#long-nosed fur seal

[thepinnipedparade]

Guadalupe fur seal (L) – the Guadalupe fur seal's big "Only God can kill me" energy saw it advance in Round 0.5 with a whopping 74.6% of the vote. For details about the species, see that post.

New Zealand fur seal (R) – this otariid's name is apparently contested between the settler-colonialist nations of New Zealand and Australia, so let me just say that its scientific name is Arctocephalus forsteri and its te reo Maori name is kekeno. They live on the South Island of New Zealand and the southwestern coast of Australia. At one breeding site in New Zealand, mother fur seals will leave their pups upstream at a waterfall where they can safely swim (away from predators and strong currents) while the mothers hunt!

[bloodreinasbathwater]

Where Kings Land

Part 1

Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark! Reader

a.n: I finally get the hype about Jace. This right here is one fine man. the hair, the freckles, the big nose. ALL of it. this is part 1 of the miniseries for House of the Dragon, and it's my first time writing outside of the regular asoiaf series. Enjoy and please lmk what you think!!

Warnings: manipulation, not proofread, yelling, cursing? talk of beheading and treason.

Word Count: 4,900

masterlist link

summary: In the harsh lands of the North, where winter's bite is ever-present, a tale of duty, desire, and deception unfolds within the ancient walls of Winterfell. Y/N Stark, sister to the absent Lord Cregan, finds herself caught in a web of political intrigue as the realm teeters on the brink of civil war.

...

The heavy wooden door slammed behind her with a resounding thud, echoing through the granite corridors of Winterfell. Y/n Stark—sister to the Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark—strode purposefully down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. The torches lining the walls cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow. She yanked her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, warding off the perpetual chill that seeped through the ancient stones. The servants scurried out of her path, lowering their eyes as she passed. Y/n barely noticed them, her mind occupied with the litany of tasks that lay before her. The castle, a sprawling behemoth of grey stone and timber, was a living, breathing entity, and Y/n felt the weight of its responsibilities press down on her.

Cregan, her brother, was a warrior, a leader born to the battlefield. He thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the shouts of battle. The day-to-day running of Winterfell, the endless paperwork, the constant negotiations, the delicate dance of alliances and diplomacy… these fell upon his shoulders. He was a silent force, a steady hand guiding the ship through the turbulent seas of politics and power.

Reaching the grand hall, Y/n paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. Their conversations buzzed like a hive of bees, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. She longed to be amongst them, to share in the joy of a feast, to ease the burden of her thoughts, but the weight of the impending winter hung heavy on her heart.

The biting wind whipped around Y/n's face as she ascended the final steps to the maester's tower. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and old magic, a familiar and comforting aroma despite its inherent chill. Inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the piles of scrolls and tomes that littered the floor. Y/n's boots clicked against the stone floor, a sharp counterpoint to the rustle of the raven that perched on the window sill, its beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence. The bird was a harbinger of news, always, and today, its arrival had filled her with a sense of foreboding dread.

“You've got ravens in your hair,” the maester, Alyn, said with a dry chuckle, his voice raspy from years of whispering secrets into ancient texts. He was a frail figure, his fingers gnarled and stained with ink, his eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to encompass the entirety of the world. She brushed at her hair, dislodging a stray feather that had become entangled in its braids. 'They know I'm coming for them,' she said, her voice tight. 'They always seem to.'

Alyn nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. 'King's Landing sends more than its fair share of worries north,' he said, gesturing to the table in the centre of the room. It was an imposing piece, carved from ancient oak, the surface groaning under the weight of a mountain of sealed parchments. Y/n sighed, letting the weight of the responsibility settle upon her shoulders. Every one of those scrolls contained a new burden, a new demand, a new headache she would have to unravel. The North had always been harsh, a land of unforgiving winters and fiercer people.

'What's the news, maester?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Alyn shuffled through the pile of scrolls, his gaze searching for a particular one. “They're now threatening us with dragon fire, my lady,” he stated solemnly, the chain around his neck clinking softly.

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pile of letters that lay on the table before her. Her jaw clenched, her anger rising like a tide. “Burn them,” she commanded, her voice sharp and decisive. “Burn all the letters. We will not answer, nor will we cower.”

Alyn's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Y/n's resolve only grew stronger. “Prince Jacaerys should be here any day. We will make good with the Blacks.”

Maester Alyn leaned back in his chair, studying her face. 'Are you certain, my lady? This is a dangerous game we play. The Green's dragons—"

“Are no more fearsome than the winter that forged us,” Y/n cut him off. She moved to the window, gazing out over the frost-covered courtyard. “My brother may be in the north of the Wall, but we will not be cowed by southern threats.”

Her words echoed through the frigid halls, carrying with them a resolute determination that belied her youth. “You are right, my lady,” he said at last.

Y/n turned to him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Maester Alyn. Please, have the letters burned. We must prepare for the prince's arrival. We’ll show him true Northern hospitality. And maester," she added, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, "make sure we have plenty of that strong northern ale. We'll need it for the toast when we pledge our support to Queen Rhaenyra."

Maester Alyn nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reached for the candle on his desk, ready to carry out her orders. "As you wish, my lady. there's one more," he said softly, holding out a sealed parchment. "It arrived separately... and it's addressed to you personally."

Y/n hesitated, then took the letter. The seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but something about it seemed different. More... personal. With a swift motion, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, and her face hardened.

"It's from Aegon," she said, her voice tight. She began to read aloud:

"My dearest y/n,

The silence between us cuts like shards of Valyrian steel, slicing through my soul. Do you remember the stolen moments in the godswood, under the watchful eyes of the old gods? The promises we made beneath the heart tree?I await your reply to our ravens with bated breath, much as I once awaited your stolen glances across the great hall.

But make no mistake, my white wolf. Your beauty will not shield the North from my wrath should you choose wrongly. Aemond grows impatient and Vhagar hungers for blood. With one word, we could reduce Winterfell to nothing but ash and bone.

Remember this, my sweetling: fire destroys ice. And dragons do not forgive.

Choose wisely. Choose me.

Yours in fire and blood, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"

y/n’s hand shook as she finished reading, her knuckles white where she gripped the parchment. The maester watched her, concern etched on his weathered face.

"My lady," he began cautiously, "what—"

"Burn it," Y/n interrupted, her voice cold as the Wall itself. "Burn it with the rest." She tossed the letter onto the pile, her eyes blazing with a fury to match any dragon's flame.

…

Amidst the icy grip of the winter, the last traces of sunlight had long since disappeared beyond the horizon when a thunderous beating of dragon wings shattered the bleak silence. Y/n stood in Winterfell's snowy courtyard, her chilled breath leaving clouds in the frigid air as she looked up to witness the dark shape descending from the sky.

With ethereal grace surprising for its size, the dragon landed with a resounding thud and steam rising from its scales as they met the frosty ground. As its rider dismounted, y/n found herself frozen in place, her carefully prepared greeting dying on her lips.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon strode towards her, his Valyrian features softened by Stark coloring. Dark curls framed his face, windswept from the flight. But it was his eyes that caught y/n off guard - soft and kind, yet holding a depth that spoke of burdens she had yet to find out.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Y/n's heart raced as she stood before the prince, a stranger yet somehow familiar. She couldn't explain the sudden pull she felt towards him, as if they shared a connection beyond words. But at the same time, fear and doubt crept in, questioning if this was all just a dream or a cruel trick of fate.

Jacaerys approached, his movements as graceful as the dragon he rode. His brow furrowed slightly at her silence. He glanced around, perhaps wondering if he'd made some misstep. Finally, he bowed low, breaking the spell. "Lady Stark," he said, his voice a low, warm timbre that sent a shiver down her spine. " I am honored to meet you. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Y/n blinked, suddenly aware of the eyes of the entire courtyard upon them. She straightened, pulling her mask of cool composure back into place. "Prince Jacaerys," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Winterfell welcomes you. Please, come inside where it's warm. We have much to discuss."

As she turned to lead him into the castle, Y/n caught the prince studying her with curiosity. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a challenging look of her own. Whatever this feeling was, she couldn't afford to let it distract her. The fate of the North hung in the balance.

Yet as they walked, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of his presence just behind her, like the warmth of a flame at her back in the cold northern night.

…

The Brown Room lived up to its name, with rich walnut paneling and fur-draped chairs that spoke of comfort in the face of long northern nights. Y/N led Jacaerys inside, the scent of beeswax candles and old parchment greeting them. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the cluttered table where ledgers and letters vied for space.

Y/N gestured to a high-backed chair. "Please, sit," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She reached for a decanter, the crystal cool against her fingers. "Would you care for some wine, my Lord? It's a Dornish red – my favorite one."

Jacaerys settled into the chair, his eyes roaming the room before settling on Y/N. "Thank you, my lady. And please, call me Jace."

As she poured, a drop of wine escaped, staining the cuff of her sleeve crimson. Y/N barely noticed, too aware of Jace's proximity, the warmth radiating from him in the cool room.

"What did you wish to discuss, my lady?" Jace broached softly, accepting the goblet with a nod of thanks.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. Y/N's heavy fur cloak, a necessity in Winterfell's drafty halls, now seemed unbearable. She shed it, draping it over the tall oak chair behind her. The firelight caught the silver direwolf clasp as it settled.

"Our support," Y/N replied, forcing herself to meet Jace's gaze. His eyes, she noticed, were flecked with gold in the candlelight. She swallowed hard and continued, "We have two thousand men. Strong northern fighters. We call them Winter Wolves."

Jace leaned forward, interest piqued. "Winter Wolves? An apt name, I'd wager."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile. "Indeed. They're as fierce as their namesake and twice as loyal." She moved to the table, rifling through the papers until she found a particular map. As she spread it out, the familiar scent of ink and parchment helped ground her.

"Here," she pointed, "is where we've gathered them. They await only my brother's word - or mine, in his absence."

Jace stood, moving to study the map. His arm brushed Y/N's as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of leather and something else - perhaps the lingering scent of dragon scales. Jacaerys studied the map closely, tracing his fingers over the different markings and symbols. He was impressed by the precision and detail of the Winter Wolves' gathering points.

"Your brother must be a formidable leader to have gathered such a force in such a short time," Jace remarked, straightening up and turning to face Y/N.

"Yes, he is," Y/N said with pride.

"This is... more than we dared hope for," Jace admitted, his voice low and warm.

Outside, a wolf howled in the distance, a lonely sound that seemed to echo Y/N's inner turmoil. She squared her shoulders, pushing away the unwelcome feelings. Jace's brow furrowed as he studied Y/N's face. "My lady, are you well? You seem... flushed."

Y/N startled, realizing she'd been staring. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, painfully aware of the dampness at her temples. "I'm fine, my- Jace," she corrected herself. "I was... under the weather a few days ago. Nothing serious."

Jace's eyes softened with concern. Jace's hand hovers near Y/N's elbow, his fingers poised as if ready to reach out and catch her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of his skin, and she can sense the electricity between them, even though he's not quite touching her. "Perhaps you should sit. We needn't discuss everything tonight."

The gentleness in his voice made Y/N's heart flutter. She sank into a nearby chair, Jace following suit. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, giving her his full attention. His eyes were pools of liquid silver, soft and caring as they searched Y/N's face.

"Tell me," he said softly, "how are you truly faring? It can't be easy, managing the North in your brother's absence."

Y/N's carefully constructed walls began to crumble under his earnest gaze. "It's... challenging," she admitted. "Especially with the constant stream of demands from King's Landing."

Jace's expression darkened. "Ah, yes. I've heard whispers of Aegon's... correspondence."

Y/N couldn't hide the flash of frustration that crossed her face. "Correspondence," she scoffed. "Threats, more like. Your cousin seems to think he can bully the North into submission."

"My cousin," Jace said, his voice low and intense, "forgets that winter roses have thorns." He reached out, this time taking Y/N's hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. "You needn't face this alone, my lady."

Y/N found herself lost in his eyes, warm and sincere. "I... thank you, Jace," she murmured.

A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. Jace glanced at the flames, then back to Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. "You know, where I come from, they say the dragonfires pale in comparison to the warmth of a northern welcome."

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. "Is that so? And how does our hospitality measure up?"

Jace's thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his touch feather-light. "Oh, it exceeds all expectations, my lady. Though I must confess, I find myself most warmed by present company."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but for once, she didn't mind the heat. A small smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she gazed into his captivating eyes. "You're quite the charmer, Prince Jacaerys."

"Only when properly inspired," is all he replied.

…

The pale light of dawn crept over Winterfell's stone walls, casting long shadows across the frosted courtyard. Y/N stood in the stables, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

Her fingers, slightly numb from the cold, worked methodically on the leather straps of her horse's saddle. The familiar motions were soothing - tighten, adjust, check, repeat. The rich scent of hay and horse sweat mingled with the earthy aroma of leather oil.

As she worked, Y/N caught herself glancing repeatedly towards the castle, anticipation building in her chest.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her heart quicken. Jace appeared in the stable doorway, silhouetted against the brightening sky. He stifled a yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Y/N noticed the slight disarray of his dark curls and felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to smooth them.

"My lady," Jace greeted, his voice husky with sleep. He cleared his throat, offering a sheepish smile. "You're up early."

Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "The North waits for no one, Your Grace," she replied, handing him a set of reins. Their fingers brushed, and Y/N pretended not to notice the warmth that spread from the point of contact. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

As they set out, the rhythmic clop of hooves against cobblestone gave way to the muffled thud of earth. The misty woods enveloped them, tendrils of fog curling around the horses' legs. Droplets of dew clung to Y/N's eyelashes, refracting the weak sunlight into tiny prisms.

Y/N led the way, her posture relaxed and confident in the saddle. She navigated the invisible path with ease, ducking low-hanging branches and steering around hidden roots. Behind her, she could hear Jace's horse snorting softly, its rider muttering gentle reassurances.

"I can hardly see the path," Jace called out, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Y/N twisted in her saddle, catching Jace's eye with a mischievous glint in her own. "That's because there isn't one," she replied, allowing a rare, playful smile to cross her features.

The forest was a symphony of morning sounds. Birds trilled their dawn chorus, their songs echoing through the mist-shrouded trees. Small creatures rustled in the underbrush, sending leaves skittering across the forest floor. The earthy scent of damp soil and pine needles filled the air, punctuated by the occasional whiff of wild mint when Y/N's horse trampled a hidden patch.

Hours seemed to pass as they wound their way through the increasingly dense forest. Y/N found herself hyper-aware of Jace's presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her back, and fought the urge to glance over her shoulder more often than necessary.

Finally, they came upon a rocky outcropping. Y/N dismounted with practiced grace, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. She patted her horse's flank, murmuring soft words of thanks. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jace dismount, noting the slight stiffness in his movements after the long ride.

Jace stretched, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. His brow furrowed as he surveyed their surroundings. "My lady," he began, a hint of amusement in his tone, "I hate to question your expertise, but this looks suspiciously like a dead end."

Y/N's laugh echoed off the rocks, startling a nearby bird into flight. "Patience, Your Grace," she said, her eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. "The best treasures are often hidden."

She reached out, taking Jace's hand in hers. His palm was warm against her cool fingers, and she felt a flutter in her stomach at the contact. Pushing the feeling aside, she led him towards what appeared to be a solid rock face.

As they drew closer, a narrow opening revealed itself, barely visible unless one knew exactly where to look. Y/N squeezed through first, tugging Jace along behind her. The passage was tight, the rough stone scraping against their shoulders. Cool, damp air enveloped them, carrying the faint mineral scent of underground water.

Jace's breath was warm on the back of Y/N's neck as they inched forward in the dim light. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the way his chest occasionally brushed against her back in the narrow confines.

Suddenly, the passage opened up. Y/N stepped aside, allowing Jace to fully enter the cavern. She watched his face intently, savoring the moment his eyes widened in awe.

Sunlight streamed through an opening high above, illuminating a spectacular waterfall. The water, tinted an ethereal light blue by minerals in the rock, cascaded down in a thunderous rush before crashing into a pool below. Mist rose from the impact, creating tiny rainbows where the light hit just right.

"By the gods," Jace breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the falls. He turned to Y/N, wonder written across his features. "It's incredible."

Y/N felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his reaction. "Welcome to my secret place," she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. "Not even Cregan knows about this."

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice low and sincere.

They settled on a smooth rock near the pool's edge, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The mist from the falls cooled their skin, a welcome relief after the long ride. Y/N pulled out a small bundle from her saddlebag - bread, cheese, and a flask of sweet northern ale.

The conversation lulled, replaced by the constant rush of the waterfall. Y/N traced patterns in the damp sand with a stick, her eyes distant. Jace watched her, noting the slight furrow in her brow.

"A copper for your thoughts, my lady?" he asked softly.

Y/N looked up, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. "Just thinking about duties," she said. "They never seem to end, do they?"

Jace nodded, understanding in his eyes. "The burden of our birthrights," he agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be free of them."

"Free," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the mist between them. She sighed, tossing the stick into the pool. "Cregan writes often of my duties. He's pressuring me more and more to find a husband."

