#i cant wait until my computers fixed @.@

[calamitouscynic]

my macbook is finally kicking the bucket after 10 years almost EXACTLY and i cant afford to replace it this year if we want to get a new apartment plus all the stuff i still need to fix on my piece of shit car :)

i hate this :)

[savethepinecones]

there are people in my house ugh

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F! Reader - Part 8

a/n: heyy loves! if you’ve stuck around for all 8 parts, thank you SOOO much. writing this series and receiving so many kind comments and love has really made the past month and a half so enjoyable. i cant believe i’m concluding my first fic already!! it’s been so fun and i definitely want to write more. shoutout to my friend @avessss who encouraged me to start posting even though i was really nervous. i couldn’t have done it without her 💕 but anyways enjoy the last chapter! not sure when i will post next but until then… message me, give suggestions, etc!! love you all SOO much 💌

word count: 4.6k words

masterlist

playlist

warnings: MDNI 18+, afab reader, smut, oral (reader receiving), p in v, making out, language, angst for like one second, FLUFF, mentions of alcohol, not proofread

“A pint, please. Thanks.” You smile at the bartender as you slide forward five pounds. You stand and wait patiently, leaning against the bar as he shuffles away to go fill up a tall glass of beer.

You hear your name being said from next to you. You turn to see a familiar girl with olive skin and long, silky black hair. Your brain takes a few seconds to compute who it is.

“Sasha! Hey,” You grin and she smiles brightly. “Hi. I didn’t know if it was you or not,” She chuckles and you stand there awkwardly, not sure of what to say.

“How’s life?” She asks. “Uhh, good. Can’t complain.” You shrug as the bartender slides you the beer across the counter. You take a sip as she nods.

“Same here. Just a little terrified of the fact that we are going to be seniors in a year,” She runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Me too, girl.” You nod in agreement.

“How was your summer?” Sasha asks. You let out a sigh unintentionally before fixing your facial expression.

“It was… good,” You nod slowly, almost trying to convince yourself. “I don’t know if you know but…There’s a rumor going around that you and Farleigh had somewhat of a summer fling,” She winces after she says this.

“Oh God,” You press a hand to your forehead and shake your head. “Who told you that?” You groan.

“I’m assuming it came from Felix. I’m not sure, but I just wanted to tell you…” She places a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. “If you ever need to talk or anything like that, let me know.” She says, her English accent soft and elegant.

She seems almost too nice. You’ve never seen Sasha like this, so it’s hard to believe.

“Thank you.” You dip your head and take another sip of beer. “I know I was never the nicest to you and we were never close, but I’m here for you.” Her hand falls from your shoulder gently.

“I think I was honestly just threatened by you,” She continues. You jerk your head towards her quickly and furrow your eyebrows.

“What? Why?” You scoff as if it’s absurd. “I always had this… gut feeling that he was in love with you or something. He would talk about you nonstop, about how much you annoyed him and how much he ‘hated you.’ I knew better,” She shakes her head.

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry,” You feel bad, suddenly. Like you were the cause of their relationship problems.

“But that whole thing is over now,” You wave your hand dismissively. “He’s an asshole, isn’t he?” You both giggle at her words.

“He is. I can see why you broke up with him,” You nod, feeling no remorse for talking about Farleigh this way. It’s all true. But you also know Sasha had a lot to do with the shitty parts of their relationship.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” She grins and holds up her hand, giving a tiny wave. “Yeah. See you,” You watch her walk away before turning back to your drink, grabbing it and heading to find an empty table.

You sigh, leaning down and fishing your textbook out of your bag. You still have four chapters to read before tomorrow. The first term of your junior year is kicking your ass, even though it’s only October.

Sooner or later, you see Felix walking through the entrance of the pub. You immediately crane your neck to search for any signs of Farleigh, since he usually follows Felix around. But thankfully, he’s not anywhere to be found.

You turn your attention back to your textbook, and when you glance back up, Felix is sitting across from you.

“Hey.” He smiles and you notice the cigarette between his fingers. “Hi. How are you?” You reply, not exactly in the mood to talk to him right now.

“Oh, you know. Just drowning in work,” He sighs and leans back in his chair, throwing his head back slightly.

“You and me both,” You chuckle lightly and close your textbook, knowing you won’t get anything read so long as Felix is here. He leans forward again and takes a drag from his cigarette.

“So…” He starts, trailing off. You raise your eyebrows. “So?”

“Are you and Farleigh ever going to make up?” He asks suddenly. You cough, surprised by the abrupt question.

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t even try it, Felix.” You roll your eyes and he groans. “Please, we don’t even get to hang out much anymore because you’re avoiding him,” He whines.

“Then just… arrange a time to hang out with me when Farleigh isn’t there.” You grimace at the feeling of his name in your mouth. Felix facepalms. “C’mon. Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but…”

“It sounds like you think you know what happened.” You narrow your eyes and he seems confused. “What?” He tilts his head.

“Lola told me you’re spreading rumors. Like, that Farleigh and I had some fling over the summer,” You explain, and he glances down like he’s been caught, before looking back up with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“What, you thought no one would hear you two fucking at one in the morning? You guys were so loud, it’s like you wanted to be caught,” He chuckles and shakes his head. Your face burns beet red with embarrassment.

“I don’t judge you for it. I just didn’t expect it,” He says. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean you go telling everyone about it,” You reply.

“I didn’t mean to. I told one person in confidence.” Felix says. “You know you can’t trust these people to keep things to themselves,” You shake your head in disappointment.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But I think Farleigh really wants to talk to you.” He says, his tone persuasive and you immediately cringe.

“I’m not talking to him. Nothing will come of it,” You finish off your beer and set the glass on the table decisively.

“I just don’t want our friendship to be messed up because of this.” He says, sounding a bit sad. You look back up to him and see him glancing down at his lap.

“We’re good. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” It comes off harsher than you meant it to, but Felix doesn’t seem to mind. “I can’t just forgive and forget, you know?”

He nods. “Yeah. Alright, then. Just consider talking to him. I’ll see you later, mate.” He drums his fingers on the table before standing up and walking to the bar. You sigh and decide to pack up your things after checking your watch and seeing the time. It’s getting late.

You stand up and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You walk out of the pub and down the cobbled streets while looking around and just observing the several groups of students, chatting loudly or laughing. The chilly autumn breeze tosses around crimson and golden leaves.

You go over your plans for the remainder of tonight in your head. You’re going to get back to your dorm, take a shower, then get the rest of your work done. That is, if you don’t procrastinate like you usually do.

You enter your dorm building and then stop in your tracks when you see him standing there, at the bottom of the stairs. It’s like you have a full body reaction to him standing in front of you, sending a chill down your spine and making your stomach churn. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at you. You step forward, walking up the stairs and completely ignoring him. “Can we please talk?” Farleigh calls your name.

“No, we can’t.” You respond, your tone harsh and bitter. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs behind you and you increase your pace, trying to get to your door and unlock it before he can catch up to you. But it’s no use, he’s already standing there behind you.

“Please. Just let me talk to you,” He begs. You shake your head. “Farleigh, I already know how this is going to go. You don’t talk.” You can’t even stand to look at him, even addressing him is difficult after all these months of not speaking.

“I’m going to talk. I swear. Please,” He pleads. “Fine,” You groan with exasperation as you unlock your door, although you’re sort of curious as to what he’s going to say.

He closes the door behind him and you go to sit on the edge of your bed after setting your things down and kicking off your shoes, looking at him expectantly. “Okay, talk.”

“I’m sorry. For everything.” Farleigh says, and it surprisingly sounds sincere. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you all these years. And those things I said at Saltburn, I didn’t mean any of it.” His voice is quiet and he looks down at the ground as he speaks. You blink a few times and take a moment to respond.

“Why would you say those things if you never meant them?” You ask, your own voice timid as you remember all the harsh and cruel words he said to you that one night.

“Did you mean it when you said you hated me and you wished we never met?” He fires back. You bite the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze as regret washes over you. “...I never said–”

“Yes you did.” It’s silent and the tension in the air is palpable. It seems like you’re both waiting for who is going to speak next, but you aren’t exactly sure what to say.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to apologize when you’ve literally hated me since the day we first met,” You chuckle sarcastically and shake your head. He falls silent, and when you glance back up to him, he looks nervous, like something’s on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s not… exactly true.” He mutters. “I never hated you. I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. That night at Saltburn, when Felix introduced us to each other. I saw you and I just felt… Something just came over me. I’d never felt it before. I mean, I was so captivated by you. I couldn’t sleep that night because I was thinking about you every second. And I was scared. I was so scared. So I was mean to you.”

He lets out a breath after his confession and you stare at him in disbelief. You’re barely processing anything he’s saying. Is this real? You feel like you should pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“And Felix never kept his friends around for long, so I knew I couldn’t get attached to you. I thought you were just passing by and that I would never see you again. But when you came back the next summer, then the next, and then you got into Oxford, I knew I was fucked.

“I just kept pushing my feelings down and instead of dealing with them, I was just… a bitch. I was trying to push you away and I was hoping that would get rid of my feelings. But it didn’t. And I regret it so, so much. I wasted all this time and I was being so stupid. I was just scared of love. I was scared of loving you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you can hear your heart pounding in your chest. You swear you can see tears in his own eyes.

“What about Sasha?” You ask when you finally gather yourself. “Really? You don’t know why I dated Sasha?” He chuckles a bit like it should be obvious. You shake your head no.

“I just needed someone to distract me. I got with all those people to fill the void. I mean, Sasha and I’s relationship was purely based off of sex. And every single time, I pictured that it was you instead of Sasha. I would close my eyes and imagine it was you. I think that was the only way I was able to get off,” He laughs. Your eyes widen at his words and your stomach flips. So that was why he was always moaning like a bitch?

“So when we finally… I freaked out. It was getting too real, and so I pushed you away again. And I said some shitty things.” You blink and a few tears fall. You don’t even know how to describe how you’re feeling right now. So many emotions are building inside of you, and they’re so dense and heavy, you’re not sure how to comprehend them.

“I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Farleigh seems to notice that you’re crying. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I’m a fucking idiot,”

Before you know it you’re off of your bed, crashing into him and sobbing against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in a tight embrace and enveloping you in his warmth. Your shoulders shake as you feel all the emotions pouring out of you. He holds you like he’s never going to let go. You don’t want him to let go. Ever.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispers your name into your hair. “I’ll never do that to you again.” He continues muttering these things to you as you let him hold you, melting into the hug.

You look up at him and his brown eyes are illuminated with affection. Something about him is different. He’s softer, unlike his usual cold and teasing personality.

He gently moves some hair out of your face and kisses your forehead, causing you to blush and smile softly.

“Why did we waste so much time when we could have been together?” You ask timidly, more of a rhetorical question. He sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Cause we’re stupid,” He chuckles and you let out a quiet laugh. “It doesn’t matter now. We have the rest of our lives to make up for it,” He grins down at you and you smile against his hand that cups your face. He leans down and you tilt your head up to meet his lips. The kiss you share is slow and sensual, like you’re both trying to savor each other for as long as possible, like you’re making up for all those years of fabricated hatred. You can’t deny that you missed his lips and the way that he kisses, the way his tongue licks into your mouth. He pulls away after a minute.

“But I still feel like I need to make it up to you,” Farleigh’s expression changes and his voice lowers to that familiar deep and gravelly sound. You can see the lust in his eyes and you feel butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“What should I do for you, baby?” His hands snake down to your hips as he lowers himself slowly to the ground until he’s on his knees. Your heart races and you feel chills racing across your skin.

He looks up at you and you swear your knees almost give out from underneath you just at the sight. “Far..” You giggle shyly and feel your face burn red.

