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bruisingviolets · 1 year

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god, i have my father’s eyes

3.4k words

Project SEKAI

Aoyagi Harumichi & Aoyagi Touya, Aoyagi Touya/Shinonome Akito

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Confrontations, Not Canon Compliant, Relationship Study, Character Study, Family Issues, Aoyagi Harumichi’s A+ Parenting + more

There’s a voice yelling, screaming, in his head, so desperately wanting to be heard.

It’s not true, it bellows. There is no universe out there where I will ever want to be anything like you.

(Toya confronts his father.)

read on ao3 or click ‘Keep reading’

Blinking so rapidly that black dots begin to flicker, pressing the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, holding his breath with eyes glued to the ceiling—he thinks he’s mastered the art of holding his tears back, especially when it comes to the man of the house he wishes he didn’t have to call his father.

“I thought we’d come to a compromise.” His voice is so painfully small, so frail and delicate that it might crumble into itself and fall apart if his father were to aim his words where he knew it hurt, something he manages to do every single time without fail. Still, he puts up as big of a front that he can muster, setting his foot down as firmly as it’ll let him. He feels his stance wavering but pushes on nevertheless.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“That’s not fair,” he bites back.

“What’s not fair is you telling me you’d continue taking up classical music, then turning your back against me and frolicking off with some street rat!”

“I never said I—” He cuts himself off before the words he’s about to let loose spill out of him regrettably. He knows the consequences of uttering those words are far worse than anything he’s about to face right now. “He’s not a street rat. He has a name.” And please don’t bring him into this.

“I don’t care for it. He’s a horrible influence on you, can’t you see?”

The room is so much more eerily silent than usual, no longer just blanketed by an imminent slab of tension that he’s grown so familiar with, a presence he’s almost labelled as family, but now enveloped in something much more suffocating, like the twitch of a finger or a breath released on the wrong beat could send him back to the corners of his past, the remnants of it threatening to break loose. A fleeting image of a grand piano flashes through his mind, to which he shakes off to the best of his ability. He feels his blood run cold.

“You don’t listen to me anymore.”

Familiar words. The sentence hangs in the air exactly the way it always did in the past, repeated over and over again, never failing to bring out the same effect on him. He feels that same pang of guilt residing in his chest, despite himself. He decides to stay quiet anyways, in fear of dragging Akito down with him—he’d never forgive himself if he let that happen.

“You used to love classical music. You used to care for it as much as I did. You used to want to be just like me.”

He’s partially thankful he’s dropped the topic of Akito, but the territory he was entering wasn’t particularly as pleasant either. His fist tightens into itself on its own, his nails digging crescents into his palm. There’s a voice yelling, screaming, in his head, so desperately wanting to be heard.

It’s not true, it bellows. There is no universe out there where I will ever want to be anything like you.

“I know you’re a teenager, I know you’re experiencing all kinds of emotions. I understand.”

You don’t.

“But can’t you look at it from my point of view? Can’t you understand where I’m coming from the same way I do for you?”

…

“I’m your father, Toya.”

As unequivocal as ever, his words were, yet so incredibly, excruciatingly wrong.

I haven’t looked at you as someone I would call my father for a very long time, the voice continues to ring. A voice so monotonous but so urgent, contradicting and going against itself and clashing with the other voice that inhabits his mind that’s telling him to Snap out of it, you’re going to get yourself killed. You will always be under his control. The inner commotion taking place inside of him only grows louder and louder, and he thinks the room is beginning to spin. His palms are drawing blood.

“Talk to me, please.”

Feigned tenderness—he sees through it all, clear as day. He presses his lips shut, ignoring the sting that’s starting to feel more present in his right hand. His throat is starting to burn hoarse. The noise in his head contrasts his current environment so sharply he thinks he might lose it right there and then, but he holds himself together.

“I…” His voice rasps. “I have never…”

Don’t say it. What are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed.

He knows he’s different from other kids he’s grown up with, he knows that on top of the kind of family he was brought up in, his father was also a well-known musician, one held to soaringly high expectations, one with millions of pairs of eyes on him at all times.

One who’d pushed his own children under the scrutiny of those same pairs of eyes, letting them nitpick their every every move the same way they do for him, as if they weren’t just children. As if they could handle it at the blossoming ages of five to ten.

…You need to tell him, don’t you? Silence would only kill you more.

The voices seem to ease into a quieter discussion—an agreement, almost. He inhales sharply.

“I have never enjoyed classical music.”

…

He feels the impenetrable wall of glass that’s been caging his heart shut all this time shattering into unrecognisable pieces, baring his soul open to the one person he will never let back in. He feels all too divested, too raw and open and seen and all in front of the wrong person and he hates whatever he’s just done to himself. He wishes he could go back, he shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have said anything, he should’ve just nodded and kept mum and went to his room and cried under the protection of his blankets in the quiet solitude of the night just like he’s always done. He shouldn’t have done this.

But it was too late now. No amount of remorse could turn back the hands of time.

The exchanging of words comes to a halt. The stifling phantom in the atmosphere only gets louder, heavier, pressing down on his lungs hard. He’s forgotten what it feels like to breathe—every breath only gets more ragged. There is nothing but ice in his veins.

“You—” The man standing across from him raises an aggravated finger to his face, almost at a loss for words. “You have some nerve…”

He takes several steps towards him, each step more daunting than the next, until he’s looking over Toya’s figure with his broad build and suddenly Toya feels like he’s five years old again, like he’s never fully outgrown the age, like he’s always been that same young boy who would never dare go against his father or say anything remotely challenging or reject anything he suggested. He feels like he’s never truly been able to escape that never-ending nightmare that he knows he’d never have to experience if his father had just given it to himself to at least try.

The memories are a little foggy, but the pain only ever comes back in everlasting waves.

…

His heart aches for himself. It’s a distinct kind of hurt, one so tender and sharp he doesn’t think words could ever do it justice.

Am I not worth the trouble?

…

I’m sorry I’m not worth the trouble.

…

I just wish you would treat me as your son.

He braces for an impact that never comes. He doesn’t even realise his eyes have been shut tight on instinct, but when he opens them, he only sees that the man has distanced himself from him, a fist clenched similarly to his, rooted by his side.

He’s crying.

Toya blinks back tears of his own that were beginning to brim, not wanting to reveal any more of himself. He recognises this tactic, this strategy that the man was trying to implement. He knows what he’s trying to do, and yet…

He mourns for him. The loss of his youngest son, if he could even call him his in the first place. A small part of him wishes he could’ve just learned to love classical music the way the man and his other sons did, maybe then he would’ve turned out to be someone worth trying for. He mourns for himself, the loss of what he could’ve been, in turn.

“I’m sorry,” is all Toya can bring himself to say. The words come out weak and brittle, holding little to no substance whatsoever. But he is sorry—sorry for the person that he’ll never be, the things he’ll never achieve. In another life, I could’ve been your son.

“You don’t listen to me anymore.” The man repeats, the rasp in his voice mirroring his own. He’s trying to get to you, Toya echoes internally. You know what he’s doing.

You have never listened to him. Not on your own volition, anyways.

He exhales quietly, attempting to drive the burdening weight resting on his shoulders away along with his jagged breath.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. Such weightless words and such wordless apologies. With so many things left unsaid, he wonders how this will all come back to haunt him in the near future.

What else was there left for him to say? He thinks he’s made himself clear enough.

“All I’ve ever done was for your own good, son. You’re good at music. You have potential. You have skill. I’ve seen it all for myself. You have the capability to become so much more than you are right now if you’d just—”

“I don’t care for it.” He snaps, his words ice cold, not a hint of regret in sight. “I never have.”

“And you’re telling me you care for street music instead?” The man scoffs back. “Are you forgetting you only took it up to spite me?”

There it is. He’s expected this from the start, of course, the words that would strike where it hurt most. The man’s hidden superpower, the one he concealed until the very climax of the argument and only set free when he knew the blow would be enough to crush the boy standing before him.

“You have no passion for this genre, Toya. None. You have always lacked drive and ambition in everything that you do. What makes you think street music is any different?”

Nails digging into skin once again, blood running cold, vision beginning to blur—the cycle repeats. He’s losing himself. He’s giving in.

You were so close…

“I raised you, son. I watched you grow, I know you. I know what’s best for you. I’m your father.”

He’s never heard a more dreadful sequence of words said so confidently wrong that he’s not sure if he should laugh or cry. How could someone possibly be so ignorant? So incredibly dense and tone-deaf, as ironic as it is… It baffled Toya completely.

“But… But I love street music.”

The words fall out of him before he even has the time to run them through his mind. You’re going to regret this, one of the voices warns. He doesn’t pay it any mind. There’s a bitter aftertaste lingering on his tongue and the back of his throat, but he presses on.

“I really, really do. It’s— It’s the only thing that reminded me how much I do love music. I love singing, I love dancing, and maybe for a fraction of a second I did love playing the piano and the violin.” His face crumbles, and before he knows it he’s sobbing. He’s sobbing so hard he struggles for pockets of air and his voice is torn completely apart. Gray eyes meet grayer ones and it truly disgusts him to say that it feels exactly like looking into a mirror.

“I love the friends I’ve made through it, I love the excitement it brings me when I perform.” He wipes his tears away, and a passing image of a five-year-old Toya stifling quiet sobs in the music room by his father’s side replays in his mind.

“Stop crying.”

“But I’m tired, Father.”

“You can take a break when you’ve perfected this piece. You shouldn’t be facing any difficulty at all considering the level you’re at.”

But my fingers aren’t long enough, he remembers thinking. It hurt to reach the right notes at the right tempo. He was still so small.

Nevertheless, he pressed the heels of his palms onto his eyes, wiping his tears away begrudgingly, swallowing the lump in his throat, begging himself to stop crying or he’d never hear the end of it. He positioned his fingers at their rightful places once more, telling himself the strain in his hands weren’t as bad as he’d made them out to be, and prepared to play the same apprehensive piece over and over again into the late hours of the night.

He pulls himself back to reality.

