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thenameswinterfics · 11 days

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VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying.

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago.

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky.

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars.

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories.

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go.

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach.

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her."

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature.

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away.

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened.

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again.

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..."

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past.

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?”

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them.

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd.

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question.

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long.

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over.

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight.

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for.

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust.

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him.

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern.

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you.

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do.

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters.

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead.

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him.

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements.

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.”

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes.

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it.

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile.

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words.

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in.

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks.

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence.

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning.

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands.

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him.

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding.

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness.

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours.

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..."

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.”

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact.

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before.

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was.

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave.

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers.

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim.

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you."

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors.

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts.

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt.

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch.

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

#sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric fic #sihtric kjartansson fic #the last kingdom fanfic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fanfic #tlk fic

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starogeorgina · 1 year

Text

Violent delights

Warnings: Swearing

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.03

You sit before the queen, the king's hand, the High Septon, and the maester who helped deliver your baby, listening to the conditions of your annulment to Aegon, who was nowhere to be found. Daemon and Jacaerys weren’t allowed in the room, so without their support, you found yourself giving into Queen Alicent’s terms quickly. The queen's reasoning for wanting the annulment for her son was that you were unable to produce a male heir, which was a cruel thing to say even by her standards. Alicent smiled while declaring you and Aemma were no longer to have the last name Targaryen, and Aegon wasn’t to be named as Aemma’s father on any documents. Making Aemma a bastard was the ultimate insult to your family, one you were sure the greens would delight in.

You suspected House Hightower's alliance with the faith was the only reason the High Septon was allowing this to happen.

You give Alicent a shocked look when she asks if you agreed to her terms, knowing if you disagreed with anything, the annulment process would be stopped and you would be forced to stay in the Red Keep with Aegon. “I agree to the terms, your Grace.”

Alicent’s nostrils flare as she stares at you, and her features only soften slightly when her father whispers something into her ear. You wonder if she was expecting you to challenge her. She sits back in her chair and says, “Very well then. Is there anything else you’d like to address, Lyarra?”

“If possible, I’d like to return to my old bedchambers, assuming my belongings are still inside them. I’d like to take the dragon egg I had picked for Rhaegar home with me, if your grace allows it.” You can catch glimpses of humanity in her eyes, and you hope she will allow them.

“Very well. I shall have Ser Criston escort you.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

—

The walk to your old bedchamber was in silence as bitterness radiated from Ser Criston. Soon as the door behind you was closed, you picked up the dark blue egg you had chosen for your son, then paused. You glance at the door, then look at the wall hiding the passageway that connects your room to Aegon’s.

You know it’s the wrong thing to do, but you can’t help the burning desire to know if Aegon had endangered his own baby’s life. You needed to know what you were up against. You glance around your old bedchamber, which was once a prison to you, then head towards his bedchamber.

It is no surprise to you that Aegon is passed out on a chair, butt naked. You try to shake him awake, but when it doesn’t work, you pour a jug of water over him. Startled, he sits up, frowning at you, and groans while rubbing the water dripping from his hair out of his face. “I thought you left to go live with your mother. Or did you miss me terribly and return?”

You swat his hand away when he presses it against your hip, saying, “Do not touch me.”

“Gods, you're so uptight,” he says before flopping back down. He lets out a huff and asks, “Did you bring the girl with you?”

“No.”

He stares up at the ceiling with a distant look in his eyes and says, “Probably for the best.”

“If you do not wish to be a part of your daughter's life, that is fine, but I need to know if you sent Aemond after us on dragon back.”

“What?” He shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed, and lazily he pushed you out of the way so he could refill his knocked-over cup with wine. “I have no idea what nonsense you are talking about.”

“Aegon!” Frustrated that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you grip his jaw so he’s unable to avoid making eye contact with you. Vhagar is the largest dragon in the world; no other dragon would stand a chance against her. You only got away safely because Aemond was too scared to act when Daemon was present. “When I left to return to Dragonstone with Aemma, your own flesh and blood! Aemond followed me to Vhagar. Did you ask him to try and scare me into returning to the keep, or kill us?”

Surprisingly, Aegon’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “no. I was unaware this had happened. I’m many things, but I’m not a kinslayer.”

You believed him. Aegon looked genuinely hurt by the lack of knowledge of what his brother had done. You let go of his jaw and walked to his door, leaving him to drown out any emotions he may feel in privacy.

Just as you reach the door, Aegon mumbles, “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”

Sighing, you clutch the dragon egg closely to your chest and exit Aegon’s room for the last time without replying. You didn’t have the energy or the heart to explain that you had no good memories of being married to him.

You’re so distracted that you don’t see the person standing in front of the door until you slam into them. Shit. You gulp down, “Jacaerys…”

He grabs your hand, pulling you behind him until you're out of earshot of anyone else. Jace was furious at the way you went off without telling him or Daemon, but you couldn't help it. It had happened almost entirely on instinct, with some silent voice telling you to confront Aegon before your brain even processed how dangerous the situation could turn. “Me and Daemon have been looking for you for some time; we grew worried when you never came back from the meeting. The guards told us you’d gone to your old bedchamber.”

Your voice is small as you say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed to talk to Aegon.”

Jace lets go of your hand and spins around fast; his face is hardened except for his pleading eyes. “Mother used to cry herself to sleep at night; she never forgave herself for letting you marry our uncle. She wishes she had fought against it.” He takes a step closer to you and says, “You’ve no idea how much we’ve missed you, yet you act so recklessly." We’ve all heard the stories of what he does to the servants; he’s capable of anything.”

“Trust me, I know I know exactly what he’s capable of; how did you know I went to his chamber?”

“Because you're my sister, my other half. And I—” He stops before finishing his sentence.

“Jace, what were you going to say?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Frowning, you repeat the question, “What were you going to say?”

Shaking his head, he starts to turn away from you, saying, “We should go. Vermax is getting restless, and it’s not safe for us here.”

—

The trip back to Dragonstone was mainly in silence. Daemon had picked up on the tension between you and the queen's protector but never asked anything; instead, he sent you home.

Ser Criston grits his teeth as you walk by him to get outside. The knight looked furious. Without realizing it, your pace quickens until you cross the bounds of personal space with Jacaerys, and your arm brushes against his with each step you take. He notices but says nothing as his eyes remain glued to the ground.

When you reach Vermax and Caraxes, your stepfather, Daemon, crosses his arms over, holding Ser Criston’s glare. The knight was now standing by the doorway, watching intensely as you got ready to leave. Daemon clicks his tongue and says, “Go straight home; we will discuss what happened with your mother present.”

Your heart races in your chest as you replay your brother's words. You had been reckless. Aegon could have tried to physically harm you, force himself on you, or kill you. And in your fragile state, you would have been able to attempt to fight him off.

Your arms tighten around Jacaerys waist. “I’m sorry,” you say loudly so he can hear you through the wind blowing in his ears. “I should never have spoken to him alone.”

When Jace doesn’t answer verbally, you think he’s not heard you, but when one of his hands rests atop yours, you realize he has, and the tension in your body settles a little.

—-

You watched as the sun disappeared behind the thick gray clouds forming above; it wouldn’t be long until the storm reached. You stare up into the sky as an uneasy feeling settles in you; your stepfather hasn’t returned to Dragonstone yet. You didn’t dare say it out loud, but you were petrified that one of the other dragons might have attacked Daemon and Caraxes.

You didn’t notice Jacaerys talking to you until he put his arm around your shoulder and said, “We should go inside; you’re sick, Lyarra, and I don’t want you getting caught in the rain.”

It hurt to think of all the times you would let the rain soak you without a care in the world. “You used to love dragon riding with me in the rain.”

“Ñuha dona mandia, we will ride our dragons in the rain again soon, but for now, I need you to go inside and get warm.”

Your brows pull together; you weren’t a child who needed to be coddled. Puffing out your cheeks, you look down at the ground. It didn’t matter that you had a child of your own for Jace; you would always be his younger sibling he needed to protect. A thought suddenly occurred to you. “You didn’t know where I went after leaving my bedchamber. You went to talk to Aegon yourself, didn’t you?”

Jacaerys clears his throat. “I spoke to him while you were in the meeting with the queen. When I returned and Daemon said you hadn’t returned, I thought you might have gone there.”

You considered asking him what was said but decided against it; it was probably best you didn’t know. “I sometimes forget how alike we are.”

“Look!” Jace points up flashes of red above, followed by a loud roar. From so far away, it looked as if Caraxes was twirling in the sky, otherwise known as Daemon, making a dramatic entrance. “They made it back safely.”

—

Soon as Daemon's feet hit the ground and heavy rain started to fall, he ordered you and Jacaerys to go clean up for a meeting with your mother.

You walk with your arm linked with Jace’s out of the tunnels the dragons resign themselves to and towards the castle's entrance. “The maesters said you would have died of exhaustion if you hadn’t arrived when you did. But now you are safe, and we can look after you here, so there’s no need for you to feel like that anymore.”

