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#worthy of learning his magic

alonetimelover · 2 months

Text

pairing: Newey!reader x Lando Noriss

fc: Sydney Sweeney

summary: When Redbull - the team she supported since being a child - didn't want to let her design the 2023 car, she needed to find someone that would. Here came McLaren, which she brought back to life. And maybe she helped one driver, too. Not only behind the wheel.

warnings: swearing, misogynistic comments

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mclaren

liked by ynnewey, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 693 302 others

mclaren Look who's here at the Bahrain Circuit 💋 ynnewey

view all 19 302 comments

ynnewey hello, admin! please take more photos of me when they turn out like this!!!

⤷ mclaren ON IT, BOSS

⤷ landogirly not admin being in love with yn

⤷ mclaren don't act like you're not

maxverstappen1 Traitor.

⤷ ynnewey go away, maximilian. don't you have a test to do?

⤷ maxverstappen1 Done and ready to beat you

⤷ ynnewey it's a long game, babes

⤷ maxverstappen1 We'll see about that

oscarpiastri need to work on that manicure

⤷ ynnewey only if you do one with me

landonorris that's not papaya

⤷ ynnewey I'm learning, landoooo. give me some credit

⤷ landonorris you're new(ey) to it, i get it

⤷ norizzlann that was so bad lando

⤷ formula1fan93 norizz lando at his best

landogirly why is nobody talking about max and yn flirting in the comments?????

⤷ ynneweyfan flirting?? they've been friends for years. and Max is in a relationship

⤷ maxfan93 well, they did date when they were younger

⤷ landogirly NO WAY???? WHY DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT IT??

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f1gossippage

liked by landogirly, ynneweyfan and 14 392 others

f1gossippage YN NEWEY was seen arriving at the McLaren Technology Centre after the rather disastrous Bahrain Grand Prix.

view all 5 201 comments

landogirly yn newey in you we trust 🙏🙏🙏

landonorizz please please please we need upgrades

ynneweyfan yn yn yn our saviour

formula1fan93 can she really upgrade them from those engine failures? it's like building another car

formula1fan99 i so want upgrades because without them max is going to be 20 sec in front of everybody....

hater9 working in that?? yeah sure

⤷ ynneweyfan have you heard of changing rooms? and something called working clothes? and maybe, just maybe thought about not commenting on people's appearances?

hater59 you think she'll help you, McLaren? suuuure

hater83 yet another failure

hater99 what is she even going to do? powder the side of the car and put mascara on it?

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mclaren

liked by ynnewey, landonorris and 301 302 others

mclaren Home race week! And look who is back in the paddock?! Our favourite ynnewey is back with her magic!

view all 30 101 comments

mclaren oh, look! lando and oscar are here, too... hello, boys

ynnewey I'm blushing, admin... where are you??

⤷ mclaren wherever you need me

⤷ ynneweyfan SIMP!

⤷ mclaren ynneweyfan and I am PROUD OF IT

landonorris it's an honour to be remembered when the YN Newey is in the paddock

⤷ oscarpiastri and they even included us in photos!!!!

⤷ ynnewey more enthusiasm, boys

landonorris YN NEWEY IS IN THE PADDOCK????? NO WAY !!!!

⤷ ynnewey that's better, thank you

oscarpiastri HAVE YOU SEEN HER??? QUEEN !!!

⤷ ynnewey you're winning this round Oscar

⤷ landonorris boooo

landogirly MOTHER IS BACK

landogirly mother please say you bring podium worthy upgrades

⤷ ynnewey 👀

ynneweyfan is this yn newey fan account?

⤷ mclaren duh

maxverstappen1 Who are you supporting with that boring outfit?

⤷ ynnewey go away you and your RB merch

⤷ maxverstappen1 Gladly. P1 is awaiting

⤷ landonorris now even a moment without you

⤷ maxverstappen1 Cry about it, I won't see it from the front row

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ynnewey added to her IG story!

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ynnewey

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 409 392 others

ynnewey P2 and P3 after quali and P2 and P4 after the race???? im so proud of my papaya boys!!! oscarpiastri my favourite rookie and landonorris the menace that you are (stop stealing my phone) CONGRATULATIONS 🎉🎉🎉🎉

view all 73 011 comments

oscarpiastri wouldn't be possible without the upgrades you and the team brought us!

⤷ ynnewey now i need you on the podium, i cleared mys storage to take LOTS of photos

⤷ oscarpiastri protect your phone from lando or it's gonna be his face only

⤷ landonorris i have a very nice face to look at, thank you

maxverstappen1 Not even a photo or a word about my win? Are we friends?

⤷ ynnewey people are bored max, go away winning somewhere else

⤷ maxverstappen1 Nah, I like beating your boy

comment deleted

⤷ maxverstappen1 Nah, I like beating your 'papaya boys'

landonorris podium in our home race! LFG BABYYYYYY

⤷ ynnewey please stop taking selfish on my phone

⤷ landonorris i know you love it

landonorris all thanks to you and the team

⤷ ynnewey stop it! or im gonna blush

⤷ landonorris you'll match that pretty lipstick

ynneweyfan WE ARE BACK BABY !!!!

ynneweyfan YN YN YN THE QUEEN THAT YOU ARE

landogirly lando podium after this disastrous beginning of the season???? we are so back

landofan92 so we're not talking about all this flirting in the comments??? my boy is smitten

maxfan93 the way that Max praised YN's job saying that no team has been closer this year to overtake him and make him lose positions

⤷ ynneweyfan he knows what's up!

landoynfan WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING ABOUT MAX'S DELETED COMMENT? WHO IS HER BOY?????

⤷ landogirly only one true answer - Lando

⤷ ynneweyfan please be true please be true please be true

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f1gossippage

liked by ynneweyfan, landofan02 and 51 202 others

f1gossippage New F1 power couple unlocked? Today, fans spotted McLaren driver, Lando Norris, and McLaren designer, YN Newey, at the Max Verstappen yacht in Monaco!

view all 13 202 comments

ynneweyfan OH GOD

ynneweyfan I don't want to believe rumours and those photos could be taken in an unfortunate moment but my delusion is taking me places

landogrily LANDO HAS GAME TO PULL THE YN NEWEY???

landofan93 is that really them?

f1fan92 is it even legal? don't they work together?

⤷ landofan93 it all depends on company policy, i think

maxandynfan i love how max is their third wheel or the wingman

⤷ ynneweyfan YES! simultaneously being her ex??? i love when people who loved each other once can still manage being friends

⤷ ynsmybestie yn said multiple times that Max is her first love and she could never stop loving him. max said the same about not being able to forget your first love but converting it from the romantic to almost domestic

⤷ ynneweyfan yes! and the way Kelly and P love her is undeniable

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landonorris and ynnewey added to their IG stories!

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Watch: Oscar and Lando take the lie detector test! from McLaren YouTube channel!

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ynnewey and landonorris added to their IG stories!

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ynnewey

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris and 602 393 others

ynnewey 💐🫶

view all 50 292 comments

danielricciardo my photos made it to the dump, i know that's right

⤷ ynnewey couldn't resist really, danny

maxverstappen1 IT IS CONFIRMED ?!

⤷ ynnewey this is the most excitement you showed in the last few years

⤷ maxverstappen1 Because you didn't update the situation to me!

⤷ ynnewey Muffins?

⤷ maxverstappen1 😊

oscarpiastri second post in a row to make an appearance 🤗 are you playing favourites?