“It makes me happy. Sh— Shouldn’t that count for something?”

There’s a brief pause. Toya takes the opportunity to ground himself.

“Father?”

It pained him more than he’d like to admit, calling him that. He vows never to do that again—only then will he finally be free.

The man twists away from him abruptly, visible frustration beginning to build up. Toya instinctively takes a step back.

“But you’re my son.” His voice comes out gentler than anticipated. Toya blinks.

“I’m… I’m not you.”

The dreadful stillness in the air takes its place again, and all of a sudden he begins to wonder if he’ll even be able to sleep in his own bed tonight, or ever. Where would he even go? His mind was travelling to dark places, a flurry of senseless thoughts overtaking everything else. He urges himself to calm down.

“…I know.”

He blinks again, his tightened fist slowly releasing its grip on itself. He awaits his response with bated breath, too afraid to even release the breath he’s holding.

“I’m—” The man sighs, stepping further away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just— wanted to protect you.”

…

Bullshit.

The thought sneaks its way in before he can do anything about it, but he decides he’ll let it stay.

“From what?”

“You… You’re my son. My son. People know me, they know my work, they know my family. I just didn’t want them to get to you the way they did for… me.” The man’s voice trails off a little towards the end, and if Toya didn’t know any better he’d think his tone was laced with genuine remorse.

“That’s not an excuse.”

He’s not sure where this conviction is coming from, neither is he sure if he can keep up this pretentious demeanour of confidence, and even if he does, how long? Is he going to take the risk? He feels the words continue to slip out of him anyway.

“There’s just— There’s just no excuse for the excruciating hours that you put me through when I could barely even reach an octave on the piano with one hand. I was a kid. I’d just turned five the day you bought me a piano and told me you’d wanted me to take up classical music.”

The man only stares blankly in response, equally as dumbfounded at what he was hearing.

“You never even asked.” Toya continues in a whisper.

“I… know. And I know it’s hard to believe but… it really was for your own good. People talk, Toya. You would’ve been next.”

“There were better ways.” His voice cracks again, and he thinks he might break into another round of sobs if not for the determination to convey his message overruling every other emotion. “There were better ways to protect me, but you chose to put me through all of that, knowing what it felt like.”

The man doesn’t respond.

“You knew what it felt like as a grown adult, and with that knowledge you put your own toddler through the exact same thing.”

Every word shoots out of his mouth like an aimed dagger, weapons with a target so clear it never once wavers.

“That is fucking unbelievable.”

The swear leaves his lips sour—not only had he always held his elders to incredibly high levels of formality and respect, most especially the man before him, he was also never one to turn to vulgarities even in the heat of the moment or at the peak of upset. This time is different, he supposes. It’s far, far different.

“You… You have to understand, son. It helped me grow. I’m stronger now. Braver. Much, much more than I was in the past. I thought it’d… help you too. I just wanted you to be strong. Stronger than I ever was.”

“…I was a kid.”

“…Toya…”

“Do you know what kids my age were doing back then, Father?” A broken vow, the name he’s addressed the man by. He promises himself it’s the last time— saying it now was crucial for the point he was about to make. “They were outside, playing with their friends, laughing, drawing, doing things because it was fun and not because they had to…”

He swallows in hopes of repressing the tears that are about to escape. “…Spending time with their families.”

He doesn’t remember the last time his family had a ‘family outing’, if they’d ever even had one in the first place. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw his brothers, or the last time they even interacted with him ever since they went abroad for college—not that they’d talked much when they were still at home, anyways. He wishes he saw his parents more often, in spite of everything.

“I— I know you were a busy man… You still are. But the hours you spent teaching me classical music every week… Would it have hurt so much to spare some of that time to spend time with me? Do something together? Even just staying at home would’ve been enough. Anything. Was— Was that so difficult?”

He’s stammering, tripping over his words, but his tone stays constant and surprisingly stable. He wants to make sure the man hears him loud and clear, not a word to be overlooked.

“I… I know. And I’m…”

There’s a word stubbornly lingering on the tip of the man’s tongue, five letters Toya doesn’t think he’ll ever let loose. He’s learned that even the most affluent figures could never afford the cost of pride.

“I know,” the man echoes. Toya can only sigh.

In a way, he thinks his relationship with the man has come to a permanent standstill. This was the furthest they were ever going to get, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he was content with it. They were far from perfect, far from even satisfactory, and Toya isn’t about to settle for a relationship this strained and call it a day.

At the same time, words can only do so much, and he can only hope that time will aid in their journey together. Maybe the man will learn to understand Toya more as time passes on, or maybe he’ll forever be stuck at this checkpoint in their relationship until he’s willing to let go of his dignity.

Despite this particularly displeasing outcome, Toya thinks he’s made his point crystal clear, and if the man hadn’t understood, then that was on him. Toya’s decided he’s done talking for now, and it’ll probably be the last time in a while that he talks to the man in such a manner ever again.

He takes one last breath and makes his way to his room, turning in for the night, not once throwing a glance back at the man he once called ‘Father’. He’s gripping onto his phone unnecessarily tight, knuckles turning white as an uncontrollable wave of emotions overtakes his body. His finger hovers over Akito’s contact, hesitating for a second or two before he hits the ‘Call’ button.

“Toya?” Akito’s voice hums under the muffle of the speaker pressed to Toya’s ear, and that alone manages to soothe most of the nerves in Toya’s system.

“Hello, Akito.” His own voice constricts in turn, a failed attempt at trying to sound apathetic.

“Hey… Is everything okay?”

Toya bites down on his lip. He feels a hot tear running down his cheek.

“Can I talk to you? Please?”

#prsk #project sekai #pjsekai #prsk fanfiction #project sekai fanfiction #akitoya #aoyagi toya #aoyagi touya #toya aoyagi #touya aoyagi #akito shinonome #shinonome akito #mira writes

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mira-shard · 9 months

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Posting a wip of a story i'll most likely never finish-

Gaege always had a feeling that there was more after death. Not that he let his thoughts often linger on things like that. After all, life alone was exhausting enough already without the idea of extensial dread of the undeniable fact that one day his life would come to an end. So like most teenagers, he had jumped straight to acceptance.

But by the gods, maybe if he hadn't done that, he would have been more careful with his own life. Yet here he was, distantly hearing the constant beeping of what could only be hospital equipment. But no matter how much he tried to open his eyes, it was as if he had no control over his body whatsoever.

When he did come to his senses, he was certain he was in heaven. Or purgatory-but there was no way this was hell. All it took was a simple glancing around, not moving any muscels other than his eyes to notice he was in a grassy plain. The sky above didn't have a single cloud for miles and the ground was softer than anything he had ever felt in his life.

'Get up.' His brain screamed at his body, memories starting to flood back into his brain. How did he get here again…? Just a second ago he was near the arcade and- The arcade! That's right, he got kicked out again cause he started a fight with the asshole that thought he could get away with slapping his sister's ass.

He got thrown out, insistant on beating the other guy when he followed him into a corner, only to feel a sharp pain on the back of his head.

Slowly, ever so carefully he moved to sit up, a hand moving to gently touch the back of his head where he was certain a bump should be-or atleast some dried blood. Head wounds always bleed like crazy after all, right? But there was nothing, not even the slightest hint of discomfort other than the tiredness of his body.

"Someone sure took his time to wake up," A feminine voice piped up from behind him, making Gaege tense up as his body finally seemed to listen-jumping up as he turned on his heel, coming face to face with-

"A fucking pre teen…? Well this definetely isn't heaven," He grumbled under his breath. If this was heaven, it'd have to be a model, or some gorgeous woman with wings greeting him and explaining she was an angel or something among those lines, right?

Not this girl in front of him, with an ivory white skin, which made her dark brown eyes almost seem black if it weren't for her strawberry blonde hair warming up her complexion ever so slightly.

"You think my idea of heaven was being near a fucking punk?" The little brat-who really couldn't be much older than fourteen huffed back. "Let alone one so ugly-"

Just who the fuck taught her to talk like that-?

"Just… Where the fuck are we?" Gaege interupted, too tired to justify to himself that he could totally cuss out this kid since she started it.

#original stories #i guess #idk who the fuck these characters are i just found old story notes and just started writing #mira writes #my writing

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mira-gilastorm · 2 years

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I have 16.5k words written of a fix-it daemyra fic. And like... A whole plot ready and rearing to go..

This is becoming a problem..

#daemyra #with a bit of #jonerys #got #hotd #back on my q shit #mira writes

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battleaxe-proficiency · 1 year

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Well, guess who’s writing again

#it’s me #I’m writing again #🎉🎉🎉#surprise #first my blog now my AO3? what wacky hijinks will i do next #oneshot #mira writes

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pinkmirth · 8 months

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nfl reiner braun tears his alc and requests the best surgeon to work on it. he gets, youuuu, sweet smelling pink doctor coat wearing you and he can’t even take you serious when you’re going over his chart or requesting to feel the muscle with those pink gloves on. you even look younger than him and he’s telling you: “darlin’, listen… im a big deal around here and i need someone to help fix me not give me a boner.” or something like that and you almost don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re the best that there’s ever been at this hospital.

RECOVERY, reiner braun !

୨୧ — pairing: footballer!reiner braun x fem!reader

୨୧ — synopsis: this doctor’s got a hardheaded patient! it’ll take some effort to convince him of your effectiveness . . .

୨୧ — contains: ( 1.4k words of . . . ) modern au, slight nsfw (more like suggestive!), footballer!reiner, surgeon!reader, fem!reader (black coded), reiner has an ACL tear, reiner’s touch-deprived/sexually frustrated, rei’s kindaaa conceited (just a little bit!), palming, minors shoo!