During your walk, you confided in your brother how lonely you had been in the Red Keep.

“Thank you; being surrounded by family certainly helps. I just hope Mother and Daemon aren’t disappointed in me for agreeing to Alicent’s terms so easily.”

“You could never disappoint any of us.”

It surprised you how much Jacaerys had changed over the years. He had grown into a handsome young man; he was good-natured and smart. You had no doubt that when his time came, he would be a well-respected king known for his kindness.

—

Even though you weren’t Rhaenyra’s oldest child, you had to grow up much faster than your siblings; being the only daughter meant you had to make sacrifices. You would have preferred to have spent the last few years attending lessons and dragon riding by your brother's side instead of feeling isolated. But you would never complain out loud, “If I hadn’t done my duty, then my daughter wouldn’t have been brought into the world.”

“That’s very well, but Alicent has made a complete mockery of House Targaryen,” Daemon hissed. The prince slams his hands against the table while standing up, “this cannot stand. I will fly back to the red keep and inform Viserys of this myself.”

You mothers face is stern as she looks up at while stroking her bump, “you will do no such thing.”

Daemon's eyes darkened and his jaw tensed a little. “Aemma is your blood, They have made her a bastard! What will you do about it?”

The servants clearing the table kept their heads low, too afraid to look at the enraged prince. Your mother sighed, “Lucerys, Joffrey it’s time to get ready for your remaining lessons.”

You start to bounce your arms ever so slightly to help the babe in your arms sleep, watching as your two younger brothers left the room, Luke didn’t seem to mind but Joffrey sulked on his way out. You felt your blood boil under your skin, “Alicent and Otto want a reaction.”

“Snakes waiting for the precise moment to strike their prey and spread their poison,” your mother states. Her eyes are hazy as she stares out of one of the windows, looking deep in thought. “There are many ways this issue could be resolved without returning to the keep.”

Daemon who is now pacing lets out a scoff, “like what?”

“Start a petition, have my father legitimize her… or if push comes to shove we could come up with a different story. Hardly anyone saw Lyarra in the keep-”

“I won’t have my daughter grow up in a lie.”

Jacaerys stands, gaining attention from everyone in the room, “there is one other way. Aemma is only a few days old,” he looks directly at you. “If you are remarried then it would be believable that he would be her father.”

His suggestion made you laugh. You understood where he was coming from, but it wasn’t realistic. “And who would you propose for this knight in shining armor?”

“Me.”

Ñuha dona mandia - My sweet sister

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys velaryon/you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #violent delights #Jacaerys Velaryon x oc #Jacaerys Velaryon x fem oc #Jacaerys Velaryon/oc #jace velaryon fanfic #jace velaryon fanfiction #jace velaryon x you #Jace Velaryon x oc

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swampstew · 1 year

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Meet the Kid Pirates HR Director/Emotional Support Human ~ Heat

Ok, look I get it. The Kid Pirates look raving mad and chaotic. I don’t blame you for feeling nervous when you see one up close and personal. They’re tall, loud, violent, and brash, and their outfits! I swear to you though, Heat is by FAR the least aggressive out of ALL of them. Unless you’re an enemy, in which case Heat will roast you like a rotisserie chicken. Within the crew though? He’s the man! He looks a bit like a ghoul, but he’s a ghoul with a heart of gold. He’s Heat the Director of HR.

Meet the Master Strategist Strategist 🡢 ☠️ Meet your Vice-Captain 🡢 ☠️ Meet your Captain -> ☠️

When he’s in work mode, Heat takes his job seriously. With Wire’s assistance, the two run ship operations on behalf of Kid and Killer. They assign tasks to the crew, keep the ship up to Kid’s standards, and handle all the micro inconveniences of being a Captain that Kid doesn’t like want to do.

Since Heat’s super power is his empathy – no, not his fire breathing though that is also very useful – he’s the person who everyone comes to talk to. Be it professional advice, personal help, talk the shit, whatever, Heat is always down to clown or just talk to people. He’s a laid back guy, bit of a people pleaser, who enjoys other peoples company for the most part; unlike his three comrades who are more introverted than him, the guy with deep scars engrained in his face and neck.

Heat loves to party. Any reason is a good one to cut loose, get drunk, over indulge in Killer’s cooking, and have fun. A pirate’s life is grueling as it is awesome, so Heat tries to live every day to the fullest. You can also attribute his laid back attitude to all the weed he smokes. He’s Wire’s best customer! Sober or not sober, Heat’s attitude is the same either way. He might have a melancholy face but the dude is the nicest son of a gun on the entire ship. He once admitted that the crew is his family and being a pirate is everything he ever wanted, that’s why he’s so happy all the time. Awww.

As talented as he is with complex feelings and crew management, Heat also has another super skill. No its still not the fire breathing. The man can do hair. Have you seen his flawless locs? He twists them himself and has been for years. He’s the unofficial hair stylist on the crew for anyone needing help dying their hair. What, you thought the baby blue was natural? HAH. His outfit of choice was of course, like everyone else on the crew, created with an assist by Wire. That’s his bro. His bro would never let him leave the house ship looking like an idiot.

Oh my gods ok enough with the fire breathing, I know you want to know! The truth is…shrugs shoulders…its just a thing he does. He doesn’t have a devil fruit power and he’s pretty positive he wasn’t cursed by a Witch. Ever since he was a wee lad, Heat has had the gift of fire breathing. It does come in handy, its saved his life plenty of times before he was a pirate and before he was a gang leader too.

No one on this ship had a happy childhood. If they had happy childhoods, do you think they’d be sailing around the world with someone who is basically their hotheaded, younger brother with a higher body count than Dracule Mihawk, and actually take orders from him? Fucking ridiculous. Everyone's emotional irregulation and anger issues means Heat's work is never done. His therapist cup runneth over.

He's the person you can relate to the most out of the top brass, the one who handles most internal conflicts within the crew that are not Boss-related incidents. Heat is compassionate but it doesn’t make him a pushover. He’s The Guy who enforced the word BOUNDARIES on the Victoria Punk just so the Captain couldn’t bully the fuck out of everyone smaller than him. Those peaceful and lull moments on the ship? Your bedroom door not being kicked down on Kid’s every whim? Yeah, thank Heat for those.

Heat's heart and soul are devoted to Kid and the crew, don't ever underestimate what he'd do or who he'd cut down to honor their pride.

Welcome to the crew and practice your breathing exercises!

#one piece heat #reader/you as in you are being recruited to the crew #one piece #swampstew.daydreams #swampstew #eustass captain kid #one piece fanfiction #eustass kid #swampstew stories #kid pirates #kid pirate headcanons #one piece wire #welcome to the crew #massacre soldier killer #kid pirate nakama #heat one piece

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dyinglikeastar · 2 years

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Ghostbat: A Bruce Wayne/Minhkhoa Khan Ship Primer (part 1)

"I honestly can't think of anybody else he has that kind of relationship with—" Dick Grayson

Ghostmaker, or Minhkhoa Khan, was introduced in Batman Vol 3, issue 100. He is initially introduced as an antagonist or even possibly a new villain for Batman to go up against. At first he sounds like just another self-involved dude who thinks Batman is failing at protecting Gotham, so obviously he needs to come in and do the job for him. But Bruce gets all weird about it, as you do about exes.

But then Dick shows up and we find out that this guy is definitely Bruce's ex some mystery guy from Bruce's past.

He and B had been chasing some Gotham criminal who fled to Singapore and then Dick found himself watching awkwardly from the batplane while Bruce had some kind of jilted ex-lovers in the rain scene (not the first or only one) with some random guy Dick had never seen before and he was like, god this is awk.

Oh my god, the second hand awkwardness. Poor Dick. And then he ends up playing therapist for Bruce about it, because what else are Robins for, am I right?

So this was a pretty life changing moment because hold on, Bruce Wayne had a FRIEND? That he admitted he misses? That right there would be enough for me to build an entire ship around. But oh wait, there's more.

BUT FIRST, a little bit more about Minhkhoa though because this is not just a ship manifesto, but an ode to Minhkhoa Khan because I just think he's NEAT. That, and we already know more than we ever wanted to know about Bruce Wayne lbr.

Minhkhoa Khan

Minhkhoa Khan was the son of a Singaporean business owner. When he was a young child he witnessed his father being violently threatened into selling their company to the extremely wealthy Midas crime family.

It just so happens that it was around that time that Minkhoa's parents had already seemed to notice something was different about him. Using the terminology used in the comics, Minkhoa is a clinical psychopath.

But, according to him, his motivation for for fighting crime is that he sees it more like an art and that solving and stopping a crime is more of a challenge than being a criminal. However, even though he swears up and down those are his true motives, it appears that his parents being threatened and humiliated was the catalyst for him setting off and searching out training.

And this eventually leads to our meet-cute with Bruce in the mountains of North Korea where they are both training under Master Kirigi.