His fingers fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, almost teasing you and waiting until you ask him to take it off. But after a moment he’s pulling it down gently, and you step out of it gingerly and nudge it to the side with your foot.

He groans and his hands roam up and down your thighs. “You’re so perfect,” He mumbles as he hooks your lace panties under his fingers and pulls them down as well, almost hurriedly this time like he’s just that eager to eat you out until you’re sobbing for him.

Without any warning or time to prepare, his mouth is already on you, tasting you passionately with his tongue and moaning, the vibrations going straight to your core.

You moan breathlessly, your hand reaching down to tangle in his curly hair for something to ground you, and he seems to like this. He keeps letting out these small, needy whines like he’s the one getting devoured.

Every swirl and flick of his tongue has you whimpering like you’re in pain, your legs feeling unstable and weak. He sucks on your clit and you feel two of his fingers already inching their way inside, curling inside of you deliciously. It’s all too much and your breath has turned into short, high-pitched, desperate huffs.

“Please- Shit, Farleigh,” The third finger he inserts draws a long moan out of you. You don’t care if your neighbors hear you. You’re too lost in the pleasure that he’s giving you, with no drawbacks or regret looming in the future. When you think about how he just confessed his love for you, it only brings you closer to the edge of your beautiful release.

He laps up your slick, his tongue getting dangerously close to your entrance. You gasp for air as his fingers leave, only to be replaced by his tongue. You whine at the new feeling of his tongue deep inside of you, his thumb circling your clit. You feel your climax approaching, threatening to make you crumble and beg for mercy.

A deep and guttural groan leaves him as he continues fucking you with his tongue. “Far, I’m close-“ Your hand twists in his hair and you roll your hips against his face absentmindedly, almost like you’re stuck in a trance.

His tongue slips out of you, his nose nudging against your clit. Then, you’re gone. You feel like you’re floating, like you’re the only two people in the world right now, all your thoughts disappearing as that divine ecstasy shoots through your veins and melts your muscles and your bones.

He stands back up and takes you into his strong arms, cradling you as he brings you over to your bed, with occasional kisses along the way. You both pull away to tear off your clothes. You hurriedly pull off your sweater and your bra and toss them aside, hearing them land somewhere on the floor. Farleigh takes his own shirt off and his jeans, revealing that beautiful body you’ve subconsciously been dreaming of.

“Lay down,” You tell him with some sort of newfound confidence. You’ve never been on top before, but right now you want to pay him back and give him all that you have to offer.

“Mmm,” He hums in response, laying down on your small, twin-sized bed. You climb onto the bed and straddle him, feeling slightly nervous as his hands rest on your hips. You keep your hands on his chest as you grind your hips down onto him, feeling the form of him through his boxers.

He’s rock hard, and it only encourages you to continue to grind against him, rolling your hips smoothly and slowly. He whimpers and grips your hips harder, biting his lip. “Fuck, baby,” He moans, his hips bucking up slightly to meet yours.

You can’t wait anymore. You reach down and maintain eye contact as you slowly pull down his boxers, shuffling them down his legs.

It’s definitely intimidating, but you’re determined to ride him. He looks up at you. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hands returning to your hips. You nod. “Yeah,” You reply before rising up on your knees and adjusting yourself before sinking down onto him.

You wince at the delicious pain as your teeth sink into the plush of your bottom lip, his hands guiding you further down his length. A string of curses leave his lips once his whole cock is inside of you. He definitely missed this.

You place your hands on his chest again as you begin to drag your hips back and forth. He whimpers and whispers your name like a prayer. “That’s it, fuck-“ His grasp on your hips tighten and you can already guess that you’ll have bruises.

You rock your hips back and forth, creating a better pace for the two of you as he thrusts up into you. That pained look crosses his face again as you make eye contact. You’re completely enthralled by the sight of each other, a sheen of sweat forming on both of your foreheads. Your head falls back once you finally find the perfect angle that brings you such satisfaction, your jaw going slack. “Baby,” He begs, breathing heavily.

You feel yourself growing tired from the fast rhythm, and you slow down, still circling your hips on top of him. He seems to sense that you’re growing fatigued, so he flips the two of you over, switching your places. You’re dizzy and caught off guard, but you focus on his eyes as he takes over, slowly thrusting into you with long strokes.

Farleigh reaches down to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers together and holding on tightly. He lowers his head to pepper kisses across your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. He brushes some hair out of your face.

“I love you,” He mutters, his nose rubbing against yours. Your eyes widen at his words and your heart skips a beat. You squeeze his hand weakly and grin.

“I love you too,” You whisper back, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you so much,” You tell him, and he lets his head fall into the crook of your neck as he moans desperately, his thrusts faltering. Your other hand rests on the top of his head, stroking his curls. You both finish at the same time, whispering each other’s names and more confessions of love. It’s meaningful, beautiful, and sweet. Something you’ve craved but never experienced. That is, until now.

He collapses next to you and eventually pulls out of you, causing you to grunt just a bit. You lay there, your legs entangled with his and his arms around you protectively. He pulls the sheets over the two of you and continues to kiss you slowly with so much passion and affection.

Farleigh pulls away and swipes the tears off your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. You take his hand in yours once again and press your forehead against his.

“I could get used to this,” You whisper with a cheeky grin. He laughs softly. “Really?” He responds sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

“Really.” You giggle quietly and he presses another kiss to your cheek. “I would consider spending the rest of my life with you,” He shrugs nonchalantly and you can’t seem to stop smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy in your life.

“You’d consider it? Woah, thanks,” You say with fake awe, gasping. “I’ve been considering it for a while, actually,” He mutters, running his fingers through your hair. “Have you?” You whisper, suddenly feeling sleepy. Everytime he holds you like this, it puts you right to sleep. You feel so safe and loved in his arms.

“Mhm.” His other hand rests on the small of your back and you feel your eyelids growing heavy. “I love you, Farleigh,” You whisper. “I love you too.” He replies, and with that, you drift off to sleep, with no cares or worries in the world, now that you’ve finally solved your problems with Farleigh. You’re so glad you gave him a second chance.

The next morning you wake up to Farleigh pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his head in your chest and groaning. You yawn and glance over to your bedside table, checking the time on your alarm clock. 9:42 AM.

Shit. You forgot about your class. It started at 9:30. Oh well. You groan and let your head fall back onto the pillow, rubbing your forehead.You pat Farleigh’s head, his curls sticking out at awkward angles but still managing to look cute.

You shiver and reach down to pull the duvet over yourself. He stirs at your movement and eventually, his dark brown eyes open.

A grin immediately appears on his face as he looks at you, taking in your appearance. Thank God you hadn’t worn makeup the day before. You were in your natural state, besides the messy hair. He traces his finger along your jawline and you smile, tilting your head.

“Good morning,” He wraps you up in his arms again, desperate to be close to you. His voice is deep and raspy. You’ll never get tired of his morning voice.

“Morning,” You reply, snuggling up to him and breathing in his scent. He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back soothingly.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt about waking up next to you?” Farleigh asks. You giggle quietly. “Well, your wish came true,” You reply with a quick raise of your brows.

Suddenly, you remember what Lola said that one night at Saltburn as you think about you and Farleigh’s relationship over the years.

“Lola told me something a few months ago,” You start. “Mmm, and what was that?” He responds.

You inhale slowly. “She said that you were looking for me one morning and you came by our dorm, and you seemed very worried about me,” You smile at the thought, knowing what you know now.

“Oh. Yeah, I remember that. I was always worried sick about you. Whether you got home after a night out, if you drank too much, if some guy took advantage of you…” He trails off and sighs.

“Really?!” You ask, gazing up at him in shock. “You’re so confusing,” You let out a breathy laugh and shake your head.

“Do you remember our first night at Oxford? The very first party we went to?” He asks. You nod. He fiddles with a strand of your hair.

“After our little… argument, I stayed away from you the rest of the night. But then it was getting late, and I couldn’t find you, and I didn’t know if you knew the way back to your dorm. When I went into the bathroom I found you passed out on the floor. Black out drunk.” He explains, his voice soft.

“Anyone could have found you, or taken advantage of you. So I picked you up and carried you back to your dorm and tucked you into your bed.” Your eyes widen as your brain registers his words. Lola never told you about that.

“And when we were talking that night on the steps outside at Saltburn when we couldn’t sleep, the first summer you were there, you fell asleep on my shoulder. So I carried you up to your room.”

It’s silent for a minute as you process this. Was it a common theme for Farleigh to carry you to your bed when you were passed out?

“I never knew you cared that much.” You whisper, reaching up to play with one of his curls. “I don’t think I knew, either.” He mumbles.

You kiss him, slowly and gently, smiling against his lips. He grins, breaking the kiss, before holding the back of your head and guiding you back to him.

And you really believe that in this moment, you could die happy. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. The hot August nights, the freezing December mornings, the summer days under cerulean skies. The good days and the bad days. You can’t even remember how it felt to hate Farleigh. Every single trace of dislike for him is gone, erased completely from your heart. All that’s left is a love too strong to comprehend.

taglist: @isla-finke-blog @ibimbogrl @drunkmysticsquirrel @alonia-olivia @novemilady @saltburnsworld @florkt @i-love-ptv @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha

[therogueflame]

The Bronze Reign Chapter 3 - Yellow Roses

hello my darling readers,

i went back through my chapters for the first time last night to proofread but my computer is broken bc the maintenance people dropped their drill and broke my monitor so i cant do any real editing until it’s fucking fixed so please excuse any brevity and errors. anywhoosies, i think these chapters might just get longer and longer. :D love you bye

The song for this chapter is Pink in the Night by Mitski

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Summary: A dream lingers, but the day waits for no one. Words are exchanged, alliances tested, and expectations pressed upon shoulders already burdened. In the great hall, a move is made—a challenge set. The court watches. A shadow lingers.

WC: 9.8k

Warnings: 18+, Daemon Targaryen, Slow Burn, Angst, Viserys is literally just doing his best yo

previous chapter

MDNI!

Vysaria woke slowly, pulled from the depths of restless sleep by the soft glow of morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The warmth of her bed was tempting, but her mind lingered in the haze of half-remembered dreams, tendrils of something formless and unsettling curling at the edges of her thoughts.

She exhaled, pressing a hand to her forehead as she blinked away the remnants of sleep. It had been nothing—just a dream. And yet, it clung to her, leaving behind a strange unease that refused to fade entirely. Pushing back the covers, she sat up, willing herself to shake it off. The day had begun, and she had no time for foolishness.

Breakfast awaited, and with it, her family.

She moved through the motions of dressing, allowing the familiar routine to settle her. Her maid worked in silence, fastening the clasps of her gown, smoothing the fabric, combing through the waves of her silver hair. The castle beyond her chamber doors was already stirring, the distant hum of voices and movement a quiet reminder that life did not stop, even in grief. By the time she was ready, the lingering traces of her dream had dulled, though not entirely disappeared. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped into the hall, making her way toward the morning meal.

The corridors of the Red Keep were busier now, servants moving with quiet efficiency, their voices hushed but steady. The early morning light streamed through the high windows, casting long beams across the stone floors, illuminating dust motes that swirled with each passing step.

Vysaria walked with purpose, though the heaviness of sleep still clung to her limbs, her mind lingering in the haze of her dreams. She could not remember them clearly—only flickers of heat, the sensation of something just beyond her grasp.

She forced the thoughts away.

By the time she reached the private dining chambers, the scent of freshly baked bread and spiced tea drifted through the air, mingling with the richer aroma of roasted meats. A servant stepped forward to push open the doors, and she entered without hesitation.The table was already occupied. Her father sat at the head, his expression lighter than it had been the night before, though the ever-present weight of kingship had not left him. Across from him, Aemma looked well enough, though there was still a paleness to her skin, a lingering fragility from her ordeal. Further down, Rhaenys and Corlys were engaged in quiet conversation, their ease with one another an unspoken testament to their years together.