୨୧ — mira’s note: ramona, my love! i adore all your reiner concepts, they’re always sooo perfect 🎀 thank youuu for sharing your rei-rei thoughts with me :) now here’s a lil drabble for my gorgeous man! (not really proofread thoroughly, i apologize for any typos or mistakes!)

isopropyl.

it’s all that reiner can smell. he’s a healthy man, he hardly belongs here— in this chilled surgeon office with the most pale, unflattering lighting. the parchment-like exam table paper rustles beneath him with every stretch and maneuver he makes, and his weight is enough to pry a creak out of the treatment table every now and again.

a recurring clack of footsteps and the whine of the door lets reiner know that you, the ‘sexy doctor lady from earlier’ has returned from reading his screenings. he wasn’t able to catch your name amidst the splitting pain from his acl tear, so that’ll make do in the meantime.

you set down your clipboard and turn to face him. your dear patient appears a bit mussed from the big game that took place earlier— his golden hair’s all fluffy and wild, that red football uniform of his is streaked with the green of the field, and his left cheekbone got a little scratch somehow. you’ll make sure to dab that with rubbing alcohol later.

“your vitals are well above average.” you commend. his reply’s a mere grunt. he can’t bring himself to take you seriously. just fucking look at you; pink latex gloves pulled over manicured hands, welcoming eyes all doe and shiny, with a sweet glossed smile that he won’t forget for days to come. he hates having to meet such a beauty under these grim circumstances– after all, you’re the kind of woman he’d take out on a date.

“lucky for you, mister braun, your injury isn’t a complete tear . . . so your recovery time shouldn’t be too long. it’ll last about six months, give or take.”

he isn’t listening.

reiner isn’t even sure of when he began to space out; your lips are just so plush, so alluring. his surname sounds sweeter than it should when falling from your mouth. before long, you clear your throat. it’s enough to snap him out of it. “i’d appreciate your undivided attention, sir. we’re currently going over your healing plan— ”

“lemme ask you, sugar,” he interjects with a low rasp. reiner braun’s well known around these parts, and you can only assume that being such a big deal has gotten to his head. what he says next throws you off, “when’s the real doctor comin’ in, hm?” it’s hard to remain professional, but you do. no furrowed brows, no scrunched up face— nothing but a tight, forced smile.

you suck in a breath through your nose, maintaining composure. “what makes you think it isn’t me, mister braun?” he can hear the tinge of vexation in your voice. clearly, this footballer has struck a chord or two.

“you’ve got pink gloves on, barbie.” he snarks out a laugh, just a bit mean. he’s much too handsome for such a condescending tone.

you bring a gloved hand flat to his chest, pushing reiner back into the examination table. his breath catches in his throat when you knead your fingers into his thigh, right where the tear resides beneath firm muscle. you’re assertive, and goddamn, does he love it.

“i’m your doctor.” you assure, voice firm. he groans out at the calculated pressure; it feels good. makes the throb of pain fade, just a bit.

“you’ll have to put some faith in me, hm?” your tone is warm, words soft and patient in a way he doesn’t deserve. reiner can’t lie, it was crass of him to have undermined you that way.

“my apologies, doc.” he addresses you in the rightest way he can. it’s his tiny little way of making amends.

“so, how long— fuck, how long did ‘ya study for?” reiner tries for small talk, voice low and shaken. you’d like to believe that whatever left his lips just now wasn’t a moan. no, it was more like . . . a groan of pain, perhaps?

“about six years. graduated early,” no wonder you look just about his age, if not younger. all his previous doctors were just as old as his parents.

“smart and pretty, huh?” he graces you with a feeble grin, a white gleam of teeth surrounded by neatly trimmed stubble. it’s safe to say that he’s your hottest patient up to date.

you continue on with prodding into the thick meat of his left thigh, and those throaty whines of his make you feel a way you simply shouldn’t.

it’s been a while since reiner’s been touched this way. he knows it’s just a regular inspection for his stupid injury, but he can’t recall the last time a woman’s splayed their hands on his body. he’s always busy with football this, training that. there’s never any time remaining for hook-ups, talkless of a relationship. that being said, it isn’t long before he begins to grow excited.

“m— mister braun,” you call out, voice airy, “you seem a little, um . . . worked up.”

“huh?” his eyes flit up to meet yours. you lock onto his honey-brown pools of desperation.

nothing else is uttered. you wordlessly direct your gaze towards his crotch, and give him a knowing look. reiner finally catches on— he fucking knew he felt his bottoms getting tight. hesitantly, the blonde lifts his head to peer down at his pants. surely enough, a boner’s prodding at the centering cloth of his football shorts.

“goddamn,” he drops his head back onto the examination table, bashfully throwing his forearm over his eyes. humiliation eats at the proud man, reducing him to a jumble of hormones.

you can hardly bring yourself to contain your chuckle, which makes his reddened cheeks burn further. it seems that his bodily reaction to your skilled hands has given him a sense of humility at best, and embarrassment at worst.

“i’ve never been appointed to a lady before . . .” is his hushed excuse. he’s still got his eyes shielded with his arm— he can’t even fucking bear to look at you. it’ll only spur him on further.

‘i turn you on?’ is what you’re just longing to question him. you know that you do— he’s been looking at your lips with bated breath since he got here. not to mention the peeks he’d taken at your ass whenever you turned around to read his chart or grab a cotton ball.

it’s quite bold of you— more like dangerous— to bring your ministrations upwards, closer to the ache under his pants. you’d tell yourself to stay on task, but professionalism has long been thrown out the window.

your gloved hands trail mischievously, placed directly atop reiner’s hard-on. warmth radiates from your palm, and you squeeze. his eyes blink shut, hips gently bucking upwards. his tear burns from beneath his skin, but he doesn’t fucking care. he bets he could cum from your hands alone.

reiner eventually manages to pull his arm away from blocking his viewpoint, chest heaving with every passing second. if you were to use your stethoscope on him, his heartbeat would be nothing short of erratic.

“trust me, mister braun,” is your reassuring whisper, “you’re in good hands.”

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miraculousmultifan · 6 months

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would you love me if i was a lobster?

hi!! its been a while since ive done one of these, but inspiration struck hard for this one. so this little drabble was written for the November 10th STWG daily prompt: "I can explain!" ~~~

When Steve walked into the grocery store looking for ingredients to cook himself another dinner by himself, he really expected to just be in and out. Grab a couple things and go.

The problem arrived when he stepped into the fish section. He was just going to grab a filet of salmon and be on his merry way, but no. There was a man dressed like a lobster standing in his way. He had his face pressed up against the glass of the lobster tank, and he kept muttering things that Steve only caught short snippets of.

“I’ll… free… soon.”

“... claws… your master!”

Sighing deeply, Steve tried to maneuver around the guy, but it was like he suddenly developed a sixth sense for knowing when people were approaching him. Next thing he knew, the guy was whirling around to face him with an angry expression, only to flounder when he made eye contact with Steve.

He looked back and forth between the lobster tank and Steve like he was trying to figure out whether he should abandon… whatever he was doing and run away to avoid talking to Steve, or stay and… continue fogging up the glass with his warm breath.

Hey, now that Steve was paying more attention, the guy kind of looked like… Eddie Munson?

“Munson?” Steve asked and squinted, still not sure whether his eyes were deceiving him. “Is that you?”

Immediately, Munson stood up taller and raised his, uh… claws up in surrender. “I can explain! Just… um, give me a minute to figure out what to say.”

The longer they stood there, the more details Steve was slowly picking up on. For example, Munson’s eyes were so bloodshot that he was ninety-five percent sure the dude was incredibly high, and he kept squeezing the costume’s claws together like he was partly convinced he was a lobster.

Everyone else in the store seemed to be giving them a wide berth, but Steve was uncomfortably arriving at the conclusion that the spectacle was kind of… endearing. He found himself having to hide a smile behind his hand while Eddie turned back to the lobsters in the tank and started asking them to help him come up with an excuse.

Deciding to play along and maybe have a little fun, Steve sidled up to the tank to crouch down beside Munson and whisper playfully, “Is this some sort of jailbreak thing?” Munson yelped and jumped back to gape at Steve, who responded only by grinning up at him and laughing at his reaction. “Aw. What, I can’t know about it? How do you expect to free a bunch of lobsters in broad daylight all by yourself?”

Munson seemed to think on that for a little bit (debating the pros and cons, Steve assumed) before he stuck his hand out for Steve to shake, a mischievous twinkle in his sweet brown doe eyes. “Alright, Harrington. You’ve convinced me. I can’t wait to raise a lobster army with you.”

Steve refused to acknowledge how Eddie Munson’s goofy antics were making him feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Sure, he’s funny, but in a weird way, not a cute way… Right?

Steve tried not to let his growing blush show as he shook Eddie’s hand firmly. He’s just high, Steve. He’s not flirting with you. “It would be an honor.”

(Spoiler alert, past-Steve: he was totally flirting with you).

#stwgdailyprompt #mira writes #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #ficlet #drabble

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mirasmirages · 8 days

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"Sooner or later, you'll understand. I had to do this. This is for your own good, okay? Let me take care of you."

"I saved you. Don't you think you should be grateful?"

"Grateful? For this?"

"Everything I'm doing is to keep you safe!”

For James and Henry, please 👀👀

- @starliight-whump

It always surprises me how cruel Henry was in the beginning, so here's a little scene of what might have happened if that hadn't changed.

It was too early in the morning to deal with this.

It wasn't the first time James had tried to run, but it was the first time he had gotten this far. Usually Henry was a light sleeper and caught him before he could leave the apartment. Today, he had gotten all the way to the lobby before getting caught, and Henry hadn't noticed anything before he got a call from Emmett, the security guard.

When Henry got out of bed, he felt unusually heavy. It was rare for him to be tired enough to sleep through even light noise. Now, the adrenaline should have him wide awake and rushing down the stairs, but instead he he was calm, almost fuzzy.

He mulled it over while he walked down the stairs, and by the time he got to the bottom and found James face-down on the floor with Emmett holding him down, it seemed obvious.

He knelt by James's head and grabbed his face with one hand, tilting it up so they made eye contact. James's face was wet with tears, and his whimpered pleas were the same as they always were when he got caught trying to escape.

"James," Henry said. "Did you drug me?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," James said, over and over, and Henry recognized it for what it was. Not an apology, but a plea for mercy.