Jace's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "I... I apologize if I'm intruding, but may I ask why you haven't? Surely you've had no shortage of suitors."

Y/N met his gaze, finding unexpected comfort in the warmth she saw there. "Because I want love," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want a simple life, filled with moments like this." She gestured to the cavern around them. "But how can I promise forever to someone when tomorrow is so uncertain? How can I build a life amidst a war?"

Jace was quiet for a moment, considering her words. "Love in wartime," he mused. "It's not an easy path, but perhaps... perhaps it's the very thing that makes the fight worthwhile."

Y/N felt her heart quicken at his words. "And what of you, Prince Jacaerys? What does your heart seek in these troubled times?"

Jace's gaze softened as he looked at her. "I seek a partner," he said quietly. "Someone to stand beside me, not behind me. Someone who understands duty but hasn't lost sight of dreams." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Someone who knows the value of secret waterfalls and stolen moments."

The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility. Y/N felt drawn to him, like a moth to flame, but held herself back. This was not the time, not with so much at stake.

"It seems we both seek something rare and precious," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Jace nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Perhaps the gods will be kind," he murmured.

…

The iron-bound gates of Winterfell groaned open, admitting Y/N and Jace as the sun dipped below the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke, punctuated by the sharp tang of approaching frost. Their horses' hooves clattered against the worn cobblestones, the sound echoing off the ancient stone walls.

As they dismounted, Y/N felt the day's exertion in her muscles, a pleasant ache that spoke of adventure and freedom. She caught Jace's eye, noticing how the fading light caught the silver threads in his jerkin, making them shimmer like starlight.

"Jace," she began, her voice low and tinged with an emotion she dared not name, "today was—"

"Lady Y/N! Lady Y/N!" The frantic shout shattered the moment like a stone through ice.

Y/N's transformation was instantaneous and mesmerizing. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting as if an invisible crown had settled upon her brow. The softness in her eyes hardened to flint, sharp enough to cut.

"What is it?" she demanded, her voice crisp as a midwinter morning.

The guard skidded to a halt before them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My lady, there's been... an incident. You're needed urgently."

Y/N nodded curtly. "Lead on," she commanded, then turned to Jace. "Your Grace, I must attend to this. Perhaps we could speak later..."

Jace stepped forward, close enough that Y/N could smell the leather of his riding gloves and a hint of something spicy—cloves, perhaps. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to accompany you.”

Y/N hesitated, then inclined her head in agreement. They followed the guard, their footsteps echoing through Winterfell's torch-lit corridors. The warmth of the castle was a stark contrast to the chill outside, yet Y/N felt a different kind of coldness settling in her bones.

They entered a small, dim room that reeked of fear and desperation. A man knelt on the floor, the rattle of his chains a counterpoint to his broken sobs. In the flickering torchlight, his tear-stained face looked ghastly, almost skull-like.

"What has he done?" Y/N's voice cut through the room like a blade.

The man looked up, his eyes wide and pleading. Y/N's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, her words sharp and filled with accusation. The man shrunk back in his seat, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately tried to defend himself.

"My lady," he stammered, "I beg you... I was only going to King's Landing, to pledge myself to King Aegon, my children. Is that such a crime?" His voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, his hands shaking as he awaited her judgement.

Y/N's gaze bore into him, seeking any sign of deceit or treachery. Observation seemed to be her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with expert precision. Y/N's lips thinned. "If you wished to leave, you could have done so freely. We do not hold men against their will in the North. Or have you forgotten our ways so quickly?"

The guard cleared his throat, the sound like gravel underfoot. "There's more, my lady. He attempted to steal half the winter rations and one of our best horses. Caught him in the act, we did."

The man's sobs crescendoed. "You can't behead an innocent man!" he wailed, his voice cracking. "You and Lord Cregan, you'll be the death of House Stark! The North will remember this betrayal!"

Y/N stood motionless, but Jace saw the almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight tremor in her clenched fists. The room fell silent save for the man's ragged breathing and the soft hiss of the torches.

Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to keep her composure. Jace watched as Y/N stood motionless, her face a mask of stoic determination, but he could see the anger burning in her gaze.

"Send him to the Wall," Jace suggested, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Y/N's chest. "It's a harsh sentence, yes, but one that allows him to redeem himself in service to the realm."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Or I could let him go," she mused, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then, what message would that send? That theft and betrayal go unpunished in the North?"

"Take his fingers, my lady," the guard interjected. "It's an old punishment, aye, but effective. He'd bear the mark of his crime, but keep his life and limbs... most of them, at least."

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and in that moment, Jace saw the weight of the North resting on her shoulders. When she opened them again, they gleamed with resolve.

"You've given me much to consider," she said, her voice steady as the foundations of Winterfell itself. "I'll not make this decision in haste. Guard, take him to the cells. See that he's fed and given water. I'll pass judgment when the sun rises."

As the guard led the prisoner away, his pleas fading down the corridor, Y/N turned to Jace. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp planes of her cheekbones and the weariness in her eyes.

Jace moved towards Y/N, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, a welcome warmth against the coldness that had nestled in her chest. He spoke gently, never breaking eye contact with her. "You carry your burden with grace, my lady," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing.

Y/N held his gaze for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the comfort of his words. But as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. She took a step back, "Grace," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grace is a luxury, Your Grace. In the North, we survive on harsher virtues."

Her eyes, once warm and inviting, now held a wintry gleam. The soft curves of her face seemed to harden, as if the very stone of Winterfell was seeping into her bones. With those words, Y/N turned away, her cloak swirling around her like a shroud. As she walked deeper into the shadows of Winterfell's halls, Jace was left with the unsettling feeling that he'd glimpsed not just the Lady of Winterfell, but a portent of the harsh days to come.

The torches guttered in a sudden draft, and for a moment, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the light returned, Y/N was gone, leaving behind only the echo of her words and the lingering chill of premonition.

...

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[thrasherella]

[warning: drug use - marijuana]

Werebear boyfriend who is the chillest

like

absolute epitome of stoner boy

he invites you over to his big, cozy den

cottagecore vibes for sure; lots of earthy tones and wooden touches

sitting next to him on his couch

his figure towers over you

your mind starting to wander to thoughts of what else those large, thick fingers are capable of doing while he rolls you both a joint

licking your lips as you watch his deft tongue flick out against the paper to seal it

wishing it was dragging across your skin instead...

smoking always makes him so horny

it doesn't take long for those fingers to find their way to your breasts, your hips, your thighs; squeezing and teasing you in just the right ways, testing your skin gently with blunt claws, goosebumps creeping along your neck and arms.

he fucks you so good right there on the couch

pulling you onto his lap

making you sit on his fat cock

helping you bounce up and down along his thick length

making sure you take every inch of him as he fills you completely

"Fuuuck baby, you're taking me so well...that's it, such a pretty girl..."

afterwards he takes you out for taco bell

and after a glorious meal he drives you around for a bit

listening to the radio and talking

the streetlights shining through the windows on his dark brown fur making him look almost velvety.

he rolls another joint and finds a somewhat private spot to park and pulls you into the backseat

eating your pussy like he was starved

his tongue thrusting all the way inside

nose bumping against your swollen clit

making you squirm and writhe beneath him deliciously as he takes his time

seemingly unconcerned about the possibility that someone could walk up on the car at any moment

making you cum over and over into his waiting mouth, greedily lapping up your juices

some dripping down his chin

"Mmmm baby you taste so sweet..."

he then finally climbs on top of you

as much as he can in the cramped space of the car

your bodies so close together as he slides in his thick, throbbing cock in one smooth motion

your breath catches in your throat as he makes you take his entire length, bottoming out

your abdomen swelling

grunting and growling as he pounds you relentlessly

hard and fast

making the car shake and rock

"take all my cock you little slut, I know you can take it, that's a good girl..."

when you finally make it back to his place

he puts on a movie and you collapse together on the couch

you laying on top of his large frame

head on his soft, furry chest

hearing his strong and steady heartbeat every time you press your ear against him

one of his big arms around you, warm against your lower back

you're not even halfway through the movie when you both fall asleep

[the-badger-mole]

Destined

Zuko hated the idea of destiny. It seemed that nothing he actually chose for himself really mattered. Did anyone ask if he wanted to be the Fire Lord to lead the country out of war? Did anyone care? No, it seemed they did not. When he tried to talk to his uncle, he got nowhere. Iroh empathized with his nephew-of course he did- but it was not his destiny to lead the Fire Nation. No, his destiny was a tea shop where he could make small talk with his regulars.

Bitterness got him nowhere, though. Zuko realized that on one level. On another level, he wasn't even twenty yet, and he was already finding grey hairs from the stress. He loved his country. He loved it enough to shudder at the idea of the power vacuum that would form if he should ever abdicate. The throne, he'd realized long ago, was his destiny. Sometimes, destiny felt like a shackle.

Katara felt like a prisoner. She loved Aang. Of course she loved him. She wouldn't be here if she didn't. He'd chosen the Southern Air Temple as their home, and she'd loved being introduced to his culture. Truly she had. But Katara also wished that Aang would be more open to incorporating more of her culture, too. It wasn't like everything the in the Southern Water Tribe had to do with bringing animal products into the home. Katara had given up her warm furs and hearty stews. For the most part. She still partook whenever she was home, which was oftener than Aang liked, but not enough for Katara. She felt like a foreigner in the wide halls of the air temple. Especially since the Acolytes had taken residence.

The Acolytes were a particularly sore point for Katara. The way they fawned over Aang hit the back of her mouth like a bitter melon and made her jaw clench. Aang swore up and down that she didn't need to feel intimidated by them. That once she'd gotten used to the way things worked around the air temple, she would feel much better. And she would get used to it. She had to. It was her destiny to be with Aang forever. He was the the powerful bender she was supposed to end up with. That's what Aang kept reminding her when she brought up how uncomfortable his relationship with some of the Acolytes made her. That's what he said when he failed to stop them from making comments about her being the Avatar's First Girlfriend, or from sticking their noses into her business about the few Southern Tribe artifacts she kept in her own room. So what if they happened to be made of bits of animals? She wasn't going to get rid of the ram seal horn her father and brother painstakingly carved for her, or the fur parka her Gran Gran sewed for her no matter how many disapproving looks she got over them.

"We'll figure it out," Aang often told her. "You and me are destined, so it has to work out."

Destiny felt like a weight. Duty more than inclination steered the ship, but maybe the ship would be better dashed against the rocks and sunk to the ocean floor.

It was completely by accident that they discovered they felt the same way about destiny. Zuko had been looking for a place to hide from the foreign diplomats attempting to corner him into discussions he was far too overwhelmed, and they far too many drinks in to discuss at the opening banquet of the sixth annual Summit. He found Katara had not only discovered his favorite hiding place, but had set up camp with an assortment of grilled meats on a stick- a Fire Nation specialty that had until Zuko's reign been more popular among the populace than the upper class.

"Sorry," Zuko said, already backing out of the secluded balcony.

"For what?" Katara asked. "This is your home. You have more a right to be here than I do." She had a point, Zuko had to admit. Not out loud, but still.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he told Katara.

"You haven't," she assured him. She gestured to her meal with a rueful smile. "I just didn't want Aang shaking his head at me while I ate. I don't mind having company... Or would you rather not have company?"

"I didn't really want company," Zuko admitted. "Not of most people here. But I wouldn't mind yours." Katara smiled and slid her plate towards him.

"I'm not going to be able to finish all of this on my own," she told him. "My eyes were bigger than my stomach this time." Zuko took a skewer awkwardly and sat beside Katara.

"Is Aang really that bad that you have to eat meat in secret?" he asked half-joking. Katara rolled her eyes.

"Killing animals just to eat is wrong!" she mimicked his preaching tone. "How would you feel if it was Appa or Momo you were being served?"

"Sorry I asked," Zuko chuckled. "I won't tell about your secret meal if you don't tell that I'm hiding from King Kuei."

"Well, he is very intimidating," Katara chuckled.

"You laugh," Zuko said dryly. "Have you ever been cornered by him? The guy can never just get to the point. He has to talk around the issue in circles until I want to scream at him to just spit it out. But I can't do that because I'm the Fire Lord." Zuko scowled off into the distance and took an aggressive bite out of his skewer.

"If it helps," Katara said hesitantly. She cleared her throat. "If it helps, I think you're doing an amazing job."

"Yeah?" Zuko smirked at her. "Glad someone thinks so."

"I'm sure a lot of people think so," Katara insisted. She turned towards him and held his gaze. "Zuko, you're doing an amazing job as Fire Lord. I'm glad it's you who ended up on the throne."

"I know, I know," Zuko scoffed. "It's my destiny."

"No," Katara said slowly. "I think...I think it's more than destiny. I think you were the right person for the job because you chose to be."

"Is that what you think?" Zuko asked, raising his brow at her. Katara nodded firmly.

"What is destiny, anyway?" she asked. She sounded strangely emotional. Zuko eyed her worriedly. Katara held a skewer in a grip so tight, Zuko was worried the stick would snap. But she took a breath and found a wavery smile.

"I think what makes you such a great Fire Lord is the fact that you care," she said. "Maybe it was your destiny to lead the Fire Nation, but it's who you are that makes you so good at it."

"You think so?" Zuko asked. Katara nodded firmly.

"Just because you're destined for something doesn't necessarily mean it's supposed to be something good. I think..." Katara frowned and thought for a moment. "I think maybe someone's destiny isn't supposed to be good. After all, it seems like Ozai was destined to be Fire Lord. At least for a little while. Even the war must have been destined. So if destiny can be good or bad, then maybe it's up to us to decide which it's going to be."

Zuko had the distinct feeling that Katara wasn't just talking about his destiny as Fire Lord. This felt more personal. This felt like a moment for him to say something profound. He had nothing.

"Not everything is destiny," he tried, hoping that he could help her with whatever it was that had made her so morose.

"How do you know which is which, then?" Katara asked. Zuko shrugged. He leaned back against the wall and looked up at the stars.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe...maybe trying to identify destiny is a mistake. Maybe...it's more important to try to do what's right. Even when it's hard."

"But how do I know what's right?" Katara huffed, and leaned back against the wall beside Zuko.

"i don't really know." Zuko chewed his lip pensively. "When Uncle told me he wouldn't take the throne, I thought it was a huge mistake. I thought he was the best fit for it. After all, of the two of us, he was actually groomed for the part. But after I took the throne....? I don't know...It didn't feel right immediately. It still doesn't feel right to me sometimes, but I did it. At the time, I resented uncle for not at least taking the throne until I was of age, but now that I've been Fire Lord for a few years, I get it. Uncle...he is a good man, but he did some terrible things. He's tried to make up for it, but it was never going to be enough. Not enough to expect everyone to be comfortable with him on the throne. I get it now. I think me taking the throne was the right thing to do. It has been hard. It's been lonely, too. But it was the best call either of us could make.

"But you didn't know it was right when you did it," Katara pointed out.

"No," Zuko tapped his finger thoughtfully on the flagstone. "I don't think I was completely sure that I was the best fit for Fire Lord. I still think Uncle would've been the better choice, history aside. I think there are a lot of much smarter people who probably deserve to be here instead of me. But I also know that there wasn't anyone who had a shot at taking the throne who would care about reparations to the other countries, or about rebuilding for the lower classes. I love my people, Katara, and I think...I think that helped me figure out what I needed to do, even if I don't always like it. I almost never like it."

Katara blinked hard against the tears that had suddenly sprang up in her eyes. She reached out for his and squeezed it tight. She knew how hard leading was for Zuko at times. He did it gracefully, though. He did it fairly, and she could see the progress the Fire Nation had made under him. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was substantial. If only she could feel that, at least. If only her destiny could make her feel half so accomplished.

"I wish I didn't know what my destiny was," she sighed. "Maybe if I felt like I had even as much choice as you have, I'd feel better." Zuko shot her a strange look. He had so many questions, but none of them felt appropriate. Instead he sighed and scooted closer to Katara.

"Maybe you need to focus less on what you think your destiny is and focus more on what you feel is right," he said. "I know you. Your sense of right and wrong is...well, it's unshakeable. I trust your judgement, even if you don't. If you were making the right choices, you wouldn't feel this conflicted. Even if your choice made you uncomfortable, if you thought it was the right one...well, you wouldn't be on a balcony alone eating secret yakitori." Zuko held up a skewer and waved it at Katara. She laughed and pushed his hand away.

"What if I make a choice and it's the wrong one?" Katara asked.

"I don't see that happening," Zuko said, grinning at her. "But even if you do make a mistake, I think you're smart enough to fix it. I'd help you, if you wanted. And so would Sokka and the Chief. So would all of us." Katara flinched at that. Zuko pretended not to notice.

"What would you do if you didn't know your destiny?" he asked. Katara sat quietly for a long while, looking thoughtfully across the garden below. She absently ran her thumb over Zuko's fingers.

"I think ...I think I'd like to go back to the Northern Tribe," she said. "To finish learning healing from Yugoda. Then I'd like to go the Foggy Swamp and learn swampbending. Then I'd like to find every copy of Southern style bending scrolls I could get my hands on and learn that, too."