And then, of course, there was Daemon .He lounged in his chair with the same effortless ease he carried everywhere, sipping from his goblet, his sharp violet gaze flicking toward her as she entered.Vysaria met his gaze briefly before turning her attention elsewhere.

“Good morning,” she murmured, dipping her head slightly toward her father and mother before taking her seat.

Viserys nodded in greeting, and Aemma offered a small smile. “You look as though you barely slept.”

Vysaria reached for her goblet, tipping it just slightly before taking a sip. “It was nothing.”

Her mother’s gaze lingered, as if she might press further, but Aemma only nodded, returning to her meal.

Across the table, Daemon smirked over the rim of his cup. “Nothing, is it?”

Vysaria did not look at him. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Rhaenys chuckled under her breath, though she made no comment.

Daemon, undeterred, leaned forward slightly, the corner of his mouth still curved in amusement. “You seemed troubled last night when you left.”

Vysaria set her goblet down with quiet precision. “Perhaps I was tired of your company.”

Daemon only laughed, taking another sip of wine.

Viserys exhaled, shaking his head. “Must the two of you start this early?”

Vysaria reached for a piece of fruit, cutting into it with measured patience. “I wasn’t the one who started.”

Daemon grinned, but Rhaenys, seated beside him, finally cast him a pointed look. “Leave her be, Daemon. At least until she’s finished eating.”

Corlys smirked but said nothing, clearly content to let his wife handle the matter.

Daemon lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Very well.”

Vysaria took a slow bite of her fruit, letting the conversation move on, though she could still feel Daemon’s gaze lingering on her. The meal had only just begun.

The conversation moved on, shifting to lighter matters—idle talk of the day ahead, the expected arrival of new ships from Driftmark, the quiet hum of court life resuming its rhythm. Rhaenys and Corlys spoke of Velaryon affairs, their voices low but steady, while Viserys listened with mild interest, nodding on occasion as he tore off a piece of bread.

Vysaria focused on her plate, methodically cutting into the fresh fruit before her, willing herself to settle into the familiar comfort of routine. The remnants of her dream still clung to the edges of her thoughts, but she pushed them aside, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

Daemon, however, had never been one to let things rest.

“So,” he mused, lifting his goblet once more. “What will you do with your day, niece? Aside from brooding, of course.”

Vysaria didn’t look up. “Not all of us have the luxury of idleness.”

Daemon chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Oh? And what great duty demands your attention?”

She speared a piece of fruit with her fork, chewing deliberately before answering. “I’ll be walking the gardens.”

Aemma, who had been mostly quiet, glanced at her with a small, knowing smile. “With Lady Alicent?”

Vysaria took another sip of her drink before offering a curt nod. “Yes.”

Daemon arched a brow. “Ah. Mending bridges, are we?”

Vysaria’s grip on her goblet tightened slightly, though she did not react otherwise.

Rhaenys, who had been idly slicing into a cut of roasted meat, hummed in amusement. “If Lord Otto has his way, there will be no bridges left to mend—only ties to tighten.”

Vysaria turned to her, intrigued. “You think that’s his aim?”

Rhaenys gave a small, knowing smile. “Otto Hightower does not waste his time with things that do not benefit him.”

Aemma’s lips pressed together slightly, though she said nothing.

Viserys, on the other hand, exhaled, setting his goblet down with a soft thud. “Otto’s daughter is a sweet girl, nothing more. There’s no need for all this talk of strategy before breakfast.”

Daemon smirked into his cup. “And yet, strategy never waits, does it?”

Aemma shot him a look before turning back to her daughter. “It’s good of you to spend time with Alicent. The poor girl has few companions at court.”

Vysaria only nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Daemon, however, tilted his head, studying her. “And do you enjoy her company?”

Vysaria finally looked at him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Does it matter?”

He grinned. “Only if you pretend it does.”

She exhaled slowly, returning her focus to her plate. “I imagine I’ll survive it.”

A chuckle rippled through the table, though it was Rhaenys who spoke next. “A ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.”

Vysaria shook her head, though the tension in her shoulders had eased somewhat.

The morning sun had risen higher by the time the meal began winding down, the plates picked over, goblets half-emptied, and the earlier energy of conversation fading into something quieter, more subdued. Servants moved efficiently around the table, clearing away what remained as the last sips of wine and tea were taken.

Viserys leaned back in his chair, exhaling with satisfaction, while Aemma quietly set down her utensils, giving Vysaria a small, expectant look.

“You shouldn’t keep her waiting too long,” she murmured.

Vysaria resisted the urge to sigh, instead offering her mother a brief nod. “I won’t.”

Daemon, watching with undisguised amusement, smirked. “Off to suffer through your morning obligation?”

Vysaria shot him a look as she rose from her seat. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Rhaenys chuckled under her breath, and Corlys smirked but said nothing. Viserys, too used to their bickering to bother commenting, only shook his head as he waved his daughter off.

Vysaria dipped her head toward her parents before stepping away from the table, her steps steady as she exited the dining chamber and moved toward the gardens.

The Red Keep was alive with movement now, courtiers and attendants moving about their morning routines, voices carrying through the halls in hushed tones. The air was warmer, the scent of blooming roses and fresh earth drifting toward her as she approached the royal gardens. And there, under the shade of a trellis, waiting with her hands clasped in front of her, was Alicent Hightower. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming lavender and citrus, mingling with the faint perfume that clung to her skirts. She had seen Vysaria approaching and straightened slightly, smoothing a hand over the bodice of her gown—an unconscious habit, perhaps, or a quiet attempt at composure. Vysaria, still carrying the last remnants of her morning grogginess, did not rush to close the distance between them. She moved at her own pace, unhurried but inevitable.

“Princess,” Alicent greeted with a polite dip of her head, her tone measured, as careful as ever.

“Alicent,” Vysaria returned, stopping just a pace away.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filling the space that words did not. Then, Alicent shifted, glancing briefly toward the pathway that stretched deeper into the gardens. “Shall we walk?”

Vysaria gave a small nod, and together they set off, their steps falling into a slow, deliberate rhythm.The Red Keep’s gardens were beautiful this time of year, meticulously maintained with winding paths leading through bursts of color—deep red roses, pale golden marigolds, violets that bloomed in quiet shade. It was a place meant for peace, for soft conversation and quiet reflection. Vysaria had never truly appreciated it. Alicent, however, seemed at ease here.

“I was surprised when you invited me,” Alicent admitted after a few steps, her voice thoughtful rather than accusatory. “I hadn’t thought you much cared for company.”

Vysaria hummed, glancing ahead rather than at the girl beside her. “I don’t, usually.”

A soft laugh. “I had gathered.”

Vysaria cut her a sideways glance, but Alicent wasn’t looking at her. Instead, she reached out, brushing her fingertips lightly against the petals of a white camellia as they passed.

“You never needed anyone,” Alicent mused. “Even when we were children, you were always… apart.”

Vysaria didn’t reply immediately. It wasn’t an insult, nor was it said with resentment. Just an observation.

“I prefer it that way,” she said at last.

Alicent finally looked at her, her expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Vysaria did not answer. The path curved ahead, leading them toward a fountain where water trickled over sculpted stone, the sound soft and unintrusive. The conversation could have died there—Alicent had never been the type to push when unwelcome.

But then she said, quieter this time, “I think sometimes you believe you must be alone, whether you wish to be or not.”

Vysaria froze for a moment, her breath catching as Alicent’s words settled over her. The simplicity of them, the quiet precision, struck her in a way she hadn’t expected.

I think sometimes you believe you must be alone, whether you wish to be or not.

Alicent kept walking, her steps measured and unassuming, as if she hadn’t just laid bare something Vysaria rarely allowed herself to think, let alone hear spoken aloud. When Vysaria finally moved again, her steps were deliberate, catching up to Alicent as they neared the fountain. The gentle trickle of water filled the silence, but it did nothing to soften the tension now coiling in her chest.

“What makes you think you know me so well?” Vysaria asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

Alicent stopped beside the fountain, her hand trailing lightly along its edge. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression calm but unflinching. “I don’t claim to know you. But I’ve watched you.”

“Watched me?” Vysaria’s brow arched, a faint edge of incredulity creeping into her voice.

Alicent gave a faint smile, though there was little amusement in it. “How could I not? My father brought me to court for your sake, to be your companion. And yet, you hardly noticed me. You preferred your adventures, your family. I was only ever… there.”

Vysaria blinked, the words sinking in like stones thrown into a still pond. She had always been aware, on some level, of Alicent’s presence—quiet, dutiful, and constant. But she had never stopped to think about what that presence might have meant to Alicent herself. Alicent turned fully to face her now, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. “I never minded. Truly, I didn’t. You were… different from anyone else I’d ever known. You didn’t need to try, didn’t need to prove yourself. You just were. And I admired that.”

For the first time, Vysaria didn’t know how to respond. She opened her mouth, but no words came, and Alicent seemed to take the silence as permission to continue.

“But you don’t have to be apart, you know,” Alicent said softly. “Not with everyone. Not always.”

The words were simple, offered without expectation or judgment, but they carried a weight that lingered between them. Vysaria’s gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before lifting to meet Alicent’s again. Her own voice, when it came, was quieter, more measured. “And what if I don’t know how?”

Alicent’s expression softened, and for the first time, her usual careful composure faltered, replaced by something more genuine.

“Then I’ll show you.”

The words were so earnest, so utterly devoid of pretense, that Vysaria didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Instead, she just stood there, the moment stretching longer than she intended, until finally, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Come,” Alicent said, her tone lighter now as she gestured toward the path ahead. “There’s a grove of irises farther down. You’ll like it.”

Vysaria followed without protest, and for the first time, the silence between them did not feel heavy.

The path curved gently ahead, leading them toward the grove of irises Alicent had mentioned. Their soft violet blooms swayed with the breeze, their delicate fragrance lingering in the air. The tension that had once settled between them seemed to have loosened, if only slightly, as their conversation drifted toward simpler things—the gardens themselves, the change in the weather, a passing comment on the color of the sky. Then, Alicent spoke again.

“My brother, Gwayne, wrote to me last week,” she said lightly, reaching out to trace her fingers along the petals of a pale blue iris. “He’s still in Oldtown, training with the household knights.”

Vysaria felt the shift immediately. The ease of the moment fractured, subtle but undeniable.

She kept walking. She kept her expression neutral. But the tension coiled beneath her skin all the same. Gwayne Hightower. A name that meant nothing to her personally, yet everything in the context of court. A son of Oldtown. A son of Otto Hightower. A knight in the making.

And, more importantly—a match.

She had known it before Alicent had even spoken his name. The moment she mentioned a brother, Vysaria’s mind had already anticipated where this conversation could lead. She had spent enough time in court to recognize when something was being placed before her, when a seed was being planted for the future. Alicent, oblivious to the shift in Vysaria’s thoughts, continued. “He always wanted to be a warrior, though I think our father imagined something else for him. He writes of drills and sparring, but I can tell he wishes he were here instead.”

Vysaria exhaled softly, ensuring her tone was even before she responded. “Why would he wish to be here?”

Alicent gave a small smile, her hands clasped gently before her as they walked. “Because we’re here. Our father, the court, the king—” She hesitated, then gave Vysaria a pointed glance. “You.”

Vysaria felt the weight of that single word settle over her like an iron chain. It was not the first time she had seen this play before her, nor would it be the last. She could almost hear Otto Hightower’s voice in her mind, as measured and careful as ever, crafting the perfect case for why the match would be advantageous. A Hightower knight, a Targaryen princess, a bond that would steady the realm…

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she forced them to relax.