⤷ ynnewey shhhh, someone might get jealous

landonorris nice flowers

⤷ ynnewey thx!

landogirly STAY CALM STAY CALM STAY CALM

landogirly STAY FREAKING CALM

landogirly MY WIFE IS SOFT LAUNCHING??? AND IT'S NOT ME?

landogirly cannot believe that lando bagged a baddie like yn

ynneweyfan EXCUSE ME

ynneweyfan orange flowers ✔️ cutie patootie boyfriend ✔️ slightly spicy mirror photo ✔️ THIS IS WHAT I CALL THE SOFT LAUNCH

liked by ynnewey and landonorris

hater94 oh so now oscar can be sure to be forgotten on new upgrades, eh?

hater03 don't you work together?

hater93 now we know how and why you got the job

⤷ landonorris Hard work, sleepless nights and unimaginable amount of hours studying, understanding and perfecting all the concepts to upgrade our cars to fight for podiums? Yes, this is exactly how and why YN got the job.

⤷ landogirly LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK!!!

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landonorris

liked by ynnewey, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 680 202 others

landonorris nothing soft about us

tagged: ynnewey

view all 78 201 comments

ynnewey what is this caption???

⤷ landonorris come to the living room and find out

⤷ danielricciardo LANDO! you're a baby! STOP IT

⤷ maxverstappen1 That's disgusting.

ynnewey Loooooove youuuu 🫶

⤷ landonorris nah, I love you ❤️

maxverstappen1 You are very welcome. And now stop smooching near me, that's disgusting

⤷ ynnewey boooo

danielricciardo little lando has a girlfriend 🥹

oscarpiastri Favourism!

⤷ landonorris oh shut up

⤷ ynnewey You're still my favourite, Oscah

⤷ landonorris excuse me???

landogirly HARD LAUNCH

ynneweyfan the hottest couple on the paddock

landofan93 yn looking like a goddess she is

liked by landonorris and 1 309 others

landofan84 not him getting a girlfriend before me

landofan02 bagged a baddie and is going to throw it at our faces at any point he gets

⤷ landonorris you are so right

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#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fic #lando norris social media au #lando norris one shot #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff

2K notes · View notes

linkemon · 1 month

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Confession headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Part 1 | Part 3 of the confession headcanons.

This part contains: Sebek Zigvolt, Leona Kingscholar and Azul Ashengrotto.

Sebek Zigvolt

• Sebek would experience shock after shock before he even confessed his feelings. The first clash with reality would be the realization that he loves someone. What is it about you being on his mind all the time? That he would like to protect you from all the troubles surrounding you? That he feels boundless pride when you praise him for the smallest things? He can't sleep at night and gets up to do extra sets of push-ups to calm down. It would get to the point where he would get frustrated and ask Lilia for advice. Is this the ideal person to turn to in this situation? In his opinion for sure...

• How much fun Vanrouge would have at his expense! His, not so little anymore Sebek, experiences his first love affair. In addition, with a human being. What a chuckle of fate. Apparently, his student had learned something in life. Lilia would give Sebek some advice, not all of which would be entirely accurate. Well, he won't make everything easy for him! And it's funny to watch him hand you a rare Briar Valley frog and hope it wins your heart. It's a pity the knight didn't tell you that to get this frog he had to kill several magical creatures during the holidays, you would probably look at it differently...

• Sebek would have a hard time accepting the fact that he fell in love with a human. Of course, his opinion changed gradually as he got to know you, but realizing that he had done exactly what he sometimes criticized his mother for would be like a bucket of cold water. He even tried to find arguments against it but every time he saw your face in front of his eyes, he decided that he couldn't do it.

• He definitely ran for Malleus' "blessing" once he was sure he wanted to be with you. Of course, he solemnly promised that it would not interfere with his duties. The prince didn't mind. He was happy that he would have the opportunity to see his friend more often.

• Briar Valley still has some slightly old-fashioned traditions. Although Sebek is aware that couples date and break up, he is intentionally trying to marry you in the distant future, from the very beginning.

• His confession consisted of an oath. After all, he is a knight in flesh and blood. With a bouquet of wildflowers, he knelt down and announced that he was going to defend, protect and love you until his last breath. If you let him, he will try to be worthy of you, the lady of his heart. He came up with this idea while reading chivalric romances so the ride back to your dormitory on a white horse is basically a complete must-have...

Leona Kingscholar

• Leona would never be the first to admit the feeling growing in his heart. He has more important things on his mind than love. For example, a nap! And the fact that he ordered you to stay and sleep with him under threat was a completely different story.

• You decided to take matters into your own hands, because what is it supposed to be? You act like you're in a relationship. Your friends keep asking if you're a couple and you never know what to say, because they won't ask Kingscholar out of fear and it always falls on you. Grim sincerely hopes you are together. In his eyes, a rich prince means an endless supply of tuna. Even if he calls him a furball every chance he gets.

• One day, in a botanical garden, surrounded by beautiful flowers, you asked this one important question. Who wouldn't love me? That's what the sarcastic Leona said in response to your confession. Immediately afterwards, he squinted his eyes and happily went back to his fake nap.

• Outraged that he didn't even take you seriously, you tried to get up but failed. He hugged you tightly and pulled you to his chest. Only when you were so close to him did you realize how fast his heart was beating. You didn't know if all beasts were like that but the ghost of a smile on his lips confirmed your belief that they probably weren't. You didn't say anything for a moment, just listening to the fast rhythm. Just as you were about to say something, he opened his eyes and told you that you two could go out if you cared so much. Then he turned to his other side, saying that herbivores probably had nothing better to think about.

• Only on the verge of your sleep, wrapped in warmth, amid the scent of sweet flowers, did you hear a quiet voice in your ear "I love you", spoken in a deep and confident voice.

• You didn't want him to feel unpunished for such treatment, so for the next week you made it your goal to tell everyone you could that you were in a relationship. At first you thought it wouldn't bother him much, but when others started repeating it, he felt embarrassed, which he didn't hesitate to tell you when he really had had enough. At first it seemed to you that he wouldn't be much moved, but when others started repeating it, he felt embarrassed, which he didn't hesitate to tell you when he really had enough.

Azul Ashengrotto

• There is no way he would try to confess his love before he has tried every means available to him to see if you feel the same way. The idea of revealing himself to someone to such an extent terribly terrifies him. It doesn't matter that you saw him at his lowest point during the overblot, it doesn't change anything about it.

• He wouldn't send the twins to do anything related to this "project" as he called it in his head. He doesn't even talk about it because he knows they would be making fun of him for weeks to come, especially Floyd. The truth is that Jade realized it incredibly quickly, but he's waiting for the right opportunity to take advantage of it...

• Azul would have dozens of plans for every eventuality and somehow everything would still fall apart. The first and most important rule he adopted was to stay away from Mostro Lounge. He took you to his home sea under the pretext of sightseeing. If something went wrong, no one from the academy would see it and he would have time to collect himself. At this first point his perfect plan ended.

• First, something broke in your transportation to the museum he wanted to take you to. Then it turned out that the crab serving you didn't want to let you in, mumbling something about being late. Without losing his nerve, Azul proposed his plan B, which was a restaurant. Of course, previously checked by him. But what good is it, since the owner broke the tentacle and closed it that same morning, leaving only a note on the door that she was very sorry. On top of it all, his favorite alley in the underwater park was destroyed by a herd of wild seahorses. That sealed his defeat. He meant well but it didn't work out. Tired, he lowered his hat and rubbed his glasses, pretending that he had not spilled a tear of ink at all.

• You had to come to his aid because you couldn't watch him struggle with his thoughts. You placed a kiss on his cheek, telling him that you had fun because you spent a lot of time with him and that you were happy because he rarely gave up work for someone. This gave him confidence and with a sigh, he led you to a place he wasn't particularly fond of but one he knew would be quiet and peaceful. It was on one of the coral terraces that he hid in from kids who tormented him when he was little. When he confessed his feelings to you and you replied that you reciprocated them, he felt that at least now he would have happy memories of this place.