Henry had been merciful many times before. He had chosen to trust James's promises to be better, and he never kept them. James had made it clear that mercy didn't work, and perhaps Henry should be grateful for the drugs that kept him calm through what he did next.

"You know I love you," he said, and instructed Emmett to lift James's leg a few inches above ground. James tried to get up, but a light hold from Henry was enough to make him lay back down. "We belong together. You're staying with me."

Henry got up, and stepped on James's leg until something snapped. James screamed, his voice echoing against the walls while Henry gathered him in his arms and carried him up the stairs.

"Shh, you're okay," he murmured, his voice tired and soft. "We'll take care of this. I've got you. Sooner or later, you'll understand. I had to do this. This is for your own good, okay? Let me take care of you."

#Thank you for the prompt <3 #Mira replies #Mira writes #OC: Henry Baker #Guest Character: James Kennedy #I just read The Sunshine Court so knee injuries are on my mind #I hope my midnight writing will hold up when I read it again tomorrow #whump writing

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mira-writes-stories · 1 year

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Girls' afternoon and girls' problems

El Hopper & Female reader; Max Mayfield & Female Reader Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary: You are spending afternoon with Max and El and some heavy themes are discussed. *This is more about the friendship with Max and El than about relationship with Eddie but I still considered it as a story with Eddie x reader

You were spending your afternoon at the Hopper's (it was more like Byers-Hopper) cabin with El and Max. They both invited you for a "beauty afternoon" to eat snacks, gossip about boys and braid hair. You were known for experimenting with hairstyles and for being always willing to help others with their hair. El's hair just started growing out a bit and Max's arms were not working properly for her to reach behind herself and do anything more than brushing. You liked those girls as your own little sisters so you've agreed.

Max was sitting in her wheelchair while El was situated on her bed, sitting between your open legs so you had a better access to her hair. You were softly brushing each strand of her hair while thinking about hairstyles suitable for her length. Max was flipping trough the pages of a girl's magazine, suddenly snapping it shut and inhaling deeply.

"That's such bullshit!" she shouted angrily, the wheelchair keeping her from pacing back and forth like she used to. "What's wrong, Max? What's got you so upset?" you asked her as you splitted El's hair in two parts. "Why do all those magazines suggest that women have to wear make-up to look beautiful and to keep a man? That's so stupid!" she explained her outrage and angrily munched on a cookie.

"But Mike says that I look pretty when I'm wearing eye shadow and lipstick. At least last time you put it on me he said it, maybe I should wear it more often..." El wondered and stared dreamily into the space. "Mike is an idiot, El. How many times do I remind you to finally dump his ass for good," argumented Max and wheeled herself closer to where you and El were sitting.

"Come on girls, don't be like that. Max, you have every right to feel about Mike as you want but don't force El into making decisions. And El, you should wear make-up or pretty dress or nice hairstyle for yourself, not for the people around you. You don't need Mike to tell you that you are pretty, you should like yourself all the time," you reassured your friends and continued braiding El's hair. El turned to look at you with those big eyes and simply said: "Thank you." and turned back.

"You are saying that because you are dating Eddie, he tells you that you're pretty all the time! Lucas doesn't say it at all and I don't even know if he likes me. No, I know that he likes... like my personality or something but I think that seeing me like... that," May paused, trying so hard not to think about Vecna too much. Then she continued:" And now I'm stuck on this thing, " she gestured to her wheelchair. "So I get it that he's not atracted to my body..." she finished her speech, voice cracking at the last word, tears threatening to flow.

"Max, I want you to listen to me very carefully- Lucas loves you so much and he's probably afraid of how you might react to his affection. You've always been a tough girl and maybe he thinks you won't like it. He doesn't want to reduce you only to your appearance. If you are not happy with something in your relationship, you shoud always talk about it to your partner," you reassured Max and tied El's braids with pink rubber bands.

Max wiped the tears from her face and muttered a quiet: "Come here, I wanna give you a hug and I can't walk," with a wet laugh. You jumped off the bed and squeezed her middle as best as you can. Meanwhile El made her way to check the new hairstyle in the mirror. "I feel pretty!" she exclaimed as she turned around to show her braids off to you and Max.

You were all laughing when suddenly there was someone knocking on the door. El shouted: "Come in!" as you turned to look at the door. "Hello fair maidens!" said the person and mop of wavy hair appeared in the doorway. "Eddie!" you squeeled. He stepped in to the room and bowed deeply. "I'm deeply sorry to interrupt your girl time, but I need my girlfriend back," Eddie laughed and made his way to you. He embraced you tightly and pecked your lips quickly, not to offend the younger girls. "You look so pretty today..." said Eddie as he placed his palm on your cheek. Max snorted and rolled her eyes. "Come on, Red, I don't say anything about you and Sinclair making out on your porch every time he's leaving your trailer so leave us alone," Eddie turned to Max and stick his tongue out. Max only rolled her eyes once more, but light shade of pink dusted her cheeks.

"It was a nice afernoon girls, I hope we can do it again sometime," you waved at the girls, picking your bag from it's place on the floor where you left it. When you were finally ready, Eddie took your hand in his and you made your way out of the cabin to Eddie's car.

"Hey, uhm... I don't want to sound weird but... I heard what you were talking to Max about... I just.. I wanted to say that you are amazing, you know? If I were in your situation," confessed Eddie but you interrupted him by saying: "I don't think you would ever find yourself giving advice to teenage girls." Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled fondly. "You know I didn't mean it like that but if I ever had to comfort somebody like that, I don't think I would handle it this good. That's all I wanted to say," finished Eddie and pulled your hand to his lips.

You climed into the passenger seat as Eddie started the car. "I also had to explain to El that she should wear make-up or something nice to feel pretty herself, not just to hear it from Mike," you added. "Wheeler is an idiot," said Eddie and snorted. "What do you all have against him, he's a good kid... Anyway, I feel like I ruined the session because of the deep stuff," you looked from the window, a small frown forming on your forhead.

"Y/N, these girls think of you as their older sister or some kind of mother figure so I think they are lucky to have you in their lives," Eddie took his hand off the wheel and patted you on the shoulder affectionally. "I think that you are the one who is lucky to have me in your life because otherwise you would rot in your own dirty clothes and mess," you said playfully and Eddie looked right into your eyes.

"Aaaand that's the point where this conversation ends," Eddie laughed and turned his gaze back to the road in front of him.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #el hopper #eleven hopper #max mayfield #mira writes

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crispysnake · 1 year

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Hi This is really just for @ravendruid cause they're the only one who has the full context so HERE U GO FREN AND IM SORRY IN ADVANCED Anyhoo this takes place in me modern au, while Keyleth and Percy are in uni! (I also apologize in advance if a lot of this does not make sense I am v sick rn and running on 3 doeses of dayquil and chocolate chip banana pancakes)

Everything feels beyond hazy but Percy still manages to gather enough focus to rub his hand up and down Keyleths back as she heaves into the toilet bowl. They had the same amount of shots, which really wasn't that many despite them celebrating her getting an incredible review on her research paper, he found it really doesn't take that much for her to get drunk.

Percy's mind feels far away as he stands and stumbles to the sink, filling a glass of water for Keyleth while leaning onto the counter, It was amusing at first, when she gets tipsy she gets giggly, hanging off of his shoulders and telling him about how silly short-eared owls look when they're running around, way too loudly might he add. Then she gets rather existential, going on about how everyone is just a prisoner of their own anxieties or something, he kind of tuned out, but it got hard to ignore when she got sad drunk. it still feels hard to ignore.

"I just- I mean come on Percy, my own m-mom didn't- didn't love me enough to come back... I don't know how-.. how could anyone else?"

She claimed it so nonchalantly. It feels like something he was never meant to hear, and yet he doesn't think he will ever be able to forget it.

He thinks about his family, how unconditionally his parents supported him and how Ludwig never seemed to stray far from his room, always interested in whatever he was creating, or how Cassandra clung to him in their scariest moments, entrusting him with her life. Since then, he felt as if he would never get that trust or tolerance, or love, ever again, of course until he met Keyleth.

Percy heard the shifting of Keyleth backing away from the toilet and he took a breath before sitting down cross-legged in front of her, nudging the glass against her hand until she finally took it. He watched her take a single sip before leaning and leaning, falling to her side onto the bathmat with a groan. "Nope," he said shortly, Keyleths head spins as he grabs both of her shoulders to pull her back up to a sitting position "You will hate me tomorrow morning if I let you fall asleep on the floor. It's disgusting." he brushed off one of her shoulders and tucked her hair behind her ears, pushing the glass back up to her face "No 's not it's comfy" She could only slur in return, making him smile a little. She bickers like his sisters did.

Percy ensured she drinks at least half the glass before letting her lean back to rest against the edge of the bathtub, and shifting to sit beside her, feeling her instinctively press into his side. He can still faintly recall how quickly she became physically affectionate to him or perhaps just affectionate in general. How it merely took one or two instances of Keyleth spotting him staying absurdly late at the library, (just as often as she did) before she brought him homebrewed tea and asked if it would be alright to sit and study with him.

Had Percy been a bit irritated at first? yes, a little, was it also the first ounce of kindness anyone had shown him in a while? also yes. Was it annoyingly hard not to find comfort in her presence or adore Keyleth as a person? yes. sometimes it still gets to him, how she noticed him there. But was she aware of that? no. and now he's definitely sobered up enough to know that he cannot stop thinking about it.

".. how could anyone else?" Percy truly does feel he will never be able to forget it.

"Keyleth?" He calls hesitantly, turning his head enough to glance down at her. She hums in acknowledgement and with the same amount of coordination as a fawn, attempts to pull herself up to look at him.

"Did you mean what you said earlier? about feeling.." he whispers now, his brain still feeling a little too buzzed to rethink this "Unloved?". Percy watches Keyleth sit up fully and stare at him, he watches the gears turn in her head as she processes, slightly sobering at his words. "Uhm.." Keyleth pulls her knees up to her chest almost defensively and curls around them, unsure what to say or do, tempted to pretend like she forgot about what she said entirely. Of course, she hasn't forgotten, and she never will. "I'm not sure" she whispers in reply.