"Then you should!" Zuko insisted. "Do that. I'll help when I can. My grandfather kept things from every nation he could. I'm having everything organized and sent back to where they came from. I'm working on the Earth Kingdom now, but I don't have anyone to help sort through all the Water Tribe artifacts. The job is yours, if you want it.

"Are you serious?" Katara gasped. Zuko nodded with a grin.

"I was planning to ask your father to recommend someone soon," he told Katara. "Maybe it's your destiny to do that, for whatever it's worth. I mean, it's an important job, but it's not a long one. Maybe six months to a year. But maybe it'll give you a chance to think about what you want. What you think it the right thing for you to do."

Katara considered his offer for a moment. Her initial reaction was to insist that she couldn't do that. That Aang needed her. But she bit her tongue and thought. What did Aang need her for? She cooked his meals, kept the Air Temple tidy, and kept his diary for him. It was important to keep the Avatar on task, but was it right? Was it right for her?

Soon, all the points in favor of it presented themselves. Sure keeping the Avatar on track was important, but reclaiming all of the Southern style bending she could? Learning everything she could about waterbending? The thought made her heart ache with a longing she'd almost forgotten how to feel. If Aang really was her destiny, he'd understand why she wanted to do this. After all, he was also working to reclaim Air Nomad culture.

It was tempting.

It was tempting.

It was...

"I think..." Katara said slowly. She cleared her throat again and turned to Zuko. "I think I'll do that."

"Really?" Zuko's face lit up.

"Really," Katara said, nodding once sharply. Then she smirked at Zuko. "You're going to get sick of having me around."

"Never that," he swore. "Never, ever that."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

The Beast Inside

Werewolf!reader finally! I've been wanting to write a werewolf rampage for quite a while but never quite got around to it until now!!!

Summary: Reader loses control of the wolf and tries to come to terms with the beast inside all whilst taking care of Astarion.

The paladin’s blade comes down, swinging in an arc of light and you stand there, eyes wide with shock as the steel tears through your flesh, carving open your shoulder. Blood sprays from the wound, staining your clothes red with your own blood.

“Y/N!” You can hear the distant shouts of your companions, calling your name. Your wound burns, probably from the infusion of the paladin’s abilities in the strike that connected and blood roars in your ears. All you can think about is how that same paladin had captured Astarion, had their way with him, nearly killed your vampire lover, and the beast inside takes over, roaring in delight.

You will not lose him.

You feel your bones cracking and skin stretching as claws take the place of fingers, fur sprouting from your body. Your jaw lengthens, teeth sharpening into fangs and your nose becomes narrower. The wound in your shoulder begins to seal itself shut, flesh growing back and knitted by furred skin. The sharp metallic scent of blood fills your nose and you inhale it all. You can smell the fear in the air as the paladin shrinks back, greatsword pointed at you but the weapon is rattling.

That sword will never pierce you again.

The paladin’s hands shake as your wild gaze locks onto them, yellow eyes burning with an inhumane thirst for blood, saliva dripping from long thick fangs nestled in powerful jaws. A howl bursts forth from deep within you, claws flexing and you pounce on your prey, sending the paladin crashing to the floor. Armour is ripped apart like paper underneath the werewolf’s claws and jaws snap, crushing the helmet to reveal the paladin’s terrified face.

“Please –” Their cries are cut short as sharp claws tear open their exposed flesh, ripping their face in two. More blood gushes out and the paladin is already dead but the beast keeps going, jaws tearing the paladin’s body into a bloody mess. The werewolf stands back up in the sticky mess of blood and guts, crimson dripping from its muzzle and takes a step towards the paladin’s frightened companions.

The cleric drops to his knees and tries to scuttle away but the werewolf is faster, tearing open his throat with its jaws and devours the chunk of meat torn away. The werewolf snarls, reaching back into the convulsing body and rips away another chunk, sending blood flying everywhere. The body finally stills, having lost too much blood but the werewolf continues to rip at the flesh piece by piece, painting the entire floor a deep red.

Its nostrils flare, blazing yellow eyes turning towards the last member of the paladin’s party. The vampire hunter stares at the beast, shaky hands aiming a crossbow at its head. Its lips curl upwards, almost like a grin as it stalks towards the hunter, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints behind.

“You monster!” An arrow is fired, piercing through the beast’s face and causing it to stumble back, but it regains its footing just as quickly, its head snapping forward. The maniacal grin still remains, with the beast’s blood streaming from the wound. Crimson fangs bare at the hunter, yellow eyes gleaming as the beast reaches up with a clawed hand and rips the arrow free, laughing. The throaty laugh sends shivers up everyone’s spines as it devolves into a howl and claws swipe at the hunter, who barely manages to dodge the blow. The beast snarls, jaws snapping at thin air as the hunter moves out of the way, reloading his crossbow.

Another arrow is fired but the beast dodges in time. Its clawed feet dig into the ceramic floor tiles and it launches itself with terrifying speed at the unprepared hunter. Claws slam into the hunter’s chest, sending him crashing into the wall behind and knocking all breath out of his body. The werewolf bares its bloody fangs, jaws clamping around the hunter’s throat to crush through flesh and bone alike, coating its chest in the blood that sprayed from the fatal wound. It tears into the corpse, ripping it apart with ferocious savagery and gorges itself on the flesh until it is satisfied.

Then it turns to Y/N’s companions.

A soft growl rumbles from its chest and it stalks towards where Astarion lies, curled up and shivering. Lae’zel takes a step towards the beast, ready to strike it down before it can harm the vampire but Halsin holds her back, giving a shake of his head.

It feels its bones cracking and skin stretching once more as its body shrinks back into its human form. Claws shorten back into fingers and toes, its furred chest shrinks back into a female’s chest, its jaw shortening back into a human mouth. Fangs recede, making way for human teeth and pointed ears round themselves again to nestle behind hair.

But the blood remains.

“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him with your bloody hand. He flinches when your fingertips bump into his skin, a quiet whimper escaping his lips and you immediately pull back. You sit on your haunches, at a loss of what to do. You want to help, you want to pull your lover into your arms and hold him tight, whisper away all his pain but you can’t even touch him.

“It’s me, Y/N,” you try again. You ignore the sticky feeling of blood that covers hands, feet and chest and hold out a hand with your palm upturned. “You’re safe now. No one can harm you anymore, I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t look at me,” Astarion croaks. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“It doesn’t make me love you any less,” you say firmly. “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I’ve seen you at your highest, neither has changed the fact that I love you. Nothing ever will.”

You sit there, patiently. “I didn’t want you to see this either. The beast that lives inside me, the real me. I hate it, that part of me. We all have at least one part of ourselves that we hate, maybe we even hate all parts of ourselves, but what we do with that part makes us who we are.”

The rest of your companions quietly make their exit, giving the two of them some time alone. You give them a grateful nod as they leave and turn back to Astarion who hasn’t moved an inch.

“You’re strong, Astarion. Far stronger than you think, far stronger than me. You accept the part you hate about yourself and live with it while I pretend it doesn’t exist, suppressing the beast. I wish I could be like you.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I admire you, and love you no matter how much you despise yourself.”

Astarion curls tighter into a ball, burying his face into his knees. You gently place your blood-stained cloak over him and simply continue to sit there, facing away from him to give him some privacy whilst keeping an eye on him via your sharpened hearing. You hear him drawing shaky breaths out of habit, miniscule sobs slipping past his lips on occasion and your heart breaks. If only you were stronger, faster, more powerful, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to suffer like this, maybe you would have been able to prevent all this from happening.

Your thoughts begin to devour you, thrusting you into a swirling haze of self-hatred and self-doubt. They crowd out everything else, ensnaring you in their web and trapping you in darkness but two quietly spoken words pierce through the cloud and the dark haze begins to part.

“Thank you.”

You sit up with a start, turning to find your vampire lover has shifted into a sitting position, cloak still firmly bundled around him. He looks at you with tear-stained ruby eyes and shuffles closer, leaning against you and burying his face into your shoulder, ignoring the blood that coats it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For yelling at you.”

“All’s been forgiven long ago,” you hum. Your arm hovers around him, unsure of whether he would welcome a hug but he pulls your arm around his waist, washing away all doubt immediately.

Astarion relaxes in your embrace, the warmth a stark contrast to his cold skin and rests his head against your chest. The steady thumping of your heart sends a nice strange feeling surging through him and a soft sigh escapes his lips. He lets you rest your chin on his head and the corners of his lips twitch upwards when he hears a familiar rumbling sound coming from your chest.

You wipe your hand on your pants to try and get rid of the blood before running your fingers through his hair, gently unknotting it as you go along. Your breath hitches, disgust bubbling to the surface when you realise you’re still getting blood on his silver hair despite your best efforts. The wolf had spilled that much blood in one fight. You swallow the bile rising to your throat, Astarion comes first, he is the one who needs to be taken care of, your problems can wait another day.

He shifts slightly, giving you a better angle to comb through his hair but you can still see a hint of trepidation in his eyes.

“If you want me to stop, just say it and I will stop. I promise.” You remove your hand from his hair, concerned. You know Astarion likes to keep things to himself, but so far he has been open about his likes and dislikes to you, understanding that you can take no as an answer.

“I…don’t stop. Please,” he whispers. “I don’t want to associate this with anyone but you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and press a kiss to the top of his head to hide your embarrassment. Despite knowing what you truly are, he still chose you and found safety in your arms. Maybe, if he could accept you as you truly are, one day you could do the same. A vampire spawn and a werewolf, what a couple the two of you made.

“As you wish,” you murmur and the both of you remain like that for some time before Astarion stirs once more, untangling himself from the safety of your bloodstained arms.

“We should get going before the others fall apart trying to settle dinner,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We don’t have to move if you don’t want to, the others can wait for all I care,” you huff.

“As much as I love you darling, I would much prefer cuddling in a bedroll than on this hard ground.” A small piece of light returns to his eyes when he hears you bark a laugh at his words, his favourite grin of yours splayed on your face.

“Your wish is my command,” you chuckle, giving his hand a small squeeze. He grasps your hand tightly, whispering something inaudible even to your sharp ears before looking at you with a fondness you can’t quite describe.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “For everything.”

“Right back at you, Star.”

[aemysbabyofficial]

Sweet Sixteen II; Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC

To be a father is to live and sacrifice. What would Daemon live to sacrifice? To leave behind and never return to--to never regret with second thoughts. The answer: his last daughter.

Warnings: cannon divergence; paternal anger; father angry towards daughter; hints of paternal violence; hints of violence; choking; heavy angst; manipulation; hints of sex; highly emotional.

Notes: Apologies for the long wait, life hit me like a truck. If you liked this or wished it to be edited up or down, please tell me! This is a heavy read (it was a heavy write for me) but I hope you all enjoy this!

Long chapter ahead!

The summons arrived on a cool morning on Dragonstone. The raven knew all were fast asleep sole for one. Cold air rushed through Daemon's nose and up to his mind as he stood next to an open window. A knight had just left his quiet chambers, leaving him in a robe with a sealed letter in hand. Daemon was written on the cover in fine letters. Each letter was straight, curved in the right places, and perfectly in line with the one before and after.

It hadn't been long since he received word from his brother, or in this such a case, his court. It had actually not been long since he last visited King's Landing. He could count by hand the weeks that passed since he last roamed his former home. The king's second daughter, Helaena, was betrothed to her older brother Aegon and as a good tiding for the girls in the family, the king invited his nieces for some bonding with the dreamer girl. Daemon was surprised Viserys held the dear such an occasion, but his eyes felt the ink's deeper meaning just from the greeting.

Dearest brother...

A preparation. A warning. Daemon wiped his nose before he moved to the next line. The hallways of Dragonstone were quiet and the children were slumbering away in their chambers. His wife lay in their bed, under the sheets and furs to keep the breeze from fanning her skin. Daemon needed the fresh morning light to read the letter clearer, to see all the meanings within the lines. His hand gripped the parchment the further his eyes descended, burned brighter as he pulled apart double meanings and hidden phrases. He glazed past the introductions and greetings and dove to the heart of the letter--the biggest paragraph of them all. His breathing grew ragged when the mention of her spilled across the letter.

....The Princess Helaena requests the presence of Lady Saela Targaryen as a lady-in-waiting for her highness court. The Princess recounts fond memories she shared with the Lady and wishes her sweet presence in her everyday to be permanent. All servants, dressings, and accommodations lay prepared for the Lady's arrival....

It was a surprise. A bold move, Daemon complimented with raised brows. But it involved his daughter, his youngest daughter. Saela was still a child hiding behind her sister's shadows, lapping against her cousins' steps, and a growing woman. From what the Maesters whispered and he forced from a handmaid, she just flowered. Daemon crinkled his nose at the thought.

Why demand his youngest child among his three?

The letter, no, the summons demanded Saela's presence in the next seven days. It emphasized the great joy and happiness the princess Helaena would feel to have her favorite niece by her side. No other daughter was to attend on her behalf.

Bullshit.

A croaky laugh cracked through the room. Daemon's chest rose with sputtered laughs and his fingers pinched his alert eyes. A wry smile stretched the corners of his lips upwards. It was too late for him to switch out Saela for one of her sisters. The days where the girls could switch places and act as the other passed long ago; the twins even grew into unique features that stood them apart from each other.

Not Helaena. Daemon shook his head. That girl could not craft such a demand. The queen.

When Daemon visited last, his daughters joined him. The three-and-a-half day travel on boat was the same duration of their stay. While the girls bonded over tea, gowns, and childish talks, Daemon joined his brother every second he could. In his free time, which was limited, he would peek into side rooms, the gardens, or separate chambers to check on his daughters. Three times out for five, Daemon spotted Saela attached to Helaena's side while Alicent loomed over them. A whisper past Baela revealed the Queen had requested all of Saela's time that day and the previous.

"She calls for her after breaking our fast." Rhaena confided to her father on their third morning. She had just caught him before he departed for a meeting. Her speech was breathy--she ran--and her eyes bled into his soul. "And she just watches her."

Daemon hadn't much time to think about Rhaena's words before he marched into the council chambers. Men dressed in their house colours either stood around the table or sat waiting for their cups to be filled. Deep laughter rolled from one fat lord as he motioned to the King with his head.

"The boy is of age, isn't he? Aegon, isn't it. It is about time he takes a wife."

"And who would that be?" Another lord across the fat one asked. Daemon marched closer to hear their voices clearly, but halted when he heard names drop against the table.

"To keep the blood pure, won't his sister be the best choice? Or how about his cousins?"

It was then when Viserys realized his brother's presence and what the lord to his far right was talking about. The King didn't need another second to decipher the emotions across his face--anger, confusion, dying tolerance. Marrying off one his daughters could help their sad hearts after tragedy, but by the look of their father, Viserys knew not now, or, now ever. With a wave of his hand, he shushed all talk. He didn't a man leaving his a broken nose, animosity for a Targaryen, or dead.

When Daemon found his daughter later that day, the queen stood behind her with arms wide and eyes twinkling.

In his room with the letter, Daemon had time to think whilst Rhaenyra kissed him on the shoulder. Did dawn pass by so fast? The prince casted a glance to his wife skimming her eyes across the letter. The furrow of her brow marked she got the same place to.

"Are you going to do it?" Her brows raised in question. Are you going to send your youngest child to a den of vipers?

Daemon let his mind wander into dark clouds at the thought of leaving his daughter here. Laena left him with three children--girls, the realm's mightiest tools in times of diplomacy and wagers. Were he to leave one under his brother's nose, Sweet Old Saela, no one would blink an eye. She was the sweet, quiet child. He already has twins, leaving him still with the weight of raising girls. Saela was the perfect child, always abiding to rules and governance. Slip her a note on what to do, the girl will be a man's best soldier. Whisper her a scolding and she will bend her every value not to mess up again. Hells, when he begged his daughters to stop crying at a dinner one evening, Saela never talked for the rest of the night.

A soldier?

The fact Rhaenyra has a younger living brother threatened her established claim as heir. No one had to say it out loud: a son was all the king wanted, and even if his daughter stood in line behind him. A son would rally much more support than a woman with the Conqueror's crown.

Daemon cocked a brow. Saela could be his soldier, his extra eye in the Keep. While he converged his forces on Dragonstone, Saela would stay there, cozying up with his brother's wife. She was never the girl who liked rolling in mud or dallied in listening to Council meetings. No, she deserved the best linens and gowns and court. The girl could act as his extra pair of personal eyes and ears. She could get under her skin, worm her way into her mind. The prince knew no one stood a chance against his daughter's smile. She inherited from her mother. With Saela submerged into the Green mess that spilled across his home, Daemon needn't worry about a thing.

Saela would be his perfect soldier.

"I will." Daemon nodded. Rhaenyra peeked at the glint in his eyes.