• Azul doesn't need to know that Jade exposed him some time ago and he sold you the information that his boss reciprocated your feelings for quite a favour...

#twisted wonderland x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #confessions #headcanons #black chariot #confession #twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt #azul ashengrotto #leona kingscholar

473 notes · View notes

hah-studios · 5 months

Text

Wish Rewrite

Okay so I got this outta my system. I'm in no way saying this idea is better than the movie. But at least I'm getting my Star Boy fix!

Prologue read via old timey story book:

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was an island called Rosas. While beautiful, Rosas became terrorized by a monster. The brave, good people of the island tried to slay it, but they were beaten each time.

Then, out of nowhere, came a powerful sorcerer named Magnifico; with his abilities he slayed the beast and freed the people. Rosas was so grateful they named him and, his his beautiful wife, Amaya, king and queen.

The new king would go on to prove how generous and good he truly was: by using his magic to grant wishes…

We are introduced to Asha, who was reading the history of Rosas to her baby goat, Valentino. Several books are surrounding her at home, one of which Valentino is trying to eat. Through talking to the small goat the audience learns more about Asha, while intelligent and hard working, she is shy and a workaholic, always studying and offering tours to visitors. Today is the day she applies to be the apprentice to King Magnifico, like the rest of Rosas she idolizes him and believes following in his footsteps will give her a sense of self. She will look at a picture of her late grandfather who raised her, promising that she will help make wishes come true in honorof his that was never granted.

She goes to guide the newest tour (Welcome to Rosas, with an added on segment talking about the love the king and queen share) where we learn of how King Magnifico and Queen Amaya benevolently rule the island. When citizens turn 18 they offer their wishes to Magnifico who will protect the wish until it is time for it to be granted.

After the tour Asha goes to the royal kitchens were her best and only friend Dahlia is a royal baker. They talk about Asha’s application. Dahlia reassures Asha that she will get the job, and admits she hopes it’ll give her a boost of confidence to maybe make some new friends. Asha says she already has Dahlia and doesn’t need anyone else. It is then Queen Amaya (holding her skinny tabby Lulu) arrives to escort Asha to the king. This version of Amaya feels untouchable, her voice calm and collected as she tells Asha to not waste time, don’t ask to see the wishes, and yes they had received the several letters Asha sent asking for an interview.

Asha is then left in a study where she notices a peculiar door, but Magnifico arrives before she could examine it. He is a charming man, his presence seeming to fill the room as he carries a staff with an emerald tip. Asha is clearly intimidated but he’s polite as he introduces himself, even offer his condolences for her grandfather’s passing-knowing she’s an orphan. Trying not to trip over herself Asha praises the king for his hard work and shows off her knowledge of magic and Rosas. Magnifico is impressed. And after Asha passionately tells him how her ‘wish’ is to help protect Rosas, it’s people and wishes, Magnifico decides she’s worthy to be his apprentice and they’d have the announcement that night.

The people crowd before the castle that night, Asha hurries to tell Dahlia the good news. But Gabo overhears her announcement and makes a snide remark about her overworking and ‘sucking up’ to the king and queen. He is quickly shushed by Bazeema who looks almost afraid of Asha now that she has such a high status. But she returns to the stage to witness Amaya whisper in Magnifico’s ear. He then announces the person to have their wish granted that month; a woman who wants to be a professional dress maker. After using the staff to grant the wish he makes a joking comment that she can now make his wife hundreds of beautiful dresses. He then summons Asha forward to announce her as his new apprentice. Asha happily exclaims how excited she is to help the people, but she is given a frosty reception, murmuring about how they find her weird, are resentful for failing their own applications, and don’t know how this shy girl who never engages with the locals outside tour duty, could become someone as great as their king. Asha takes the doubt but once she can she leaves the stage, tripping in the process and embarrassing herself further. She runs off with Valentino into the forest (This Wish) and ends up noticing one of the brighter stars. She remembers hearing how once upon a time, wishes came from stars. Not seeing any harm to it she wishes to become a wonderful magic user and become as great, if not greater, than the King himself.

The star suddenly seems to glow brighter and get bigger, Asha realizes too late it’s because it’s getting closer. She is knocked into by a human sized ball of light, rolling across the grass before kicking it away from her. It’s to her great shock that the ball of light was…a boy. A handsome boy he glows faintly, his hair a pure golden color that flows like he is underwater, he dusts himself off as he hovers off the ground. They have an awkward but cute introduction, the Star not understanding personal boundaries and getting right up into Asha’s face, giving her a too enthusiastic hand shake when offered and floating around as if there’s no gravity. Asha quickly deduces he’s a star that came down when she summoned him. Her hypothesis is further proven when he tosses some dust on Valentino who then starts to speak. (He is not voiced by Alan Tudyk in this rewrite, instead he will have a voice that better fits his character design. He will be a mixture of Olaf and Jiminy Cricket in terms of personality/role in the story). Asha asks Star to give her the same dust so her wish will be granted, but Star shakes his head. He is mute and tries to explain using sign language, but that’s one book Asha hasn’t read yet. She decides to call him Star before leading him back to the city, he can stay at her house until she figures out what to do with him. On the way he fonds over the animals, hitting them with a few clouds of golden dust (ex. A brown squirrel turns red, a bird’s nest gets an upgrade).

The next morning Asha brings Dahlia over and shows her Star (both he and Valentino would be hiding out in the chicken coop). Dahalia is at first concerned her friend has a man hidden away, but after Asha explains they agree to take him to King Magnifico to see what he has to say. However they want Star to stay under the radar and not get noticed by the townspeople. This is when Star reveals he’s a shapeshifter, transforming into a copy of Valentino, the only different is his eyes are still gold.

The four arrive into town and while things go to plan at first, Star’s natural curiosity has him running off to explore the town, Asha and friends trying not to lose him. He comes across Simon who looks miserable and exhausted at an outside table. Empathetic, Star discreetly puts some star dust in his cup of tea. When he drinks it he’s suddenly energized and is flabbergasted. He turns around just as Asha appears and picks up Star, he asks her if she’s already learned magic from Magnifico, even stating he had just been wishing he could take something that would make him less tired. Asha is awkwardly silent, not wanting to take credit but also not wanting to reveal what Star is. But Simon pays no mind and drags her to his friends so he can show them he’s no longer tired. There is then a montage of the seven dwarves based characters showing off their problems and Star uses his abilities to grant these small unspoken wishes (he gets a jar of honey for Safi to help with his allergies, a chicken coop so Dario can have his own chickens, dancing shoes for Hal, a stress toy for Gabo, Bazeema’s secret introverted hide out, and even a bag of a very rare ingredient for Dahlia so she could make a special recipe she mentioned at the beginning of the film). Throughout this scene we see Asha opening up a bit more to the characters, starting to form friendships. While in Bazeema’s new hideout they talk of having a little party with dancing and treats and in his excitement Star accidentally drops his disguise and reveals his true form. The group is shocked and Asha is forced to explain who he is, though when Gabo tries to accuse Asha of tricking them Star immediately puts himself in front of her, defending her from the accusation. The other characters also come to Asha and Star’s defense and Gabo relents, though snarkily asks if they should tell the King there’s a wish granting, shapeshifting guy from space in Rosas. Asha will go alone to ask, leaving Star with the others.