“Does he?” she asked at last, her voice light, casual. “I don’t recall ever meeting him.”

Alicent hummed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think you have. He was still young when Father brought me to court, and by then, he was already training in Oldtown. But he’s heard of you, of course.”

Vysaria felt a sharp prickle at the back of her mind.

Of course.

Her stomach twisted—not in fear, not in uncertainty, but in something colder. She had been raised knowing that her future was not her own. Marriage, alliances, duty—her path would always be dictated by what best served the crown. But there was something suffocating about he’s heard of you, about the realization that even without knowing her, he had been made to consider her.

Alicent sighed, her voice softer now. “I miss him sometimes.”

Vysaria turned her head slightly, watching the way Alicent’s fingers trailed absently over another flower. There was no guile in her expression, no hint of pretense. She wasn’t scheming, wasn’t trying to place a thought in Vysaria’s mind the way her father might have. She was just a sister, speaking of a brother. For a moment, Vysaria almost allowed herself to believe it was nothing more than that.

Almost.

She inhaled, slow and steady. “Do you think he’ll come to court?”

Alicent glanced at her, surprised by the question. “Perhaps. One day.” She hesitated, then added, “If Father wills it.”

That, at least, was something they could agree on. Vysaria gave a small nod and continued walking.

The conversation between them settled into something quieter, the initial tension ebbing, though not entirely disappearing. Alicent still spoke of her brother in fond tones, but Vysaria allowed the words to wash over her without truly absorbing them. The gardens had always been a place of retreat, a world apart from the political machinations of the Red Keep. And yet, even here, the weight of expectation found her. They followed the winding path deeper into the greenery, past low hedges trimmed into careful shapes, past rows of irises and budding lemon trees. The further they walked, the more the sounds of the castle faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, the gentle trickle of a hidden fountain.

And then, as they rounded the bend of a marble archway, they were no longer alone.

Daemon Targaryen stood near a stone bench, leaning one shoulder lazily against a carved pillar, as if he had all the time in the world. A goblet dangled from his fingers, half-filled with wine that caught the light of the morning sun. He did not startle at their presence, nor did he seem particularly surprised to see them.

Because, of course, he wasn’t.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Daemon drawled, tilting his head as his gaze flicked over them. His smirk was as insufferable as ever, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Vysaria exhaled slowly, already feeling a headache forming. “Do you always lurk in gardens so early in the day, uncle?”

Daemon chuckled, lifting his goblet in an exaggerated toast. “Only when the company is worth it.”

Alicent, standing beside Vysaria, hesitated before offering a small, polite nod. “Prince Daemon.”

Daemon turned his gaze to her, studying her in that way he always did—not improper, not quite—but enough to unsettle. “Lady Alicent.” He gestured vaguely to the garden path. “Taking a morning stroll, are we?”

Alicent smiled gently, though it did not quite reach her eyes. “The princess was kind enough to invite me.”

Daemon hummed, flicking his gaze back to Vysaria with the faintest hint of amusement. “How very kind of you, niece. And here I thought you disliked company.”

Vysaria resisted the urge to sigh. “I make exceptions.”

Daemon’s smirk deepened, but he said nothing—at least, not yet. Instead, he took a slow sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his goblet, as if he were waiting to see what she would do next.

Daemon swirled the wine in his goblet, watching Vysaria with that same insufferable smirk before turning his attention to Alicent.

“Lady Alicent,” he said smoothly, “would you mind if I borrowed the princess for a moment?”

Alicent hesitated, her polite mask faltering for just a breath before she composed herself again. Her gaze flickered to Vysaria, as if searching for some unspoken answer, but Vysaria gave none.

“I—of course,” Alicent said at last, dipping her head slightly. “I’ll—wait here.”

Daemon grinned as if he had expected nothing less. He gestured for Vysaria to walk with him, and after a brief pause, she stepped forward.

They did not walk far—just enough that the distance placed them out of earshot but not out of sight. Alicent remained standing near the carved stone bench, her hands lightly clasped in front of her, watching them in that careful, measured way of hers.

Only once they were alone did Daemon shift. His smirk softened, his voice dropping into something lower, something that carried in the space between them like an unspoken challenge. And when he spoke, it was in High Valyrian.

"Do you find her company so enjoyable, niece?"

Vysaria did not slow her steps, nor did she react beyond a flicker of her eyes in his direction. "I find her company tolerable."

Daemon let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "A rare compliment from you."

Vysaria’s gaze flicked forward, her voice as smooth as the morning air. "And yet, you sent her away so you could bother me instead. How predictable."

Daemon exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it—something thoughtful. He took another slow sip of wine before speaking again, his words measured, casual.

"You seemed uneasy when she spoke of her brother."

Vysaria’s fingers curled slightly, though her expression remained composed. "I was not."

Daemon hummed in amusement. "Lying does not suit you, little dragon."

She turned her head then, meeting his gaze fully, her voice quiet but sharp. "And yet, you do it so well."

Daemon grinned, pleased rather than deterred. "If you wish to play this game, at least be honest about it."

Vysaria exhaled through her nose, her patience thinning. "There is no game."

"There is always a game, Vysaria," Daemon murmured, stopping just long enough for her to do the same. The space between them was slight, but the weight of his words made it feel even smaller. "The question is whether you intend to win it—or let them play you like a piece on a board."

She studied him for a long moment, the morning breeze rustling the leaves around them.

Then, finally, she said, "I am no piece."

Daemon’s smirk was slow, knowing. "Good."

Without another word, he turned back toward the path, leaving her as if nothing had passed between them at all.

Vysaria inhaled slowly, smoothing her expression as she turned back toward the path where Alicent remained. The conversation with Daemon still lingered in her mind, his words curling at the edges of her thoughts like smoke that refused to dissipate.

But she would not let it show.

When she reached Alicent, the girl was standing beside a cluster of pale yellow roses, her fingers carefully brushing along the petals, as if studying them with great care. Whether it was genuine interest or merely something to occupy her hands while she waited, Vysaria couldn’t tell.

Alicent did not look up immediately. For a brief moment, it was almost as though she had not noticed Vysaria’s return at all. Then, as if sensing her presence, she finally glanced over, her expression as composed as ever. “Your uncle has a way of stealing attention, doesn’t he?”

Vysaria exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. “That’s one way to put it.”

Alicent let her fingers trail from the flower’s edge before finally turning fully toward her. “I hope he wasn’t too much of a nuisance.”

Vysaria tilted her head slightly, glancing back toward the path where Daemon had disappeared. A nuisance. It was such a simple word, so utterly insufficient. But she only offered a small, knowing smile. “He’s always a nuisance.”

Alicent chuckled softly, nodding before looking back down at the flowers. “I’ve always liked these. My father used to say that yellow roses mean warmth and friendship.”

Vysaria arched a brow. “Did he?”

Alicent hummed, carefully plucking a single petal between her fingers before letting it fall. “I think he only said it so I’d stop picking the red ones.”

Vysaria watched her for a moment longer, something unreadable passing through her mind, before she reached out and plucked one of the roses herself, twirling it idly between her fingers. Then, after a beat, she handed it to Alicent. Alicent blinked, clearly surprised, before hesitantly reaching out to take it.

Vysaria’s voice was quieter when she spoke. “Then I suppose this means we are friends.”

Alicent studied her, her expression softening ever so slightly.

“If you’d like to be,” she said.

Vysaria didn’t answer right away, only giving a small nod before turning back to the path ahead. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s keep walking.”

Alicent smiled to herself, tucking the rose gently into the folds of her sleeve before following.

The winding paths of the garden led them back toward the towering walls of the Red Keep, the scent of roses and freshly turned earth fading as they stepped into the shaded corridors of the castle. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, and for a time, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them was not uncomfortable, only thoughtful, the kind that came when words were unnecessary.

Then, as they neared one of the castle’s inner courtyards, Alicent finally broke the silence. “Do you visit the dragonpit often?”

Vysaria almost stopped mid-step. She did not, but there was the briefest hesitation before she answered. “Not often.”

Alicent cast her a sidelong glance. “I’ve never been inside,” she admitted. “My father would never allow it, and I think I would be too afraid even if he did.”

Vysaria hummed, keeping her expression unreadable. ���There’s nothing to fear.”

Alicent laughed, though it was quiet, almost self-conscious. “That’s easy for you to say. You were born to ride one.”

The words were said without malice, without anything beyond simple observation, and yet Vysaria felt something twist inside her. Born to ride one. But she hadn’t. She had stood in the pit, watched the great beasts prowl, felt the heat of their breath, the rumble of their growls that vibrated through the very stone beneath her feet. But none had answered her. None had chosen her. And the longer it remained that way, the more the whispers in court would grow.

A princess without a dragon. A queen without fire.

She inhaled slowly, keeping her voice carefully even. “Dragons do not care for fear. They do not care for birthright, either.”

Alicent studied her with quiet curiosity. “Then what do they care for?”

Vysaria exhaled, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. “Themselves, mostly.”

Alicent tilted her head as if sensing something unspoken but did not press. “Perhaps that is why they are so feared.”

Vysaria met her gaze, something unreadable in the violet of her eyes. “Perhaps.”

They reached the threshold of the inner keep, the air shifting around them as they stepped through the archway. Whatever conversation might have followed was lost to the weight of stone and shadow, to the unspoken thoughts both girls carried but did not voice.

The castle was alive with movement as they reentered, the hushed murmur of courtiers and attendants filling the corridors, the morning’s stillness giving way to the steady hum of the day ahead. Servants moved with practiced efficiency, carrying trays of food, freshly laundered linens, letters sealed with wax. A group of noble ladies passed them in the hall, their whispers trailing in their wake like the rustling of silk. Vysaria and Alicent walked in step, but something had changed. The moment in the garden had been lighter, easier, but now, in the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, the weight of expectation pressed in once more.

Alicent was the first to break the silence. “Will you be attending court today?”

Vysaria resisted the urge to sigh. “I expect so.”

“My father says the king will hold audience in the afternoon. He mentioned something about a delegation from the Westerlands.” Alicent glanced at her carefully, gauging her reaction. “I imagine you’ll be at his side.”

Vysaria nodded. It was expected. She was her father’s heir, his cupbearer, a visible reminder to all who gathered that Viserys had chosen her, that she was meant to rule one day. The thought should have steadied her, but instead, all she could think of was the words whispered behind closed doors, the uncertain glances, the lords who still fretted over the lack of a male heir.

Alicent’s voice softened. “You don’t enjoy court, do you?”

Vysaria let out a quiet, humorless breath. “What’s there to enjoy? Lords murmuring about things they’ve already decided before they’ve even stepped into the chamber? Ambassadors speaking in circles, offering empty pleasantries while maneuvering for their own gain? It is all a performance.”

Alicent studied her with something like sympathy, though she did not say so aloud. “My father says court is where the game is played.”

Vysaria glanced at her, something sharp flickering in her expression. “Your father would say that.”

Alicent looked as though she might respond, but before she could, a voice called out from down the corridor.

“Princess.”

Vysaria turned, her spine straightening instinctively. A servant stood at the entrance of the hall, dipping his head in deference. “The king requests your presence.”

Of course he does. She suppressed the sigh that threatened to rise and instead gave Alicent a brief nod. “It seems my father has plans for me.”

Alicent hesitated, as if there was more she wished to say, but in the end, she simply offered a small, polite smile. “I suppose I’ll see you at court, then.”

Vysaria gave no confirmation, only turned on her heel and followed the servant deeper into the keep. The corridors were quieter here, the usual hum of court life fading into the solemn hush that always clung to this part of the castle. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting shifting shadows as they passed. She knew where they were going before the servant even led her through the heavy doors.