Awwwwwwwwwwww. Also at first, while they're training with Master Kirigi, they go by fake names. Bruce tells everyone his name is "Jack" and Minhkhoa goes by "Anton."

But damn, did that shit get gay af really quick.

They were BESTIES. But then Bruce is Bruce and gets all mad because Kirigi is teaching some LoA wannabes how to kill people and decides to peace out and Minhkhoa (not the first or only time) begs Bruce to take him with him.

Alas, Bruce is Bruce and is all, "No, how can I be motivated by constant pain and sufferring if I actually communicate and develop somewhat healthy relationships?" and runs away. BUT before he can get too far, he's attacked by those same wannabe assassins and oh look, it's your boyfriend bestie that you totally just bailed on coming to save your ass!

And so begins Bruce and Minhkhoa's (or Jack and Anton's) gay little crimefighters in training adventures. They first find themselves in Moscow looking for an ex-kgb agent to train them, but were caught and tortured for god knows how long. God, look at these idiots competing over who can withstand torture the longest, I'd die for them.

And then look at Bruce get all upset about it when they start torturing his boyf-bestie :)

But it turns out it was just a test and they did find who they were looking for, a woman named Avery Oblonsky. She tries to teach them spy things, like seduction and disguises etc, and I love how it's sort of explained that Minhkhoa would naturally excel at these sort of things, seeing as how mirroring people and creating false empathy is just part of his personality, and I love that Bruce was just massively struggling with that part of it. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

Which leads us to the GAYEST SHIT I'VE EVER SEEN. Or at least the gayest panel I've ever seen that includes Bruce Wayne.

IS THAT NOT THE GAYEST SHIT YOU'VE EVER SEEN? ARE Y'ALL GONNA KISS OR WHAT, DAMN. Anyway!!! Avery says she's taught them all she can and sends them to Canada to be trained by the greatest marksman, Luka Jungo. Bruce has a whole fit because Luka makes him shoot icky guns and then Luka has a whole fit because when they went hunting, Minkhoa shot the deer in the wrong place and he's like welp, this obviously means you're a psycho serial killer and I have to put you down now AND BRUCE PULLS A FUCKIN' GUN ON THE MAN.

AND THEN HE FUCKIN' SHOOTS HIM!!!

Bruce Fucking Wayne! Known Gun Anti! Shot a motherfucker to save his boyfriiiiiiend omg. And then said boyfriend picked the gun up and k worded the guy and they have a whole lovers spat about it and a super metaphor-y gay breakup scene.

Literally, what in the heterosexual explanation.

So after THAT, they obviously split up, but then Minhkhoa is Minhkhoa and basically just stalks the poor guy across the globe. For instance, when Bruce tracks down the world's greatest knife thrower in Dublin to learn from him, Minhkhoa just randomly shows up and demands that Bruce homoerotically fight him over it and this guy is so valid.

Next they conveniently run into each other in the Gobi desert where Bruce is supposed to be meditating on grains of sand and Minhkhoa tries to demand another homoerotic sword fight, but this time is the anniversary of The Thing and Bruce is simply not in the mood.

But Minhkhoa Khan is nothing if not a king of consent! He doesn't keep nagging him, he just sticks his swords in the sand and cops a squat next to him and flirts in the only way either of them will ever understand and I think that's beautiful.

The next (and last) time they run into each other before current time is in Argentina. Minhkhoa has stalked him there too and he's realized that Bruce is finished with his training and is headed back to Gotham. He tells Bruce that he's not ready, that his emotions are going to get in the way of the mission and probably get him killed within the first six months. Then, he begs Bruce to play house join him in fighting crime.

Bruce says no and we have yet another break-up scene, in the rain, no less.

And that brings us up to current events. Minhkhoa gets wind of the Joker War apparently and shows up to tell Bruce what a shit job he's doing and how he can do it better, ends up tranq'ing Bruce, Harley, and a slightly homicidal teenage vigilante going by the name Clownhunter and locking them all in a room together in order to each Bruce a lesson. He says the kid's a killer and Bruce is irresponsible for letting him live, but uh, somehow everything works out all okay in the end I guess because this happens?

Bro? Introducing him to the FAMILY? Good lord he's down bad. Also I think Bruce might be having a slight mental breakdown, but it's all good because LOOK HOW HAPPY HE IS.

God they're such dumb boys. And that almost brings us up to speed, stay tuned for ghostbat ship manifesto part 2: old married husbands shenanigans.

Part 2

#ship manifesto #ghostbat #bruce wayne #minhkhoa khan #dc comics #batman #ghostmaker #bruce wayne has a type #minhkhoa khan stan account

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

Text

School Of Rock

Orpheus & Sister!Reader, Dream of the Endless & Daughter!Reader + a bit of dream x reader

Summary: "YEAH!" he makes an sheesh face, "THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT!" "ORPHEUS QUICK, DREAM'S COMING." "SHIT," he grabs his sister and the guitar, "SCRAM!" "SHIT!" "NO, DON'T SAY THAT!"

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: a smidge of mom!reader x dream, literal baby girl!reader, angsty teen!orpheus, dad's not here so let's go wild 😎 -orpheus, babysitter!matthew, being emo is genetic, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I am currently mourning (update: eternally) orpheus because i finished book 7 and now i dont know what to do with my life. I had an ask for this, and honestly, i regret answering like that cos idk if that nonnie will ever see this T_T COME BACK NONNIE Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

"That went well!" I grinned as I turned to Dream, who was vibrating in anger as he watched the 'impudent' boy storm off. He turns over to me with a shocked and hardened expression. He growls, "my son just threatened to curse you. I do not take that lightly." I furrow my brows as I chuckle and pull Dream in for a hug, "nah. That was a bluff. He likes me," I sigh through a smile, "he held back his laughter to my jokey-jokes a couple times." Dream stiffens as my arms go around him. He looks and thinks there was a foolishness to this optimism; it was borderline denial. Still, he says nothing and returns the embrace.

"Who goes there?"

He tilts his head up to the three gatekeepers, "Orpheus," he flares his arms out, making the fringes on the sleeves of his leather jacket wobble with the air, "prince of the Dreaming."

Wyvern brings its face close to the figure clad in black, looking at him for a good few seconds, and finally recognizes him. "So it is. Apologies, your grace. We did not recognize you because of your attire."

Orpheus pushes his shades down and tilts his black cordobes hat back. His distressed black eyeliner made his blue eyes appear even bluer. His black painted lips curve into a grin, "no harm done."

"I must inform you that we were instructed by our master to disallow your entrance if you are to be hostile with the princess child; as she is currently here in the Dreaming," Griffin speaks.

"What?"

"Do you swear that there shall be no hostility toward your half sister from you?" Hippogriff questions.

Orpheus chuckles dryly and clenches his jaw.

The three gatekeepers ask at once, "do you swear it?"

He sucks in a deep breath then pulls a smile, "I swear to the gods of Olympus, and on my mother, Calliope, I will not be hostile to the girl."

Needless to say, Orpheus was grumbling the whole time he walked down the halls of the Dreaming. His eyes twitched when he heard an echo of girlish giggles from the throne room.

He huffs through his nostrils and crosses his arms when he sees a raven flying low around the room and a little girl chasing after it with an open mouthed smile.

Both creatures freeze when the bard barks out the girl's name viciously.

She squeaks and comes to an abrupt halt, falling on her hands and knees because of this. Her keeper, Matthew the Raven, swoops down next to her in concern. Undeterred, she ignores Matthew and looks to her approaching figure with wide eyes.

"Where is father?" Orpheus asks.

Matthew answers, "he's out doing some errands."

He raises a brow, "and her mother?"

The black bird raises a wing, "I would assume she is the errand."

Orpheus chokes on his spit and begins to cough violently.

"I'm taking care of her for the meantime."

He heaves as he attempts to level himself. He scoffs and points, "you?" He walks over to the child, "insanely irresponsible to leave a child to a bird, isn't it?"

"Hey! I'm a great babysitter," Matthew argues, "and between me and the Pumpkin, I'm wayyyyy better."

Orpheus watches the girl push herself up and look up at him with wary eyes. He notices the way she flinches back and how her hands fidget, and somehow the reaction makes his chest tighten. How... dare she?! His emotions bubble into anger. He imposes upon the tiny thing and leans forward, hands, with painted glittery red polish, coming to his knees. He pushes his shades down and raises a thick brow, "what's wrong, little girl? Scared?"

The girl takes a look at his darkened eyes, and Orpheus is certain she's about to cry.

Yet, instead, he, himself, flinches when the girl breaks into a squeal and jumps into him. Orpheus pulls back in surprise, but she still manages to dart her arms out to his shoulders and very nearly choke him in an embrace.

His hand comes to the girl's back, intent on exaggerating injury for effect and pry her off. But then she rubs her face into his shoulder and shrieks, "Orphy!" She mutters sweetly against him, "missed you."

He glares at Matthew when he coos at the manipulative toddler's words.