They both know this isn't entirely a lie, Percy has known Keyleth long enough to know about what happened to Vilya, to know her extremely complicated thoughts on the matter, how it felt trying to grow up after a situation like that, and something else they both thoroughly understand is that she is not great at discussing her feelings openly. Opposites as they are, it is a habit they have in common.

He thinks about his siblings again, and how many excuses and lies he told to get out of family dinners. It keeps him up at night that he cannot recall the last time he said goodnight to Vesper. He thinks about how he never truly realized that when he thinks of his sisters, Keyleth always seems to fall in line with them. And he never wants her to feel as uncared for as he ever might have made them feel.

She's avoiding his eyes now, feeling an empty pit starting to form in the middle of her chest, staring at the tiles and hiding the lower half of her face between her knees. "Well," Percy started softly, reaching out to take her hand, "You are... Keyleth you are my best friend, and I love you".

She simply stares at him again, as if she's searching his face for any traces of deception or dishonesty, and she finds none. Keyleth feels tears prickle her eyes and her throat thickens, she pulls him forward by the hand and wraps her arms around his middle.

"I love you too" Percy could feel Keyleth mumble against his shoulder and he hugs her back equally as hard. As they sit on the floor of their small, dingy bathroom, holding each other tightly, for once Percy doesn't feel guilty at the thought of her as family, because a part of him knows that he needed to say it, just as much as she needed to hear it.

#I do not know what this is!#but it has been sitting in my drafts since we talked last so!! her ye go!#also also first time writing percy pls dont bully #oh my god mira writing and willingly posting something on her own? crazy #absolutely uncalled for #this defintely is not great but it wasn't leaving my brain so WHATEVES sometime I forget that this is just a silly little blog #on a silly little site and I can do whatever #mira writes #modern au #critical role #vox machina #cr fic #vox machina fic #keyleth #keyleth of the air ashari #percy de rolo #percival de rolo #critical role fic

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bruisingviolets · 1 year

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it’s astronomy, we’re two worlds apart

1.1k words

SPY x FAMILY

Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar | Thorn Princess

Additional Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Mild Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort + more

They pull apart, lips coated with satisfactory reluctance and empty fulfillment. He finally finds it in himself to look into her eyes.

“Farewell.”

He repositions his gun, aiming it straight for her head. She picks up the fallen blades she’d initially let go of. Iced eyes mix with fiery ones and they don’t even dare each other to break contact.

(Twilight and Yor find themselves head to head in an impassioned confrontation. With unresolved feelings and temptations gnawing at their hearts, Yor initiates the unthinkable, closing a chapter in their lives forever.)

read on ao3 or click ‘keep reading’

thank you for reading!

It’s cold.

The air, his hand on her wrist, the gun on her head, the blade on his neck, his blood, her eyes, the silence around them. A thick layer of iced tension hung between the two, one so present it managed to snake its way into their lungs and lurk there within the quiet, a dread in their chests with weight more heavy than death itself. Blood drips from his neck slowly, each drop more formidable than the next, trailing down to his lower body.

Nothing he hasn’t seen before, he thinks to himself. He has no reason to be afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of.

His hands are shaking, but he won’t show it. He refuses to. He tightens his grip, on his gun, on her wrist, on the walls he’d worked so hard to put up. They’re taller now, sturdier, layer after layer of mortar pathetically holding up his crumbling bricks of vulnerability.

That’s when he realises, fear isn’t the emotion encompassing him in this moment. It’s a feeling much more excruciating, something that somehow found a way to strike him where it hurts.

Hurt? Betrayal?

…

Love?

Impossible.

He needs to do this. For himself, for his career, the career he’s spent all these years building from the ground up, the career that supported him when he had nothing, the career that made him something—someone. Someone that mattered.

He knows this is the only way, he knows this is the right thing to do, one pull of the trigger and he can move onto his next mission, move on with the entanglement of circumstances he calls his life.

…So why can’t he do it?

Pull the trigger, a voice rings in his mind. Not his, but he recognises it vaguely. Then again, no part of him truly belongs to him, does it? His name, his family, his personality, his face…

The only thing he really, truly owns, is his heart. The same heart that beats for her like no other, the same heart that swells in contentment being around her, being around his family of deceit. On a surface level, these were all fraudulent relationships upheld for the sake of their reputations, yet something in his heart tells him otherwise. Something in his heart tells him that to him, these relationships had forged feelings of authenticity and credibility.

The curse of a mind that could feel and a heart that could think.

His eyes can’t quite meet hers. He thinks it’s her sharpest weapon, out of all the blades and knives she stashes away along with the mystery of herself. He wonders if he ever really knew her, or if everything had just been one big fabrication, including his feelings for her. He’d never really known what it was like to be on the receiving end of a lie.

“Coward,” she spits out, stance still unwavered, blade still digging into his skin just enough for it to hurt.

He’s familiar with this term; coward. The gut-wrenching reaction in his stomach isn’t new to him. He knows it’s what he is.

But everything hurts more when it comes from her, he supposes.

He can feel her glare of daggers piercing through him, the forest fire she’d somehow managed to capture in her eyes was burning into his skin. She refuses to tear her gaze away from him, not now, not ever. She’s afraid to let him go, afraid that the wrong blink at the wrong time would lead to the wrong circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back, still unable to look at her.

Coward, he repeats to himself.

One pull of a muscle, one lift of a blade, and they could both be done with this. They could both move on, dead or alive, knowing they’d done what they needed to do.

She hates how those words sound in her head.

To do what needed to be done.

She hates the idea of being told to do something and then carrying it out, no hesitations, no resistance, just passive agreement. She’s tired of it. Why can’t she do what she wants to do, and not what she needs to?

Her whole life, she’d needed to assassinate people to provide for her family, for herself, to support her brother, to make herself worth something. To make herself notable. She thinks the first time she’s ever truly wanted something was when she’d first met Loid.

She hates that she knows his name isn’t Loid.

Sick of the expectations everyone has held her to for so long, she comes to a decision—one so impulsive and unforeseen that even she herself hadn’t expected it.

She feels her blades slip from her hand, she hears the loud crash of silver against cement, the crash of her heart pounding furiously against her chest, the crash of her mind collapsing in on herself as she begins to doubt her decisions. The atmosphere was one full of so much internal commotion she could feel her head spinning.

The next crash she hears isn’t quite as audible. Something she’s never truly experienced, or thought of, or wanted… Until now.

Until she met him.

It’s a crashing of lips, the crashing of two forbidden souls meeting halfway in the light of sin, the knowing of wrong, the understanding of deception. They know what they’re doing is wrong, but there is not a hint of regard between them whatsoever. They realise now, how their wants and needs had forged into one. They wanted each other as much as they needed to, and needed each other as much as they wanted to. They stop trying to pretend their love for one another isn’t there.

And so they’re colliding against each other, an array of blood and sweat and tears and newfound yet short-lived feelings. His gun falls from her head and presses against the side of her cheek where his hand has declined instead, cupping her face with as much tenderness as he can possibly permit.

They both knew this wouldn’t last very long.

They pull apart, lips coated with satisfactory reluctance and empty fulfillment. He finally finds it in himself to look into her eyes.

“Farewell.”

All good things come to an end, right? This was bound to end, sooner or later.

These were the consequences of ending it later.

A gunshot goes off, a blade is stabbed, there’s more blood and more tears encapsulated in the release of closure. They both got what they wanted in the end.

And so they’re lying there, hearts no longer beating and ominously crimson blood oozing everywhere. Their fingers lightly brush against each other, their weapons landing on top of the other in a perfect pile of ammunition. A breeze sweeps past them briefly. Blood doesn’t stop pouring out onto the ground beneath them.

It’s so cold.

#spy x family #sxf #spy x family fic #sxf fic #spy x family fanfiction #twiyor #twiyor fanfiction #yorloid #yorloid fanfiction #loid forger #yor briar #mira writes

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abowlofsourcream · 1 month

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⏳💫Switch a Loop! ACT 5: A Prologue 💫⏳

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mira-gilastorm · 1 year

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To Fix A Future

Chapter 4: Where Did You Get A Fox?

Ao3 Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

"I am naming Daemon Hand of the King."

Rhaenyra wanted to burst out in laughter at the dead silence in Small Council chamber. Dany stood off to the side with the red priest, who insisted on staying by her side - like some kind of guard.

"But- Your Grace. May I ask, have I failed you in some way?" Hightower's eyes were bulging.

She couldn't help but smirk, deciding she could speak up. "Tell me, Lord Hightower, how was it again that my grandfather died?"

He turned to her father, "A hunting accident, Your Grace! You know this!"

"I believe it was the Princess who was speaking to you." Her uncle's voice was nothing more than a growl and it sent shivers through her. Her husband in that other life.

"An accident that conveniently made you Hand. A second son with no real options to rise above your station in life - suddenly Hand to the King, with your daughter as the only Lady-in-Waiting to the princess." she hummed.

"You can't possibly be suggesting-"

Daenerys spoke from her place in the corner of the room, tiny voice clear, "We are not suggesting, Otto Hightower. We are accusing." She tilted her head in a very girlish way, "I'm sure such a learned man knows the difference."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos - another snake, "but these are the words of children. Hardly enough to ruin-"

Her father's hand slammed on the table, causing all the councilmembers to jump. "The words of dragons. You know nothing of what they speak, Mellos." She had never seen so much fire in her father. Sometimes it was easy to forget he was also one of them. "And you would be wise to tread carefully as well. Your advice on my treatment and that of my wife and son has left much to be desired."

The man's jaw clicked closed. Oh this was all so satisfying.

She took a step forward, hands laced behind her back, "Did the midwives tell you that they could not deliver my brother, Maester? Or was it you who told them he could not be delivered, I wonder. It seems so odd that Targaryens keep dying at the hands of those from Oldtown, does it not?"