The air changed as she stepped inside—the scent of smoke and old stone, the lingering weight of something ancient. The chamber was dimly lit, the great skull of Balerion looming in the torchlight, its hollow sockets staring into the dark.

Viserys exhaled slowly, stepping closer to the massive skull, his fingers grazing the curve of one of Balerion’s fangs. “I was the last to ride him, you know.” His voice was softer now, as though the memory had gentled something in him.

Vysaria knew the story well, but she said nothing, allowing him to speak.

“I was no older than you are now when I first climbed onto his back. He was old then, near the end of his life, but even in his twilight, there was no mistaking his power. His wings stretched farther than any ship’s sails, his roar shook the very stones of the Dragonpit.” He smiled faintly, but it did not reach his eyes. “And yet, he was not mine. He was never mine. He belonged to history, to the past. I was only a rider, never his rider.”

Vysaria watched him carefully. She had never considered what it must have been like for him—claiming a beast that was already fading, feeling the weight of that legacy without ever truly possessing it.

Viserys finally turned to her, his gaze steady, searching. “You must try again, Vysaria. The realm will not wait for you to be ready.”

She had expected the words, but still, they landed like lead in her chest.

“I have,” she said, careful to keep her tone even.

“Not enough.” His expression did not hold disappointment, but something heavier—concern, urgency. “The lords whisper, and I cannot fault them for it. A Targaryen queen without a dragon… it is something they will never understand.”

Vysaria inhaled slowly, her gaze shifting back to the gaping maw of Balerion’s skull. The fire was long gone from his bones, his wings forever stilled, his body reduced to nothing but an echo of what he once was.

Vysaria held her father’s gaze, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. “I have tried,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “Again and again, for years. I have stood in the Dragonpit, I have reached for them, called for them—” she exhaled sharply, the frustration creeping into her tone. “But none would answer.”

“The Dragonpit was never their true home,” Viserys said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “Most of our dragons roost on Dragonstone, along the Dragonmont. That is where their blood runs thickest, where the heat of the earth still calls to them.”

Vysaria tensed, already anticipating what he was about to say.

“You should go there,” he continued. “Spend time among them. Try again.”

She shook her head slightly, turning away from him, her arms folding across her chest. “I have no interest in parading myself before the dragons of Dragonstone like some desperate supplicant.”

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temple. “It is not desperation, Vysaria. It is persistence.”

“I have been persistent,” she countered, her voice sharp. “Since I was a child, I have stood before the dragons that reside in the pit, the ones within reach, the ones I was told might answer me. None did. And now you would have me cross the Blackwater and humble myself before beasts who have had no interest in me for nearly sixteen years?”

“You speak as if they are men, with logic and intent,” Viserys said. “They are not. They are creatures of fire and instinct. And instinct must be met with instinct. Perhaps you were not ready before, but you are nearly a woman grown. Perhaps now they will see you differently.”

Vysaria swallowed down the sharp retort on her tongue. She wanted to argue, to tell him that she had never been just a girl, that she had carried the weight of her name, her duty, for as long as she could remember. She had spent her childhood watching the others bond with their dragons, watching them claim what she could not.

What would be different now?

Still, Viserys was not unkind. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his fingers warm but heavy. “I named you my heir because I believed in you, Vysaria. I still do. But the realm… they must see you as I do.” His grip tightened slightly. “A dragon does not make you my heir. But it will make them stop questioning.”

Vysaria turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting toward Balerion’s empty eye sockets. The last rider.

And if no dragon would have her, what would they call her then?

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “And if I fail again?”

Viserys hesitated, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve before he sighed. “Then you will try again.”

The words felt as heavy as the stone walls around them.

Vysaria exhaled slowly, the weight of his expectation pressing against her ribs. She did not want to go to Dragonstone. She did not want to stand before the mighty beasts of the Dragonmont and feel their disinterest settle over her like a shroud. She did not want to hope, only to walk away empty-handed once more.

But she could not tell him that. Not when she saw the quiet plea in his eyes.

She lifted her chin slightly, meeting his gaze. “I will consider it.”

Viserys studied her for a long moment, as if waiting for her to protest, to argue, to push back. But Vysaria only held his gaze, unreadable, her thoughts swirling beneath the surface. Then, with a quiet sigh, her father straightened, the weight of kingship returning to his shoulders as easily as breathing.

“We’ll speak of this again,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “But for now, you must get ready.”

“For what?”

Viserys exhaled, rubbing his temple. “The Westerlands delegation.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. So Alicent had been right.

“The Lannisters?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Her father nodded. “Lord Jason has sent envoys to discuss trade agreements, though I expect he means to bring up other matters as well.” He cast her a glance, his meaning clear.

Other matters.

Her lack of a match, no doubt. Another conversation about alliances, about what the realm expected of her.

Vysaria lifted her chin. “And what would you have me do?”

Viserys’ gaze softened just slightly, but it did not waver. “Be present. Observe. Speak if you wish to.” Then, after a pause, he added, “And—make an effort, Vysaria.”

She did not need to ask what he meant. She had spent years making an effort, standing at his side, playing the role of the dutiful heir. But it was never enough. Not without a dragon. Not without a husband. Still, she did not argue. Instead, she dipped her head, her voice smooth and measured. “As you wish, Father.”

Viserys studied her for another moment, then nodded, satisfied. “Good. See that you’re ready.”

With that, the conversation was over. Vysaria turned on her heel and left the chamber, stepping back into the torch-lit corridors of the Red Keep. The door shut softly behind her, but the weight of the conversation lingered.

The Westerlands. The Lannisters. More talk of duty and expectation.

The great hall of the Red Keep had been prepared with its usual grandeur, the banners of crimson and gold standing in bold contrast beside the black and red of House Targaryen. The stone columns flanking the chamber bore woven tapestries of conquest—Aegon’s triumph over Westeros, the embroidered form of Balerion the Black Dread stretching across the fabric like a shadow cast over kings and kneeling lords. The flickering torchlight made the golden thread of his eyes glimmer, as though the beast himself still watched.

The air carried the scent of polished wood and fresh rushes, undercut by the sharper tang of wax, ink, and the steel worn by the knights lining the hall. Their armor caught the low firelight, polished but dented, lived-in, a quiet reminder that this was a court built on war, no matter how much the lords within it pretended otherwise. The torches in their sconces flickered with every subtle draft, casting long, shifting shadows against the stone walls—shadows that sometimes moved, where no man stood.

Daemon was there. Not at the throne, not at his brother’s side, but present all the same, lurking at the edge of the hall where the torchlight struggled to reach. He did not stand with the assembled lords nor take his place beside the king. Instead, he observed. Unnoticed by some, ignored by others, but felt. The kind of presence that unsettled, even without a word spoken.

At the head of the hall, beneath the jagged weight of the Iron Throne, King Viserys I Targaryen sat, his golden crown catching the dim light. He looked at ease, but Vysaria saw the truth in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed idly against the armrest. These audiences had never been his joy—the posturing, the barbed pleasantries, the lords who spoke in measured words but maneuvered like swordsmen. Yet he bore them, because he had to.

Vysaria stood at the foot of the throne, her posture composed, unreadable. The assembled court had been watching her since the moment she stepped into the hall. Weighing her. Measuring. The princess. The heir. The single thread upon which House Targaryen’s future hung. She did not meet their eyes. She did not need to. Her focus remained on the delegation approaching the throne.

Lord Jason Lannister had not come himself. That in itself was an answer. Instead, he had sent his younger twin, Ser Tyland Lannister, to play the role of diplomat. He strode through the hall with the ease of a man accustomed to wealth and welcome, his golden hair neatly combed, his fine doublet adorned with the sigil of his house—a lion woven subtly into the fabric, not roaring, not clawing, but present. A quiet statement, for those who knew how to read such things.

Behind him, his retainers moved in perfect formation, their crimson cloaks trimmed with gold, their hands resting lightly upon the pommels of their swords. Lannisters never entered a room as beggars, even when they came to offer. They carried themselves as if the realm belonged to them by right of coin alone, and perhaps, in some ways, it did.

Tyland approached the throne, bending onto one knee in a gesture of deference so practiced it seemed rehearsed.

“Your Grace,” he said smoothly, his voice silken, composed, the careful cadence of a man who knew the weight of each word. “House Lannister sends its regards and gratitude for your hospitality.”

Viserys inclined his head, offering a polite but tired smile. “Lord Jason is always welcome in King’s Landing. I trust your journey was a smooth one.”

Tyland rose with ease, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve before responding. “As smooth as can be expected, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone measured, carefully polished. His sharp lion’s eyes flicked toward Vysaria, the glance so brief it might have been missed by anyone who wasn’t already used to it. But Vysaria was used to it. Men had always looked at her this way. Assessing. Weighing. Calculating. But he did not address her. Not yet.

The conversation unfurled in its usual, tedious fashion—pleasantries wrapped in politics, the ritual exchange of words that meant little and deals that meant everything. Trade routes, shipments of gold from Casterly Rock, the status of naval agreements with Driftmark. It was all necessary, of course, but none of it was why Tyland had come.

And, as expected, it did not take long before the conversation shifted. “With the king’s permission,” Tyland said smoothly, his expression one of carefully measured interest, “Lord Jason wished for me to extend not only the regards of our house but also a consideration.”

A hush settled over the court. Vysaria felt the shift before it truly happened, the way the lords along the edges of the chamber leaned in slightly, their interest sharpening like a blade being drawn. Tyland turned his gaze fully to Viserys, but the weight of his words pressed toward her, settling over her shoulders like something inevitable, something long decided by men who had never once lived in her skin.

“House Lannister, ever loyal to the Crown, would be honored to strengthen our ties to House Targaryen.”

The words hung between them, gilded in courtesy, but beneath the polish lay the truth. A marriage proposal.

Vysaria did not shift, did not tense, did not react. But her fingers curled slightly at her sides, hidden in the folds of her gown. She had known this moment was coming. The lords of Westeros had been waiting for the right time to press their ambitions upon her, to maneuver her into a match that served their designs, not hers. The whispers had begun long before Aemma lost her last child. Since the day Vysaria was born, the lords of Westeros had spoken of her as something to be placed, secured, controlled. With every failed pregnancy, every stillborn babe, their voices only grew louder. No second son. No spare. The court had not forgotten it for a single moment.

Tyland Lannister stood tall, confident in his words, speaking as though this was the natural order of things—that a princess’s hand was not hers to wield, but a thing to be bartered, bargained, and best spent. Across the hall, a shadow stirred, just at the edge of the firelight. Unmoving, but present. Daemon. Watching. Waiting.

Vysaria had heard enough. Her voice was smooth when she spoke, cutting through the chamber like a polished blade.

“If Lord Jason is such a man of great standing,” she said, unhurried, unimpressed, “then why did he send his younger twin to beg for a princess’s hand?”

Silence settled over the great hall, thick and expectant. Then, after a beat, the quiet snickers began—stifled but unmistakable, rippling through the gathered lords and courtiers like the rustling of silk. The kind of laughter men tried to swallow but could not quite contain.

Tyland faltered. The carefully crafted ease in his posture stiffened, his mouth opening only to close again as he struggled to recover. “My—my lord brother is a busy man, Princess,” he managed after a beat, his words suddenly less polished than before. “His duties to Casterly Rock keep him occupied, but his intentions—”

“Are best spoken through another’s lips?” Vysaria interrupted lightly, tilting her head just so, her violet gaze unwavering.

This time, the laughter was less restrained. A few outright chuckles rang through the chamber, some hastily muffled behind goblets of wine or gloved hands. The scent of warm wax and polished wood mixed with something sharper—the air tinged with amusement and quiet derision. The nobility of King’s Landing thrived on spectacle, and here, before them, a lion of the Westerlands had stumbled.