Against himself, the hand which meant to yank her away rubs her back gently. He feels a blush creep on his face as he slowly pulls away from the seemingly unwilling child. He adjusts his glasses as he straightens up and looks down upon the beaming little sister he regretfully has and clears his throat, "whatever. I don't care."

Matthew chuckles at that, making Orpheus snap at him, "beat it, bird."

"Hell no," the bird croaks, "I'm her babysitter. My eyes will be on her the entire time, which means now, they'll be on you too."

Orpheus rolls his eyes, "ugly."

If Matthew had eyebrows, he'd raise one of them for the emo child's random insult.

The series of events that play out after was, in Orpheus' eyes, truly indicative of the conniving nature of the girl. Somehow, she managed to make Orpheus allow her to not only redo his makeup (as in wash it off and do it all over again), place stickers on his bare arms (he removed his jacket and was left in his makeshift muscle tee) and put clips and ribbons all over his hair (he may go bald now), but she also made him cook for her (and Matthew) and steal his confiscated electric guitar from the vault (all her idea)! The fact her parents were blind to her evil was astounding.

Orpheus was even encouraged by the raven to continue with the shenanigans, so if anything, it was clear that even Matthew was unsafe to her mind games.

Right now, he had his mint blue guitar plugged to some effects pedals and an amp, and he was intent of blowing the brains of this kid off with his sick guitar riffs.

Unfortunately for the Master of Riffs™, she was most impressed by his rendition of Ba Ba Blacksheep, and not even a rock version with cool distortions and wah effects, just... just babablacksheep.

Matthew croaked in approval as the girl clapped her hands after Orpheus finished singing.

Ever the rock star, the guitarist pushes his instrument back and bows, a few plastic clips falling to the ground as casualty. At the ready, the girl darts up from the floor she was sat and grabs the clips, raising her hands up to put it back on her beloved brother's hair.

Orpheus instinctively gets down on his knees and lowers his head to her. Matthew so very much wanted to tease him in this moment, but he didn't want him to suddenly snap at him and her because of it.

She shakily, as toddlers do, clipped the pink gel accessory back in his dark hair. Orpheus has to readjust it so that it wouldn't fall off. He smirks, his cheeks covered in way too much red power blush and his lips overlined with sparkly lip gloss (he has no idea why this child has makeup to begin with), "thanks kid."

Said kid, eyes lined with matte liner, cheeks drawn with crooked hearts (what? If she can put makeup on him, he could put makeup on her), exclaims, "think yew!"

Orpheus laughs. But then he catches himself when Matthew joins in, so his face falls.

He clears his throat and shifts onto his butt, removing the guitar strap form his body, "c'mere, let me teach you how to play Ba Ba."

"BA BA BLACK SHEEP?!" she excitedly jumps to his lap.

He grunts at the impact but only adjusts her on his thigh and places the electric guitar on her.

She excitedly grabs onto the neck of the instrument and begins to strum with her little fingers.

"Ouch," she gasp, pulling her hand back at the unforeseen snip her soft finger received from the sharp steel strings.

"Shit," Orpheus mutters, taking her hands and inspecting it before handing her the pick in his hand, "here." He places the pick between her fingers and guides her arm into a slow strumming motion.

The girl's jaw drops at the sound she was able to produce. She looks back at her brother and lights up, stars in her baby girl eyes.

Orpheus chuckles instinctively, "yoooo, you did that! Gnarly bruh."

"NARY!" she squeals and makes sudden attempts to stand from his lap.

" 'M ORPHY!" she calls, just as Orphy leans in and adjusts the straps on her, so that she could carry the guitar easier.

Orpheus' stomach drops as the girl struggles to her feet, but with a little help, she gets up and slowly turns to him, smiling from ear to ear as the guitar slowly slipped from her grip.

Once she had a better grasp on the electric instrument, she slowly walks to the pedal board and steps on one of the knobs, just as she saw her older sibling do. The thing was, she was too light to actually turn on the effect, and so Orpheus presses down on it to enable it.

She begins to sing Ba Ba Black Sheep in a high key, and skids the plastic magenta pick back and forth over the pickup. With one hand pressed firmly on the neck, she effectively mutes out most of the sounds she would have produced, and yet, it could not be denied that her performance was stellar.

Orpheus thinks it must run in the family (she gets it from him).

"BRAVA!" Matthew calls from the side, making her turn to him and smile bright.

The way she looks at the raven in delight makes Orpheus scowl at him. This was why he shifted on his knees and clapped his hands, cheering much louder, "BRAVISSIMA!"

Matthew flutters upward, "STUPENDA!"

Orpheus turns to the bird as he flies over the girl, making her squeal in glee. Drats... his Italian was stunted.

So, he rains her with Greek compliments, but she was too busy watching the bird fly around to notice.

Stupid bird.

By the time they're caught, Orpheus had successfully and impressively taught her how to do a C chord, as well as an Em chord. Baby girl tried her best to shift between them to actually play a progression, but her little fingers could barely hang on, so in the end, Orpheus magicked the chords (sat behind her and did the chords himself) as the girl did her darndest to strum, and she gratefully giggled as the two doting on her cheered for her performance.

It was Dream that caught the children playing together. Well, in truth, they weren't really caught, because he knew everything that was going around in his realm. He had felt a disturbance from within the vault and knew it was his son stealing his confiscated object (confiscated precisely because he was nasty to his sister once before) even though he was preoccupied. But since he had better things to do, he let it slide.

Dream took me by the hand and lead me quietly down the hall, intent on showing me something. I was really nervous to see what it was, considering the fact he kept rubbing my knuckles and muttered I should try not to react too much.

Needless to say, I had to bite him on his shoulder to shut myself up.

Dream broke into a smile as he felt me wrap my arms around him from behind. He brushes my arms gently and turns to me from over his shoulder, "they've been together ever since Orpheus arrived. He has been teaching her to play his instrument"

I muffle my mewl and feel my bottom lip quiver at the sight of my beaming little girl, giggling with her older brother.

Dream looks back at them and whispers, "shall we join them?"

"No!" I mutter quickly, "let them-" I choke on my words as I feel myself begin to sob, "let them have their moment."

"WOW KID!" Matthew coos, "YOU'RE PROBABLY THE BEST GUITARIST IN THE WORLD!"

Orpheus eyes him for that, knowing he was trying to egg him on, but then he melts when the girl giggles. He cannot contain the gasp that leaves him when he hears her say, "I fink Orphy iz- his GREATEST!"

The raven laughs, "hear that?" He turns to tease him, "she th-- ... ... are you crying?"

"NO! THERE'S SAND IN MY EYE-" sniffle- "M-MY DAD'S A JERK!"

Dream makes a hmp sound and feels me laugh against him before I start crying even harder.

#dream of the endless fanfic #dream of the endless fluff #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fluff #morpheus fluff #dream fanfic #dad!dream of the endless #dad!dream #papa bear!dream #dream & reader #dream & child!reader #dream of the endless x reader #orpheus & sister!reader #orpheus #the sandman x reader #orpheus fluff #morpheus x reader

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bobamilkk · 1 year

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TF2 HEADCANONS PART TWO ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

I told myself I’d get these up one of these days👍 I finished this list at 4 am last night so none of this makes any sense and every word is more chaotic than the ones before it and no I’m not sorry y’all sighed up for this bs

Scout

-Can understand a good chunk of French but can’t speak more than a few simple words if that, has no clue how he understands it (Spy spoke a good amount of French around him as a baby or something idk)

-Can be just has hard to find as Spy-once you loose sight of him he’s impossible to find if he’s actually trying to stay hidden-Like father like son

-Can and will steal your food-this includes Heavy and Medic-He has no fear whatsoever and has been sent to respawn god knows how many fucking times because of this-And yet he still does it

-Loves scifi movies and comics and if you watch a movie with him half of it is him pointing out random trivia facts because he’s incapable of shutting the fuck up (this is also what happens when you watch a movie with me irl. My grandparents are sick and tired of it. Yes this is even more self projection what of it?)