That night following dinner, Saela cried at the news, but nevertheless prepared for the trip. Her sisters begged for her to stay, but as Daemon predicted, Saela took on her mission without complaint with an I will be fine. In their last pure moments together, Daemon prepared his mighty soldier for the battle she would face ahead. He knew she was prepared. Her emotions were in check beyond her years and she hadn't lived in Dragonstone for too long to grow too attached to the palace or its grounds. Unlike Baela or Jacaerys who obsessed over flying, Saela was a novice in comparison to them--her dragon had barely hatched and refused to show signs of flight.

The skin of a father was shed for Daemon to bare the armour of a soldier. For hours past the hour of the owl, he drilled passages and commands to Saela--from dining, to walking, to presenting her head. She was going to leave her home a measly girl and enter the capital, her arena, her battlefield, as an armed soldier and mighty weapon.

And a soldier Daemon saw his Saela become. When she greeted them for their tea, she stood tall, unwavering under his eyes, and proud. She nearly resembled the frigid woman Rhaenys became. Whenever he caught sight of her, Saela was the paradigm of his success--of her upbringing under him, trained knowledge of note-passing, and dining with the enemies. Daemon knew out of all his daughters, Saela won't crumble easy.

She overcame her mother's death faster than her sisters and won't let a thing brother her. To Daemon, she was mentally stronger in keeping her emotions and personal life out of politics or power moves.

His girl even overcame the disaster that was that dinner announcing new betrothals. Whereas Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Baela sprung for Aegon and Aemond, Saela was quiet. Like he, she calculated the scene next to Helaena. But where she had gone with her aunt, Daemon had not the slightest clue. The cool ocean air fanned his skin while he walked through the exposed halls of the Keep. The wine, unbridled emotions, and lack of sleep for some riled everyone out of the dining hall to separate corners of the castle. To keep his mind at peace, Daemon walked the paths above the garden to feel the clouded moonlight fan him.

Rhaenyra, before he departed their chambers, planned to cut their trip short and haul the family back to Dragonstone the following morning. The short notice gave him little time to make sure Saela was all right. Rhaenyra knew better. To make sure her allegiance is all right, to her, or her father.

"Where is my daughter?" Daemon asked a passing knight. His voice rose barely above a murmur. The dark-haired man shrugged his shoulders and tumbled out an I'm not aware.

After their meals, it was their own tradition to find each other hiding in secret passages. It was a game Daemon introduced to Saela a random night. (He and Laena had argued over something trivial and he was bored for once). One night each, either he or Saela would rush out following their meal and hide in any place that would fit them. Spots ranged from false walls, behind hanging banners, inside knights armours, to underneath the biggest skirt one could find. Every time an argument broke out or someone got in trouble and just breathing was a challenge in the hall, Daemon and Saela would whisk themselves out to play their game.

The idea Saela was playing again struck something cold and dull in Daemon's heart. She had escaped under his nose and was hiding all-too well.

To a passing handmaid, he asked the same thing. Two girls carrying basins of water quickly shook their heads. "If not in her chambers, she must be in the gardens, my prince."

Daemon hadn't bothered to give the servants another word before he marched to the nearest staircase. He had just descended the stairs when he saw her. Saela's head and her tightly-wound bun of silver curls rested on the shoulder of a woman. No, a handmaid. Two walked on either side of her, locked in arms with their backs to him. His practiced steps were silent against the stone path. Even though his daughter and her servants were several paces ahead, none would hear him.

So, she's not playing the game, but going for a walk.

In his silence, Daemon planned what to say. Hello, dear daughter. My good soldier. Have you kept those notes from years ago? Where I told you to watch and listen?

A wry smile cracked his face as he practiced. "I hope all is, my good daughter--"

"Stop."

Daemon froze.

"What is wrong with you?"

Saela had turned a corner before speaking to someone. The prince rose a brow as he prowled to the corner. He was about to step out and draw a weapon at the sound of a threat, but he quickly retreated.

"You just had to open your mouth? The boy is ten-and-five, a child!" Saela's voice seethed. Daemon narrowed his brows when the voice spoke clearer. Louder. It burned his blood when he matched the tone and depth of the man Saela talked to.

"He is a fool and a bastard." Aemond scoffed. Daemon didn't have to see his face to calculate the prince's anger.

"A boy, Aemond! He is a child, a fool, nothing he speaks is serious. Why did you let that...Lucerys get to you like that?"

Saela raised her voice before covering her mouth. Aemond's frame hid the girl from Daemon's sight, but he could see the One-Eyed cradle his daughter's face. In plain sight for anyone to see were Saela and Aemond talking like lovers. It took every muscle in Daemon not to laugh, or to scream. The glances Saela failed to hide at dinner made sense. Her hidden smile behind her cup. The twitch in her lips.

Why? Daemon asked himself, both to why Saela's and his own actions. Why did she react to Aemond like that and why didn't he confront them? Why was she allowing him to hold her, to whisper to her, to invade her space and not--

"The dinner..."

Daemon hadn't meant to whisper out into the night, but light clouds of his breath floated in the air above his lips. His mind pulled him back an hour ago, before the mess of drinks spilled and food wasted his brother left behind. Saela and Aemond watched each other lasciviously across the long table. Over their cups, as they cut their food or talked with the person on their right, they somehow managed to eye the other down. To calm his mind from jumping from his skull, he fooled himself into not believing what he saw. But he was a boy once--a man now--and could pick at the signs of lust. As he drank wine to calm the storm in his mind, Daemon could see Aemond undress his daughter with his one eye; he licked at her exposed chest and laughed at her open neck. In the moments he felt like hurling his meal or flipping a table, Daemon drank himself silly.

The drunk he wished for pooled to nothing now.

"What can I do to make it up to you, hmm?" Aemond hummed against Saela's skin. Although Daemon looked at the pair, his mind buffered in registering their actions. The fact Saela smiled as Aemond frisked his hands around her was like a dart to his glass mind.

No. Daemon looked away. Saela wouldn't allow herself a second to fall for a man like that. A crippled second-son would do nothing for Saela. She deserved someone stronger, fiercer, and--

"You don't get to kiss me."

Daemon straightened at his daughter's words. Kiss? Who is his daughter kissing? When he peered around the corner, his body tensed. Aemond had Saela pinned to the Keep's cold walls with one hand on her cheek and the other caressing her thigh. The handmaidens backs faced him, allowing him total freedom to see Aemond fondle Saela's skin between her legs. Although she disallowed Aemond entrance into her with her words, her hands toyed his hair and her lips ghosted his red cheeks.

"Do you know how much stress I've dealt with by myself?"

Saela's voice went soft, but it ached with raw pain. She spoke only for Aemond to hear. The prince muted the racing of his heart to hear his daughter's confession, but all he could see were her lips flapping and hear the tough drags of her nose. Whatever Saela revealed to Aemond warranted her a kiss. The sound of lips smacking made Daemon cringe. He slammed his back to the wall. Between the wet kisses, pants, and shuffles of fabric, Daemon picked up a few words and phrases.

"....Ilaena was horribly, sick, Aemond." Another kiss. Daemon noted the hard knot between her brow.

"..red in the face.." Kiss on the neck.

"...you didn't bother asking if she..." a loud moan soared from her lips. "Helaena and Alicent were the only ones to..."

The unbuckling of a belt and light laugh set Daemon off. "I'll make it up to you, my love." The One-Eyed Prince laughed in the night. In the dark, he saw red. The raging thump of his heart broke his eardrums, muting him to the moans around the corner. It took everything in him not to spear Aemond with Dark Sister. The sensual cry from Saela chased the prince away.

His boots stomped holes into the ground as he marched down the hall. If a knight or simple handmaid crossed the wrong path at the wrong time with him, their shoulders bore wounds of their collision. Daemon couldn't care less about a whining annoyance. All he could focus on were the shadows he saw dance outside; their hushed voices, kisses, and pants fogged his mind harsher than any storm. This itself was a storm, the hardest he faced both on land and on dragonback.

No guard stopped Daemon from pushing his way into Saela's bedchamber.

He waited. Without making a sound, or even a breath, the bedchambers were lifeless. It was like Daemon never stood in the middle of it all. Proof of his existence was the fire. The fact he could feel it proved his life at that moment was true--that what he witnessed was true. The crackling of wood reminded the prince his hearing was perfect. It told his mind he could not misjudge a thing, even if wished it was wrong.

Daemon's eyes glossed to life when the door opened. The hushed giggling erupted into frigid gasps. Saela must have jumped when she noticed him.

"Wait here," she said to two other voices.

"Leave." Daemon commanded. The hand holding the wrist behind his back clenched his skin worse than any chains or armor. The figures at the door made no move to leave. Either they were confused or they wished to meet his blade.

"I said leave."

"No, they can stay." Saela whispered something to the women. Palina, Arah. The names echoed in Daemon's mind. It dawned on him when he finally recognized who they were. In a letter addressed to him right after Saela settled into the Keep, she told him of the handmaidens assigned to her.

Palina and Arah are at my beck and call...it is fun having maids at your command. Now I know how you feel with your soldiers.

The same handmaidens she wrote about years ago were still at her side? Daemon lodged the thought deep into his skull. His shoulders squared straight when he stood tall. He hadn't turned around, but could see and feel the contemplation dancing on the women's faces.

"Defy me again and I'll slit your throats. Leave."

Not even the fire could cool Daemon's skin when the moans and kisses echoed in his mind. His lip curled at the smacks he heard, at the licks and spits he could feel across his skin. The slam of the chamber doors reaped the man from his nightmares.

"You didn't have to chase them away like that. They are loyal servants." Saela sighed before moving towards her father. He heard her smooth down her gown, probably rumpled from the mess she was in. "I wasn't expecting you so late, father. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Daemon needed time to breath. His back heaved with a heavy weight and his mouth dried before he could speak.

"Where were you?"

"For a walk. Did you want to come along--"

"With whom?" Daemon heard Saela move. Side steps, a nervous dance. She rubbed her hands against her gown with a long breath.

"With Palina and Arah--"

"You call your servants by name? What are they, your friends?" The shadow haunting Daemon's frame reigned over Saela's against the stone wall. The flames from the fire could be his own, heaved from his tongue.

"They are lovely girls, father. We are not far in age--"

"Do you think me a fool, Saela?" Daemon moved to feel the fire against his back. His head teetered down while his gaze bore to the left at his youngest daughter. "Why would a lady like you go for a walk at this hour?"

Saela's chest rose high. The chain around her neck tightened. It was a rope of Daemon's lashes tightening around her neck. Slowly and steadily did it rise to choke her.

"T-that is what--"

"I know you are smarter than this, Saela. Why would you do this to yourself?"

The tone in the prince's voice fell to a sympathetic level. He sounded sad, mournful, even. His shoulders fell when his body finally turned to face his child. He wanted her to see him downed, to see his pain. He wanted her to know he knew and she could do nothing but admit it. He wanted to hear it from her.

"Why would allow someone like that to do that to you?"

Saela felt her eyes sting. Her father had that power over her, hurting her eyes before anything else. It was only him that could make her cry before she felt the heavy pain in her chest. It was only Prince Daemon that scared her so much she couldn't breathe.

What he said tore through her. How could she let him do that to her? The Heart of the House, her uncle, the king, would call her. The sweet Heart that everyone adored, everyone thought pure, allowed something so vile inside her. She allowed herself to be tainted by a dark hole everyone tried to cover, to shield--no, to ignore. The last of Prince Daemon's daughters, the girls that would honor their father with honorable acts, was the most dishonorable of all.

All those thoughts swamped Saela's mind until she was breathless, crying mess. Her father was a blur of black leather and silver details, a monster she couldn't understand nor defeat. Saela could only bare herself honestly in front of the soldier that stared her down.

"How old?"

"W-what?" Saela was breathless, her voice airy and shaky. Faith in her voice crashed to the ground when Daemon towered his head over her own. She had to brace her muscles to not let her body drop.

"How old were you when he--"

Daemon bared his teeth. He couldn't finish the question nor formulate the words on his tongue. Claimed you. Fucked you. Took advantage of you. Tormented you. The words spat around in his mind, assaulting him from all angles and it could have made the man sick. But he stomached it down and shook his head. As a father, the thought of asking his daughter when she was deflowered sickened him. Why should he, a man of his stature, ask a lady--his daughter, at that--such a question?

"How old were you, Saela?"

The way Daemon spoke her name scared the girl into confession. It was fatherly, courageous, or kind. It reeked of grimace, of...of disgust.

He thinks me disgusting.

The girl silently balled as she answered. "Three-and--" The deep chuckle Daemon let out from the depths of his throat silenced Saela's whispered words. Of every conversation she imagined, this way, this manner, never came to mind. Saela never wished to spill her life's truths and secrets to her family like this, shrunken in a cowardice, crying mess.

"P-please father, don't--"

"Don't what? Don't kill him?"

"Please, no!" Saela screamed. Her watery eyes noted her father's light touches to Dark Sister. She knew her shaking bones and crumpled gown were Aemond's only defense between life and sudden death. "Please, don't hurt him."

"Why? Do you love him?" Daemon to hear it. Hear the name. Hear her guilt.

The mind of the Targaryen girl spiraled. After everything--her new life in court, building a new life with her cousins, growing close to allied and enemy houses, building her own life--it came crashing down in one night. No lie, no distraction, no escape was offered to her.

"He is using you, Saela, for his own selfish needs. He does not love you, no one here does. No one will ever truly appreciate you here."

Saela's fingers dug themselves into her sleeves. Spools of lace trickled to the floor as she cried. No one will ever truly appreciate you here. But they do, Saela yelled at herself. When her one and only family left her in King's Landing she visited a handful of times, Helaena, Alicent, Aemond, and even Aegon took her in as family. Come nights she dreamed of her mother's vanishing hand, Alicent was there to rub her back and sing her songs. Come days she missed dragon riding with her sisters or walking the mountains with the Velaryon boys, Aemond and Aegon joined her without tell.

Daemon watched time pass through his daughter's eyes and he shook his head. "Do you truly believe they love you?"

"W-why would you...?" Saela couldn't lift her head.

Were all the times she spent dancing, embroidering, reading, sleeping, and playing with Helaena and Alicent a lie? No. They love me. Helaena and Alicent replaced the times she lost with her sisters and mother.

And Aemond. O, the prince was her shield from days she remembered horror times. He was the saving hand that pulled her from nightmares--when she lost her mother and the brother she never got to know. He shielded her from nightmares and dances of attitudes. Aemond was still the boy she found in the library in Driftmark that would listen to her ramble--still the boy that protected her mind from thoughts of darkness and doom.

Aemond was the bed her tightened heart and head could explode on.

"I...I..."

"What, Saela?" Daemon narrowed his eyes. Past the tears, tear stains, and messy hair, he could see growing fires in his daughter's eyes. They were flames of resolve and passion. They were flames he had to snuff out. "Don't you say--"

"I love him, father. I love Aemond and you cannot do a thing about it."

She said it. Silence fell between the pair. A mixture of sneer and grin crossed Daemon's face. It resembled a dragon's smile before it devoured its prey. The look on her father's face revealed the rage he didn't shame himself in hiding. Saela caught the lighting of a wildfire when she caught her breath. It was too late.

"I...no..."

Saela felt her heart beat slower and slower. I said it and Daemon waited for me. Her body didn't realize it shook in the presence of dragon's flames. She shook her head before she could say another word.

"You love fucking Aemond Targaryen?" Saela jumped at the tone of her father's voice. "Why? Because he's your cousin? Because he fucks you in the garden for everyone to see?"

He saw. The girl's stomach dropped. Everything she's done in the past years to perfect her secret were ruined once her family came back into her life. The shell Alicent crafted around her, for her, as a second mother, cracked with every yell Daemon released. Then something festered within her. A toil of anger and resentment. How dare he lie to me? Her life was perfect. Walks with her cousins were always lovely. Long walks with her uncle where they talked about everything he could remember filled her life's missing gaps. Only now that her sisters, father, and step-brothers enter her home, her life, everything she's created is slowly come to ruin.

"Tolī mirre eman gaomagon..."

Saela closed her eyes with a long sigh. Her hands covered her face as she shook her head. Daemon stepped closer to hear her words, but she side-stepped him to pace her room.

After all I have done.

"What?" Daemon cocked a brow. His shoulders twitched.

"So now you care about me? Now, after all these years, you think to care about what I'm doing or who I'm with."

As Daemon peered over his daughter, he lost sight of her. Yes, she stood in front of him, but she wasn't crying or apologizing like she always would have. This wasn't the Saela who would wipe her face and vow to never disobey her father again. No, the woman in front of him bore tears of anger. The previous knot between her brows fell and she stood tall to match his height.

"In this house, these people were the only ones to stand by my side. I know they care about me--"

"I am your father, Saela. I know they don't care about you--"

"Shut up!" The girl screamed in defiance. It was a child's way of building their truth, but as an adult, Daemon could crush it. He saw the plans in her mind race when she shook a hand.

"I said not a word when you married Rhaenyra. I said not a word when you took in Jace and Luke and Joffrey as your own. I was the nice daughter and accepted them as my brothers."