Tyland’s jaw tensed, his composure fraying at the edges. His hands, which had once rested so easily at his sides, curled subtly into fists, though he forced himself to remain still. He would not embarrass himself further by rising to her bait.

Beyond the laughter, beyond the murmured whispers exchanged between lords who would retell this moment before the night was done, there was something else. A presence. Unmoving, but there. Not at Viserys’s side, nor standing with the court, but in the spaces where the torchlight wavered, where the shifting glow of the flames did not reach. He had not spoken a word, but his presence coiled through the hall, felt more than seen. Shadows flickered over his silver hair, his form lingering at the edge of the gathering, as though he were simply another specter cast by the dim firelight. Watching. Waiting.

And then, from the dark, he laughed. It was quiet, low, but unmistakable. A single breath of amusement that might have been lost in the hum of the hall had it come from any other man. But it did not. It came from Daemon.

Vysaria did not bother to hide her satisfaction. She turned slightly, expecting to see the disapproving look she had grown accustomed to from her father, a mild reprimand for speaking so boldly, for playing this particular game with an edge too sharp. But when she met his gaze, Viserys only watched her, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He made no move to scold her.

Tyland cleared his throat, attempting to salvage what dignity he could. “The offer remains a generous one, Your Grace,” he said, this time directing his words solely to Viserys, carefully avoiding Vysaria’s gaze. But the damage had already been done. The court had already seen him stumble. The laughter had faded, but the moment still lingered, thick as the heat of a dragon’s breath. And somewhere in the shadows, Daemon was still smiling.

Viserys leaned forward, adjusting his grip on the arm of the Iron Throne. “Ser Tyland,” he said, his tone thoughtful, almost contemplative. “It is a curious thing, is it not? That your lord brother, in all his standing, in all his duties, could not be troubled to present this offer himself.”

Tyland opened his mouth, scrambling for the right words, but Viserys continued before he could find them. “Of course,” the king went on, “I understand that the affairs of Casterly Rock are demanding. As are the affairs of the realm.” His gaze flickered across the hall, taking in the nobles who had quieted in anticipation. “Which is why I see no reason to entertain marriage proposals through secondhand messengers.”

A murmur swept through the gathered court. Tyland’s hands curled tighter, his jaw setting. Vysaria allowed herself the smallest flicker of amusement.

Viserys exhaled, waving a hand in tired dismissal. “The hour grows late. I believe we’ve heard all that needs to be said.”

Tyland hesitated, then bowed low. “As you say, Your Grace.”

The Lannister envoys withdrew, their golden lions dimmed beneath the shadow of dragons. As the chamber stirred with quiet whispers and the lords began to move, a flicker of movement at the edge of the hall caught Vysaria’s eye. Not a noble departing, not a knight shifting his stance, but something else. The space where Daemon had lingered was no longer occupied. The shadow that had stretched just beyond the reach of the torches had slipped away, silent and unseen, except by her. Her gaze followed the path he had taken, but he was already gone.

Viserys exhaled, settling back against the cold metal of the throne. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “That went about as well as I expected.”

Vysaria turned her head slightly, allowing the smallest flicker of amusement to pass between them. “Did it?”

Her father didn’t look at her, but she caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely.

The chamber slowly began to empty, the lords and courtiers murmuring amongst themselves as they drifted from the hall. Some exchanged knowing glances, others concealed smirks behind their goblets of wine, and Vysaria could already hear the whispers beginning. The Lannister envoy put in his place. The princess' sharp tongue. The king's indulgence. She remained at her father’s side, though the moment the last of the Westerlands delegates had disappeared beyond the towering doors, she exhaled softly, rolling her shoulders as if shedding the weight of the conversation. Viserys, still seated upon the Iron Throne, ran a hand down his face and sighed. “You always find a way to turn these things into a spectacle.”

Vysaria tilted her head slightly. “Would you have preferred I simpered and thanked him for his most generous offer?”

Viserys gave her a pointed look, but there was no real heat in it. “There are ways to be diplomatic without making a mockery of a noble house.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I wasn’t aware the Lannisters were so easily wounded.”

At that, her father huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Be careful, Vysaria. You may have won this exchange, but lions are not known to forget slights.”

She knew that well enough. But she also knew that no matter how well she spoke, no matter how politely she handled the lords who paraded their sons before her, it would never be enough.

Still, she did not argue. Instead, she inclined her head. “Are we finished?”

Viserys hesitated for a moment, studying her as if searching for something—regret, uncertainty, doubt. But Vysaria gave him nothing.

Finally, he waved a hand in tired dismissal. “Go.”

She did not need to be told twice. She turned on her heel, and the heavy doors of the throne room shut behind her, sealing the chamber away, but the weight of it all still clung to her shoulders. The murmurs of the court would follow her long after she left, weaving through the halls like whispered ghosts. Vysaria did not slow her steps, did not allow herself to dwell on the lords who had watched her, measuring her as they always did. She had won this round, but there would always be another.

She moved through the dimly lit corridors with quiet purpose, the sound of her footsteps softened by the thick stone beneath her. The Red Keep was alive in the way it always was after courtly matters—servants moved briskly, messages were passed in hushed tones, and the air carried the faint scent of wax, parchment, and evening embers.

Her chambers were a welcome sight, the carved wooden doors standing tall and undisturbed. The guards stationed outside bowed their heads as she approached. She did not acknowledge them beyond a flicker of her gaze before pushing the doors open. A gust of cool air met her at once. The balcony doors were open, sheer curtains billowing with the evening wind, the scent of salt and distant fire drifting in from the Blackwater below. The golden light of the setting sun painted the sky in streaks of orange and deep violet, stretching beyond the rooftops of King’s Landing.

And there, lounging in her chair like he had every right to be there, was Daemon.

He had made himself at home, one arm draped lazily over the side of the plush seat, his legs stretched out before him with all the ease of a man who had never once asked for permission. His dark crimson tunic was unlaced at the collar, the sleeves pushed up with the careless ease of a man who had spent the day on his own terms, unburdened by duty or decorum. His silver hair was tousled from the wind, a goblet dangling lazily from his fingers. For a moment, he said nothing. He only watched her, studying her the way he always did, with that glint of amusement that never seemed to fade.

Vysaria sighed, stepping further into the room, already pulling the pins from her hair. “I don’t recall inviting you.”

Daemon smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t recall needing an invitation.”

Her fingers worked through the silver strands, freeing them one by one. The weight of her circlet lifted, replaced by the lightness of something unbound. She set it on the vanity with practiced care, unfastening the earrings next. “If you’re here to scold me for my performance today, you’ll be disappointed.”

Daemon hummed, tapping his fingers against the goblet. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. It was entertaining.” His gaze flickered over her as she worked, deliberate, unhurried. “You’ve grown sharp, little niece. Too sharp, perhaps.”

She unfastened the clasp at her throat, letting the first layer of her overdress loosen. “And yet, you laughed.”

Daemon exhaled a quiet chuckle, swirling the wine in his cup. “I did.”

Vysaria did not look at him as she moved, removing each piece with methodical ease, untying the laces that bound the weight of court to her skin. The heavier gown slid from her shoulders, pooling onto the chair beside her as she reached for something lighter. Her smallclothes remained, the ivory linen soft against her frame, a stark contrast to the regal layers she had shed.

Daemon did not move. He only watched.

The candlelight flickered between them, stretching shadows along the stone walls, casting a golden glow over the bare skin of her arms, her collarbone, the gentle curve of her back as she lifted another gown from where it had been laid out for her. The wind stirred again, lifting the sheer curtains, sending a cool kiss across her exposed skin. She pulled the new gown over her head, fastening the ties at her side, until her fingers hesitated at the clasp near her shoulder. She tugged at it, once, then again, the fabric twisted awkwardly.

A sigh of frustration escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Daemon rose from the chair in a single, fluid motion. She did not need to look at him to know he was already closing the space between them. She felt it, the shift in the air, the quiet anticipation of something she refused to name. He came to stand behind her, his presence a steady warmth at her back. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached for the clasp, his fingers brushing against her skin as he worked it loose with practiced ease.

The tension in the fabric gave way, the stubborn knot undone in an instant.

He did not move. His hands remained where they were, hovering just a fraction too long, his touch lingering against the bare skin at her shoulder. His breath was quiet, steady, but she could feel it there, close enough to be noticed, close enough to be deliberate. Vysaria did not move either. She could have stepped away. She could have turned and faced him, could have shattered the moment before it settled into something neither of them would name.

Instead, she finished dressing. "Thank you," she said smoothly, fastening the clasp properly this time. Daemon said nothing at first, only stepping back, retrieving his goblet with an easy grace before sinking back into his chair. He watched as she smoothed out the folds of her gown, his smirk lazy but knowing.

“We’re dining with the Lannisters tonight,” he mused, swirling the wine in his cup.

Vysaria glanced at him through the mirror’s reflection. “Observant as ever.”

Daemon chuckled, stretching out in his seat. “I only wonder how much more of their pride you intend to strip from them before the night is through.”

“That depends.”

He arched his brow. “On?”

“How much more they intend to insult me.”

His grin deepened, something conspiratorial flickering behind his eyes. “In that case, I suspect tonight will be very entertaining indeed.”

Vysaria lifted a single brow as she fastened the last of her jewelry. “Try not to sulk when I take all the attention.”

Daemon pushed himself lazily to his feet, setting his goblet down with a soft clink. “I’d never be so petty.”

She hummed, unconvinced, as he made his way toward the far side of the chamber. Rather than heading for the balcony, his movements carried him toward the wall beyond her bed, where his fingers brushed over the carved paneling as though searching for something familiar.

Vysaria stilled. “You cannot leave through the halls.”

Daemon smirked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Who said I was leaving through the halls?”

Before she could respond, his fingers pressed against a seemingly innocuous stone, and with the faintest click, the panel before him shifted. A narrow passageway yawned open, dark and silent, leading into the hidden veins of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Of course. Daemon had spent years in the Red Keep. He had always known its secrets.

“Try not to get lost,” she murmured, fastening the last clasp on her sleeve.

His smirk widened. “I never do.”

He did not say goodnight, nor did he wait for her to follow. Instead, he stepped into the passage with the ease of a man who knew exactly where it led, the shadows swallowing him whole as the panel sealed shut behind him. Vysaria exhaled, brushing her fingers over the fabric of her gown, smoothing out the folds. There was still a long evening ahead. She reached for her earrings once more, fastening them one by one, before finally turning toward the door.

The court awaited.

next chapter

All roads lead to war. Read ahead on AO3 (Ch 1–22).

[aliensunflower-fics]

For those who have been asking and wondering: “Hey where the hell has sunny been? She promised us new chapters to her stuff. Thats kinda rude that she fell off the face of the planet without so much as a note. I hope shes okay at least.”

Soooo yeah… My entire life KINDA exploded. Like you know ‘Murphys Law’ : Anything that can go wrong will go wrong?

WELL that’s been my life!

First off my computer decided to be quirky and special and not like the other girls and stopped accepting the existence of internet. That’s right my very expensive laptop that I use for my job decided I needed to touch grass and went “the internet is fake and you cant convince me otherwise.” So obviously that was a problem and I tried a bunch of stuff to fix it and taking it into a shop and nothing worked and I could not afford another one and again I need it for my job so eventually we figured out a way for it to accept the internet but it needs to be plugged into the router directly.

Then right as that was getting handled. My apartment landlord decided. “Yeahhh I want more money and to get more money I need to renovate so leave. Like asap.” So I have been frantically looking for a place to live. Me and my partner found a place but need to deal with the bank to finalize stuff and the bank is being stubborn and causing problems.