-has mastered the younger sibling talent of fucking climbing people if it means getting something that’s held over his head. He also bites

Soldier

-it’s impossible to tell if he’s insulting you or complimenting you 90% of the time

-Has stabbed Scout’s hand to the table to prevent him from stealing food before and no one stopped him

-The team has movie nights once a week and Soldier always puts on the same inaccurate WW2 documentary he made himself when it’s his turn to pick-he used to put on 10 hours of the American National Anthem but someone (read: The rest of the team working together) lost (read: Violently destroyed) the tape after the third time

-I said he was from Missouri once in a rp cuz my rp friend and I are both from different parts of Missouri so that’s my hc now

Pyro

-I always hc him as Irish for some reason idk why

-Can casually pick up every merc except for Heavy-He struggles a bit with Medic because that man is pure muscle but they can indeed pick him up

-May or may not be a cannibal-it’s a little uncertain but either way they’re banned from the kitchen and cooking duty

-I’m a sucker for the hc that he does not like water whatsoever-Getting this man a bath is like trying to bathe a cat except somehow even more deadly

Demo

-This may be the impulsive sleep deprivation but my brain randomly went “What If he can see general ghosts because of his possessed eye socket, not just Eyelander or the scream fortress ghosts” so sometimes people walk in on him casually having a conversation with the air. Considering he’s made out with his own organs in his head, this is one of the less weird things they’ve walked in on him doing

-Surprisingly he’s the best with kids out of all 9 mercs, Heavy is a good runner up though and Spy’s not far behind but will never admit it

Heavy

-Accent gets thicker when he’s talking to people he cares about

-Was the one who suggested the movie nights in the first place

-Actually cleans up in the base unlike literally everyone else

Engie

-People don’t realize how unhinged this man is ok??? Anyways he’s a caffeine addict and has developed the habit of pulling way too many all nighters if it means getting work done (like me. It’s 4 am as I work on this list. Help)

-What’s a southern farm boy without a few dozen concerning stories about pushing cousins out of second story barn windows or near drowning fishing story? My cousins lived on a farm when we were kids and they scared the shit out of me I swear there was a new broken bone every summer

-probably once had a sleep deprived mental breakdown on his workshop floor because the sweet tea one of the mercs made him wasn’t sweet enough idk man I’m sleep deprived rn and could really use a southern style sweet tea

Medic

-Mann vs Machine hc that his hometown would rather deal with the robots than having Medic anywhere near them ever again. They want him GONE

-Sleeps like a fucking corpse-You can’t even tell he’s breathing unless you look closely. He even crosses his arms like a corpse

-Will take you graverobbing for a romantic date-gotta get experiment canvases somehow he’s running out of room on the other mercs without them just dropping dead from it all

Sniper

-The opposite of a morning person, but his internal clock won’t let him sleep in ever. The suns up? He’s up! Someone help him

-Has befriended a wild owl and feeds it at night-The offense trio very violently helped him name it (They fist fought eachother over who’s name was better while Sniper spaced out thinking about random gator facts)

Spy

-An adrenaline junkie but will never ever admit it

-Spy can mimic voices to a near perfect even without his disguise kit-he however rarely uses this and instead simply mocks everyone instead because he finds it funny (“This is Scout! Rainbows make me cry!”)

-Wears a corset because I said so-It always matches perfectly with his outfit and underwear too-He feels SO bonita

Bonus since it’s Pride Month

-Scout is gay and so many levels deep in the closet it’s embarrassing-He’s also trans because I said so

-Soldier is trans, bi, and poly :) his list of wives consists of anyone and everyone /j

-Spy is bi and a cis man who wears dresses regularly he’s gnc af and I love that for him he’s my wife now

-Medic is gay and still legally married to his wife they’re mlm wlm solidarity married for tax benefits /j

-Pyro is trans, non-binary, and pan and uses he/they pronouns because I said so

-None of these men are straight ok

-Medic did both Scout and Soldier’s top surgery but both of them instead have overly extravagant extremely gorey stories on how they got their scars

#hi can you see my bias yet?#god I love them all #they’re the found family ever #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 hcs #tf2 headcanons #team fortress 2 headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #tf2 heavy #tf2 Engie #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy

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linesonscreens · 5 months

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Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - January 1953

There are lots of great strips I just don't have room to comment on. I strongly encourage everybody to read the full month at the official GoComics page. Today's month starts HERE.

Jan 7, 1953

Actually, depending on how you play your cards this can get you some serious bragging rights down the line.

Jan 8, 1953

Kids think we adults do this sort of thing on purpose.

And they're right.

Jan 11, 1953

Early Linus has 3 main traits:

He's a baby

He's a weird supergenius with psychic powers

He responds to frustration with violent revenge fantasies

Also I think that might be his first on-screen spoken dialogue, which is hilarious.

Jan 14, 1953

Violet, please dump him.

Jan 15, 1953

This rules. We need to make “non-representational snowman design” a whole thing.

Jan 27, 1953

Schroeder makes a mistake that will haunt him for decades.

Jan 29, 1953

Holy crap you guys, Shermy's still alive!

Thoughts:

If I were asked what my favorite part of Peanuts is I'd probably point to the Schroeder/Lucy (Schucy?) piano chat dynamic. Lucy is terrible to everybody and almost never suffers repercussions for her actions, so it's incredibly cathartic to see her attempts at romance consistently demolished by 40 pound autistic kid with a thing for older men.

I also genuinely love that the strip doesn't handle their interactions as some sort of bullshit tsundere relationship waiting to happen. Where other comics might have depicted Lucy's unwelcome attempts to force a relationship as cute or quirky, Schulz instead depicts them as deeply annoying and consistently has her punished by the universe for refusing to take a hint. It's incredibly funny, and actually does a lot to make Lucy feel human and relatable in the process.

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say here is please for the love of God stop shipping Schroeder and Lucy together. You sons of bitches are going to give me a brain aneurysm I swear...

#peanuts #comics #charles schulz #comic strips #lets read #peanuts comics #charlie brown #shermy #snoopy #Violet #Linus #Schroeder #Lucy #Schucy

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saffysposts · 6 months

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John shelby Imagine!!!!!!

"JOHN I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T GET POLLY I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!!" Shouted John's lovely wife. A contraction tore through her as she dug her fingers into the matress, her face beat red with effort. John tried his best to sooth his wife, he ignored her violent tone, and kissed her head "I've called her love, she's on her way with Ada and Grace, and Tommy and Arthur are bringing them all here, I promise its gonna be okay" He reassured stroking her damp hair back as she tears ran down her cheeks. John hated seeing his wife this way, she was known for her fiery upbeat attitude. And to see her almost close to breaking point from the pain, it made him hurt. He would take her pain if he could.

"It hurts so much Johnny," you sobbed, rocking your hips desperately trying to give yourself any source of comfort you could find. "I know love I know, here take a swig of this, eh?" John smiled bringing the glass of water to your lips, you gluped it down graciously.

"And just think a baby of our own, we've tried for so long and finally we get to have our little baby, our own little shelby" John beamed rubbing his calloused thumb over your knuckles. He held you, and comforted you through your cries. He even let you bite into his shoulder, through a particularly bad contraction, which may have drawn blood. Suddenly Polly burst through the door, "get out John," polly sighed. John looked at you for reassurance like a lost puppy. You nodded giving him permission to go. He probably needed a drink after your screaming and crying, and constant change of moods.

Polly wiped your face "oh your poor love come lay down and we'll see how far you are," Polly smiled pulling you over, to the bed. Ada and Grace breezed in with hot water and towels. "Listen we've all been through it, and let's just say men are the lucky buggers in all of this," Ada laughed. You laughed before letting out a deep groan gripping the headboard. "I CAN FEEL THE FOOKING HEAD!" You cried gripping Grace's hand.

Meanwhile, John grew paler by the minute hearing your screams and cries, from upstairs. "Cheer up John you'll have a beautiful baby soon, its Christmas!" Tommy smirked lighting a cigarette. "And a quiet wife!" Arthur laughed, "don't talk about my wife that way Arthur, I mean it," John warned. "Easy lads, John, Arthur was just joking, Arthur don't be a prick," Tommy instructed pouring John a whisky.

A shrill infant cry was soon heard, Ada came downstairs holding a small bundle. "John you've got a little girl," Ada beamed giving John the baby. John held the small baby close, tears flowing freely. No one mocked the hard Birmingham lads tears. "How's my wife?" John asked, just as Ada was about to reassure him you was fine. You let out a loud cry. John passed the baby to Ada, as he bolted upstairs. "What are you fucking doing to her?!" He shouted at Polly.

"She's having another bleeding baby John you idiot! You did this to her you should know!" Polly restored. Another baby? John was astounded, he saw your exhausted state and sat beside you "come on love you can do this!" John smiled kissing your cheek. You was disoriented and exhausted you just wanted the pain to stop. You pushed on instinct, but something wasn't quite right. "John hold her leg up," polly instructed. "I ain't looking down there!" John blurted, "I don't care! Hold her leg and help your child be born you barstard!" Polly growled, John did as he was told. Your leg on his shoulder, his hands, one supporting the leg on his shoulder and the other holding your hand. "Come on love! Big push!" Polly instructed. You did as you were told and pushed screaming writhing in pain. Soon after some intense effort, You and John had a newborn son, as well as newborn daughter.

Later that evening, you and John laid in bed, you both holding one of your newborns, "a boy and a girl, and I thought you was just having a big baby!" John laughed bemused.

"Who would of thought, eh?" You smiled tiredly, "you've made me the happiest man in the world my love," John smiled kissing you. You smiled gazing at your perfect family, for so long you waited and now you have it. And a what a Christmas it would be for your two to remember.

#peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby #pregnancy #giving birth #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #baby #birth

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shouldershimmycity · 2 years

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Papers (Pt. 1) Rooster x Reader

Maverick pulled Rooster's papers for a reason, but he never told him why. When Maverick is questioned again he still refuses to answer out of respect for Carole. Until you let it slip, and now he knows.

Angst? Swearing. Rooster having sad boi Thursdays.