She arrives at the castle, King Magnifico and Queen Amaya are surprised to see her so soon as he hadn’t summoned her but lets her in. Asha, feeling uncomfortable to just out and say what had happened, asks Magnifico what he knows about stars. The king looks momentarily surprised but quickly shrugs it off, he tells Asha that many years ago stars would grant peoples’ wishes, but only so they could have the human indebted to them. They were malicious creatures pretending benevolence so they could control the masses, one of the worst things was granting evil wishes and having people turn on the ones who wouldn’t make wishes. Amaya retells her how her parents were oppressed by stars after merely asking for food and a roof. Eventually it was decided that the newer generations would never wish on another star, and Magnifico dedicated himself to learning magic so he could help good people have their wishes granted without having to pay him back. And, unlike stars, he has a moral compass, so he would not grant any wishes that would harm people. He then looms over Asha and asks her if there’s something she needs to tell him. Asha looks visibly torn, her respect and admiration for Magnifico clashing with what he told her. Star is not at all like he had just told her, and Asha ends up reassuring him that no, she has nothing to tell him.

She returns to the hide out feeling like a traitor, wanting to talk to Star alone. But the group is already starting their party, dancing and making music. Star, spotting Asha, immediately pulls her onto the dance floor. The group cheers her on as they dance around, and Asha’s anxieties melt away as she’s swept up into the dancing. A spark is lit.

Asha, Star, and Valentino return to her house and this time the two go to her living room where he admires all her books and notices the picture of her grandfather. She tells him how much she loved the man, how he had taken care of her after her parents died, how much she missed how, how she wished his wish could’ve been granted. Star comforts her in her grief and she feels safe enough to tell him about what Magnifico said. Star reassures her the king is lying and Asha finds herself believing him, and yet the King is a great man who has done so much for Rosas-why would he lie to her?

It is Valentino who suggests they go do some snooping (not him though, he’s going to eat a cook book as soon as the two leave).

Star carries Asha into the sky, unable to resist showing off to her first. Asha let’s herself enjoy the feeling of being in the air, feeling like she could reach out and touch the star or hold the moon. They slip inside via the highest balcony, Star transforming into a mouse and riding on her shoulder as Asha sneaks through the castle. They are only spotted by Lulu who tries to eat Star before Asha reaches the study and slams the door, the cat slamming its face into it.

Said study is empty and at first Asha thinks to skim through the books for answers but Star notices the door. Transforming into a flea he slips under the door and opens it from the other side. It leads down a dark stair case with a golden light at the bottom. The two share a glance before starting to go down-only for green light to envelope them both and drag them back up the stairs into the study.

The King and Queen are standing there, Lulu on Amaya’s shoulder, clearly the one who had warned them of the intruders. Magnifico tells Asha she didn’t have to sneak in to deliver them a star, the young girl immediately puts herself between her friend and the king. She tries to tell them he’s not like they think, he’s a good kind person who helped people grant wishes without asking for anything in return. But with his staff Magnificio wraps the green energy around Star like chains and Amaya drags Asha away from him. They call Asha a fool if she thinks they’d let one little star ruin the years of work they’ve put into maintaining their kingdom. That they picked what wishes are to be granted. That the people worshiped them. Asha is forced to realize the kind rulers she wanted to be like-are a lie. Magnifico comments to his wife that Star’s power could be very useful to them. In an act of desperation Asha kicks out, knocking the staff out of the king’s hand. Amaya, not expecting Asha to lash out, looses her grip on her. Once the staff hits the ground the green chains evaporate and Star transforms into a giant golden bird, grabs Asha and flies out of one of the study’s high windows.

Magnifico is furious that they got away but Amaya calms him down, reminding him that the people of Rosas would not believe those two over their loving rulers. She remarks that maybe it’s time to grant Lulu’s wish. Magnifico agrees and his magic mutates the cat into a sabortoothed giant tabby that runs out of the room to go hunt down Asha and Star. The king and queen reprise the segment of Welcome to Rosas dedicated to them, now in a minor key with new context.

Asha and Star escape into the forest, where they first met(they are next to a lake). Asha is crying, heartbroken and scared over what will happen next. Her whole goal in life was built around a lie. How will they stop people as powerful as the royal couple?

Author’s note here; this is a part where I’m not sure how to go about it. My idea is Star comforts Asha and it will lead into a duet, because the demo version of At All Costs is heavily romantic-coded and is perfect to show how much the two have grown to care for each other. But my version of Star is mute so I haven’t figured out how to work around that besides the song being sung over them instead of being sung by them. So please hold that thought

The two share a romantic scene, flying in the sky, dancing among the clouds and coming this close to sharing a kiss.

They are interrupted by the arrival of Lulu who tries to attack them, Star transforms into a giant cat as well, putting himself between Lulu and Asha. But before the Queen’s cat can attack them, Dahlia and the others suddenly appear via carriage and accidentally knock the giant cat into the lake. Lulu splutters out of the water and runs back to Rosas.

The gang tells the two they saw Star flying away and then the king and queen made an announcement that Asha is a traitor and trying to usurp them and ruin Rosas. The news not sitting right with the group they decided to follow, worried for the two. Asha is grateful for their help and touched when they point out its what friends are for. But now they must go hide because the whole town will be looking for them.

On the way back Asha tells them what had happened. Like her they are shocked the king and queen could be villains, but they also don’t think Asha and Star are liars. So they have to make a plan to figure out what the two are hiding and, if necessary, defeat them. (What I Know Now, which adds in a segment for the king and queen ‘lamenting’ that their people don’t know what’s best for them). There is a short moment during this song where it’s revealed Valentino knows sign language, having learned to read from Asha reading to him-and making a point to read books before he eats them. Asha tells him there’s a saying she’d like to learn but the scene cuts before we learn what it is.

The plan is that Star will dash the group with some dust to make them glow and they’d run through the town and forest ‘pretending’ to be Star. This would serve to distract the king and queen long enough for Asha and Star to go back to the study and go through the door. Star also gives Asha a stick and blesses it with his magic for her use. The plan is going off without a hitch, Asha while trying to find information in the study comes across a small journal. She reads it aloud as they open the secret door and go down the stairs:

Years ago, Magnifico wished for magic. A star came down to grant his wish, admiring his ambitions. However Magnificio turned on the star and trapped her, now absorbing her power to grant peoples’ wishes. They reach the bottom of the stairs to see an older woman chained to the ground; the star from the journal. Asha and Star are horrified by this revelation, but before they could free her Magnifico appears having expected them to come back.

Asha accuses him of lying about the stars being malicious, and the king instead says the stars were too scared to risk coming down to grant a human’s wishes. “Except that one, it seems.” He glares at Star and tells him that he would be his new battery and help lead Rosas to even more triumphs. In fact, why stop at Rosas? He could grant wishes of people all over the world, they’d be so grateful they’d do whatever he asked.

Furious Asha lunges at him but Magnificio stops them with his staff and drags them back upstairs to where Amaya is waiting. He offers Asha to his queen, not needing her. Amaya then reminds the young girl of the history of Rosas, how there was a monster that terroized the people…Asha watches in horror as Amaya transforms into a large dragon-esque creature. She is able to escape the study and Amaya chases after her. Star, furious and terrified transforms into his own version of a golden dragon-esque creature and manages to escape Magnifico’s grasp.

Asha is chased outside, nearly killed by Amaya before Star arrives and knocks her away. While the two giants fight Asha hurries back inside to deal with Magnifico.

We cut to a scene of Dahlia and co being surrounded by the villagers, but the townsfolk are starting to waver having seen how much happier the group is thanks to Star granting their wishes. Lulu then appears, prepared to eat them. Valentino, leading an army of the animals Star befriended, chases the big cat off into the woods. Disillusioned the townsfolk follow Dahilia, Valentino, and co back into town to witness the rest of the battle.

Asha, still brandishing the wand Star gave her, witnesses Magnifico dragging the star out of her cell and absorbing so much of her magic that the woman loses the rest of her glow and falls to the ground. Asha tries to attack him but the king teleports the two of them to the roof, ready to throw Asha off and strike Star with his magic. Asha is able to use her wand to keep him from hurting her or Star, but eventually he is able to snatch the wand from her and break it. Desperate, Asha tries to physically wrestle the staff away from him.