"This has nothing to do with--"

"I said nothing when Rhaena cried to me saying you ignore her! I said nothing when--"

"You are not listening, Saela!" Daemon marched forward. His chest bumped the woman back, but she didn't stumble.

"I didn't say anything after mother died and you married her--"

"He is your cousin!"

"And she is your niece!" Saela screamed. Sweat crawled across their skin in the room. Be it fatigue, wine from earlier hitting them, or unresolved tensions from the years, neither Daemon nor Saela took a step back.

"Have we not fulfilled our family's fucked-up customs?" Daemon lowered his chin at the exasperated sigh. He leaned his head forward so his eyes could level Saela's wide stare back at him. Her body didn't shake anymore and if he didn't seethe in a cloud of anger, would have admired his daughter for the strength she carried. "You settle your cock deep into your niece's cunt while I warm up by cousin's bed. We are pure-blooded Targaryens, father--"

"Shut your mouth."

Daemon hadn't raised his voice, but the bass of his tone silenced Saela. Her mouth wavered shut, but her eyes burned with thousands of unsaid words. A scratching quiet surrounded the pair, forcing them for words. The crackling of the heat had died in comparison to their ferocity.

Saela cracked an odd smile before she bowed her head. When she looked up, it didn't reach her eyes for miles.

"Was she not eight-and-ten when you claimed her in a brothel?"

Red burned in Daemon's eyes. All he saw was blood rushing through his vision.

"Aemond had the dignity of a man to fuck me lovingly in his chambers."

Daemon's blood boiled higher than any power. No wine or ocean could muddle or cleanse his brain. HIs mind didn't react to his body moving across the cold floor. The prince's eyes were nothing but drops of black as they stared down at Saela choking. His grip around her throat was loose enough for her to breath freely but tight enough his fingers brushed each other around her neck. His other hand was raised but frozen in the air.

When Daemon blinked next, Saela was crying and his hands dropped without question. In front of her was a dragon, not a man. Heat of dragon's flame burned around her neck so much, she cringed at the burn, then laughed.

What stood before Daemon wasn't his daughter. It was a creature from another world. Possessed, a Maester would say. Magic, a skeptic would claim. This is not Saela. Daemon's brow fell, his heart dropped, and corners of his mouth ached. His daughter that would laugh at his failed jokes and dance with her sisters whenever she could was gone. The person before him had her face, but not her soul.

"You are no more clean than I am, father."

In slow waves, the girl walked away. Backward steps forced him to watch her face morph from laughing to a blank slate. Step. Step. Step. Her hands braced each furniture she bumped into, but she never turned away. Slowly, slowly, creepily, Saela's face turned again and Daemon could see her return. The dying flames calmed her mind to understand the madness she unleashed in her chambers. The wandering of her eyes and quick rise of her chest simmered whatever heat and anger she reached for. Before she could fall onto the couch, Saela whipped around to wipe her face.

It was now Daemon remembered he was a father. Her father.

"Who is Ilaena?"

Saela stopped short of the door. Daemon let his arms hang by his sides after relaxing his shoulders. He hadn't realized the knot he forced his body in until he felt like melting into a pool of body mass. Daemon asked again when silence was delivered with his daughter's back.

"A-a friend." Saela drew back snot.

The lie was a thick as a morning yawn. Daemon heard the gasp she let out when he spoke the name and could hear the hesitance Saela spoke with.

"Iksan aōha kepa." I am your father.

A reminder to them. Second by second, Daemon's voice warmed to the tone he always spoke to her with. It was like the dragon from before never existed, never threatened her. He spoke like he was never disgusted by her.

“I am a father and husband, Saela. Who is--"

"Some call her a whore." The little voice trembled. It was muffled between Saela's frame and the thick doors, but it bounced to Daemon's ears.

"The Lannister's say the vow to Rhaenyra wasn't made by them...House Wylde would suck a man's cock if anything..."

Saela sniffled, but the end of her words hinted at a laugh. Her voice no longer had the edge from earlier--the venomous bite Daemon worried he would catch. It resembled the call of a small child who raced for her father. The girl reached up as she spoke, but could never reach the hand that pulled back from her.

"But it's Otto who, who masters everything."

The heavy chamber doors slammed behind Saela after her confession, leaving Daemon in her cold chambers. In the dim silence, his body melted to the floor. The girl he hugged tightly years ago that one fateful night was unrecognizable just now. The sweet child he sent instructions and guides became something he never imagined. Saela became a soldier--a woman obedient to order, instruction, and command. She now joined the war that consumed their family but Daemon wasn't sure which side she fought for.

His Sweet Saela was a girl no more, but a woman cracked, and soldier worn.

Taglist: @malfoycassimalfoy

[twst-drabbles]

Floyd and Grim 1

Summary: One of Floyd’s favorite words beyond your name was ‘Seal.’ Whenever you hear it, it’s not because he’s seeing the actual animal, it’s because he saw Grim and is chasing him around the yard.

(Floyd being a little shit is always fun.)

“Seal!” A high squeaky voice almost pierced your ear as you fumbled with your newspaper, “Seal seal seal! Oomph… Seal!”

A wet flop, almost like a small body fell into mud before the yelling started up. Uh-oh.

You place your paper down on the table and got up. Seems you were sitting for too long because some of the bones in your spine popped. You ignored the slight pain. There are more important things to focus on. “Alright, what’s Floyd up to now?”

Seal was... an odd choice of a word for that cat. Why seal? Because he's gray and round? Probably. You don't really know any other cat that his specific shade of gray. Or has fire on the ears.

The stray cat that’s comes around, Grim you named him, has been hanging out more often in the garden. Probably because he’s figured out the little pet door you installed in the back. You’re pretty sure he comes inside to sleep in the corner, since there’s some scorch on the kitchen tiles and little bits of gray fur.

You haven’t put anything in his corner yet, not out of apathy but out of knowing the sensibilities of cats. The minute you put in something new in their territory, they either never approach again or they pee all over it. You don’t like either choices, so you just don’t.

You open the door and were not shocked by what you saw.

“Floyd!” You yelled out, knowing it was vain now that Floyd was up and chasing the yowling Grim around the yard. “Oh boy…”

From one side of the yard to the other, Floyd chased after the flame-eared cat with no regard for his distress. His ears flared brightly while sharp teeth and too-strong jaws opened wide and clipped just an inch away from Grim’s tail. No matter how fast Grim ran, Floyd was just an inch away from chomping on him.

In fact, Floyd was keeping up so well that Grim basically has his butt scooting against the floor. A weird little crab run, almost. A furry ball.

Floyd was clearly dinged up with bumps, bruises and cuts. Completely slathered in mud from the neck down but he didn’t care. Not when he’s running on the high of the chase.

How the cat hasn’t started a wild fire in your backyard is beyond you. Well, probably can’t on the account of what happened last time he did that. You can tell that thistle-like collar was not comfortable.

“Alright!” You stepped in just as they were in front of you and captured them both, Floyd by the tail and Grim by the scruff, “Stop.”

Floyd, upside down, swung himself back and forth violently, swiping his little claws right at Grim to try and grab him. “Seal! Seal seal!”

Grim practically retracted further into your hand, hissing. Seems he fears the little eel more than he hated you. Huh.

You walked to the tallest boulder and plopped Grim on top of it. And, of course, the minute you let go, the cat showed you his attitude by sniffing the air and raising his nose high in the air, as if none of you were worth his time.

You ignored him with a turn of your back. “So, Floyd.”

Grim, behind you, started a meow but choked on his saliva.

Floyd went limp now that his entertainment was gone. He stuck out his tongue at you and gave you a raspberry.

“You’re going in quarantine.” All those scraps and cuts along with the mud is a great recipe for infection.

Floyd whined at you, sticking out his grabby hands, demanding for cuddles like that’ll somehow make you forgive him.

“You don’t get cuddles Floyd. You get a bath.”

He sputtered angrily at you as you walked back into the kitchen.

“Hate you.”

“I know.”

Oh, he learned some new words. Interesting. You can’t help but wonder who taught him those.

[clangenrising]

Month 9 - Leaffall

The nursery was quiet. Smokyrose sat curled around the sleeping forms of her kits, her two baby girls. Sagetooth had insisted that it was important for her to be left alone after the birth, that it was important for a mother to get to know her kits without any extra stressors. Still, Smokyrose felt utterly and deeply alone. 

She wished someone was there. She felt like she ought to want Ghost there with her, but she almost couldn’t bear the thought of him, somewhere else, not missing her at all, possibly plotting against her Clan. Instead, she found herself longing for Currentseeker most of all. She could almost see her big brown muzzle laid over her back, smell the sunshine and river water on her fur. 

Look at them, she would say, our perfect little monsters. They will be monsters - once their eyes are open. I can just tell. 

“We always wanted a litter of our own,” murmured Smokyrose. “I just wish you were here. I wish they would be able to know you.” Her mind failed to imagine a proper response and the image of her beloved slipped away from her grasp. She sighed and the act seemed to break the seal that had been holding back the emotion trapped inside her. Tears pooled in her eyes and her expression crumpled pathetically. She was exhausted and moody and so, so alone. The fight earlier had done nothing but make her feel even more alienated from her Clanmates. She wished- Stars, what did she wish? That Scorchplume had told her? That Ghost was here? That she had never met him? That Currentseeker had never died? There was too much going on, too much she wanted to change. 

Ultimately, she wished that things were different. 

“Smoky?” 

She lifted her head, sniffling, and saw Songdust standing in the nursery entrance. “Oh, Songdust,” she tried to smile, wiping at her cheek with a paw. “Please, come in. Are you here to see the girls?” 

“Yeah,” Songdust said carefully as she approached. “Are you alright?” 

Smokyrose opened her mouth to lie but couldn’t bring herself to say yes. “No, but I guess that’s to be expected. I’ll be okay in time.” She knew that in her head even if it felt impossible right now. 

“I’m sorry,” Songdust said, settling down beside her. “I know you’re upset-”

“It’s fine,” Smokyrose said firmly. “Let’s just forget about it.” 

Songdust sighed. “What are their names?” 

Smokyrose looked back down at her kits, her perfect, special, wonderful little girls and sighed as well. “This is Fogkit,” she said, her tail tip touching lightly over the back of the sleeping, pale grey tabby. “And this is Slatekit,” she said, nosing the kit that seemed the perfect image of herself. 

“What lovely names,” Songdust said softly, nuzzling up against Smokyrose’s cheek. 

“Thank you,” she purred weakly, leaning in to the very welcome touch. An unexpected yawn parted her jaws, causing Songdust to chuckle. 

“Should I let you sleep?” Songdust asked, shifting to stand, and Smokyrose reached out to pull her back.

“No,” she said quickly. “Or- Would you stay with me while I sleep?” 

Songdust smiled and nodded. “Of course, Rose.” She stood just enough to scoot forward, stretching out to wrap around Smokyrose with the kits nestled between their bodies. Smokyrose sighed in relief and laid her head over Songdust’s tail, allowing herself to close her eyes. Sleep came quickly and gently, a much needed rest accentuated by the feeling of her kits’ heartbeats against her side.

UPDATES:

- Smokyrose had a litter of two kittens, Fogkit and Slatekit. She refuses to talk about their father.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Caged

(This is a longer one and will be put under read more. CW: There is slavery, but the reader is looking to free/dismantle the system in their own way)

You came across the caged people in the middle of the day. There were no code words or secret passages to get to the displays. It was like any other booth at the bazaar.

Most of the cages were filled with beastmen. Unlike the creatures who roamed the forest, they would walk on two legs. Some could even speak.

Lionmen, Tigerladies, Avian Sapiens, "Not Deer", Chimera, and even a few Phoenixes all stared at you as you walked. Some grabbed the bars and strained their faces to look at you. A small flicker of danced across your eyes. Maybe a spark of hope that they would be freed.

"How long has this been going on?" You asked your companion.

"What do you mean?"

"The slaves?"

"Ah. Well, my dear blue blood..." Their voice trailed off as they stared at the cages. "Surely you heard about the market for this? They're not slaves..." They wiggled their fingers, brows furrowed as they attempted to come up with an explanation. "Merely.... Indentured servants."

"Why not put an offer up on the boards in town?" You raised a skeptical brow and ventured closer to the cages.

A walking stick slapped your chest. The impact smarted. Wincing, you stepped away to rub the sore spot.

"You shouldn't question this so much." Your companion hissed next to your ear.

"How much are the contracts?" You asked. There wasn't much left in your purse, but surely you could at least free one.

"Sorry?"

"We offer a wide variety of specimens and creatures." A well dressed figure stepped out from behind one of the cages. He ran a walking stick of his own across the bars, causing many who had come forward to retreat and whimper.

"We've broken them in ahead of time," His smile made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "So they should already be obedient."

"Broken in?" Your brows raised more. So they had beaten or tortured these creatures into compliance?

"Don't worry, little Blue Blood." The man bowed. "We would not want a client to be harmed by the merchandise. If one does harm you or run away, we will send in our own parties to capture and return them, and give you a new one."

Your companion must have seen your scheming expression. The waling stick slammed down on the top of your foot and a quick throat clear was all the warning they could offer while being discreet.

Your eyes went to the Lionman again. They'd shorn his mane. Nicks and a few notches in his ear and surrounding fur showed how gentle they'd been. Dried blood and dirt clung to his body.

Your stomach churned at the fetid stench and sight. The sign declaring his price seemed insultingly low for another life. But considering how much the sellers had damaged the "merchandise", perhaps that was why.

You put down the coins.

The merchant slid over papers. The sloppily applied seal at the bottom hinted at their legitimacy, or lack thereof. Clenching your jaw, your eyes flicked to the top of the page. The spot next to "Name" was blank.

"He's your property, so you get to call him what you want."

"I'll... Think about it."

***

When you arrived home, the newcomer's nose wrinkled, sniffing his new environment.

Setting the papers down, you waved over one of the notaries, who came over with blank pieces of papers and writing tools. While you could read and write, the palace preferred the people they paid to be the ones who crossed the Ts and dotted the Is, along with minding the Ps and Qs.

"What is your name?" You asked the creature once your companion left to the servants' quarters. Laughter and cheers erupted shortly after.

The sudden noise had the Lionman's eyes wide, what little fur he had standing on end.

"They're always off by the seventeenth mark." You explained.

His eyes remained focused on the door. A chalice fell over as his thrashing tail struck it. As red wine sloshed across the table, the notary screeched, trying to save the paper.

Fabric tore and in a golden blur, the Lionman's fist slammed down on the table in front of you.

A filthy rag was clutched in his hand. And he was wearing less clothing than before.

"Forgive me." His hand trembled as he attempted to wipe up he rest of the wine.

"It's okay." You tried to keep your tone gentle as your heart became a battering ram against your chest. He'd moved so fast. Tore off his clothes, just to keep some wine off yours.

"And what is the name of my savior?" You tried again, now that you had his attention.

"I... Do not have one."

You inhaled sharply. Perhaps releasing him back into the wild wasn't the best option, just yet.

"Well... I paid a gold piece for you. You have golden fur. And you clearly are showing you will be worth every piece." You looked to the notary.

"What's another word for gold?"

"Well, an old word for gold piece was "Aureus."" The notary explained as they spread the papers across the tables.

You turned back to the Lionman.

"Is that acceptable?"

He dropped to one knee, arm across his abdomen.

"Of course, Master."

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Northern Elephant Seal (Mirounga angustirostris)

Habitat & Distribution

Spend most of their time in the open ocean close to the coast

Come to shore along the eastern Pacific coast and offshore islands once a year to pup

Physical Description

Weight: 1,500–2,300 kg (3,300–5,100 lb) for males, 400 to 900 kg (880 to 1,980 lb) for females

Length: 4–5 m (13–16 ft) for males, 2.5 to 3.6 m (8.2 to 11.8 ft) for females

Northern elephant seals are bulky, with flat front flippers and atrophied hind limbs; males sport a large proboscis nose

They are covered in a sleek layer of brown fur, which only extends up to the neck on males

Behaviour

The bulk of the diet is fish, supplemented with squid, crustaceans, small sharks, and rays

When hunting, northern elephant seals are generally solitary

Upon return to shore, males battle fiercely for territory and maintain a harem of 30-100 females

In the ocean, northen elephant seals are hunted by killer whales and great white sharks

Key Advantages

Northern elephant seals are strong swimmers, able to dive up to 1,550 m (5,090 ft) and able to remain submerged for 20-60 minutes

The immense bulk of male elephant seals can easily crush smaller animals, including other elephant seals

Males are equipped with long, thick teeth which they use to bite other males

Photo by Tim Hauf

[bethanythebogwitch]

I haven't covered any pinniped pals for Wet Beast Wednesday yet, so for my first one I'm going big. Really big. Elephant seal big. Elephant seals are not only the largest of all pinnipeds, they are the largest of all carnivorans and the largest marine mammals that aren't cetaceans. There are two species: northern (Mirounga angustirostris) and southern (Mirounga leonina), with the southern species being the larger of the two.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! (image: an elephant seal bellowing)

Elephant seals are true seals (as opposed to sea lions and walruses), meaning they lack external ears and their hind legs have fused into a sort of pseudo-flipper that allows for highly efficient swimming but is of little use when maneuvering on land. While it is common among pinnipeds for males to be larger than females, elephant seals exaggerated that with one of the most extreme size differences between sexes. Females of both species range from around 350 to 900 kg (880 to 1,980 lbs) and 2.5 to 3.6 m (8.2 to 11.8 ft) in length. Male northern seals average between 1,500 to 2,300 kg (3,300 to 5,100 lbs) and 4-5 m (13-16 ft) while southern males break the scale at 1,500 to 3,700 kg (3,300 to 8,200 lbs) and 4.2 to 5.8 m (14 - 19 ft). The southern species has the largest mass difference between sexes of any mammal, with the males averaging 5-6 times the weight of the females.