This is my first fic please be gentle with me.

ALL PARTS ARE POSTED

*****

Dirt swirled up around your truck as you pulled up to your dad’s hangar. You took a second to look around, noting the beautiful, absolutely clear sky. Perfect for flying, of course. But your dad was tweaking a few things on the P-51 and Rooster was helping him. So flying would have to wait for another day. It’s not like you didn’t do that on a daily basis anyway.

The three of you had been involved in the mission that had called your father back to Top Gun in the first place and put him face to face with Rooster. It had been nice to see him in person again, but you had never lost touch with him like your father did. After they had both been shot down and took a joyride in an enemy F-14, they seemed to be on relatively good terms.

Bradley had been a friend to you all his life, having lost his dad and you having no mom. You both felt the need to protect each other from a very early age, and of course both your parents adored the other’s child. Carole was like your mother and Maverick had stepped in as best as he could to fill the role of Bradley’s father, since he felt responsible for what had happened to Goose. Although unconventional, you had a nice little family growing up. Until Carole died and Bradley’s papers were pulled. You frowned, remembering the night Bradley found out. He had been so upset. God, you lost your voice from screaming at your father when Bradley had told you.

You slammed the door so hard it should have fallen off the hinges. Your footsteps sounded hard, you were moving with a sense of purpose and that scared Maverick shitless. He knew exactly what that was and he braced himself for it. He could fly the most dangerous mission and not break a sweat, but facing his daughter when she was angry with him… oh boy. He sat waiting for hell in the living room.

He had pulled Bradley’s papers, as his mother’s dying wish. Maverick knew it would be hard on him to lose his only remaining parent, as he had been through that himself, but he didn’t want Bradley to resent his mother for grounding him. The familiar weight of Goose’s loss crept over him, and he took a long sip of his beer. He believed Bradley was more than capable of handling himself, but he understood Carole’s wish that her son would never be in the same position as her husband was. It pained Maverick more than anything to do that to him, the kid he looked at as a son. He knew it would hurt you too, because your papers had made it through.

Maverick’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing behind him. He turned to look at you, nothing but guilt in his eyes. You stood there, eyes full of rage and betrayal, your hands shook violently. Maverick opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“How fucking dare you? What the hell is wrong with you, do you hate Bradley or something? You’ve overstepped so far, it's not even funny!” Your tone was dark and meant to wound. You wanted it to hurt him like he had done to Bradley.

“Listen, I know it hurts and I–,” Maverick trailed off, looking down at the ground, “I had reasons for it and I can’t explain them but it had to be done.” He hated being the bad guy, especially because he wanted Bradley to follow in his father’s footsteps, just like you were planning to do with your old man. But, Carole’s word was the only one that mattered here.

“Why did you do it?”

Maverick flinched at the way your voice cracked.

“I told you, I can’t e–”

“Why did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, I ca–”

“WHY? DID? YOU? DO IT?”

Maverick sat in silence for a second, then he looked up to meet your gaze again. You had angry tears rolling down your face and every bone in your father’s body ached for what he had done to you and to Bradley.

“...Carole asked me to…” he confessed, “I pulled his paper’s because I didn’t want him to resent his mother for the rest of his life, they loved each other too much.”

Your face twisted from rage to surprise, then puzzled, and finally understanding.

“...oh,” you whispered.

“Bradley can’t know, it would crush him more than… more than I already did,” Maverick sighed in defeat.

You nodded slowly, running through everything in your mind. You hated the fact that it made sense, you hated a lot of things about the situation. You were now privy to the real reason his papers were pulled, but it still sucked. You loved Bradley and wanted the world for him, but suddenly the bandaid was ripped off and you saw all sides of it. It all made sense too, which sucked even more.

You sobbed, and your father immediately got up to give you a hug. It wasn’t fair, but you knew you couldn’t do anything to fix it. What’s done is done and it was too far out of your reach. You wept for Bradley.

A light tap on your window snapped you out of your daze, and you turned off your car and opened the driver side door. Your dad cocked his head at you and you waved him off starting off towards the hangar. You noticed a lack of one Bradley Rooster Bradshaw in the area, and looked over at your father with a raised eyebrow. That's when you saw the look on his face.

“Rooster?”

“He and I got into an argument this morning..” your dad said sadly, by the look on his face you could tell he felt like he was right back where he started.

“What about? I thought…” you trailed off.

“He asked me why I pulled his papers.”

“...did you tell him?” your heart started racing, wondering what the hell happened and if it was going to take Bradley away from you.

You and Bradley were extremely close. You had even dated prior to the paper incident, but had collectively decided it wouldn’t be good timing if you were both about to join the Navy. You still held onto your feelings for him even though he seemed to drop his for you a long time ago. He never roped you into the mess between him and Maverick, so you had been the one to support him through it.

“I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t,” he sighed, defeated. At this point this was a decade and a half long problem. “Of course he got mad at me and left.”

“Let me go talk to him about it,” you started to turn and your dad grabbed your shoulder before you could walk away.

“You can’t tell him about Carole,” he pleaded.

You went back and forth in your head about the pros and cons of telling him and not telling him. If you told him, he might get the closure he needed, but it might break his heart. You nodded to your father solemnly.

“I won’t.”

You shouldn't have made any promises.

*****

You had called Rooster to find out where he was, only to discover that he was waiting for you at your house. It didn’t surprise you. Usually he would come to you whenever he needed a friend. His old Bronco sat in your driveway, and the dejected looking aviator sat on your doorstep, in all his Hawaiian shirt glory. You parked in your usual spot and Rooster couldn’t help but smile when you approached the front step.

“What’s cookin good lookin?” he asked, as you passed him to unlock the door.

You raised an eyebrow at him, he was always saying ridiculous shit like that to you and no one else. You were also raising an eyebrow because he was unusually cheery for being on your doorstep. It’s not like he didn’t visit you, but you both knew why you were there. Rooster’s face fell.

“I know, let's go inside and talk,” you said, pushing the door open for him. He stood up and followed you inside.

You got yourselves some lemonade and pulled out some leftovers, offering some to Rooster, who politely declined. He sat on your couch and you sat on your coffee table. He went on for almost an hour about how frustrated he was with Maverick. He got angry when he talked about how pissed his dad would have been if he were still here, and how his mom would have hated Maverick for it. You made him drink before he got too angry, like a small child needing to take a breather, and when he finished he sat there quietly.

“He still won’t tell me anything…” Bradley whispered, “I thought everything... but he still won’t… I just don’t know why he did it. I want to know why he pulled my papers. I feel like I’m stuck on this and I can’t just let it go… you’re staring at me, what?”

You blinked, shaking your head.

“Just listening is all, you know how I feel about this whole situation and how I’ve always felt. I’m frustrated for you.”

He hung it head and you both sat there in silence for a good amount of time, until Rooster slowly listed his head to meet your eyes.

“Sunny?” he asked cautiously, your call sign pulling you out of your own head.

“Yeah?”

“...Do you know the reason your father pulled my papers?”

Your stomach twisted into knots. You absolutely knew, you had never let on that you knew, you never wanted Bradley to know that you knew this whole time. If you lied to him, he would know it, if you didn’t he would be heartbroken. You quickly went back and forth between telling him and not telling him.

“Sunny?”

You were sweating now, and you knew he knew. You had to tell him. You gently took his warm hands and looked away from the eyes you loved so much.

“Yes, Rooster, I know…” you said quietly.

You felt his hands tense up in yours, and his breathing hitched. You looked up at his face and my god you wish you hadn’t. There was so much pain. You sighed.

“I didn’t tell you because I know the reason is going to hurt you…” you whispered, “I wanted to tell you so bad…”

“Tell me now…” he demanded, his voice little above a whisper.

“Rooster…” you never called him Bradley directly anymore, just from habit, “before your mother died…” you began carefully, “she didn’t… she didn’t want you flying… she asked Maverick to watch out for you and she–” you were cut off by Bradley standing up suddenly and sharply. You could see a hardness on his face that you didn’t like, and you could see tears in his eyes from where you sat.

You broke his heart with the truth, like you knew you would. Regret filled every vein in your body. Now you know why your father never told him. He wouldn’t look at you, and your heart broke. You deserved it, this is why your dad said not to tell him and you did anyway. You were an idiot, and mentally you kicked your own ass in every way you could possibly think of.

“I have to go…” Rooster said, abrubtly.

"Roo--"

"You lied to me... all this time. You're no better than your father, Sunny..." he stabbed me with those words, his eyes drilling holes into my skull, and he left without another word, slamming the door on the way out.

You sat on your coffee table in silence, staring at the place where your best friend had just been sitting, and you began crying. This went on until you couldn't breathe for a good five minutes, and after you finally calmed yourself enough to shakily reached your hand into your pocket, you called your father. The phone rang twice before Maverick answered.

“Dad…" you rasped, "Rooster knows.”