Then on top of that the government of the country im in. (Im an immigrant) went hey wait WE messed up your immigration paperwork and need you to resend a bunch of documents but also the mail messed up so you dont have as much time as we normally give not our problem though. So Ive been diving through our packed belongings looking for old paperwork from over a year ago.

Oh and every few days my very chaotic family sends me very stressful messages or needs my help with stuff.

So… yeah. Im physically healthy at least. But I have not had 1 moment of stress free rest in awhile.

The good news is ive taken care of a lot of the problems above. I mean my housing situation is still very up in the air thanks to money problems and bank laziness but aside from that the rest is mostly ironed out. So for those who have been asking: yes I’m alive, yes I’m okay, no i haven’t abandoned this blog, no i haven’t abandoned my fics, yes i feel bad that everything has been delayed so much.

I hope I can settle everything in my life soon and go back to posting more consistently. Until then please keep your fingers and toes crossed that the housing situation works because its a very nice apartment and I need somewhere to live.

[perlapulido]

Star Lord and Red Bullet

Summary: Life can surprise you in so many ways even if your a half demon like Raquel whos been on her until she met Quill. They been by their side no matter what is thrown at them despite their differences but now they save the galaxy from being destroyed and they cant do that alone.

Ch3

10 years later

"Raquel, Get up." said Kraglin knocking on the door. He waited until the sound of boots approaching the door and slides open showing a tired young teen wearing baggy grey pants and a white tank top. "You know im not a morning person, dad." said Raquel rubbing her right eye. "Yondu wants you to fix the booth to the controls and reload all the guns." said Kraglin ignoring that last part. "Fine." said Raquel using her tail to grab her tool belt. She clicked the buckle on her waist while following Kraglin through the halls. "Wasn't Peter suppose load our guns last night before we left Nowhere." Said Raquel putting her long hair into a  messy bun. "All I know was that I've seen him talking to a Faeduian girl over by the black trades and you can alwsy guess what happened next." Kraglin explained making Raquel eye roll and shake her head a bit. "After many girls he was gawking at. One has got to keep his ass in line besides me." Said Raquel as Kraglin shrugged. They walk into the control room seeing a few rangers doing their jobs or getting wasted as usual. "What the hell is wrong now?" said Raquel once she spotted Yondu on his chair. "The screens been freezing up and shutting off the power that's all you need to know." said Yondu. Raquel groaned walking towards the main panel that was in front of the pilot. She took of the metal plank easily then stuck half of her body inside the vent to see the problem. "Son of a Bitch." said Raquel seeing a few fried wires connected to the computer looking board. "Looks to me the main board for the cameras and computer or whatever is fried. We got to get a replacement in the trading market." she says pulling the device out without getting shocked. "While you do that. Be sure to get Peter to have that item i need for my collection." said Yondu. "Yeah. Yeah." said Raquel going to her to change. She grabbed her bag and money to get what she needed to repair the ship.

On the way to the market a voice was calling her making her turn to the left seeing a teen walking towards her. "I thought you were still asleep? What does Yondu want?" said the teen. "Well Peter the board is fried so i need get replacement and oh yeah reload all the crews guns like you supposed to do last night. Instead you got your pants busy." said Raquel glaring at him. "So i had one too many drinks with the guys. I'll do that but right now i gotta go do something important." said Peter. "Like what exactly?" said Raquel. "Being free from Yondu." said Peter smiling. "I dont know. Whenever you come with idea. It either works or going to bite us hard on the ass that will somehow leads to death." said Raquel. "Have it your way. Im done with Yondu so you going to need me on this. Meet you at the ship later." said Peter going to a near by vender. She shook her head and continued to look for the board. "Raq baby. What can do ya for?" said a alien spider looking man. He had light peach skin, eight black eyes with red pupils, two pair of arms, and had his long jet black hair pulled into a man bun to show his outfit. A copper brown long sleeve and black pants with a few rips. "Yeah. Archie. You got a board in hand. Yondu needs it asap." said Raquel giving the damage item to him. Archie hummed in thought grabbing a magnifying glass looking at it with four eyes down and the other four at Raquel. "I dont know if i have it. Let me go see in the back." said Archie pulling a curtain aside on his way to the back of the tent.

Raquel leaned back on the wooden table waiting for Archie and decided to play with the flames she created by her hands. She created shapes of animals making it move around her for bit then felt a slight touch on her tail. "Huh?" she says looking down to see a tiny tree figure. "I am Groot." said the creature. "You like that huh? Its nothing. Im Raquel and you?" said Raquel picking him up and setting him on the table. "I am Groot." said Groot. "Nice to meet you Groot." said Raquel looking back to see if Archie is back. "I am Groot." said Groot. "Oh i need a piece for the Raiders ship. Im the only good mechanic there." said Raquel. "I am Groot." said Groot. "What help does your buddy need?" said Raqueal hearing a few things being thrown from the back. "I am Groot." said Groot. "Usually the pods dont always function right by the years they can able to last. All they have to do is take the main frame, replace the wires and rearrange them differently, and it should take you anywhere in the galaxy without a problem." said Raquel hear a crash. "Ahhhh! Motherfucker!" said Archie limping back to Raquel. "Ok i had the board but my brother apparently threw it out. Sorry but if you get to the dumpster it might be there." said Archie. "Ok and you seriously need to organize the junk in the back. This is what twelve time you had something land on your foot." said Raquel. "Thirteenth actually. But try tell my wife that." said Archie as a knife almost hit his head. "Love you too SweetAss." he says calling to the back.

Raquel let Groot climb onto her shoulder as she went to the back of the bar. "Wait here Groot. I dont you getting hurt by whatever drinks were in here." said Raquel opening the lid and jumped in. "I am Groot." said Groot. "Ok let me know if you find your friend." said Raquel digging through the garbage bags. Groot walked out of the alley that they came in through looking around. "Groot, where are ya?" said a raccoon wearing a space like suit. "I am Groot. I am Groot." said Groot. "What do you mean you found someone to help fix our escape pod?" said the raccoon. Groot pointed to Raquel standing up and saw them. "If i find the stupid board." said Raquel then saw the mother ship taking off behind the raccoon. "Wait! Stop!" said Raquel crawling out of the dumpster and fell tot he ground and ran past the two. She whistled at the pilot once she got close enough and noticed a ship flying out of the mother ship. "Looks to me that they left without you and you might to take your communicator watch." said the raccoon. Raquel looked down to see a green acid burning her watch and made a sound. She rook it off and threw it in the air in time to blow up. "Great. Yondu is gonna have a bitch fit when he finds me but mostly Quill." said Raquel. "Hey thats your problem not ours. Come on Groot." said the raccoon. Groot was about follow then grabbed the raccoon by the tail. "What?" said raccoon. "I am Groot." said Groot. "No way im taking her with us." said the raccoon. "I am Groot." said Groot letting him go. "If you say she can help repair the pod then fine. She can stay with us." said the raccoon. "I am Groot." said Groot. "Rocket? Huh its suits you." said Raquel walking with him as Groot was on her shoulder. "Dont be sweet on me Red." said Rocket leading her to the broken pod.

[patodeweloper]

they have been trying to install this lightning for what feels like a year now, the main electricity guy does not know what he is doing at all i would be very worried i would get electrocuted if i was him with those big clumsy hands . so hes trying to fix this one lamp and in doing so he just powers off everything on the first floor including everything i need for work. for the 3rd time this day. im in rush all day. everyone wants something from me always. this man comes in trying to book a room. a walk in at 3 pm. i cant do that without a computer so we wait there very awkwardly as i restart the server 15 minutes eye to eye with this man until i finally check him in. theres a phone call i pick up that lasts half an hour - until i hear a very loud kurwa and see that the electricity guy has been electrocuted. turning off the power on the first floor yet again. okay. as he sits down on the couch to catch his breath i see a prostitute walking through the door. that explains the awkward silence of the guy before. i was not trained for this. i hope she finds happiness in her life. okay. 5 minutes after this comes in a guy wanting me to commit tax crimes for him. i tell him no sorry will not be doing that at all. he sends his minions to me to beg. genuinely they fill me with disgust. that goes on for an hour. none of these guys know how invoices work. or what VAT is. they are trying to argue with me but they dont know what they are arguing about. okay. i finally tell them im going to call the cops i dont give a fuck and they fuck off to drink beer with the non government money. check in check in check in in rush until 6 pm. my boss comes in asking me to falsify a document. i tell him haha what & he seems sure im going to do it. tell him no sorry i will not be doing that & he seems disappointed. cant fire me even because well im trying to leave. i try to not laugh cry as a group reservation comes in 5 minutes before my shift ends .

[dogstarblues]

lately ive been getting on calls less with friends and staying on for less time on discord to preserve my energy and take care of myself more and this past saturday really cinched it for me. i broke my boundary of not staying on calls past a scheduled time and stayed on a call til 9pm at night AFTER two hours of developmental editing work call. i was on a call with that friend since 12:30pm. that meant i waited until 9pm to eat and 10pm to shower when usually ive done both by 7pm. that also meant i used up spoons i didnt have, having talked to various people throughout the week, going to a funeral, and having 5 scheduled calls. it was too much. it was so much that ive had a headache all day which food and meds have not fixed and im so overstimulated i cant even listen to music or watch my fav youtubers which are both low energy things for me. i also cant manage to read. which left me with nothing to do all day but cook for myself (two meals so far), put microsoft office on my computer (i get it included with my college for life as long as the college exists, thats the only reason im using it instead of scrivener - i remember really liking it before and tried writing something and enjoyed it more than docs), browse tumblr, and fix a sentence on my website.

all this to say. new boundaries with myself:

No Work On Saturdays, Even Work Calls, Even If the Work Calls Will Be Fun

Spend Mondays Absolutely Alone Outside Of Therapy And Roommate

Wednesday Mornings Are Reserved For Quietude, Observance Of The Body, And Aloneness

[visionthefox]

It's understandable I also love story building because it gives you a sense on how the world works and stuff.

I reaslly thought they were gonna persona 4 the thing were old moon and KC becomes one since the whole I understand you better scheme and I think that would've been a better outcomefor the whole situation. No memory reset, no new body nor anything like that.

I also wanted to know what was his real plan like he was teaching the blood twins about blood magic and for what purpose, to just get swooped by Eclipse and do his bidding getting them killed in the process? Like he said something big was going to happen, I really thought they were going to keep pushin the KC agenda until halloween or something like what they did last year.

Now KC is good, Eclipse is stuck in the same freaking loop, we don't know what part Lunar would be playing because in the monty and foxy show they are hyping him up a bit too much, meanwhile in TSAMS it's just the same response from Moon "I don't know the guy" and Sun never once mentions him, or maybe he was trying to when he was having his breakdown by saying "I would've love to have a brother to play with.." i don't know if it was directed to bloodmoon or actually he was talking about Lunar.

But let's see what happens..

yea yea I never play any persona game - but Moon said "thats part of me" and "is deep in my core" and "I cant get it out" and when I saw KC getting a voice, I imagine is was what Sun is getting now, hallucinations by stress ! then I wanted so much to see him just accept that - yes, sadly, he was made to kill and hurt - but pushing that down wont help, he needs to accept it, and use his anger - this desire, and re work it as a more "violent justice" ! and that too! he had us waiting for nothing! maybe there was a suddent change in plans! (in the team) maybe there never was nothing.. but feels like wasted time to just have him show up and dont more the story for 3 weeks! or what ever his arc lasted.. also - that too -again- how does a machine learns magic?? is just.. the name is Kill Code - like, come on now- is like "oh yes! this is soul eater- he makes cupcakes!" it can be used a joke but they dont even do that! (reminder, I saw the moment everyone saw eclipse make the wish! ) so like why is -again- the line of codes - in the computer - still "alive" ? ahh with Lunar - hahah I still get comments in the vid I made, is kinda funny - but also, just shows they never gived him any more development, even as a side character! he only got more "dumb" and baby.. I really really hope this new arc can fix at least! some wold bulding issues and Eclipse, my boy is turned into a joke! but ah- thanks for your time !