(image: male and female elephant seals chillaxing on a beach)

In addition to the size difference, the other major form of sexual dimorphism is that the male has his nose elongated into a proboscis. This snout serves two major functions: it amplifies the roars of the male allowing him to be remarkably loud and it traps and reabsorbs moisture when he exhales. This is important as the seals do not eat or drink when on land and recapturing moisture lets him stay hydrated.

(image: a male[top], female [bottom left] and juvenile [bottom right] northern elephant seal)

Seals are adapted to spend the vast majority of their lives in the water and elephant seals are no different. They spend around 80% of their lives in the water and have many adaptations to aid in their lifestyle. Like most marine mammals, they have a thick layer of fatty blubber that preserves heat in cold water, reduces drag, and provides buoyancy. Like other seals, they can slow their heartbeats and redirect blood flow to the core of their body to avoid losing heat. Another seal adaptation is that veins returning blood to the heart grow near arteries carrying blood from the heart. This allows the cold returning blood to leech some heat from the arteries to avoid cooling down the body's core. They have a lot of blood to store oxygen, allowing for long dives. Elephant seals dive deep (averaging 300-600 m but occasionally much deeper) when searching for food. Females typically go on deeper but shorter dives than males. They can hold their breath for over 100 minutes, longer than nay non-cetacean mammal.. Their eyes are highly adapted to low-light conditions and their whiskers can sense motion in the water, both things that aid in finding food. Elephant seals are very opportunistic predators and will eat a large variety of fish and cephalopods.

(image: a female elephant seal swimming)

The 20% of time not spent at sea is mostly taken up by two yearly periods: the molting and breeding seasons. In both cases, the seal will haul out onto the beach and will not eat or drink until it has finished. Molting season lasts about a month and usually occurs in summer. Elephant seals undergo what are called catastrophic molts, where they not only shed and regrow their fur but their outer layer of skin. During the regrowth of their skin, extra blood has to be directed toward it. In the water, this would cause too much heat loss, so it must be done on land. The skin sheds in large patches and not all at once, resulting in molting seals having a ragged appearance.

(image: a seal mid-molt)

The longer and more famous time on land is breeding season. In early spring, males will arrive on beaches and fight each other for dominance. In time, a few alpha males will claim most of the beach. These fights last even after the females arrive. Fights are very dramatic, involving posing and bellowing. If one male does not submit, they will fight by biting and slapping each other with their heads. Fights are rarely fatal, but are frequently bloody. Males have thicker skin on their chests to protect them during fights. Alpha males claim the right to mate with the females. Other males are forced to the outskirts of the beach, where they try to mate while the alpha is distracted. Some males will become betas, who help the alpha patrol his territory and drive off competing males. These betas will often try to mate while the alpha is distracted. Only the largest and strongest males can claim alpha status, and usually late in life when they have grown to their largest. After the females arrive, mothers will give birth to their pups. After birth, the female uses unique vocalizations so her pup can always recognize her. They nurse pups for up to 28 days while the males continue to fight. Elephant seal milk is extremely high in fat content, with up to 50% of the milk being fat, compared to 3.5% for cows. Some mothers may adopt the pups of others, especially if their own pup died before weaning. Weaning is very abrupt, after which the females will mate and the adults will return to the sea. The pups are left on land for up to 10 weeks, where they must learn how to swim and hunt while subsisting off the energy stores they built up while nursing. Juvenile mortality is high, with up to 50% of pups dying before reaching maturity. Adults can lose a third of their weight during breeding season.

(video: a clip from the BBC documentary Seven World One Planet about males fighting fro dominance. warning: there is blood)

(image: a mother seal and pup)

A few pups are known as super weaners because they can grow exceptionally large during nursing. This is usually due to the pup being adopted by an additional female and therefore getting an extra dose of milk or it will steal milk from another pup. In a few cases, the mothers will just wait longer before weaning for unknown reasons. Average pups weigh between 110 and 160 kg (250 - 350 lbs) at weaning while super weaners can weigh up to 270 kg (600 lbs). They can put on so much blubber their ability to move becomes impaired. Super weaners are rarely observed again after leaving the rookery. It has been speculated that their excess blubber makes them exceptionally buoyant, reducing their ability to dive and making it harder to feed, leading to increased mortality.

(image: a chonky baby super weaner)

Both species of elephant seal were hunted to near-extinction in the 19th century as their blubber could be used to make exceptionally high-quality oil. After the hunting period ended, their numbers increased to the point both species are classified as least concern by the IUCN, though their populations have never risen to pre-hunting numbers and many areas that were historically occupied are now vacant. Genetic bottlenecks in both species has led to an increase in diseases and birth defects. El Nino is known to have a negative effect on northern seals by drastically increasing pup mortality, so this year was probably a bad one. One major limiting factor in their population growth is a lack of beaches to haul out on and many beaches they use are now protected by local laws or as UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

(Gif: a female versus a car. Round 1, fight!)

[snippychicke]

Legend of the Selkie and the Pirate

Am I a dumbass for starting another story? Yes. Do I care? No.

This will be a bit like Cats & Ships where we switch POV, but also inspired by prompts I found in an old document.

Fandom: One Piece (LA mainly)

Rating: Teen/mature (we have non-graphic nudity stated)

Part one of ?

Pairing: Buggy/Selkie!Reader

Warnings: Violence, hinted attempts at sexual assult by background characters. Followed by... more violence.

The seal I personally imagine is the leopard seal, but I try to be nondescriptive so you can have your own ideas.

Summary: Even in a world of monsters, devil fruits, pirates, and fishmen, selkies were considered a myth. Especially in the East Blue where the waters were too warm for seals to live anyways.

Except that myths were always seeded with truths, and stories always had a habit of coming to life.

Alternate Summary: You thought it would be easy to follow the stars home to the Arctic when you ended up far too south. Unfortunately, you were wrong.

Fortunately, another kind of star kept pulling you in-- the Flashy Fool: Buggy the Clown.

Unfortunately, this also leads you to question where 'home' really is.

(Meanwhile, Buggy is likewise conflicted. He handles it poorly.)

Ao3 | masterpost

Prompt:  Dreams/Nightmares

For Buggy, he swore it was a dream the first time he met you. It was some nameless town whose populace proved less than thrilled by their not so free entertainment. Even though his freaks had put on an extremely flashy show, the townspeople had barely clapped. 

 Watching the waves lap at the rocky beach under the full moon, dreaming of the treasure lost beneath (that he would never be able to reach) was still one of his favorite ways to unwind after a long day. Even if the sea hated him, he was still in love with it.

Yet that night something else broke the waves other than rocks or a boat. 

A seal. 

That instantly caught his attention. He hadn't seen a seal this far in the East Blue, and only had vague recollections of seeing them when serving with Gol D. Rodgers’ crew in the colder waters of the poles. 

Yet before he could ponder that oddity for long, things became weirder as the seal shifted, its skin becoming nothing more than a cloak over a woman's shoulders. 

A very curvy, naked, woman. 

His eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at the stars, a frown on her face and apparently unaware that she had company on the small beach.

Well, he had to fix that, didn't he?

~*~

For you, that night was a living nightmare. 

You gazed up at the stars, comparing them to the map you had (somewhat) memorized of the stars back home. 

You… were lost. You were very lost. 

"Mother Sea," you swore, rubbing your face as you tried to think. If the North Star was there, then you were… to the southwest? Or southeast? 

Well, too south either way. 

(What if that wasn’t even the north star?)

"And what do we have here?"

You froze at the unfamiliar voice, pulling your seal-skin closer as you turned. You had been warned about land-kind (humans and fishmen both) stealing one's furs right off one's back and using it as blackmail for all sorts of things. 

This one was human, you decided, judging by the tall thin form walking out of the shadows. (How did they survive without any meat on their bones to keep them warm?) Though you hadn't seen a human with a bright red nose like that… or strange markings on their face… 

Then again, you hadn't seen many humans this close either. Usually it was as a seal, and they were washed out by the bright light of the sun. 

You bared your teeth at him in a snarl as he walked closer, causing you to inch closer to the sea. "Back, human! Or I'll bite your hand off." 

Oddly, the human smiled, apparently amused by your words. With a flourish, he snapped his wrist and the rest of the hand came flying towards you, making you scramble backwards with a startled yelp. 

"Already off, sweetheart," he laughed as he booped your nose. "So let's try again. Who, and what, are you?"  

You didn't think, not when waves washed over your feet beckoning you home. (To safety, at least. These waters were too warm to be home.) You turned and melded back with your furs, ignoring the sharp yell behind you as you splashed into the waters. 

Prompt: Avarice 

Buggy was a greedy man, he could fully admit to that. Greedy for wealth, fame, power. Just like every other pirate, really. 

"You collect freaks, right?" The man pleaded as Ritchie dropped him at the pirate captain's feet. "I-I have a freak for you!" 

Despite the smile on his face, Buggy felt something twist unpleasantly in his stomach (or maybe something hadn't connected just right?). "You want to trade another's life for your own?"

His freaks weren't slaves. Sure, he was their captain and they obeyed them, but it was voluntary… mostly. Usually. 

They could leave any time was the point. 

And implying anything else already had condemned the man’s life. But then he led him back to the small merchant ship and pulled the so-called fream from the storage space from the hull of the tiny ship.

Chains bound your wrists, your mouth gagged with a strip of fabric. Dressed in nothing but a literal sackcloth. 

But Buggy was enticed by those dark wide eyes. So full of rage. It took a moment, but the clown-pirate recognized you from that moonlit cove just a few nights before. The mottled skin, oddly-sharp teeth. Those squishable curves. 

"--A real life selkie,” the merchant continued. “Her coat’s on another ship, just to make sure she didn't grab it. But--" 

His words were cut off as Buggy grabbed his throat despite the space between them. "I accept,” Buggy grinned as he looked at the merchant. “Her life for yours. Except she gets to keep hers. You don't. Not unless you can swim."

Buggy's hand carried him a few yards over the open ocean before dropping him, causing the pirate crew to laugh as the man struggled in the water. Meanwhile, the clown-pirate looked back at the woman, easily seeing the tell-tale signs of fear despite the attempts to cover it with anger. 

Selkie?  At first he wanted to scoff: those things were a myth. He remembered listening to the other pirates of his youth tell stories of beings that lived in towards the poles and looked like seals, but could shed their skin and become human. 

Which is exactly what he had seen that night. And after all, the Chop-Chop Fruit was supposedly a myth too.

He stepped closer, carefully studying the odd mottling of your skin, your just-a-bit-too-wide eyes, and the sharp teeth trying to gnaw through your binding. 

"If you bite, I get to bite back," he jested with a grin before undoing the gag, wondering if you even remembered him from the beach.

 He half expected you to snap or spit considering the expression on your face, but you did neither as you adjusted to no longer having the cloth in your mouth. "Water?" You asked after a moment, your voice sounding like someone who had screamed themself hoarse. "Please?" 

His grin softened slightly, becoming just slightly less manic. “Well, since you used the magic word.” 

Prompt: Difference 

Not having your furs made you… jumpy. It was like a piece of you was missing, which did not make your odd situation any better. You weren't one that typically socialized with those of the land. So being stuck on a ship with a motley pirate crew was certainly an… experience. 

Not a bad one per say, you actually were enjoying learning so much about their culture as you did small tasks about the ship to help out (your title was apparently chore-girl, or so it seemed). Most of the pirates were friendly enough, either asking questions or just ignoring you. 

A few you had to show that you were not as defenseless as you looked when they cornered you looking for 'special favors,' having heard ridiculous rumors about your kind. 

That, and apparently some human saw a naked person and presumed they were interested in sexual intercourse. 

Cabaji had been kind enough to provide you with more 'appropriate clothes' after that. Leading you away while their Captain reminded the idiots of their manners. (Granted, the fact the hand you had bit off was not going to return was probably punishment enough.)

It was easy to tell their captain, Buggy, was… different. For one, he could detach his body parts and send them flying as if a puppet on a string. (Devil fruit, some old memory in your mind spoke. Forsaken by mother sea and cursed by the Sea Devil himself. But you pushed such childish stories away.) 

But just the way he acted. Talked. It was different and had caught your attention in more ways than one. He may have been as thin as a piece of kelp, but he proved to be far stronger than he appeared. 

(Okay, you would admit it. He was handsome and charming. For a human.) 

You tried to convince yourself that all you cared about was the agreement you had reached after they had rescued you from the merchant ship: "We get your fur back, you do a little diving for us for some sunken treasure. It's a win-win." 

But even if you were able to find you fur like they promised, you were still so very lost. And unlike the others, the crew was welcoming. Buggy was welcoming. 

Not like the men who had caught you unaware while you had been trying to cool down from the hot tropical sun. 

You gazed up at the night sky, trying so hard to find something familiar and failing. You hoped it was just the bright moon and clouds partially obscuring the night. 

"Starting to think you’re a night owl." There was the tap on your shoulder, yet all that met you was a waving gloved hand that booped your nose before pointing to your other side. 

Buggy had his usual grin on his painted face (another human thing you were slowly getting used to) as he raised the arm missing its hand. It was so odd to see it return to its proper place and loom as if it had never left. "I heard Mohji had you bathe and groom Ritchie, so I would figure you'd be exhausted after that disaster."

You shrugged your shoulders. Trying to wash the lion had been fun, considering the cat hated the water. And afterwards, all Ritchie wanted to do was play as you tried to comb out his fur. And yet… "It's… hard to sleep." So many thoughts and worries constantly running through your head. Missing the heavy warmth of your fur. 

Missing being able to just swim to help relax. You knew humans swam, but how was a mystery to you. 

Buggy nodded as if he understood while he leaned against the rail of the ship, looking out over the waters. And you'd be a liar if you didn't take an extra minute to appreciate his form; long legs crossed, that thin lean body stretched out and muscular forearms braced against the wood. 

"I can help tire you out, if you want," he offered as he caught you staring, his grin wide as could be, punctuating his words with a wink.

You had a feeling that it was a joke--as most things were with him-- though you didn't quite get the punchline. You tilted your head curiously, mimicking his pose as you waited for him to elaborate. 

Only his smile faded once he realized his joke didn't land quite right. "Geez, give a man a beautiful gal and she's as innocent as a lamb," he muttered under his breath. 

"It's not my fault your humor is… different," you defended. "I'd like to see how you do if you were around my kind." 

"Can't swim," he grinned yet again, but one of those smiles that didn't feel sincere. It was a kind that reminded you of a threat, though you had never felt anything akin to fear when around him. "Pretty sure I'd end up as fish food." He paused before tilting his head thoughtfully. "Selkie food?" 

You shouldered him playfully before snapping your teeth at him. "Yes. Because our favorite food is pirates. Especially those with big red noses." 

His demeanor changed quickly, which you did not anticipate. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a dark look that seemed unnatural on his face. "I'll give you this time just because you're you, but no nose jokes." He growled threateningly, making you instinctively back up. 

"I-okay?" You offered placatingly. "I'm sorry? I don't understand, but I won't say anything more, promise." The last thing you needed was him upset and throwing you overboard without your fur. 

Nevermind the fact you didn't want to upset him even if you could swim. 

He glanced over you for a moment before his expression switched again, and he was soon ruffling your hair. "Relax doll. It's just a tender subject." 

You nodded silently, slowly relaxing but still on edge as well. You had seen his tempers, and don't particularly want that directed at you. "... for what it's worth, I think it's perfectly fine." You couldn't help but state, looking back at the inky black waters. 

Buggy huffed dryly. "You thought Mohji's little bear ears were real, so forgive me if I don't use you as a reference on what looks 'perfectly fine.'" 

You blushed as you sunk lower against the rail. "How was I supposed to know?" You had been so confused to see him with his hair flattened by the sudden rainstorm a few days prior. Which had been a riot to the rest of the crew, apparently. 

"Damn it,” Buggy swore under his breath. “You're lucky you're just...adorable." There was a hand at your opposite hip that suddenly pulled you into Buggy's side, his arm already waiting to wrap around your waist. "I could just eat you up."

You squealed as he nipped at your ear playfully, continuing the little joke between you. Yes, you threatened to bite him that first meeting, but it… was also a way your kind established and kept bonds between friends. Family.

Mates. 

Not that he would know that. It was just a game to him. And you would happily keep it that way. 