Suddenly there’s a scream, Amaya having bit down on Star’s neck. Magnificio moves to fire at Star to finish him off, but Asha with her own hands still on the staff is able to redirect it and the blast hits Amaya instead. She is evaporated and Magnifico cries out in horror and rage. However the damage is done for Star, transforming back into human form he floats up to Asha slowly losing his golden glow. He holds her cheek for one moment before falling on the roof, completely gray and presumed dead. Asha cries and hugs him, unable to believe this is how the story ends. But then Magnifico grabs her with his magic and drags her away, Asha desperately trying to fight against it, only able to hold onto Star’s hand. The king summons storm clouds to completely cover the sky, vowing revenge against the entirety of Rosas, against the entirety of the world for killing Amaya.

All seems lost, yet Asha starts to softly sing (This Wish (Reprise)), and after a few moments her friends and the townspeople below start singing along, wishing for Star to be revived. We have a short scene of the star woman waking up and hearing the singing from outside. But everyone's sincerity in the wish allows Star to be revived, glowing brighter than ever. Asha, relieved and full of hope, gets up to face against Magnifico. He tries to shoot her with magic but Star’s glow serves as a wall of protection for her, and as she slowly walks toward the man he gets more frantic and desperate, unable to see because of Star’s bright light. He continues to step back until he reaches the edge, loses his balance and starts to fall, Asha grabs his staff as the man vanishes into the roiling ocean below. She then shatters the staff on the roof. The magic shoots out into the sky, wishes given to Magnifico returned to its owners and the star woman brought back to her full strength.

Star is flying around the sky, ecstatic. Asha calls his attention and we see her sign/say the words: “I love you.” (having learned them from Valentino). It is like a firework goes off as Star happily picks her up and twirls through the sky with her, Asha laughing gleefully before finally kissing him.

When the two return to the ground they receive a group hug from their friends. They find the broken stick Magnifico had tossed and Asha apologizes to Star for breaking it, but he simply puts it back together. Dahlia comments that her magic use was pretty impressive considering she had had no real experience. Valentino smugly saying she was greater than the former king. It’s then Asha realizes that Star had helped grant her wish-she just needed to meet him halfway. He winks at her when she makes this realization.

The star woman then appears, stepping out of the castle, looking poised and formidable. Asha tells the townspeople what Magnifico and Amaya had done to her and the people are filled with shame that she had suffered right under their noses. Asha gives her a formal apology and after a moment the star woman nods and smiles kindly, having been impressed by the goodness in these humans. She had thought they would all be vile like the king and queen.

She starts to float, planning on going back to the sky. She looks expectantly at Star, expecting him to come with. Asha is stricken at the thought but reassures him she wouldn’t be like Magnifico and force him to stay. In response Star holds Asha’s hand and gives the star woman a resolute look. She blinks, looking a bit surprised, but then nods and even gives them a small curtsy as if they were royalty. She then shoots upward to become the brightest star in the sky.

At the epilogue Asha and Star are learning all they can on how to lead Rosas, the town wanting them to be their new king and queen. She is getting better at her magic and signs fluidly. They have Dahlia and co be a sort of council for them. With Star’s encouragement people are doing their part to make their wishes come true. Valentino is in charge of Lulu who is going through a program to be nicer, it’s a work in progress.

The final shot is Asha and Star standing at the balcony, sharing a kiss as the scene pans up to show the night sky. The stars look brighter than ever.

Credits roll.

#disney wish #wish rewrite #star #asha #asha x star #fan writing

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ficsilike-reblogged · 10 months

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Dandelion

Summary: You usually preferred the company of dragons to most people. The presence of a certain Targaryen prince threatens to upend your quiet life. Pairing: Soft dark!Aemond Targaryen/F!Reader (No Y/N, could be read as an unnamed OC)

Warnings: Familial abuse, negative self talk, canon typical violence, dub-con bordering on non-con, obsessive behavior, power imbalance, canon typical sexism. Please do not read if this will upset you. You are responsible for what you consume. NO MINORS ALLOWED A/N: No Civil War AU! I will borrow a bit from other events that will eventually happen in ‘The Dance’ but I give them a different outcome because I do what I want. Reader is from an original Valyrian house and the only physical characteristics they have are purple eyes and silver hair. She is also a few years older than Aemond. Enjoy!

Word Count: 21k :)

You’d never been good at running. You were too slow. Too clumsy. Too self-sacrificing.

No.

You were terrible at running. You couldn’t outrun your brother as he swore and raged and tugged at your hair. You couldn’t outrun your mother’s prized stallions when they turned course toward you in the field. You couldn’t outrun your father when he saw the mess you’d tracked into your family’s manse alongside your sister.

But you were able to hide her in her rooms and take the blame for all of it. She was so small. She didn’t need to be hurt like that. You could take it, couldn’t you? If you were feeling brave, you’d take her hand in yours and sneak out to the rolling valley that was always spotted with wildflowers.

“Do you know that you can make wishes on dandelions?” Your sweet sister, Vaella, asked one day, holding a bunch of dandelions in her hand. Most of the stems had started to wilt in her too-tight childish grip. But you eased them out from between her fingers with a smile and let her tell you about the “magic” she had heard about from her friend, a little lady from House Tyrell. You righted the stems as best you could, smiling as you did. Wouldn’t that be nice? To blow away a few petals and have your wildest desires come to fruition?

“Shall we make a wish then?” You asked, holding out a few for her to take again. Her jagged little nails, something your mother always scolded her for, caught on your fingers and you tried not to hiss as you felt your skin give way beneath them. Blood bubbled to the surface as your sister quickly apologized over and over again even as you waved her off. “Make your wish!”

Vaella dutifully shut her eyes and then sucked in a deep breath before quickly blowing away all the dandelion seeds. You knew her wish, Seven knew she had told you about it enough: a kind, loving husband, with enough gold to rival kings.

You followed suit but frowned as you tried to find a wish worthy of asking. But, as you heard Vaella’s melodic giggles beside you, you knew. You tightened your blood-tinged fingers around the flowers. I wish for Vaella to have everything good and beautiful in this world.

Then you heard your father on his horse barreling toward you. You knew it would only hurt more if you tried to escape his wrath and you’d never outrun him anyway—your mother knew how to breed and train the fastest horses this side of the Red Mountains and Dorne.

So, no. You weren’t good at running. But you were almost decent at playing the part most everyone else wanted from you. You learned what to say and how to act to stymie your parents’ rage and your brother’s annoyance. You knew how to do your duties as a highborn lady who had a fortunate Valyrian bloodline. Your family had always been dragonkeepers. Even before The Doom, your family had tended to the dragons that had conquered most of Essos, knowing their likes and dislikes, calming and caring for the animals and their riders. It had been a noble profession then and it was a noble profession now. Of course, not all of your bloodline had taken up the mantle, but it was expected that at least one of every generation, no matter their gender, would take up the duties as the decades passed, even before the Dragonpit had been constructed.

Loyal to the Targaryens and their dragons. Always. (Even if your family had tried to dissuade to no avail the royal family from constructing the Pit, saying that the dragons were never meant to be caged so.)

Your family had been adamant about the Valyrian blood in their veins staying pure. When they tired of marrying Velaryons or Celtigars, and House Qoherys died out, they sought spouses from across the Narrow Sea, from Volantis and the Old Blood who could prove unbroken Valyrian ancestry, or from Lys, the city where Valyrian Blood was (said to be) strongest. But never a Targaryen. They had never asked and your family had never reached so high. You were servants to no one but the dragons and the Targaryens. Your allegiance and skillset had made your House wealthy beyond measure, it was only bolstered when accompanying Velaryons on foreign voyages or devising new money making schemes with the Celtigars. Advantageous marriages with dowries worthy of princesses helped, too.

