very different prose from my own -> helps me grow more and branch out from the normal.

heartsof_theround - omg I love her story Our Floral Courtship. It was so cute and kept me on the edge of my seat. I love how she used the language of flowers (makes me want to do something in regards to that it was just so freaking CUTE).

@applinsandoranges - I love pretty much all of her one-shots because they're so well written and I love how sweet and cute most of them are (im sure everyone is sensing a trend with this and i am a sucker for cute and sweet content).

@eggymf - I love that she's putting in so much time and effort into crafting a long, multi-chapter story. I love hearing her ideas and how she executes them into her stories. I love how she writes Ominis - and I'm excited to see where OPPAW goes!

---------------------

NON FANFIC Writers

Kazutoyo Maehiro, Natsuko Ishikawa, Banri Oda - the genius writers behind Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward (the critically acclaimed award winning expansion lolll). I am still reeling over the emotional devastation they caused me, and it's been a year since I played it. The characters they crafted will stick with me for a long, long time. It's truly amazing how someone can make a character - then make you care so much about them. It's an art I would love to hone and master - and I admire them greatly for being able to do this so freaking well. Like I don't cry much when I'm reading, but damn did I cry like a baby. A literal SOBBING BABY. Just... amazing.

Kentaro Miura - the legend who wrote Berserk. I'm not really into gritty, dark stories, but wow. Just wow. He made me appreciate the trials and hardships of what a character/person may go through - and how they may emerge and change from it. It's really beautiful how you can write the human spirit that survives even when everything seems against them. It's really made me think about how I write future characters -> what makes them human

J.K. Rowling - probs a controversial take, but I admire how she created a world, a literal world, that is such an huge part of society. When you think of wizards -> you think of Harry Potter. I believe that's an amazing accomplishment to have so many people love your stories and to be so invested in this magical world. She inspired a lot of people's imaginations and I think that's the end goal of every writer -> to inspire imagination. And I hope to keep doing that (even with my dumb lil writings about Ominis or whatever)

Brandon Sanderson - Currently reading Mistborn, but he's the first author that I'm reading with a different sort of lens. I'm viewing his work as a fellow author (i know, i know - hot take of me calling myself an author butttt). It's been interesting breaking down his work and how he structures things. I love how he's made the magic system and world easy to digest without it being boring. You're in this world - and it's so organic. You learn more and more without it being overwhelming. You start to really understand the magic system, and it's so freaking cool. I love his prose - as I'm not the biggest fan of flowery prose - and his is a bit more straight to the point.

-------------------------------------------

There's many more I could put on here - honestly there's so many fanfic writers that don't get enough credit, but they're doing the Lord's work out there. I love all of their creativity and how they inspire others with their stories and characters.

Thanks again for the ask! <3 <3