#rooster top gun #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

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angel-of-the-moons · 8 months

Text

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Blood, nightmares, night terrors, attempted sexual assault (nothing happens), mugging, stalking, religious stuff, mentions some gross af Egyptian lore (reading about that in my textbook was... whew. A lot)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Obviously inspired by this version of Day 'N' Night from the Moon Knight soundtrack/trailer.

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Chapter 2:

Stressing My Mind (Mind)

After that day, the bag sat on your tiny table. You would spend at least two hours out of the day or night just... staring at it.

And when you fell asleep?

Your previous dreams, confusing, and nonsensical seemed a vacation compared to the ones that haunted you know.

You would hear screams, piercing your ears and causing pain. It wasn't until your senses returned that you realized the screams were coming from you. You would look down at yourself to find blood pouring out of you from your abdomen.

No matter how much pressure you applied, your blood would flow from you like a broken damn, pooling at your feet and running outwards like a river, the end promising a light in the twinkling darkness your dreams often had you in.

You heard the whispers, louder, still indiscernible. It was a man's voice.

You figured it was coming from the light at the end of the bloody river, so you screamed again. Only this time, you made ghastly gurgles, before you would cough violently, blood flowing up and out from your lungs to join the river beneath you.

And that was when you woke up.

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It was after days of consecutive restlessness that you decided to say fuck it.

You unwrapped the "gifts" Jezebel had given you, along with her handwritten notes on what to do, and what kind of offerings to leave once you'd set up your altar. It even included a basic prayer for protection from this god, Khonshu.

You weren't sure how to go about it... so you did some extra research into this "Khonshu".

God of the Moon, indeed he protected those who traveled at night. He was also associated with justice, healing, and even fertility. An odd combination, you mused. But from what you knew of Egyptian gods, they were associated with some weird shit sometimes.

You even unfortunately spent so long clicking on Wikipedia links that you wound up reading about the Contendings of Set and Horus. The stuff Isis did on behalf of her son made you want to rinse your mouth out with the strongest, mintiest mouthwash you had in your cabinet and swear off salads forever.

Well... at least Isis going to the ends of creation for her husband Osiris was romantic... ish.

Once you were done, you decided... hey, what's the harm in offering up a little prayer before you go in for work? You'd be working a later shift tonight, the worst time to walk home was... okay, well any time after the sun went down, really.

You lit the incense, consisting of cinnamon and myrrh, at the base of the statue, along with the fresh fruit your measley budget could afford until you got paid; then you kneeled down and bowed your head.

"Here goes nothing..."

You feel a chill rush through you when you complete the prayer, goosebumps forming on your skin.

A wind blows on the fire escape outside, knocking over your potted plant.

Surely, your apartment is drafty. That's it...

You clear your throat and stand, putting the incense out as you shove your metro card in your empty "work" wallet. It had your name on it, but not your address. So if somebody snatched it they wouldn't be able to track you down.

It wasn't paranoia if it was a very real possibility, after all...

You didn't realize you forgot your mace and taser.

You were so buried in the thoughts of your night that you didn't notice the shadow looming in the dim light of your apartment.

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"Hey, kid, you all right?" Your elderly co-worker, Alec, asked you from his hunched posture. He had told you he was in some sort of accident, and as a result of a botched surgery he had a permanent hunch. He'd been dealing with it for a little over twenty years. In some places he was listed as "disabled" but Alec having his hard-set personality, he wanted to work, earn his keep, not languish in bed somewhere.

He'd taken a shine to you because you were the only one there who didn't treat him like... well. The awful things your coworkers whispered and giggled about behind his back. Sometimes in front of him, too. But never you. Alec felt like family, in the past two years you worked this job. He was like the kindly uncle you wished you always had.

But apparently he'd taken note of the dark bags under your eyes lately, worse than usual and hanging like shadowy curtains over your cheekbones.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I just... haven't been sleeping well, 's all." You mumble, focusing on the particularly dirty spot on the floor from where some idiot made the previous printer that had been there explode.

You would have paid serious money to see the poor sod it exploded on.

"You're working too hard, kiddo." Alec said with a click of his tongue, as he wiped down a nearby table. "Gonna work yaself to death."

You smiled when his accent slipped in. Born and raised New Yorker, you knew. Unlike you. His accent was one of his endearing qualities.

"I'll keep that in mind, Alec." You chuckle, leaning over to scrub roughly with your mop at the ink stain in the linoleum.

"If ya keep hunching like that kiddo," He winked at you. "You're gonna wind up like me, sans the accident!"

"Oh I should be so lucky, Alec! You're resilient as hell."

"Ha, thanks kid. But seriously. You gotta take it easy. If you don't let yourself rest, something else will." He warned you.

And yeah. You knew that much already.

But... money is money.

And money made the world go 'round.

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You hated it.

Hate, hate, hated it.

You felt someone following you, your "feeling" kicking into overdrive. This particular feeling you got well acquainted with. It happened just before every time you got mugged.

Your fears were compounded when you looked in the blacked out windows of the shops you passed in front of, and saw the silhouette of a man marching several paces behind you, this hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, jaw set tight as his pace kept adjusting to match yours.

You didn't have any money. And you were afraid at what he'd do if he attacked you. Would he rough you up and let you go because of a poor mark?

Or would he want to do something... worse?

You up your pace again, the soles of your shoes tapping the pavement.

The chill you felt earlier slipped into your bones, your hair standing on end not from the cold, but from your "feeling".

You all but skid and burn the rubber on the bottom of your shoes when you dart into an alley you had well-mapped by memory, the sound of heavy footfall close behind.

But then it hit you.

If the guy kept following me you, and you ran to where you felt safe...

He could find out where you lived.

Which was worse.

You turned to try and backpedal; fumbling your pockets for your protection, only to realize you left it on your dresser earlier... but the moment you try to turn and escape the other direction, you're clotheslined; splitting your lip and sending you stumbling onto the concrete below.

A taste of copper flooded your mouth and you realized you bit too hard on your tongue when he hit you.

You barely had a moment to recover from your discombobulation before you were hoisted up by your collar, shoved hard against a wall... and felt something cold press into your belly through your shirt.

"L-look... I don't have any money on me. You can search me, and I won't tell anyone..." You say, trying to stay as calm as possible, holding your hands up on either side of your head trying to make the man feel like you weren't worth the effort.

You knew nobody would hear you if you screamed. You knew nobody would come save you if they did. You knew that some people just wouldn't care.

"Well it's a good thing I'm not after cash..." His disgusting breath spewed in your face.

Fuck.

The barrel of his gun slowly rose, catching one of the buttons on your blouse as his knee forcibly parted your thighs.

He used the barrel to undo the buttons one by one.

He tries to force his mouth onto yours, but you turn your head and he raises the gun, pistol whipping you and knocking you down again.

He fists your open shirt again and pulls you back to your feet and throws you against the wall again.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you feel his stinking breath on your neck, the barrel of his gun digging painfully into your ribs.

You choke back a sob as his free hand reaches for your jeans, ready to rip the fly down.

Goddamn that stupid prayer. It was fucking pointless. So much for praying to some god to protect you when you walked alone at night.

Some god of justice--

All of a sudden, the weight of the man was lifted off of you. You whip your head around to see if someone had saved you, but you saw nothing.

Your would be-rapist stumbled to his feet and raised his gun at you.

"I don't know how you did that, you little bitch--"

"Please! I didn't--"

You threw your hands out towards him, the moment you did, he hit the ground like something violently slammed into his gut; crumbling to his knees, gasping and retching for air.

He fumbled for his gun again, but it skittered away across the pavement.

"What the fuck." You breathed.

His head jerked back and you heard the crunching of bone, and he fell back, limp.

You breathe ragged breaths, watching and waiting to see if he indeed tries to get up again.

He doesn't.

Your adrenaline takes over and you clutch your shirt against yourself, running through the alleys until you make it home, safe and tucked away into your apartment, shaky hands sliding all the locks into place and snatching your window curtains closed.

You collapse against the wall, breathing hard, lungs and leg muscles burning.

You stare at the statue sitting on the pitiful altar you DIY'd yourself earlier.

It sat, offerings still there and incense half burned, the statue so... serene, it unnerved you.

"...What..."

You took a deep breath to try and ease your nerves.

"...God... what happened?"

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Chapter 3: Link

#moon knight #khonshu x you #khonshu x reader #khonshu moon knight #khonshu #khonsu #my writing

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starogeorgina · 1 year

Text

Violent delights

Warnings: blood, swearing

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

Notes: Jacaerys is older in this fic than he is in the show/book

1.02

Sensing danger Viserion dips down, trying to get you to safety on Dragonstone quickly, but your uncle was relentless, and Vhagar was getting closer and closer to you. Please gods. You didn’t care about the blood dripping down your legs or the horrible cramping in your lower abdomen. All you cared about was getting your daughter somewhere safe. But it seems the gods were listening to your silent prayers; tears of relief slipped down your cheeks as a second shadow flew over you.

Caraxes.

With your stepfather looming over you both, Aemond orders Vhagar to turn back instead of confronting Daemon and his dragon head-on.