Being a Keeper was a family tradition you couldn’t run from. And, if you were being honest, it was one of the few things about your family you did not resent. Your duties in The Pit kept you away from your father’s anger and your mother’s sneers. Your elder brother Rhogar’s duties in The Pit were easily circumvented and you knew enough to steer clear of him. You found purpose and camaraderie amongst the dragons and hatchlings. They could not speak, true, but they were your truest friends since your sister’s wish had come true and she had absconded to Volantis to live the life of a noblewoman of the Old Blood with her doting husband. It was a quiet life. But you knew better than to ask for more. You still wished for something on dandelions every time you had the chance. For a friend. For love. For the continued prospering of Vaella and her growing family on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You knew better than to wish for the love of your parents or brother. No amount of blood or dandelion magic would ever grant you that.

However, when the war with the Triarchy and the man known as the Crabfeeder proved enough of a problem that the conflict-averse King Viserys finally started to treat it as a war, you were happy to accept the summons to Dragonstone. There were a handful of dragons now roosting there, ready to be flown out by their riders to aid the Velaryon and royal fleets. After you arrived, you had been handpicked by Lady Laena Velaryon to care for Vhagar. It had been the honor of your life, alongside being Laena’s handmaiden for the day of her wedding to Prince Daemon. She had been a fierce warrior astride Vhagar, an even fiercer mother to her twins, Rhaena and Baela. She was not but a three namedays older than you but it might as well have been decades. She was so different from you. So poised and lovely and kind—and her family adored her. Her brother, Ser Laenor, whom you also saw frequently with his dragon Seasmoke, had named Rhaena the heir to Driftmark just after Baela had been betrothed to Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong’s firstborn son, Prince Jacaerys. The celebration Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had thrown to mark the occasion was lavish and lovely. You had wished upon three dandelions that night, wanting the best for Baela and Rhaena.

“One day,” Laena said to you, climbing down from Vhagar’s saddle as you held one of the twins’ hands in each of your own, “you will make a fine mother.”

“Someone will have to learn to stomach the scent of dragon if they want to bed me, my lady.” Not to mention that you were nearly considered an old maid already. You were sure the only reason you hadn’t been married off was because your parents hadn’t deemed you worthy of the dowry they’d once set aside for you. They’d prefer to keep their gold which you added to with each moon. And their repeated, cruel comments about how you’d never marry because of your looks, ‘horrid’ personality, and court ineptitude and made you believe you would be alone for the rest of your life, only accompanied by dragons.

Laena laughed and let her twins leap into her arms. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, my dear. Anyone would be lucky to have you, smell of dragon or no.”

She had been kind to you. Effortlessly, so.

Then, when she had been killed by a scorpion bolt fired by devotees to the Crabfeeder, your world tilted on its axis. The twins’ hatchlings, Morning and Moondancer, had cried and trilled for ages, feeling her riders’ grief in their small nests. They only rested on the short boat ride to Driftmark as they nestled in your hold. You did your best to help them, to make sure they fed, as Daemon tried to prepare for the rest of the royal family who were descending on Driftmark for the funeral. Daemon himself was a mess. How could he not be? Everyone who knew the couple saw how in love they had been. How in love Daemon was still. You’d heard whispers that Corlys had blamed Laena’s death on Daemon’s pride. The Rogue Prince had flown out to meet the Triarchy’s forces alone and Laena had been the only aerial defense to keep him safe. And, perhaps a small part of you believed that.

The night before their arrival, Vhagar finally landed back on the island. You’d heard whispers of how she had raged against the Triarchy’s fleet after feeling Laena’s death and watching Corlys pull her body from the water. The old dragon had nearly destroyed the entirety of the enemy’s fleet singlehandedly before disappearing into the clouds. But now?

You took careful, slow steps toward her as the moon continued to climb higher into the sky. Her giant head swiveled as you approached and she grumbled, shaking the ground beneath your feet, before she recognized your scent. Laying your hand to the near-scalding scales on her neck, you tried to press all the love you could manage into the touch, your sorrow, your calm. “I miss her, too,” you whispered in Valyrian. “But it is good to have you here.”

The old dragon gave another rumble and it almost broke your heart at how sad she sounded. How much heartbreak could one beast endure?

“We will get through this together, won’t we?”

You stood behind Baela and Rhaena and watched as ships with black and red sails docked. Morning and Moondancer were coiled around their shoulders, finally sleeping after a night filled with more crying and your desperate attempts to feed them. Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin disembarked first, followed by their sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. King Viserys followed soon after with his hand being held by his youngest, Prince Daeron. Queen Alicent was next with her other three children, Princess Helaena and Princes Aegon and Aemond, following closely. The family was greeted solemnly but warmly by the Velaryons and Targaryens—aside from the icy stares you saw thrown in Daemon’s direction by Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, and Ser Laenor.

It would not be the first time you’d heard of troubles in the royal family. There had been rumors of a feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent after the latter’s marriage to Viserys. It had been quashed eventually, the pair falling back into their close bond soon after Alicent’s father, Otto, was dismissed from his position as Hand of the King and replaced with Princess Rhaenys. Apparently Otto had tried to convince Alicent that Rhaenyra would kill her friend’s children to keep her promised crown—which was preposterous because, even tucked away on Dragonstone, you’d heard how Rhaenyra had doted on her half siblings. You knew for a fact that it had been Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent together who had pushed for the new law which allowed daughters to inherit titles and lands. The princess had also been the one to pick the dragon eggs for each of their cradles, too. Only two had hatched, unfortunately. Aegon’s Sunfyre and Daeron’s Tessarion, but you had been told that Princess Helaena had claimed Dreamfyre just a few moons ago.

That left only Prince Aemond.

He was a few namedays older than the twins and offered them a small smile when he reached their side. His purple eyes flittered over to you for a moment and something passed over his face, something you could not name. But it was quickly over and he was offering a few hushed words of comfort to his cousins.

Princess Rhaenyra was the first to actually greet you, cradling her pregnant belly. “It has been some time, has it not, my lady?”

You managed to smile as you curtseyed. “It has. I hear Syrax is faring well; expecting another clutch soon, no?” You’d once been one of the half dozen of keepers tasked with the princess’ dragon and had been the most indulgent with Rhaenyra wanting to constantly be on dragonback despite the others knowing she was supposed to be humoring lords vying for her hand. You had also been the only one to be able to calm Syrax during Prince Jacaerys’ early birth while the Princess and her husband were visiting Dragonstone. Three other Keepers had perished, either burned or eaten, as the little prince was born but not you. You had calmed her. You had been the one to discover that Syrax had laid a clutch of eggs alongside her rider. The Princess had been kind and gracious when you told her of the news.

The Heir Apparent smiled, sweeping a hand over her stomach. “It is quite a blessing, truly.”

You continued to speak for a little longer, watching as Rhaena and Baela walked to their father’s side as he spoke to Alicent. Rhaenyra was just as pleasant as always. But, despite the important company, you heard something that nearly had you frowning.

“Who is that?” Aemond asked Baela. A quick glance to the side let you see the prince pointing at you.

Baela gave your name with a small smile, making sure to enunciate your House’s name, too. “She is Vhagar’s Keeper.”

The night continued and you were dismissed as the family gathered for supper. It was only when you were in the comfort of your chambers did you allow yourself to cry. Hot, giant tears slid down your face as you tried to muffle your sobs beneath your fingers. It felt like your ribs had cracked open to reveal your broken heart.