"How dare you! My house has been nothing but loyal!" Hightower's voice raised in a dramatic shout, throwing himself up from his chair.

He was quickly met with Dark Sister dangerously near his throat. "I'd be careful how you speak to your future queen, Otto. Threatening her is treason, after all."

Lord Beesbury glanced over at her, ignoring the scene of Daemon and Otto. "Ah, excellent. Naming an official heir will bring stability to these trying times."

"A woman, though - hardly a thing that will bring stability."

Lord Corlys laughed from his place at the end of the table. "Still thinking a woman cannot rule. Rhaenyra is Viserys' rightful heir." He turned to her uncle, "What I want to know is why you are relinquishing the position so readily."

Daemon lowered his sword a bit before spinning it and sheathing it with a little flourish. "Easy answer. I've never wanted the Iron Throne. I want to protect my family and our House, our history and traditions. Court is boring - let Rhaenyra deal with the politicking, she's better suited to it."

"A remarkably honest answer from the Rogue Prince," Lord Strong nodded respectfully to him.

He snorted, "You'll find I'm a remarkably honest person, despite what certain people would have you believe."

Lord Strong looked around the room nervously, "So we will need a new commander of the Gold Cloaks. Are there any other changes being made? Other than the Hand's position, of course, Your Grace."

Dany stepped forward, "I will be fetching a retinue of healers from Essos to found a new school of healing here in Kings Landing - just healing, not the breadth of knowledge that the maesters subject themselves to. We will also be creating a position on the Council for Master of Whispers, which will, for now, be held by Melisandre."

Mellos stood to turn and face Daenerys in a rage. Rhaenyra and Daemon both moved to protect her little cousin.

Neither had a chance.

The red woman's stone around her neck glowed a bright red and he began to gag, face turning a bright purple as his hands went to his neck. The old man fell to his knees, begging wordlessly as Dany stood over him with an impassive face.

The lovely face twisted into a sneer. "Your death is a mercy. You should have been butchered as my aunt was."

There was that same far-away look in her eyes as Mellos shuddered and collapsed in a heap at her feet, dead.

Lord Corlys and Lord Commander Redwyne both stepped away in shock, but Rhaenyra joined her cousin in standing over her mother's murderer.

"Magic in the world yet."

Her father let out a derisive laugh, "Oh but if you only knew, cousin. If you only knew."

Melisandre hummed in that odd way of hers - almost like a purr. "No magic. Only the power of the Lord of Light."

The Sea Snake shook his head, "We call the powers of the Drowned God a magic. What would make your god so different? The powers of the dragons and Old Valyria? Is it not all magic by another name? Just because you know its source does not make it any less what it is."

"I must say, I cannot argue with such sound logic, Lord Sea Snake."

Daemon hummed from next to her. She hadn't realized how close they'd moved in trying to get to Dany, "A marvelous feat, I assure you."

Lord Beesbury stared at the red priest as if she were one of his numerical accounts he were trying to make sense of. "I presume this woman and her powers are the way you know of such plots against your family, Your Grace?"

Her father sat back down sullenly. "She is not. If she were, it could easily be written off as attempts to sow discord or disrupt our kingdom. No, Melisandre is not the source of this knowledge."

"And we are certain this information is beyond doubt? It is valid and provable?" Lord Strong was the only member still seated at the table, though his face was markedly pale.

Daenerys stepped over the maester's body to stand in front of her. "Have you seen Alicent this morning?"

"What? I- No. I dressed on my own in a hurry. Why?"

She turned to the guards at the door, "Fetch Alicent Hightower."

Everyone in the room sat in an uncomfortable silence while one of their guards sought out her lady.

As she rushed in, poor Alicent looked flustered and terrified. Dany gave her a brief smile and a calm nod. "I want you to know that you are in no way held responsible for whatever is said here today. Okay?"

"Dany- I mean, Princess, I don't understand."

"It's okay. I just need to ask you a question and I want you to answer completely honestly and without fear of any kind of repercussions, okay?"

Alicent only nodded, her eyes flickering over Daenerys' shoulder to her father. Something in Rhaenyra growled at that.

"Alicent, last night, did your father tell you to go to the King's chambers - wearing one of your mother's dresses - to comfort him?"

Her friend's eyes went wide. "He- I- But I didn't go! You were all gathered there together and I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to-"

"You stupid girl!" Hightower shouted at her, rushing toward his daughter as she trembled behind Daenerys.

"Ah, ah, ah." Daemon stepped in his way, hand on Dark Sister's hilt. "I believe my niece promised Lady Alicent there would be no repercussions for telling the truth."

Rhaenyra turned to the Small Council, "You wanted unequivocal proof, here it is. Things that could not be known and yet are. Daenerys Targaryen possesses the ability to dream as Aegon the Conqueror did."

Lord Commander Redwyne stalked over to Otto, grabbing him by the arm, turning to the king. "What shall we do with this traitor, my King?"

"I'm in favor of a public execution, myself." Her uncle toyed with his sword again as if it were restless.

"Of course you are, brother."

An image came to mind. "I think we should follow my cousin's example and let the one responsible for our loved ones' deaths burn on their pyres."

Dany didn't respond, just stared at Otto as he wilted in the Lord Commander's grip. She lifted the Hand's pin off his doublet and moving to set it in place on her uncle's chest.

"Hae Jaes, syt mirre jēda, lentor letagon - isi ondos isse ondos, se sīr ēdruta īlon."1

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

What an entertaining morning it had been. Named Hand, stood side-by-side with Rhaenyra as her protector, got to watch that leech, Hightower, be dragged away - what a genuinely lovely morning.

And the way the red woman had protected Daenerys had been interesting. He followed the gods of Old Valyria, but it was clear her power was nothing to mess with.

"I'm afraid I'm about to ruin your good mood, brother," he turned to see Viserys leaning against a column lining the garden.

"You must have truly dreadful news then, Viserys, because there are very few things that can overshadow watching Hightower get dragged to the dungeons."

"I think Rhaenyra should marry Laenor."

If it had been anyone other than his brother suggesting such a thing, he would have cut them down. Rhaenyra was his. It was destiny.

"You can't be serious. You heard the same history as I did - her children were never fathered by Laenor -"

He could feel his chest tightening. She would take a lover, someone outside the bounds of her political arrangement. There didn't have to be anyone else-

He couldn't do it. He couldn't share her.

"I did hear the same history. I heard two people so much in love with each other they would spurn their father, brother, king - to be together. Forego mourning for their loved ones, wage war together." His brother moved to rest his hands on his shoulders. "You two are true dragons - all fire and blood. What kind of chaos am I unleashing if I let you wed?"

He gave a small huff, "Imagine the chaos we cause to get back to each other."

"Well, what do you propose we give Lord Corlys, then? He believes his wife should be on the throne."

"Marry his daughter, then."

Viserys withdrew from him, "She's a child!"

He rolled his eyes, "I didn't say bed her. A betrothal until she's - say, fifteen, then discuss with her whether she wants to bear children or not. Given Dany's dream, I feel it's safer for her to be with us any way."

He intended for he and Rhaenyra to have heirs of their own long before then either way. His princess' rule would be secured.

"That's remarkably sound advice from the King's new Hand," his brother smirked at him.

"It's entirely self-serving, I assure you."

Viserys watched him for a moment. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

Daemon felt himself go still in surprise. "What are you sorry for?"

"For letting them poison my opinion of you. I've envied your freedom since I became king that it became easy to resent it. But you're right - you're honest, and you'll protect our family and our House until your last breath. And that's what I need."

He held back a smile, "You mean you need someone to tell you when you're being an idiot and trying to marry your daughter off to the wrong man."

His brother laughed, "Yes, I suppose that too."

"Why would you try to marry Nyra to anyone other than Uncle Daemon?" The trio of girls stepped out of a large door, Daenerys in the lead, a red fox laid across her shoulders.

"Dany, hush!" Alicent giggled - she didn't know about their conversation the night before, she would think they were just teasing.

Rhaenyra didn't even glance his way. She looked straight at her father. "Political advantage. If I had to guess, my cousin Laenor was the candidate being discussed."

Maybe this was something that had changed. He hadn't considered it yet, but since she'd found out they'd been together, she hadn't even spoken to him.

Whatever had made her fall in love with him - maybe it changed.

"You would be correct, Princess."

She finally turned her gaze on him. "And yet the Hand disapproves."

There was something fiery in her stare. What was that? Did she want him to say that, no, of course he didn't approve? She belonged to him and him alone? Was it a challenge to see if he was capable of playing politics?

"I believe the princess would find it hard to have an heir with one who prefers the company of men."

She hummed, turning her gaze back to her father who had been watching the two of them with interest. "Wise council. I'm inclined to agree with him. Ser Laenor would sooner bed Prince Daemon than myself - not that I'd begrudge him that - but it would make it difficult to produce an heir for our House."

Did she-

Alicent cackled, "Rhaenyra!"

Viserys groaned as Daenerys let her fox down to run about the garden.

Daemon looked over to see Rhaenyra give him a wicked smile before she turned back to Dany. He was not going to think about that smile - or her words or that fire in her challenging stare- No.

He frowned at his little niece, "Daenerys - where did you get a fox?"

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

Melisandre could tell that more and more of her old life was slipping away - but it was better for the princess.

Now, though, as they stood around - gathered at the pyres for Queen Aemma and the small Prince Baelon - that hardness was back. It was a stone that formed, layer by layer, from grief upon grief and loss upon loss.

Daenerys had insisted that her dragons' eggs be present, as her cousin and uncle's dragons were. Syrax had become protective of the stone eggs - she knew what they were, what they would become.

The traitor was brought out before the gathering, the Lord Commander leading two of his Kingsguard as they dragged him through the grass. What an undignified way to meet your end.

Redwyne's voice boomed out, "Otto Hightower, you stand accused of the murder of Baelon Targaryen and of treason in the plotting against the King and his House."

Melisandre had to admit, it was an interesting way to mete out justice - with humiliation first.

"Where are the accusers?"

Daenerys stepped forward first. "Here."