The next few moments pass in a blur as Viserion flies down to the beach below. By the time he lands on the damp sand, Daemon is already waiting for you. Most people would be too afraid to come so close to a dragon, but Viserion wasn’t different from the rest. The majority of Viserion's scales are light pink; his horns, wing bones, and spinal crest are silver. His coloring and placid nature gave him the nickname gentle giant.

Your legs give way as you climb down, but Daemon catches you before you fall to the ground. Once you are steady, he gives you a horrifying look as he notices the newborn strapped to your chest. “Please take her,” you beg. “Take her to my mother.”

He takes the baby from your chest and hands her to one of the guards, who held her as if she were glass. In one swift movement, Daemon lifted you up, wrapping one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. Fury flickers behind his eyes as the prince keeps his tone neutral to not worry you further. “Dearest girl, We should never have let you marry that drunken—”

“Her name is Aemma.”

“Save your strength—”

Seeing the blood trail you left behind you, you interrupted him again, scared you were running out of time. “The greens will come for her. I disobeyed the queen, and they will want me to pay for that.”

—

The first thing you see when your eyes flutter open is your mother. Delicately, she brushes hair out of your face, “my sweet girl. You had us worried.”

Like a child, you cling to her side, “mother.”

You had been in and out of consciousness while your stepfather carried you inside. He called for the maesters immediately, and upon inspection they discovered you had a birthing tear, which required stitches. The maesters shared their concerns that you’d not been treated properly within the keep; they couldn’t understand why you didn’t receive medical care after giving birth, and they also pointed out how thin you were for someone who has just delivered twins.

Your mother comforts you as you finally let out all your built-up emotions. Thinking of Rhaegar made you miserable; you missed the son you never met to the point it caused you physical pain. When you finally stopped crying, you explained everything that had happened, and I could have sworn I saw flickers of red behind her eyes. “I can never thank Prince Daemon enough for coming when I needed him most. I can’t imagine what would have happened if Vhagar—”

“Lyarra, my love, please don’t think of such things; it will only cause you distress. Arrangements are being made so that the greens will have no excuses to step foot on Dragonstone.”

You nod, glad to hear that they won’t ever come near your daughter. You suddenly sit upright when you realize that your baby is nowhere in sight. “Aemma! Where is she?”

“Aemma is asleep,” your mother smiles at you. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. My perfect grandchild is currently asleep in the cot I have set up for your future sibling. I didn’t know what sleeping arrangements you would want to have.”

“I want her in here with me.”

You watch as your mother rubs her swollen stomach, the velvety fabric of her dress clinging to her bump. She always looked so elegant and beautiful while pregnant, unlike you, who looked a day away from death.

“I will have that organized," she squeezes your hand. “Joffrey is desperate to see you; he’s missed you deeply. Jace and Luke are out dragon riding; when they return, I will let them know you are back and tell them what has happened. For now, I need you to rest; I will watch over Aemma until the morrow.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me; you are my child.”

Your mother stays with you until you fall into a deep slumber. You were truly thankful that she was kind hearted, and you hoped to be as good a mother as she is.

—

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against the back of the tub. For the first time in many moons, you felt a slither of your old self coming back. When you woke up in the morning, your new handmaiden Clara had prepared a bath for you, brought you fresh clothes, a mixture of fruits, and jugs of water.

Due to your tenderness, Clara helped you into the bath, and once she did, you dismissed her. insisting that you’d be fine on your own.

Just as you feel the built-up tension in your body realizing this, the smell of lavender oil reaches your nose and the doors to your chambers are swung open.

“Lyarra!”

“Sister!”

Your body flushes with embarrassment as your three brothers sprint into the room, eager to see you. “Gods!” You struggle to cover your bare chest, wrapping one arm around your top half and the other below. “This is why people knock!”

Lucerys quickly covers his and Joffrey’s eyes while turning to face the other way. Jacaerys averts his eyes while handing you a towel to cover yourself with. You let out a grumbled thank you. If you weren’t mortified, it would have been comical to see them all blush with embarrassment.

“Mother told us we had to wait until morning to see you,” Luke huffs.

“I’m very glad to see you all, but get out so I can get changed.”

When your brothers were completely out of sight, you stood, letting out a loud whine as you did. Hearing footsteps, you grab the towel, which is now soaking from being dropped in the water, to cover yourself. “Jace, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer you. Jace’s eyes were glued to the ground as he grabbed a blanket from your bed and walked over to you. Without giving you a chance to protest, he wraps the blanket around you to keep you dignified before lifting you out of the bath. Despite how humiliating it was to need assistance from your brother, you felt so safe in his arms; they were so comforting. “You shouldn’t have dismissed your handmaiden. You would have been stuck in the bath until the water turned freezing cold.”

You roll your eyes. Jacaerys, being your only older brother, was often protective of you. “How did you know I dismissed her?”

“Lucky guess. I have sent Luke to ask her to come back.”

“I would have asked for help if I needed it, just not from my brother,” you pout.

When your feet touch the cold floor, you look up at Jace, who is trying to stop himself from smiling. “Forgive me, it is not funny... I've just missed your moodiness,” he teases. “I’m glad you decided to come back home.”

“I’m glad to be back.”

—

After having your hair braided and changing into a light purple gown, you immediately went to see Aemma.

“My precious girl,” you hum before kissing her on the cheek. Smiling, you walk through the hallways towards your mother's chambers. “You will love growing up here; I know I did.”

You look over your shoulder to see Jacaerys exiting his own room; his face lights up when he claps eyes on Aemma for the first time. He opens his door again, saying, “Come, I have something I want to show you.”

Curious, you follow, “What is it you’d like to show us?”

He leads you to the fireplace and points at the red and gold dragon egg sitting on top of it. Unlike your brothers, your egg never hatched in the cradle, and you spent many years heartbroken until you bonded with Viserion. Gently you run your fingers along its hardened scales, “I can’t believe you kept it.”

“You used to take it with you everywhere,” he smiles. “After you left for King's Landing, I snuck into the dragon pit and retrieved it. I know Luke chose eggs for you, but since you couldn’t bring them, I thought Aemma could have that one.”

Since there is no time frame on a dragon hatching, it was possible the dragon inside could bond with your daughter. “Thank you,” you kiss Jace on the cheek. “I will put it in the cradle with her tonight.”

He strokes the top of Aemma’s head, but hesitation fills up behind his eyes. “Did mother send for you?”

“She did, and I’m guessing it’s something important.”

“We should…” he trails off, watching as Aemma’s eyes slowly close.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Jace looks petrified as you place the newborn in his arms. After shifting positions a few times, he relaxes a little and says, “We should go before Mother sends a search party.”

—

Once you were seated around a small table, you noticed how worried your mother looked. Your attention was drawn from her when Daemon tossed a letter into the fireplace. He chuckles, “Lyarra, did you say, ‘next time you attempt to put your fucking hands on me, I’ll feed you to Viserion’ to Ser Criston?”

“Yes.”

Daemon laughs as your mother rubs her forehead and says, “This isn’t a joking matter. What did he do to you?”

“He tried to grab my shoulder to stop me from leaving and told me I’d need to ask for the queen's forgiveness when I returned.”

The laughter abruptly stops, with Daemon’s tone becoming a lot more serious than before. “One of the knights who is under my command witnessed you leaving and Aemond leaving mere moments later on Vhagar. They don’t believe he was advised to do it.”

Jace clenches his jaw, and holding Aemma seems to be the only thing keeping him calm.

You frowned; this meant Aemond had taken it upon himself to chase you through the sky. “Is that what the letter you burned said?”

“No, that was from that cunt Otto Hightower,” he hisses. “The queen requests your return so you can discuss the terms of your annulment.”

“Annulment?” When your mother said arrangements were being made, you never imagined the faith or the Queen would allow your marriage to Aegon to end. You push back the lump forming in your throat and ask, “When do I need to go?”

Your mother caresses the back of your hand and says, “Alicent has requested you meet with her tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! Do I need to go?”

“I’m afraid so, sweet girl, but you won’t be alone. Daemon is going with you.”

Seeing the pained expression on your mother's face, there was no getting around this: you need to meet with Alicent one last time before she hopefully agrees to end your torment. Your mind goes to your poor dragon, whose straps and saddle you have yet to have removed or checked for any new damage since leaving in such a rush.

“Okay, I will make sure Viserion is ready to fly by morning.”

Daemon looks deep in thought as he clicks his tongue. “Given what happened, it would be much safer for Jacaerys to fly you on Vermax.”

Your mother lets out a deep sigh; she didn’t seem impressed by the idea but said nothing. You were sure the presence of Caraxes would allow you to fly safely on your own, but Daemon always has his own reasons for doing things; you just hoped Jacaerys wouldn’t mind.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon/you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #violent delights #Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #Jacaerys Velaryon x oc #Jacaerys Velaryon x fem oc #Jacaerys Velaryon/oc #jace velaryon fanfic #Jace Velaryon x oc #jace velaryon fanfiction

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