When you found little respite from your grief with sleep, you slipped out of your rooms and toward the shore where you knew Vhagar roosted for the night. She once again greeted you with a huff, nudging her head into your stomach and nearly bowling you over.

“I know,” you murmured, smoothing your hand down her dark scales. “Me too.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and it took you a moment to realize it was Prince Aemond, trying unsuccessfully to sneak back into High Tide. His shoulders slumped when he caught your gaze and he dragged his feet to your side after you waved him over. “It is late to be out of doors, my prince.”

His mouth pulled into an even deeper frown. “I know, my lady. But you are out at this hour, too.”

You nodded, continuing to lathe attention on Vhagar. “I am not royalty. The Triarchy may have been pushed back to Essos, but it would still be deemed unwise to be without an escort for someone of your status.”

The young prince looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his fine leather boot into the sand. “I just wanted to see Vhagar. Uncle Daemon said she was the biggest dragon in the world.”

His boyish countenance had you softening. You could only imagine what it was like to be the last Targaryen without a dragon, a birthright. “She is. The last of the Conquerors’ dragons. Come, stand by me. She is tired now; she’s usually much more agreeable like this.”

Even in the dark, you saw Aemond’s entire face light up and he was quick to do as you instructed. He followed your quiet guidance to let Vhagar learn his scent before touching her, placing his hand beside yours. “She’s a beauty.”

You hummed and Vhagar shifted the slightest bit, the sand spitting beneath her giant body. “She is. A great and terrible beauty. And she mourns with the rest of you for Lady Laena.”

Aemond hummed in response and you watched his shoulders slump the slightest bit, as if he needed to be reminded of the loss his family had just suffered, or the reason why he’d been put on a boat and shuffled away from his home. He had been so enthralled with simply being near Vhagar. And you knew it was foolish of you to do anything of the sort, but you smiled and shielded his eyes when Vhagar took flight again, sending sand into the air.

“Come, I have something else to show you.”

The prince followed dutifully as you led him toward the small patch of grass near High Tide’s outer curtain. Small white and yellow flowers had sprouted not a few hours ago and you were quick to grab two. You were even quicker to grab a knife from your belt and cut across your thumb when he was not looking, instead tracking Vhagar across the sky. You let the crimson stain the flower’s stalk before handing it to him.

“This is a weed.”

You laughed at how he scrunched his nose as he stared at the flower. “There’s magic in those petals, my prince, just as there is magic in our blood, in our words. Trust me when I tell you that you will have a dragon one day. You need only wish for it and wait.”

Aemond’s face twisted, like he was ready for you to tease him, or laugh at him. But you simply held up your matching, blood-lined dandelion and blew its petals away into the ocean breeze. I wish for him to have a dragon and be happy. He watched you for a moment longer before, almost delicately, blowing the petals away to float alongside yours.

A light coming on in the fortress had you turning. Someone was probably looking for the prince. “It is time for you to retire, my prince.”

The young prince nodded as he turned to you, the pale moonlight bleeding across his silver hair. “I would have no other hands tend to my dragon.” His hands curled to fists at his side for a moment before releasing, as if he were scolding himself. “We are the Blood of Old Valyria.”

It had been nearly six years since you saw Aemond. Much had changed.

The war with the Triarchy had fizzled. It still lingered, of course. There were whispers that the Triarchy was attempting to hire any and every sellsword company in Essos but nothing had come of those whispers though. Not yet, anyway. Most of their forces had been pushed back (again) by Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while Prince Daemon and Ser Laenor destroyed their food and weapon stores in the Disputed Lands. It was not a surrender, unfortunately, but Westeros was thankful for the reprieve.

You had become Morning and Moondancer’s main keeper, too, your duties shifting after Vhagar disappeared into the clouds and didn’t return. It was a blow, to be sure, to lose another link to Laena even after you and the twins were moved permanently to Driftmark while Prince Daemon stayed to command the armies from Dragonstone while also flying to the Free Cities of Essos to try to broker alliances (some whispered that Prince Daemon took his nephew, Prince Aemond, alongside during his mission but you could never know for certain). But Baela and Rhaena were growing into their own and you were so happy to guide them, in any way they needed. Their dragons were now large enough to be ridden for short distances and you had nearly cried when you watched them circle the island for the first time. The twins often came to you for anything they were too embarrassed to ask their father or too impatient to ask their septas or grandmother Rhaenys. Daemon doted on them, indulging their almost every whim and laughing alongside them on dragonback whenever he had a moment to visit. Seeing them together almost always twisted at something in your chest. They were a family. You wouldn’t have that, would you? You were far past the age of majority and had stopped attending any sort of function where you could even attempt to find a suitable match. What was the point? No one had ever been interested in you in that way and you had all but resigned yourself to simply being a Keeper.

It would be a quiet life for you.

But your quiet was disrupted when Baela and Rhaena were invited to the capital for King Viserys’ nameday celebrations alongside their father. They insisted on bringing their dragons—who were you to deny them? So, you found yourself wrinkling your nose as the large boat approached the capital, the familiar and awful scent of the city wafting toward you. After docking, you were met with a few familiar faces that helped you lead Moondancer and Morning to The Pit to be safely sequestered alongside the other royal dragons. The pair took to their temporary roosts well enough, recognizing the scent of Meleys and Seasmoke through the stone halls. As Caraxes settled near them, they were more than content.

“The lost daughter finally returns home, eh?”

The grip you had on Moondancer’s reins suddenly seized at the sound of your brother’s voice. Slowly, you moved to loop them around the chain on the wall before turning to face him. Rhogar had not changed much. His mouth was still curled in a scowl. His silver hair was still cut short. His periwinkle eyes were still cold as ice. And you knew better than to instigate anything. “Lady Rhaena and Lady Baela requested I accompany their dragons.”

Rhogar hummed. “They do seem fond of you. I was sure they’d send you away after Lady Laena’s demise and Vhagar fleeing your care. It seems they were taking pity on your failure.”

“Yes, they’ve been very kind to me.” He had always been good at cutting down to bone with few words. He’d also once literally cut you down to the bone after you were selected to be Vhagar’s Keeper. You could never win with him. Ever. There was no negating his hatred of you. It had started when you were born a girl instead of a boy and Rhogar thought it meant he was ‘forced’ to be the Keeper of your generation. If he had forgotten that your aunt had also been a Keeper until her death, you could not and would not say. He had wanted to be knight, apparently, despite his poor form with a sword and shield. “You forced this on me!” he had once spit at you. When you had taken up the mantle of Keeper, you’d half-hoped that his malice would fade. It did not. If anything, it grew like a raging fire. With every compliment from another Keeper or Targaryen directed toward you, he only hated you more. It was almost as if he stayed in The Pit to show anyone and everyone that he was the better Keeper. He tried. You would give him that. But the other Keepers turned to you for advice. They asked you for the balm you had created to soothe any wayward burns. They respected you. And the dragons preferred you. Before you had been moved to Driftmark, you could easily move between duties for all the dragons, each of them never minding your presence in their stall. You would never forget when Meleys had snuffed in Rhogar’s face before turning to you. And you had a feeling that Rhogar would never forget it either.

It had been Rhogar who had first called you a witch, the word dripping with venom. After all, how could one person, a woman, be so adept at caring for the dragons? The other keepers found it hilarious and adopted the nickname for you, too. They called you a witch. Sure, it was usually said with a teasing smile or an accompanying wink, but the moniker remained and endured. You didn't deny it. The blood you always knew to spill on dandelions was your secret. If you were a witch, so be it.

“Mother and Father will expect you home tonight.”

The small fortress built just outside the walls of King’s Landing hadn’t been your home for years. Hadn’t been a home since your sister sailed away and even then, you would make the argument that it had been Vaella alone that had been your home. Your one solace. Stepping through those doors again would not be a homecoming. But you knew better to deny them. “Of course.”