Rhaenyra. "Here."

Then, the final blow, his daughter stepped forward. "Here."

The Lord Commander turned to the King, "Your ruling, Your Grace?"

"Guilty. Treason against House Targaryen will be met with fire and blood."

He sounded very much like a king. This Viserys was growing in her esteem - not an easy feat, by any stretch. Perhaps ridding them of that maester had done more than she'd thought.

"No! No!" The Hightower man was screeching as the soldiers fastened him to the funeral pyres.

She would have done the burnings separately, herself, but vengeance rarely thought logically. If the dragons wanted blood, who was she to deny them?

A final step - one of the dragon keepers approached with the warming chamber of the egg that had been meant to be the babe's. Daenerys took it with no gloves - no protection from the heat - and moved to set it on the pyre next to the small, wrapped figure.

Only death can pay for life. Perhaps it would hatch with this offering to the gods of Old Valyria. Perhaps it was merely symbolic, sending the child off with the dragon that would have been with him in life.

She longed to say the words - to relinquish these children of fire and blood up into the flames. But they were not children of her flames. They belonged to the Fourteen. Let the words of the Valyrian gods carry them away to their own fires.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," she murmured still.

Daemon set a hand on Daenerys' shoulder, speaking their own words. "Valar morghūlis yn īlon zālagon lēda Perzys Ānogār"

The others repeated it softly. "All men must die but we burn with fire and blood."

A sniffle came from Rhaenyra. Melisandre raised a brow. The princess was quite stoic and calm - she would not have expected tears from her.

The wind rustled the black lace over her red dress - the nearest she had to a mourning gown, and it was only out of respect for her Lady. There was a deep silence over the hilltop, despite Otto Hightower's whimpers.

Prince Daemon stepped toward Rhaenyra, "They're waiting for you."

"Drac-" Poor girl. The word stuck in her mouth, probably caught on the grief she was still swallowing down. "Dracarys."

The great golden beast gave her rider a mournful stare and released a stream of white flame from her jaw. It was blinding, just as the screams of the traitor were piercing.

Before she could stop her, Daenerys darted forward. "Princess!"

"Dany!"

Rhaenyra moved to follow, only to be held back by Daemon. "You do not have a history of walking through fire unburnt, dear niece. Trust her."

At Rhaenyra's outburst, Syrax ceased her stream of fire. The pyres were still burning and Melisandre had to remind herself that Daemon's words rang true - Azor Ahai would not be harmed in the flames.

A figure could barely be seen, so small. She was still so young. But she was also not alone in the fire - the screams of that traitor Hightower had stopped. He certainly died fast.

The smaller pyre collapsed under the weight of itself and Daenerys could be seen more clearly, surrounded by fire with- with Otto on his knees at her feet.

"What is she doing?" The princess next to her growled, the dragon perched up above them echoing her sentiment.

There was murmuring from behind as the gathered lords and ladies of the court started to express their confusion. Obviously, none of them had seen a Targaryen walk into fire willingly.

Go.

Melisandre would know her Lord's voice as easily as her own. She moved toward the large pyre where the fire was still burning - where her princess still was.

The sound of the wood cracking was deafening as it collapsed, taking most of the open flames with it.

Daenerys stood out among the pile of ashes, the cloud of embers framing her like the Valyrian goddesses of legend. She was unburnt. Unlike the husk of a man still prostrate at her feet.

She moved to mirror him, kneeling at her princess' feet. "Yet again, you prove to the world that Azor Ahai lives, Princess."

The girl's violet eyes swept over the hillside, probably taking in the faces of everyone that could finally see her as the miracle she truly was.

"Please perform your last rites on him, Melisandre. I promised him something more than just a traitor's death."

The Last Kiss. "As you command," she answered to both her Lord and Lady.

Dany moved away and she could see that Hightower had clung to her like the coward he was. As she moved, ash left a powdery shimmer over her black gown, turning everything on her silver to match her hair.

She truly did look like the Maiden the heretics of the Seven worshipped - a goddess in her own right - as she stepped across the hot coals of the pyres, stirring up flames as she gifted them with air.

The body of the man was essentially fused into the position he'd died in. The flames had melted his skin and clothes together. Syrax had certainly done her job well.

Generally, she would clean the body and prepare it entirely before returning the body's flame. But it was unlikely that this body was missing fire. It was the blessing and the power it needed.

"Life is warmth, and warmth is fire, and fire is R'hllor's and R'hllor's alone." She felt the heat of the ruby at her throat as her Lord filled her with his power.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss upon the burned skin of the man's head. If he was worthy now, it was because he had been purified in the fire and forgiven by Azor Ahai.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors." Melisandre stood and stepped back to her place beside Daemon and Rhaenyra.

The prince stared over at her, "Better than he deserved."

She turned her golden eyes to him, "It was not for me to decide. I am only a servant to my Lord and his chosen."

There were low growls from around them - both Syrax and Caraxes clambered closer, causing nervous whispers from the group around them. Even Melisandre wasn't entirely comfortable around the giant creatures of living flame.

"Syrax!"

Daemon turned to his own beast and tilted his head. "What is it?"

Both dragonriders turned toward Daenerys simultaneously as she knelt down into the glowing coals.

Out of the ashes she pulled a small silvery bundle. She clutched it to her chest as she moved to stand over Hightower again, ready for him to gasp loudly, taking in his first new breath as a servant to the Lord of Light.

The fused and burned skin peeled off as scars and he reached out toward the princess. She stared down at him. "Otto Hightower, you have been judged and you have paid the penalty with your life. I have granted you new life for you to serve House Targaryen in perpetuity. Will you swear this?"

The traitor began to weep at her feet. "I swear. Of course, my Princess. I swear."

She nodded, looking out at the crowd gathered beyond her family. "Let it be known that the House of the Dragon stands strong and united."

To punctuate her statement, the silver bundle in her arms stretched its translucent wings and let out a high-pitched screech.

Only death pays for life, indeed.

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

This wasn't right - in the same way being born with Lannister blood wasn't right. The beautiful silver and red dragon curled up in front of her hearth wasn't the one that she was meant to hatch.

Both the dragon and her fox were laying near the fire comfortably as she watched them.

"What will you name her?" Alicent was brushing out her wet hair. She'd desperately needed a bath after covering herself in soot and ash.

Rhaenyra looked up at them from where she was reclining on the floor near the dragon, "Dragons more or less name themselves. It's a sort of impression they give their bonded - a name that just fits."

"Then I suppose it will not be me naming her."

Alicent paused in her brushing, "What do you mean?"

"She doesn't plan to bond with her." Rhae turned to them, sitting up, "Isn't that right, Dany?"

Daenerys pursed her lips, feeling every bit the petulant child she was. "She's not my dragon!"

Her cousin stood up, scooping the hatchling up in her arms as she did. "You can cling to your stone eggs if you want to, Daenerys, but they're not supposed to hatch for another two hundred years!"

"Two-" Alicent started to question, clearly confused.

"You don't know that!" She stood from her seat, startling Alicent. "Why would she have brought them here if not for me to have my children again?" A small yip came from the fox near the hearth.

There it was - that familiar hollow ache that would just sit in her chest until she felt like she couldn't breathe anymore. "I don't know how to explain it, Nyra, but they were all I had - the only thing I was ever going to have. Losing them was like losing limbs - carving out pieces of myself."

Her cheeks were wet. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. "I know it's not real. I do, really. I know it's just dreams and some twisted kind of memories, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. The dragons are the most vivid part - more vivid than dying. They're my children and they looked to me as their mother. Drogon was there as he killed me, probably avenged me, actually."

Rhaenyra sighed, stroking along the spines of the silver she-dragon. "That's the black and red one, isn't it? You tend to carry that egg more than the others."

"Yeah," she sighed. "He was the one I rode."

Her cousin nodded. "Okay, I'm going to put something forward that might be hard to swallow, but I just need you to listen."

Alicent huffed, "This sounds like we're about to get in trouble."

Rhaenyra gave her a brief glare. "The opposite, actually." She took Daenerys' hand and transferred the small dragon to her. "You hatched her, whether you want to admit it or not. But that is not what I want you to think carefully about.

"How vital were your dragons to the fight against the Night King? To the prophecy and fulfillment of you becoming the true embodiment of Azor Ahai? How badly will those stone eggs be needed by your next life?"

Every word was a deeper blade through her chest. The sky had only bled when she had hatched her dragons, she had rescued the Night's Watch from Drogon's back. It was hatching the dragons themselves that became the forging of Lightbringer.

Her children were needed for the Long Night. And she had a tiny creature in front of her that needed her.

"You're right." She scratched at the jaw of the small thing in her hands, drawing a little chirp out of it. "And what kind of Targaryen would I be if I abandoned her for a memory of a dream?" She sighed, "Even if it makes my chest ache like I've been emptied out and filled with steel."

Alicent hugged her from behind, careful of the dragon. "Oh, Dany. The grief gets easier - I promise. I know that exact feeling. It's how I felt after my mother died. After time, it's like the weight gets lesser and lesser. I don't know that it ever quite goes away, but it gets bearable, at least."

Rhaenyra grabbed one of Alicent's hands and rested her other one on Dany's cheek, brushing away a stray tear as if she weren't crying herself. "We can grieve together. You said it today, Daenerys. We are united and we are strong - even in our grief. Yes?" Her thumb wiped away another tear.

Dany nodded, "Yeah." She sniffled as her cousin wrapped her arm around both her and Alicent.

There was a small screech in protest as the little ball of silver scales got pressed into her chest.

Kaeres.

She laughed. Not just at the noise or the fact that, yes, they were clearly bonded. But at the irony. Kaeres - spirit. Ghost.

"Her name is Kaeres." There was a happy squawk from the little she-dragon as she bounced up in Dany's lap, frightening Alicent.

The two cousins laughed at their friend, quickly dissolving into hysterics as Dany fell to the floor and Kaeres nested in her now-dry hair, also drawing Melisandre over to examine her.

Even Alicent had to admit they were adorable. Good, perhaps it would cure her of her fear of dragons.