[dhap53]

Ouroboros: Chapter 38

Maksim surprisingly played a mean priest when push came to shove. I didn’t expect him to have quite the reaction time from someone my senior, but he has proved to me otherwise. When he was against other players, Maksim could crack his staff hard against the faces of his enemies, no different from when we were in the mainland, retrieving protection money. Gladvlad had dueled with us in a variety of ways, delineating any means we could be hard countered in battle. Our weaknesses in battle were spellcleave, meaning any sort of hyperfocus on our warrior would mean our match would be lost. But that meant nothing.

Maksim had been training in real life, claiming he’d been stir crazy, developing cabin fever for being shacked up for so long, waiting for news to come out about the man I put out of misery. He was punching walls, rolling his shoulders a lot, and going down to the lobby of the apartment to yap to the front desk. A lot.

“I wish you would stop,” I mumbled to him, shoving a rice cracker into my mouth. Being inside was driving me nuts too. I wanted to go outside, develop some sort of social life myself, but I couldn’t. I was trapped. Trapped inside like a mouse trapped in a maze, looking for a way out. Just find the cheese. Find the cheese and escape.

“Any human interaction,” he told me and was punching the air. It was true. Waiting for the news was hard, difficult even. But we needed to bide our time, continue the show, and continue it until then.

And Maksim was sitting at the computer again, putting on his headset, logging into the game. It was our only haven for the time being. It was understandable. Our guild war against the other one had starved the unemployed guild leaders out of the game; the RMT they had running on in the background had resulted in a zero-sum game where they couldn’t make any more profit, losing them a living. They had quit the game. Our guild had moved in, taking charge of the auction house and economy, buying up more of the housing in the area, it was a simple decision. But then there was the next step: I needed more of the endgame.

The tournament was right around the corner. We were at the top, though. I refreshed the page constantly, checking for our team to be there, making sure we’d be there. That we would be invited to this tournament. The people who were invited decided on their rating which we’d been grinding for an entire week now. The game developers wanted to test the limitations of the game and how quickly people could climb the ladder. It was unsurprising because that’s exactly what people were doing: sitting at their computers and staying up all night, queueing it up, and grinding for a rating. They wanted a spot to take part in that tournament. 

I could imagine what they were doing in their real lives. Probably nothing. All time spent playing a video game and no time working on fixing one’s life, one’s personal problems, developing the inner psyche. Much of the people sitting in PvP chat were bitching about the balance of the game, yammering on about their shitty matchups, about how they were going up against cheese all the time.

[PvP] BatWeb: this sux can’t play when all i get are shit classes who spam the sam ability and win

[PvP] Gotacoffee: get good

[PvP] BatWeb: 1v1 me now

[PvP] MonkEU: u suck

[PvP] Brandcasual: i suck

[PvP] BatWeb: Q ALREADY I CANT DEAL WITH 40 MINUTES OF THIS

[PvP] Poopneo: noob salt rage

[PvP] BatWeb: IM UNSUBBING

[PvP] Gotacoffee: Good.

[PvP] BatWeb: healers are too overtuned

[PvP] BatWeb: i feel like im out here punching trees with my bare fists with these healers bc ill pop all my cds and cant knock them down

[PvP] MonkEU: healers arent bad u r

[PvP] MonkEU: imagine being good at the game use cc dude

[PvP] BatWeb: q it up NOW quit running yur mouth

[PvP] Poopneo: how about you play healer

[PvP] Poopneo: post ur logs i wanna see how bad u r

[PvP] BatWeb: i dont have any pumpkin

I checked my roster, going through my guild list. They were all logging off, doing their daily chores and going about their day. We had no PvPers in the guild, only Maksim and I. It was frustrating to find our third through the general, but Gladvlad was a fine addition. 

[eggplant-dolma]

my laptop has been broken for MONTHS (at least it waited until after i graduated to shit out on me) which fills me with sadness and frustration ~HOWEVER~ I just, finally, scheduled an appointment for a free consult/diagnostic check on friday so I can at least find out if it's fixable (and if so, how much it might cost) and then I can go from there...

Hoping they can fix it easily, but I have a strong suspicion that it will not be, or that it is fixable but will be cheaper for me to buy a new pc..

Eeeeiiither way, I am looking forward to actually having a laptop again sometime soon. I've been borrowing my mom's giant apple monitor computer for too long and while it has a nice big screen for watching movies and video, and I am unable to whisk it off to a coffee shop or friend's house with me whenevr I want, and i require that ability desperately

(also sometimes i wanna lay in bed with terrible posture and my laptop propped up on my chest while i fuck around, and i cant do that with my mom's 25lb monitor screen lol) *sighs*

[silverdreamsstudios]

a6 dub update ♡

hi everyone!! i'm really sorry it's been very quiet on the radar, it's been very hectic lately!!

to be transparent, because i like honesty LOL i haven't been doing great personally ;; life is really at a stressful sort of state right now because school has been steamrolling me LOL combine that with my broken computer problems™️ and it's been just kind of messy and not great. i started my internship this monday, which i really love, but it's basically a full time job. because my semester hasnt ended yet it's been i go to work 9am-5pm and then i come home and do school for the rest of the night LOL and repeat ;;  i don't really have any time for recreational things and my hobbies so that makes me stressy and not in the best of moods at times (rip) i just haven't had any time and my computer . is still not fixed. LOL im doing my best to try to stay positive through at all but it's also just taking a huge toll on me mentally LOL @.@ the past couple weeks have been very hard for me to get through because i'm just not very good at handling large amounts of stress without tears and tissue boxes XD

thus, unfortunately with all this stuff going on, i think the dub will probably end up going on hiatus for several weeks until i can get it together LOL i didn't edit as far or as much as i wanted prior to all of this >> and im praying they can fix my computer and get it back to me at a reasonable amount of time. so when my semester ends (finally), my computer is fixed, and i feel better mentally, we will be back XD

i'm really sorry we have to on hiatus ;; it's not something i wanted LOL but unfortunately just something i need -- hopefully not a long one though -- i hope to be back soon!! i don't have an estimate currently because it's all dependent on when i get my computer back, but hopefully before the end of june, we'll be back. i’ll post updates as things happen!! please wait for us ^-^

idk why anyone would have any questions or concerns LOL but if u d(?) or just want to talk to a6 with me because im always down for that LOL, you can always reach me at discord (Silver#7086)!! i respond here but im a lot slower on tumblr!!

thank you for your continued support ❤ ,

silver

[rubyredsiren]

[The girls are in color]

[icing-on-the-icecream]

oh my god techonolgy hates me today, what did I do to deserve this, I just wanna draw Sora being happy is that really too much to ask for

[careforsometeajaeger]

I swear I’ll get around to the requests sent into my inbox for the anniversary thing I’m just a really good procrastinator

[cleverhyuck]

hii<33 can you wrote for jaemin , like he was doing his works and you ask him for cuddle and he get irritated at you and aak you to sleep by your own ? idk how to explain it well but i believe you can wrote it well , (angst + fluff) thank youuu !! 🥺🤍

jaemin x gn!reader

warnings : angst, bro this is so, cursing, overworked jaem, sad y/n, best school friends ever haechan n renjun, jaemin redeems himself

wc: i miss jaemin

as the clock strikes 2:00am, you yawn to yourself. the only thing illuminating the room are the websites and docs of essays from jaemin’s computer.

come over at midnight y/n! it’ll be fun y/n! i miss you y/n! and the list goes on.

who knew getting ready late to spend time with your boyfriend leads to laying on the bed and waiting for him to finish.

study sesh y/n! yeah four hours ago…

papers upon essays never stop your stressing boyfriend. and apparently he doesn’t want your “clinginess right now” so you can only sit and wait.

“babe, please take a small break.. let’s cuddle!” you nudge him from the bed. he just waves his hand off “it’s fine y/n. i’m fine, we will all be fine.”

you watch as he runs his hands through his hair and just sigh.

“but babe, it’s almost 2:10 and you should really sleep before you pull an all-nighter” you look at him.

jaemin takes a long sigh before starting to get irritated. “y/n. jesus christ! it’s all these classes that i have to keep up with. you know how much my grades mean to me.”

“you invited me here for a cute study sesh and cuddling together. i’m not getting ANY of those right now!? don’t you see how i fee-!?” you get cut off by an angry jaemin throwing a few papers off his desk.

“you invited me here for a cute study sesh and cuddling together. i’m not getting ANY of those right now!? don’t you see how i fee-!?” you get cut off by an angry jaemin throwing a few papers off his desk.

“you invited me here for a cute study sesh and cuddling together. i’m not getting ANY of those right now!? don’t you see how i fee-!?” you get cut off by an angry jaemin throwing a few papers off his desk.

“JESUS CHRIST Y/N. CAN I JUST STUDY AND DO MY WORK IN PEACE?!:!”

you finch back in shock.

jaemin had turned around from his chair and is giving you a glare. from the looks of it, it’s like he’s been glued to his chair the whole day.

you stare for only a minute more before your vision gets glassy.

“i just wanted to cuddle in bed with you..” you whisper, careful not to let the tears fall onto his sheets.

“well sleep on your fucking own y/n. because i’m not leaving until i finish my assignments.” he says with a strict tone.

you quickly wipe the tears that fell from your face and grab your phone and keys.

as you rumble to get up, jaemin quickly turns back around. but before he can say anything you’ve already left the door to his room.

“y/n please jus-“ you ignore him and keep walking out of the house.

he quickly gets up and follows you out.

before you reach the door he grabs your wrist and turns you around. you’re faced with his chest as he lays his head on yours.

“i’m sorry y/n..” he starts. you grip onto his t-shirt and let the tears stain it. he hugs you even tighter and just sighs.

“i’ve been a bad boyfriend. and you’re right, i shouldn’t put my grades over my health, or even you. i really fucked up. please forgive me?”

as you shudder into his hold, you calm yourself and look up.

as you hiccup to speak you manage to say “thank you jaemin. i’m really hurt by your actions and i don’t think i can really look at you for the night. see you tomorrow.”

you pry yourself from his grip and slowly unlock the door.

“we will fix this in the morning okay?”

you cant look jaemin in the eyes but you know he’s nodding.

“drive safe y/n. i love you.”

-

from the ride home you quickly find yourself staring at the dark ceiling.

the clock has just hit 5:46am and you should be waking up soon.

you contemplate texting him or checking his status if he’s even awake right now but you don’t. you wait for your emotions to die down and patiently wait for the morning to come.

the routine of getting ready for school is hard when you have to ice your eyes for five minutes to get rid of the puffiness.

jaemin usually takes you to school in the morning to avoid both of you driving but you finally decide to text him.

y/n

taking the bus this morning

my jaemin <3

ok love

be safe

i’ll see you at school

read 6:37

-

upon arriving to school you are greeted by haechan and renjun.

they greet you with a hug which you kindly accept. “so where’s jaemin at? i thought you guys ride togethe-“

“let’s not talk about that right now.” you quickly shut haechan down.

renjun gives haechan the tl;dr of what happened last night since jaemin told him and haechan just makes an :0 face and mumbles a sorry to you.

in class you sit before everyone else and decide to nap before class begins.

when you wake you are greeted with a jaemin listening to music next to you and a bento box on your desk.

there’s a little note saying “i’m sorry. i know i was a dick. please accept my lunch. i know you couldn’t make any because you rode the bus today. you know i love you.”

you put the box into your backpack with out saying anything and jaemin notices the movement.

when you look back at him, you meet with his eyes. you slowly form a smile and lean to kiss his cheek.

“i forgive you”