Prompt: Child

Buggy had to admit, despite the fact you were obviously a fully grown woman, there were times it was hard to see you as anything more than a child. 

Especially those wide eyes of yours opened in wonder as you marveled over such simple things like electricity or Cabji's unicycle. Granted, it did wonders for the egos of him and his freaks to have such a beautiful gal clap enthusiastically during training, complete with delighted laughter that needed no prompting. 

Okay, it was very intoxicating the way you watched. Like he was the most amazing thing you had seen. Forget the spotlight, he wanted the light in your eyes to always remain on him. He wanted to hear you laugh. He wanted to see your smile. 

He wanted all of it. 

(God it was so hard not flirting with you. He was a pirate, but he did have his own code of somewhat-honor. And you were thoroughly making him want to rip it to shreds because of the mix signals you sent.) 

And then came the times where it was clear that while you had a child-like wonder, you were far from defenseless. Those teeth weren't just for show as you proved when an idiot tried to cop a feel.

You weren't kidding that night when you threatened to bite his hand off. He wasn't even sure how you managed to bite the man's hand clean off, but you did. By the time he arrived to the startled gathering crowd, blood smeared your face like a mockery of his own makeup and the ex-crewman was wailing as he held a stump of his hand. 

The crewman shortly went overboard while level-headed Cabji found you some less provocative clothing. And he warned the rest of the crew that if anyone tried that again, he'd let you do as you please. 

Even if it was ripping out their throat. 

At the time the thought was a bit of an exaggeration. Especially as weeks past and he got to know you better. Your violent side was forgotten even as you'd smile and playfully nip at him with those sharp teeth. You were you, after all. Innocent as a lamb…

And then they finally hunted down the fisherman who had your fur. 

Even Ritchie shirked back as you took your revenge, and Buggy was both disturbed and uncomfortably aroused. He hadn't realized how sharp your nails were. How quick you were on land. How vicious you were. 

There was no mercy. And by the time you had your dark silvery fur wrapped around your shoulders like a cozy blanket, most of your body was painted red with the blood of your victims. 

"Join my circus," he offered as soon as your eyes landed on him. If only to stop him from begging you for something else as he stepped forward over the tattered remains of those who had wronged you, his arms spread as wide as his grin. "Join my crew." (Be with me forever. Stay by my side. Don’t leave me.) 

And for a moment, he thought you would take his offer, as you turned towards him, hand partially raised to take one of his. He already had planned that as soon as you touched him, he'd pull you into a hug. To hear you squeal with surprise and laughter. He looked forward to feeling those full curves pressed against his body, the soft warmth radiating from you.

His crew would be even flashier with a selkie. Such a beautiful deadly creature. Being. Person. He didn't even care what roll you took on, you would be amazing. You brought a new spark of life to his crew, and he needed it to stay.

But your hand dropped along with your expression as you stepped away from him. That light in your eyes shifted as you looked away, pulling your fur close to your body. "We had a deal. I'll gather treasure from the seafloor for you, but then I-I should go home." 

It was like you had ripped his heart out, and he couldn't will it back into his body. He lowered his arms, though he didn't dare let his smile fall. 

No one could know how disappointed he was. Or the fact you had just completely devastated him. "Right. Back to your little selkie pals, even though I haven't seen a single one of them trying to help you. Not like we have. We take care of our own, we'd take care of you." 

Okay, maybe a little of his anger seeped out, judging how you shied away. "I'm lost,” you tried to defend. “They don't know where I am, or what happened." 

It didn’t settle well with him. Because if you were his, he'd scout the whole four seas for you. Fuck a map, he'd go to the Grand Line blind to look for you. Raid the entire Red Line. 

But you weren't. And you would never be. 

Because his crew weren’t prisoners. “Okay then, doll face. A deal’s a deal, and it’s time to uphold your end.” 

Prompt: Running Away

How could someone look the absolute same, yet act so differently? 

Tension filled the air when you returned to the ship. Even though you had your fur and should feel complete, you felt… wrong as Buggy all but ignored you, snapping at the crew to take the ship to wherever you would finish your end of the deal. 

Was he that mad that you turned down his offer? 

But… you didn't belong here. Not just aboard the ship, surrounded by landkind. But in their whole society. You kept messing up, you were the odd one out. You couldn't contribute any to their circus acts. 

Besides, they had seen you overreact to knowing you had found the  ones who had stolen your fur. Even after washing yourself as good as you could with a cloth and basin full of water, scrubbing until your skin felt raw, you still could smell the coppery tinge of blood. Taste in your mouth. Remember the feeling of pure bloodlust and rage. 

If the crew had tried to interfere, you would have hurt them. 

You didn't know if Buggy could recall a limb that had been torn asunder. 

Buggy avoided you as the ship tore across the open sea. Before, he would find you several times throughout the day, dragging you to show you something. Or venting about something or another. Or just… teasing you in his own Buggy fashion. 

Now it felt like he avoided you. 

The crew as well, who would give you looks but usually just left you alone. 

You… missed it. How it used to be. 

But it was proof you didn't belong. Right? 

Finally, after days of awkward silence, you came upon a piece of ocean marked by rocks and shipwrecks. Masts and dark stone raised above the deep blew, rubble crashing upon both as the waves turned wicked. 

Finally, Buggy appeared, though avoided looking at you directly, and instead stared at the harsh ocean. "Deadman’s Stacks. Pirates have been trying to use it to escape marines for centuries, often with little luck. Only the best can navigate through the rocky outcropping and the wreckage. And rumor has it, it is a treasure trove beneath the waves." 

Cabaji held a bag out to you, "Fill this with whatever you can find, and a deal's a deal." 

You took the large rucksack, studying it and making a mental note of how to carry it when in seal form, before glancing at Buggy.

Who was still not looking at you. He used to always catch your gaze with his, and you loved the spark in his dark blue eyes. They were like the tropic seas you had begun to enjoy. Vibrant, warm, playful with a hint of treachery. 

Yet now they were as hard and cold as the waters of your home. 

You shoved the thoughts and emotions hounding you and quickly stripped the borrowed clothes, feeling the ocean spray briefly as you wrapped your fur around your shoulder. 

And jumped overboard. 

You heard the start of gasps behind you before you broke the surface of the water, the seal skin furs melting into your body as you changed, senses adjusting to being underwater. 

The damage above was nothing compared to below. You couldn't even see the sea floor through the wrecked boats, though the sea life had adjusted and seemed to thrive in the land-kind's ships. 

With the strap of the rucksack bitten between your teeth, you dove and searched. Finding the bits and bobbles that the pirates seemed to love and carefully placing them in the bag. Which was hard to do without hands, but you managed. 

Time was a foreign concept to you below the ocean,but eventually the rucksack was as full as could be without spilling and you returned to the surface. 

To your seal-eyes, everything was overly bright and hazy, but you could make out the large ship at least, swimming toward it. You could hear the crew once they saw you, whooping and hollering in excitement as you drew closer. 

You… never thought how you were going to get up. 

Just as you realized this, hands gripped your sides just behind your flippers and hiked you up into the air. You bit the strap of the bag in both fear and to keep it from falling as you were lifted up to the deck of the ship. 

Into Buggy's arms. You could make out the red of his nose and blue of his hair amongst the bright light, his mouth spread into a grin. 

Yet before you could do anything, he had set you down on the wooden deck and gently pried your rucksack from your mouth. Even with your poor senses, you could see and hear them clamoring over the treasures you had brought up. 

You had done your end of the bargain. Now it was time to leave. Part of your heart wanted to stay, and threw a fit as you forced your body to wiggle towards the edge. 

You heard Buggy call out for you just as you threw yourself overboards, freefalling into the waters below. 

[fairyhaos]

❍ the 2k event: jeonghan + jellyfish

vote for this fic in the poll!

alternative title: down here in the deep blue sea

pairing: siren prince!jeonghan x selkie!gn!reader

genre: mythical au, siren au, friends to lovers

word count: 1130

warnings: none

event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @weird-bookworm @my-moarmy-heart @hannyoontify @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @sweet-like-caramel @horanghae8 @graybaeismytae @karionice @hopetiger10

The bottom of the ocean is dark and cold and unpleasant. There is little light, and the creatures that live here are fierce, hardened by the harsh environment they’ve evolved to survive in. Here in his palace, Jeonghan is shielded from the worst of it, but even he understands that the never-ending abyss that makes up his family’s kingdom is nothing like the glittering, lively seas that their distant mermaid cousins live in.

But it’s all that Jeonghan has ever known.

That is, until he met you.

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan, Jeonghan, I’m here!”

Jeonghan doesn't have time to look up before a selkie comes crashing into him, all sleek, soft fur and big eyes. He laughs, because he's used to this by now, and pushes away your head slightly so that you're not squishing your cheek against his. 

"Get away from me, you rascal, you're going to mess up my hair," he says, but he's smiling, and you beam at him in return, all twinkling irises and bubbling laughter. 

"Yeah, yeah, it's gonna get messed up anyway," you say, ruffling his hair just to prove your point. "Anyway. Ready to go?"

Jeonghan cocks his head, smiling. "Maybe. Where are we going this time?"

You tap your lips secretively. "It's a secret. You ready to come or not?"

He rolls his eyes, pretending to give a long-suffering sigh. "Alright. Let's go." He looks around the darkened sea garden, peering into the bushes. "Shua!"

Another siren pops his head up above a cluster of bioluminescent sea flowers. "Yes, sire?"

"I'm gonna leave," Jeonghan says, pointing to you. "Y/N's taking me hostage. Don't expect me back until at least supper time."

Joshua crosses his arms and swims towards where you and Jeonghan are sitting. "Jeonghan, I can't keep covering for you forever," he protests. "I think there are only so many times I can pretend you got lost in the Royal Seaweed Maze before someone realises I'm lying about the Crown Prince's whereabouts."

"Then just this one last time, Shuji," Jeonghan says easily, grinning. "I'll bring you along next time Y/N and I go somewhere. How about that?"

Joshua wrinkles his nose, the scales on his cheeks glowing neon pink in the light of the flowers. "Hmph. Just go. Tomorrow, I'm resigning as your personal guard."

"You do that," Jeonghan says with a smile,  because they both know that Joshua would never leave him. "See you tonight, Shua!"

"Yes!" you cheer. "Let's go!" You ruffle Joshua's hair in consolation before grabbing Jeonghan's hand, sending a bright grin over to the siren prince and then swimming upwards, up, up, away from the kingdom down in the abyss. 

———————————— 🪼

"Are you really not going to tell me where we're going?"

You look over at Jeonghan, whiskers twitching, and reply with a chirrup, bubbles escaping your mouth. 

He sighs at you, smiling, flicking his tail and swimming faster so he's beside you. You slap at him with a seal flipper when he attempts to poke your cheek, making more seal noises before he laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. 

"Okay, okay. But seriously, where are we going?"

You morph out of your seal form into one that's slightly more conversation-able, the faintest whiskers still on your cheeks and the sleekness of your selkie fur blending into something resembling human skin. You grin, and point upwards. "Not a where. A what."

Jeonghan looks up, and his eyes widen. 

You've led him so far away from the depths of the ocean, and with just a few miles of swimming he'd be able to break the surface of the water. But that's not what he's looking at. 

Above you both, there's a swarm of transparent, floaty things, tinted in pretty pinks and oranges with what looks like long, thin threads dancing in the movement of the sea. 

"We're here to see the jellyfish," you say, and he mouths the word to himself in wonder. 

He watches as the jellyfish bob around, following the movement of the current. They look almost like mysterious spirits, with elusive purposes and elusive aims and elusive goals. 

It's fascinating.

Their transparent bodies filter the rays of sunlight right through them, and it's a kind of glittering, crystalline wonder that Jeonghan has never been able to see before in the near-pitch black darkness of his kingdom. He finds himself awed, unable to take his eyes away even as you take his hand and draw him closer to the shoal. 

"Jellyfish have no brains, no hearts, bones, or eyes," you say. 

"Aw. That's actually really sad," Jeonghan says. "Imagine not having a heart." He pauses. "Oh, and no brain, too."

You smile. 

"They're actually mostly made of fluid and transparent muscles, which are the bell parts that you can see," you carry on, pointing to one jellyfish. "And these thin tentacles? They help the jellyfish catch their prey."

"How do they eat?" Jeonghan asks, confused. 

"They trap their prey in their tentacles, and then eat through the opening in the middle of their bell body," you say. "See? It's like their mouth is in the center."

"Huh."

"Do you wanna touch them? They're dangerous for humans, apparently, but I found out that they're pretty much harmless for us to touch."

Before you came into his life, Jeonghan lived almost entirely within the walls of his palace, surrounded by darkness, knowing and going no further than the surrounding cities. It was a miserable existence, to always be held on a leash, unable to stretch his fins and breathe in new water into his gills. 

But then came you. You stumbled into the palace gardens one day, all twitching whiskers and bright selkie eyes and a smile and an outstetched hand that promised new, bright, wonderful, fascinating. 

Jeonghan had grown up being told not to take risks, but taking your hand? 

That felt like coming home. 

You come to him randomly, with new facts and new adventures and every day he's with you feels like living a new life, witnessing the shimmer of aquamarine seas and vibrant coral reefs with his own eyes. It's exhilarating, makes the blood in Jeonghan's veins sing. And listening to your voice, filled with such eagerness and fondness, is more mesmerising than any siren song that even his father could conjure. 

"—not actually fish, you know? And they're pretty much harmless. Okay, maybe not totally harmless, but they don't bother you if you don't bother them."

You pause, then, because one jellyfish chooses that moment to bob upwards in a swirl of translucent jelly right into your face, and you scrunch your nose with a barking laugh. 

Jeonghan watches you, the smile widening on his face, before he pauses. 

Oh. 

He might be just a tiny bit in love with you. 

[wolven91]

Spa Day

Jonathan pushed his hand into the thick white pelt of Garsh's arm and luxuriated in its softness. He pushed his arm forwards and his hand disappeared into the pelt, then his wrist, then part of his forearm, before his palm touched something solid and hot.

The ursidain's fur was dense and thick, if the human had to guess, it was near enough a foot deep. The outer layer was rough and coarse to the touch, creating a sort of barrier to the outside environment. When he pushed his fingers deeper, the soft under pelt felt like silk to his hands, but the heat that was trapped beneath was also instantly transferred to the man's hand. It wasn't a surprise that her hidden flesh felt hot to the touch, ursidains ran far hotter than a human ever did.

The human and the ursidain were both sitting on a bench in the public space of the station. It had been a long day and the two of them, after leaving work, had immediately needed to just sit and take time to decompress. It all honesty it had been a busy week, they were both exhausted and finally had a few days to themselves. The busy period was over.

As Jonathan lovingly combed his fingers through the fur on her arm, he noted the coarse fur and the knots he came across on a regular basis. Garsh had her eyes closed and head leant back as she lay slumped on the bench itself. Jonathan watched her for a time, noting the clenched jaw and the effort she was making to slow her breathing, taking in air through her mouth and exhaling through her nose. A technique he himself had taught her.

"Fancy a 'spa-day'?" He asked, breaking the silence, unaware if 'spas' were a thing up here.

She frowned, before the 'polar bear' like ursidain lifted her head to turn to him and fix him with a quizzical expression.

"The heck's a 'spa-day'?"

Jonathan gave a single bark of a laugh before sobering when she remained confused rather than revealing her joke.

"How about I book it all and we go together?"

--- 0 ---

Turns out, the aliens did 'do' spas.

The following day, the pair pulled off the station's motorway and pulled up in a vehicle bay using the 'hover-bike' that Garsh had favoured over the sealed 'cars' that the majority of the citizens preferred. Garsh had given up trying to get Jonathan to call the vehicles by the correct terms, it seemed another strange quirk of 'her' human.

Humans seem to have their own names for things and enjoyed mildly annoying everyone by using their terms over the correct ones often deliberately using terms that the translators would hiccup over rather than their correct names.

The human and the ursidain entered into the 'spa' and the atmosphere changed from the busy, cavernous station, to a warm, welcoming room with a smiling male taurian behind a desk. He ducked his head in a graceful bow, until they stood before him at the counter.

Jonathan tiptoed up to peer over the desk and confirmed his details with the receptionist who immediately welcomed to duo into the deeper parts of the building with a sweep of his arm. Garsh had no idea as to what to expect from the spa. It wasn't something that people like her did.

She was an engineer, getting greasy or dirty was part and parcel of the job. What was the point of spending hard earned credits on getting clean when she could do it with a coarse brush and bad language at home?

When she was told to strip and given an oversized fluffy robe, the ursidain's eyes bugged out of her head and flitted across to Jonathan who merely laughed and disappeared behind a curtain. To her left was a similar curtain, which she peered around to reveal a changing room like one would find in a clothes shop. Turning the fluffy robe over in her hands she found that hers had no sleeves, but when she saw Jonathan again, his robe covered more of his whole body.

Another pair of diminutive taurians, at least to Garsh, ushered them through to a new room. This one was full of hot mist and the pair were subjected to a hot bath.