A knock sounded at her door and the three of them sat up. "Enter."

Ser Harrold pushed the door open, bowing. "Princesses, Lady Alicent, the Small Council will be convening shortly. I believe you will be expected." She watched his eyes wander around the room. "As well as the Lady Melisandre."

It took every bit of decorum she had not to laugh at the fact that no one had figured out where Melisandre was when they couldn't see her. Or where the fox had come from. Honestly, everyone was so blind.

"Thank you, Ser Harrold. We will be there." The Kingsguard saw himself out.

"What do you think they want?" Alicent was not accustomed to being in the Small Council.

Dany reached to squeeze her hand, "There's much to discuss. They're going to want to know if you're going back to Oldtown or if you'll stay on as the King's ward."

Rhaenyra hugged their friend tight, "Don't worry, we won't let them send you anywhere."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't I just stay here with my father?"

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the tears of her friend, "Because I'm sending him to the Wall."

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

It was true - Alicent had cried when Daenerys told her they would be sending her father to the Wall. But it was also true that he wasn't quite her father any more.

When the three of them made their entrance into the Council chamber, she saw him standing hunched between two guards - or, more accurately, what was left of him.

All hair had been burned away, leaving only shiny patches of white scars mottling every surface of skin that could be seen. His hazel eyes had brightened to a familiar gold - the same as Melisandre's.

The shiny parts of his skin almost looked wet - like they were oozing some kind of clear liquid - while the rest of him seemed like it was peeling off in thin layers. He was something monstrous to see, certainly.

"The Princesses Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daenerys Lannister, and the Lady Alicent Hightower." Ser Harrold announced them. Dany flinched at her family name as she always did.

Rhaenyra walked in front of them as the heir, her face expressionless and stern. It was a miracle the whole world didn't bow before her in sheer respect, at least in her opinion. Daenerys had just become more Targaryen and mystical, carrying her new silver dragon in her arms and her mysterious fox on her shoulders.

And then there was her - just Alicent, next to these women who would be the things of legend.

"Ah, Ladies, welcome," the King seemed pleased to see them, which she counted as a good thing. She knew her friends had promised not to let anything happen to her, but the King still had the final say.

"Thank you, Father." Rhaenyra moved to take a seat at the table across from her uncle - generally reserved for the queen.

The new Grand Maester looked around the room, "I confess, I was hoping to meet this red priest I've heard so much about. Is she not with you, Princess Daenerys?"

Alicent realized she hadn't seen the Lady Melisandre since the funeral. It was odd for her to leave Dany's side.

The fox hopped off the princess' shoulder and lifted its chin to reveal a collar with a large ruby. The ruby glowed bright enough to blind, forcing everyone to look away. As the light dimmed, there was no longer a fox, but Melisandre standing in its place.

She smirked mischievously, "You'll find, maester, I am indeed never far from the princess."

Prince Daemon laughed, "Clever. Who would keep a princess' pet from her? Very clever."

Lord Strong stared at the red priest thoughtfully, "Also quite useful as the Master of Whisperers for the Small Council, which I suspect Princess Daenerys knew when she had you named."

"Amongst other talents she possesses, yes." Dany moved Kaeres to her shoulder to free her hands and the dragon instantly burrowed behind her neck into her hair.

Melisandre crossed to take a seat across from Lord Beesbury, leaving Alicent and Dany standing. It didn't seem to bother Daenerys at all, but Ali didn't know what to do about it.

"Alright, we're all here. Princess Rhaenyra is to sit in as heir and behave as a participating member of this council from this time forward."

Her best friend inclined her head to her father, "Thank you, my King."

He nodded to the table in general, "Now, to the matter of House Hightower-"

Almost everyone around the table began speaking at once, trying to have the king hear their own idea of what should be done with her and her family.

"Enough!" Daemon shouted, silencing everyone. "I believe my brother was speaking."

Alicent and everyone else gave him an impressed look - except the two princesses. They didn't seem surprised at all.

King Viserys cleared his throat, "As I was saying, I would like to hear Lady Alicent's request before any decisions are made."

Her mind went blank. "Mine?"

"Indeed. No one knows the minds and hearts of your family better than you. We know your father and uncle are complicit, but do you think others in your house capable of treachery?"

She thought on her brother and cousin. "Both my brother and cousin would seek to rise above their station, but so would nearly every Lord in Westeros, Your Grace. I don't know that makes them capable of treason. I do not think it is an obsession for them as it was for my father."

"And do you wish to return to Oldtown to be with your brother and cousin?"

"No, Your Grace. If it pleases you, I would rather remain and continue in my service of the princesses."

The king smiled at her and she felt a surge of relief. "It does please the crown to allow you to remain here as a ward of House Targaryen until the day you find a suitable match and are married into a house worthy of you."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She curtsied.

He nodded and turned back to his council. Alicent moved to stand next to Dany over at the table with the cups.

"And what of Otto?"

"The Wall," Dany stepped away from her. As she approached, it was like Hightower gained new strength, standing straighter.

"Of course, Princess. However I can serve you."

Daenerys moved to face the room at large, "Otto Hightower will serve at the Wall. He will take the oath of the Night's Watch and uphold it, waiting, watching, and listening for the signs of the Long Night. When the rumors of the dead rising with blue eyes begin, or wildlings fleeing south, or the Others waking begin - he will alert us."

She lifted her chin, "And House Targaryen will know it is time for the stone eggs to hatch."

"You speak of fairy tales, Princess." Grand Maester Orwyle clearly hadn't been told about how his predecessor died.

Lord Beesbury turned to him, "You are looking at a man brought to life before your eyes and a girl who walked through dragonfire unburnt, yet you speak of fairy tales? Have some sense, Grand Maester."

Prince Daemon laughed again. Rhaenyra glared at him and he instantly quieted.

Dany practically glided back to her place by Alicent with as gracefully as she moved with Kaeres on her shoulders.

"The matter of House Hightower is concluded, then." Daemon announced to the table. "I put forth Ser Harwin Strong as my successor as Commander of the City Watch."

Lord Strong flushed a bit, sitting forward. "All in favor?" There was an echo of 'aye's around the table. "Any opposed?" No one said anything. "Ser Harwin Strong will be sworn in as Commander of the City Watch. Lord Hand, my House thanks you for the honor."

Daemon's jaw twitched slightly, "No need. He's simply the most qualified for the position."

The King watched the exchange with the same curiosity she herself felt, except he seemed to know something about it. "Very good. Now, on to the next order of business - Rhaenyra's naming as heir. Have all the ravens been sent, Grand Maester?"

Orwyle nodded, "They have, Your Grace."

"And where are we on planning the tournament?"

Rhae sighed, "Father, is a tourney entirely necessary?"

"Actually, it will help foster good relations between you and your future subjects, Princess." her uncle raised a challenging brow at her and Alicent half expected a scene between the two of them.

Instead, Rhaenyra pursed her lips, "I can see the wisdom in that. As absurd as I find it."

Lord Beesbury took the opportunity to answer, "All is according to plan, Your Grace. The feasts for the commons and court are prepared, and the tournament purses have been funded."

"Excellent."

Lord Corlys stood at the end of the table, "Final order of business, Your Grace. There is still the matter of the Stepstones. The Crabfeeder has cleared the pirates from the shipping lanes and is intent on owning those shipping lanes in the name of the Triarchy."

Alicent watched as Daemon and Rhaenyra both leaned forward simultaneously.

"Father, I think we should take this seriously."

"Your Grace, this is likely going to be something that will become a problem-"

It was all she could do not to laugh at the shade of red her best friend was turning. She turned to meet Dany's eyes. Oh they were so going to make her regret this later.

The king looked between the two of them with an amused expression, "It would appear my Hand and heir both believe we should intervene. What were you proposing, Lord Corlys?"

"I would urge you not to allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it would beggar our ports."

Rhaenyra stared down the table at him, "Do they currently hold a strong military presence?"

"Not as strong as it could be, Princess. They are still finishing their campaign to remove the pirates from the caves. Once they have finished that and dig their own way in, they will be almost impossible to root out."

There was a meaningful look passed between Rhaenyra and Daemon - like they knew something about this that the rest of the room didn't.

Prince Daemon nodded toward Corlys, "Then we will likely need to intervene before that happens. What do you need?"

"Ships and tender, Lord Hand. Likely men, calvary and archers alike, as well."

The Master of Coin sighed deeply, "That sounds like you intend to fight a full war. In all of its history, my lord, the Seven Kingdoms have never entered open war with the Free Cities. Were that to happen, the losses would be incalculable."

"These pirates are not the Free Cities, Lord Beesbury." Rhaenyra eyed him steadily. "I doubt they want open war with us any more than we do with them. They can easily disavow this Crabfeeder, and likely will."

Lord Strong nodded, "If we give a show of strength, she is correct. It will give no reason for the Free Cities to believe they can strike back."

Daenerys tugged Kaeres out of her hair, "Dragons, then?"

King Viserys nodded, "Indeed. It is settled. Lord Corlys, Driftmark will have the Crown's support in coin, ships, men, and our dragonriders as well." He stood, with everyone following suit. "This concludes our business. Daemon and Corlys, stay. We have one more thing to discuss."

She and Dany waited near the door for Nyra and Melisandre.

"You've really been the fox this whole time?" Alicent stared at the red woman. After a few moments, the oddness of her golden eyes made sense - they were a fox's eyes, with angled pupils rather than fully round. It was subtle, but it was there.

The priestess cocked her head at her, "I serve the Lord of Light, Lady Alicent. Some days it is nice to just curl up in a patch of sunlight and bask in his presence." She smirked, "The freedom to come and go as I please is nice as well."

Alicent hummed, "Maybe I should convert and have you teach me your ways. That does sound nice."

The two princesses shook their heads at her as they left the Council chamber. They all knew she was too dedicated to the Seven, no matter how appealing changing into a fox and shirking all responsibility truly was.

1 "Divinity, eternity, family - they go hand in hand, and so must we." - Unknown

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