The bubbling water, but not boiling, roiled and undulated with a pleasant scent curling up from it in the steam. At first Garsh was concerned about whether it was wise to go anywhere near something that hot without safety measures, especially with such precious cargo like a human around. Jonathan instead simply shed his robe and stepped down into the giant boiling cauldron, much to Garsh's shock and horror!

However, instead of all the thrashing and screaming she expected, the human merely gingerly settled himself into the water, 'oohing' and aahing'. The ursidain frowned and with very little grace, 'plunked' a foot into the water to test the heat. Hot, but not uncomfortable. Copying the human, she tossed the robe and with all the grace expected of an ursidain, tumbled into the bubbling pool as her foot didn't find a solid floor past the shelf Jonathan was using. A surge of water partially lifted and displaced the human who cackled at the display, glancing over to his robe which had been already retrieved and placed onto a raised bench by an unseen assistant alongside hers.

The overflow of water displaced by the ursidain went into wide drains that surrounded the hot tub. Jonathan suspected any ursidain sitting in the pool would cause the same tidal wave, so considered it wise planning on the architect's part. The constant stream of bubbles provided a massage to the pair of them as the streams of air rippled through Garsh's fur and over Jonathan's skin. For a time, she sat with her arms in her lap, unsure on what she was supposed to do now.

Garsh looked over to Jonathan, wondering what the next part was. The human merely smiled and said that she should try counting her breaths into she got to a hundred. She got to twenty-six before Jonathan sighed and scooted down into the water. Ursidains were roughly twice the height of a human, with the design of the pool, she was sat on a lower bench that was beneath the roiling surface. It was one of the few times that she and Jonathan were almost eye level. The gentle giant cared deeply for the human and only wanted what was best of him and to make him happy. The only reason she had agreed to this whole thing was because he had said it would make him happy...

Seemingly sensing her gaze, he opened a single eye, smiled and scooted along the shelf until they were sat touching arm to arm. She leant back and stretched out, placing an arm at Jonathan's back. With this natural feeling action, it was her turn to sigh as a wave of contentment washed over her and the ursidain finally 'got' spa days, scooting down into the water.

Garsh began to notice painful bunches of muscles across her body that she hadn't realised was there. Tensed legs, arms or even her shoulders began to uncoil. She rolled her shoulders as she hesitantly allowed her tense muscles to relax. It was an alien sensation, but far from a horrible one. She found her lungs releasing a pent-up breath she hadn't realised she was holding on to.

The two lay against one another for a time, listening to the sound of the water before a quiet noise of another set of two employees entering the room with a tray of bottles and brushes. Every furred and even scaled being up in the stars had a grooming kit. A series of clippers and brushes held in personal kits of varying styles was owned by everyone bar the humans. The kit's these attendants unrolled however, were of the finest quality, appearing as gold with shining silver of metal along the edges of the blades and scissors.

The attendants coaxed the pair from the waters, Garsh averting her gaze from the human's body before laying down on the leather gurneys that had been rolled out for them.

What followed was a significant shampooing, conditioning, and scrubbing of Garsh's pelt in such a manner that she couldn't recall the last time it had had such attention given to it. Of course, she washed herself, kept clean and gave it a brush when needed, but the attentions she was being given was unlike anything she had experienced before. The human on the contrary was both easier and harder for the delicate taurian to deal with. Instead resorting to a body massage to burn time waiting for his ursidain partner to be dealt with.

When Garsh was finally released and the pair were told they could sit up and join the attendants in the next room at their leisure, Jonathan's jaw dropped open. Garsh was practically glowing, her fur, usually a creamy white, was now almost sparkling in the dull lights of the spa, it rippled and flowed easily with every movement.

Garsh pulled the curtain to the next room to one side, allowing Jonathan through. Now there were two seats, the human was dwarfed by it, whereas it was 'just right' for Garsh. What happened next was a pedicure and a manicure. The taurians once more were stumped by the dull 'claws' of the human, whereas they knew exactly what they were doing with the ursidain. Jonathan opened one eye to see them applying what looked like nail polish onto his nails and opened his mouth to protest.

Until he noticed the male taurians working on him, who all sported various colours across their claws. He gave a mental shrug and laid back. There were no humans on the station, he doubted any alien that knew what was 'normal' for a human and what wasn't. Plus, it felt nice to be pampered...

The rest of the day was a series of events, each focused on another part of their bodies. Claws, ears, arms, and legs.

When they finally stepped out of the building, both of them practically glowed.

Climbing onto the 'bike' again, Garsh ensured that Jonathan was wearing his helmet, before wrapping a protective paw around his front and pulled him backwards so his back was against her front. Only now, instead of compressing the fur of her front, he instead partially disappeared into the luscious thick pelt. His world was outlined with the long white fibres of her fur and his own body heat was reflected back at his back immediately.

"So, when is it my turn to drive this thing?" He asked playfully.

A rumbling chuckle gave him a taste of what an earthquake felt like.

"On this deathtrap? Not a chance. Now hold on, we're setting off."

[ratsoh-writes]

Hey y’all! Meet grimmtale! My newest au!

Grimmtale, like most of the other AUs was underground before the crash, but unlike most AUs, the monsters were very happy to be there!

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when drought dried up the surface leaving it uninhabitable, to save the underground lakes swamps and rivers, the monsters and witches of that world created a barrier protecting the underground from the heat above. Every entrance possible was sealed up and inside the earth developed a beautiful swamp like ecosystem where the people lived!

Over the years, monsters and humans alike developed and mutated to better fit their new home.

Humans, or the witches lost the color in their skin becoming a pale translucent blue-white color. Their hair thinned to the point where very few people grow any at all. And finally the witches of grimmtale have very poor eyesight, needing dark conditions to see at all, but have an amazing sense of hearing, touch and direction!

Every monster subspecies had changes too, each one unique to their respective subspecies. For example, goats have much thinner fur as well, and scaly hind legs as well as a snakelike tail. Slimes became extremely strong and are much larger than their counterparts with the ability to glow. And skeletons gained elongated forearms and prehensile tails as part of their mutations.

Monsters and the witches have lived in harmony for generations, with family covens ruling the roost underground. Humans from grimmtale have a longer lifespan due to generations of using magic. The typical witch from Grimmtale will have an average lifespan of 130 years, with the oldest (not soul bonded to a monster) living to 175. Half breeds and mages are very common as well making up a solid third of the AUs population.

The most lucrative business from the Grimms is potion making. These people will create concoctions that can have all kinds of temporary effects from painkillers, strengtheners, ones that change appearance, ones that have spell like effects, and even potions that can cause explosions!

After the crash, this au has been in charge of mapping the underground chambers of ebott. Around 3/4ths of waterfall in ebott contains the swampy terrain of the grimms old au, so the majority of their people decided to stay and settle underground. Many visit the surface though of course!

Between the 855 covens, they all voted and chose the Dreemur coven to appoint two representatives for the board of royals. After a month long series of trials, the twins, Gloom and Fog were chosen to take the vow with the rest of ebotts royals

Now meet the boys!

Thistle Wingdings: (Grimm sans)

Thistle is a stocky Grimm skeleton aged 58 and standing at 5’8 feet tall. He has a gim grey green magic and a very very deep voice with a gravely sound to it. By Grimm monster standards, he’s quite handsome but most surface skeletons would be nervous around him. He has a series of eyebrow piercings and one nose ridge stud

Thistle has a relaxed and calm personality. He loves to take life slowly, enjoying the little pleasures. He’s a huge cuddle bug, and affectionate with anyone who looks past his gruff face. Just a real sweetheart. If he isn’t smiling, he has a serious resting b*tch face. Despite his lazy attitude, he’s a very clean person and takes great pride in making his home pretty and nice smelling.

Thistle works with his parents growing various potion ingredients on their farm in waterfall. Most of the plants are pretty self sufficient leaving him and his family with a lot of free time. So to keep himself from getting too bored, he does a touch of mining on the side

Thistles magic weapon is a… pillow. Yes that’s right. It’s simply just a pillow conjured by magic. It’s very soft and comfy, and cooling! (And it can secretly cause cold damage if he wants it to)

Thistles secret ability is “early frost”. When he touches metal, stone and magic attacks, he can concentrate and freeze the objects through to shatter them, granted as long as they aren’t too big

Things he loves: cuddles, soft fluffy bedding, weirdly shaped rocks, toads and newts, the color navy blue, baked potatoes with tuna, herbal tea, Minecraft, making scented cleaning potions, pretty candles, echo flowers, goth music, human mythology

Yarrow Wingdings: (Grimm papyrus)

Yarrow is a crazy tall skeleton for grimmtale. He stands at 6’10, well above the average of 5’6. He is aged 49 and has a dull French grey magic. His voice is soft and low with a scratchy quality. He’s considered insanely handsome to other grimms but is a little creepy to surface skeletons.

Yarrow is a gentle giant. He moves carefully and with intention. He’s very meticulous about his actions, but doesn’t handle failure well when trying new things and can get frustrated easily. He has a keen sense of adventure and loves to explore. He’s a bit of a flirt and loves playful banter that doesn’t actually mean anything.

Yarrow works on his family’s potion ingredient farm. The plants are mostly self sufficient though leaving him and his family with a lot of free time. So to keep himself busy he also helps build passages underground for the miners.

Yarrows magic weapon is a grappling hook with four pointed ridges that clamp down when they hit anything! He has scary good aim with that thing!

His special ability is “frog hands”. Yarrow can stick to any surface and will scitter up walls and across ceilings as fast as if he was sprinting.

Things he loves: exploring new places, rock climbing, swimming, his pet toadstool bitty “warts”, the color blood red, classic horror movies, goth music, clams and mussels, herbal tea, Spider-Man, making strengthening potions, red roses.

Side characters

Gloom: Grimm Asgore, gloom is a grimm goat monster standing at 8’7. He has pitch black fur a deep red beard, white eyes and two small nub horns. He is a playful and gentle monster, but has a terrifying protective streak when pushed. He’s in charge of directing the mapping efforts of the underground and providing monthly updates of such. His twin sister and playful rival is Fog.

Fog: Grimm toriel, Fog is a Grimm goat monster standing at 8’7. She has a deep red fur, no beard and two large curled horns. Fog is a cheeky and mischievous monster. She has great skill in soothing tempers but is known to hold grudges herself lol. She is in charge of approving designs and locations for the underground highways and towns being built. Her twin brother and playful rival is Gloom.

Morticia Wingdings: formerly named Aster, she is the mother of thistle and yarrow. Morticia is a tall Grimm skeleton standing at 6’4 and has a dim grey magic. She’s considered bloody gorgeous by Grimm monster standards. A potion accident years ago left her with her neck permanently turned invisible giving her the appearance of a floating skull set atop her shoulders lol. Morticia is elegant and mischievous, loving a good laugh at some dark jokes. She loves her sons and is very grateful that they seem happy in ebott

Gomez Wingdings: the father of thistle and yarrow, Gomez is a large strong ogre mage with pitch black skin of ogre monsters, dull purple eyes, and no hair as is typical of the humans of his au. He is very happily soul bonded to Morticia. Gomez is a kind and goofy fellow who’s a total simp for his wife. He isn’t sure why his wife was so eager to take on the name Morticia after the crash, but he supports it. He loves his sons dearly.

Venom: Grimm muffet, venom is a small spider monster with a plum purple skin, thin black hair and adorable pale grey eyes. She’s aged 92 Venom is a close friend of thistle and yarrow and was their babysitter when she was younger. She is a popular potion maker specializing in potions aiming to help those with good hygiene. She buys most of her ingredients from the Wingding covens farm.

[pearlywritings]

Seeing your latest post on Kaveh pushed me to share this brainrot I've been having over the last couple of days about another lovely pyro man, Thoma.

Imagine if you are Thoma's spouse and you get along with Taroumaru. He is always excited to see you because you give him treats and headpats whenever you visit. He recognizes you as important to Thoma.

Imagine Taroumaru with you when you are pregnant. He would just become so protective and never leave your side. When you are sitting down, he would sit next to you, near your belly. Imagine if you have to go out to town alone, he would definitely be stopping you from leaving the premises. He just wants to be with you, to protect you and your unborn child.

And once the baby arrives, Taroumaru would be over the moon. He would be jumping to see the baby in yours or Thoma's arms. He would never leave that baby's side.

I just love those videos of dogs and babies getting along.

Sorry for my late answer, my lady 😭. This idea is so so cute, I couldn't help but write my own thoughts 💜💜💜

Thoma x fem!reader, mentions of pregnancy, 1k+ words

Long before you and Thoma got married the owner of the Komore Teahouse was aware of your existence. Moreso, the Shiba Inu loved when you came over - alone or with your sunshine lover, always greeting you with a bark and a wiggle of his curled tail.

Though the first few times Thoma brought you to the Teahouse for dates, the dog seemed to watch you closely, you could clearly see the guarded stance of him and the way his nose was twitching as you were passing by with your hand clasped in the blonde’s bigger one. You also noticed how the male talked to the almost humanly dressed animal - like he was a human too. Which you quickly realized wasn’t so far from the truth.

Taroumaru is very intelligent. And sensitive. It took him little time to realize the importance of you, the kindness of your expressions, the softness of your words, the sparkling in your eyes whenever you were with Kamisato Clan’s housekeeper. You also treated the Shiba Inu well - greeted him with respect upon arriving, bringing him treats he liked, smiling and speaking to him as if he could answer you back.

And Taroumaru liked it. He liked you.

The only thing you were very hesitant to do was to pet him. He overheard how you told Thoma that you were afraid it’d offend the esteemed owner and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. So the dog took it upon himself to jump off the counter and walk to where you and your lover were enjoying your tea and the sweets, gazing at each other lovingly. Until you felt the nudging of your elbow and looked to the side to see Taroumaru bumping his head against your arm, demanding something from you. Softly chuckling at your confused look, Thoma explained that the dog was pretty much asking for headpats. When your expression turned stunned, your boyfriend moved to your side and took your hand to carefully place it on top of a fur-coated head, letting your fingers sink a little in the sand-colored softness.

That day you not only got closer to Taroumaru, but it seemed that to Thoma as well.

From that moment the bond between you and the dog was unbreakable. It was not a surprise when you delivered a proper invitation for him to your wedding, resulting in a rare show of pure dog-like emotions, as the Shiba Inu practically jumped on you and Thoma, licking your faces and wiggling his tail madly, fueling both of your feelings even more. I mean, you would feel this way when someone like Taroumaru is so excited for you and your union.

By the way, it was him, who brought the rings to an almost wedded couple after the vows were spoken, sitting there in front of you, watching the golden bands be slipped on each other’s fingers and the kiss seal the deal.

Before and after your wedding your visits to the Komore Teahouse were steady - maybe like twice a week, depending on your boyfriend’s - now husband’s - free time. However, when you got pregnant - and the dog very early knew you did - you would come almost every day. 

Usually Taroumaru stayed on the counter all day long, rarely leaving it to sit with someone, even if it was you and Thoma. With your pregnancy everything changed - he was glued to your side from the moment you entered the establishment. He’d lay his head on your thighs, letting you pet him, he’d personally be bringing you more tea or treats - whatever you desire, he’d gently poke your belly with his nose - seeing his surprised reaction when something poked him back during the later months was so funny.

But also he became very overprotective. Oftentime he would bite on the hem of your dress and tug to make you stay when you try to leave - having little desire to let you go without your husband coming to bring you home. It always took a lot of time to convince your furry friend that you'd be fine and there were always people of the Yashiro Comission in town with an order from none other than the Kamisato Ayato to assist his housekeeper’s lovely wife whenever he was unable.

Still, he would exit the Teahouse with you, and stand outside for as long as he can see and hear you. Only after losing sight of you would the Shiba Inu return inside.

When you were not visiting for two months - Taroumaru got very worried, even his employees noticed it. They would write Thoma letters, asking, if you are alright, what should they tell their master to ease his mind. In return your husband assured them that everything was perfect and that soon the two of you would visit with a little surprise, to which the dog could do the only thing - wait.

And Archons was the wait worth it. When a windbell chimed and the pair of yours appeared at the entrance, Taroumaru leaped. Only to be caught by Thoma, hoisted up and in his arms, unable to escape and reach you. 

Soon he understood why the precaution was taken - in his state of joy the dog did not notice the bundle in your arms. Upon closer inspection his ears perked - the smell was familiar. Prodding the blankets with his nose, he sniffled and explored, still tightly held in your husband’s arms, which, honestly, looked really cute.

When a tiny hand bumped against the nose, the dog experienced the greatest deja vu, finally realizing what was going on - your baby was here.

Taroumaru would be enamored with your little daughter - the third important human of your family. I bet that it’s in his power to train another Shiba Inu to become the girl’s protector - but also a great pet companion. It saddens him that he can’t see the three of you every day, but knowing there is someone 24/7 by your side to protect you is more than enough for him.

Well… Maybe when his retirement comes you’ll be willing to accept him in your house. Yes, that’s a nice thing to wait for in the future.