You had been surprised to have your pick of the handmaidens at the Red Keep after you spoke with Lady Baela about your family requesting your presence. You had been fully prepared to be ridiculed by your parents for smelling of dragon in their fine house, but you were bathed in a fine copper tub and then lathered in rose oil before Rhaena came in with a dress she promised would look lovely on you.

And the simple gesture nearly had tears coming to your eyes. Rhaena was quick to notice and all but threw the dress onto the bed before grasping gently at your hands. “What troubles you?”

“N-nothing, my lady. I fear I am just a touch overwhelmed. It has been some time since I have been in the capital.”

Rhaena frowned, a knowing look. “Do you wish to return here perma-”

Your grip tightened on her hands before you could even think to stop yourself. “No! No, never. I am happier with you and your sister than I have ever been in this city.”

The brilliant smile Rhaena gave you as she nodded was enough to calm your rapidly fraying nerves and she was quick to change the subject to the tourney starting tomorrow, the first part of the celebrations. “But mostly I am hoping that my toes will not be crushed each night—I’ve heard the men from the Riverlands are particularly awful at dancing.”

It was with Rhaena’s tinkling laughter still in your ears that you tried to brace for the hurricane that was your family. The smallfolk of King’s Landing called your family’s home the Little Red Keep for how your forebears had modeled it after the Royal palace. There were verdant rose bushes still lining the outer walls. There was still a small pond beside one of the turrets, filled with water lilies. There was still the large white dragon of your house’s sigil painted across the grand front door, gold keys in its mouth. It had not changed.

It was not home.

The door was opened by an unfamiliar servant and you were led toward the large hall where you could already hear your family chattering. It quickly halted once you stepped inside. You father stood from his chair with a placid smile on his face which you knew only meant he hadn’t had his first drink yet.

“There is my daughter.” He skirted around the table and hugged you, smashing your cheek against his chest. The medallions on his doublet were sharp against your temple, biting and cold. “It has been too long since you have been home.”

You hummed and tucked your chin to your chest as he held you at arm’s length. “You’ve been receiving the gold I’ve sent, haven’t you?”

He laughed and you tried not to recoil as his meaty hand curled over your upper arm. “Yes. You have been a dutiful daughter. It seems being sent away from the frivolities of the capital turned you into a respectable Keeper.”

There it was. The first sting. You knew better than to argue, to say that Princess Rhaenyra had often preferred you to care for Syrax, that Prince Daemon was always pleased with your care of Caraxes, that the other Keepers (aside from your brother) seemed to defer to you for any sort of special care that the royal mounts may need when you were still stationed at the Pit. “I am happy to have pleased you.”

“Come, come,” he said with a final squeeze to your arm that nearly had you wincing, “we’ve had all your favorite foods prepared.”

A single glance at the spread of food let you know, for the umpteenth time, that they didn’t know you at all. There wasn’t a single dish you favored in any capacity. There was your brother’s favorite roasted boar alongside your mother’s favorite lemon cakes, and everything else had your father’s favor all over it. You were nowhere to be seen. But you still took the seat your father pulled out for you and hoped for the best.

You only had to bite back tears twice and hadn’t needed to dodge a punch or a slap or even a fork thrown in your direction. Perhaps it was a good night. Maybe the years away had softened their disdain for you. That happy thought quickly disintegrated when you were pulled to a stop near the manse’s front door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Father, Mother. You as well, Rhogar.” You smiled, almost convincing yourself that you hadn’t been sitting on needles the entire time.

“Where do you think you’re going? It is nearly the hour of the owl.”

While it may have been an innocuous and reasonable question from any other parent, this was your father. “Prince Daemon has been kind enough to have chambers reserved for me at the Red Keep-”

“So your family’s home is not enough for you now?”

Your eyes closed. You shouldn’t have come.

“Are you well?”

You nearly recoiled from the question but managed to smile instead. “I’m fine, my lady. Thank you.”

Baela frowned, amethyst eyes traveling across your swollen cheek and the way you were favoring your left side. “Are you certain?”

“Truly. Just a bit of a tumble last night.”

She didn’t look like she believed you and Rhaena who sat beside her didn’t look convinced, either. Thankfully or not, the doors to Baela’s rooms opened and a flurry of servants filed in and set out a spread of food on the table near the window where you all sat. One of the handmaidens who had accompanied you all from Driftmark, Isla, you thought her name was, turned to Baela with a smile as she set a plate filled with boiled eggs on the table. “Are you excited, my lady?”

Baela nodded, lips turning up a brilliant smile. “Of course! And I am so pleased that you will be at my side, too.” The pair spoke for a little longer before the group was dismissed and the three of you turned toward the lush breakfast.

You slowly spread a bit of cherry jam across a hunk of bread, eyes darting between the twins as they filled their plates. While it was normal for them to invite you to break your fasts together, you did not want to gain their ire, too, by prying.

Thankfully, it seemed Baela was happy to speak anyway. “I have news.” She set her utensils down and looked at her twin and you with another smile. “Princess Rhaenyra has invited me to stay at the capital so that I may spend time with Jace and learn the ways of court.”

Rhaena beamed, reaching to lace her fingers with her twin’s with a matching giggle. “Grandmother has said it is time for me to learn how to rule High Tide.”

Your heart felt like it was being crushed beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. While you always knew this day would come, you’d half hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. You listened as they laughed, excited about their futures, before they cried about being separated, before laughing again at remembering they’d never be too far away on dragonback. But you’d wished for them to be happy, hadn’t you? They sounded so happy. Both of them looked at you, matching smiles on their faces and you hoped your smile was convincing as you reached out to lay a hand over theirs on the table. “You both will be wonderful. I am so proud of you.”

The next morning, after another cruel night under the shadow of your family, only continued to squeeze at your battered heart as Princess Rhaenys pulled you aside with a small smile and quietly relieved you of your duties for caring for Morning as there were “plenty” of Keepers in the Velaryons’ employ on Driftmark. “I’m sure you understand,” she said, squeezing your arm.

You nodded with your bruised heart in your throat. “Of course, my princess.”

“You have been an exemplary Keeper to my daughter and granddaughters. But I would not ask you to choose, so I have made the decision for you.”

The compliment did give you a small bit of levity as you walked to the Dragonpit to see to your duties—you were an exemplary Keeper. Morning was not set to leave for another fortnight and you still had Moondancer to care for, didn’t you?

“I’ve been given orders to tend to Moondancer,” another Keeper said before you could even question her presence in the dragon’s roost. “Were you not informed of it, my lady?”

Apparently not. “Oh, my mistake,” you muttered. “I-”

“You would have your hands full, my lady. I am happy to be selected to be Moondancer’s keeper. It is not of your station, anyway.”

What did that even mean? It echoed in your mind as you listlessly moved through the Pit, finding mundane things to do now that you were unanchored. Morning was already being tended to by the Keepers that had sailed from Driftmark. The most fulfilling thing you did was helping a few of the newer Keepers care for the clutch of eggs Dreamfyre had laid two moons ago. You were willing to bet that the eggs would eventually be given to the babes that would be born to Rhaenyra or Alicent’s children. Being this close to the majority of the royal family once again let you be privy to a fair bit of gossip. Apparently there had been rumors that Alicent and Rhaenyra were using the lull in the war to strengthen alliances within the Seven Kingdoms. Most believed it would be Aegon to be married off first.

You just hoped they were happy.

“I thought you’d be out in the valley,” one of the Keepers said as you helped them fit the last egg into the crackling fire pit to keep it warm.

You frowned as you pulled off your thick gloves, pushing them into your belt. “The valley?”

The other Keeper frowned, too. “Have they moved? Seven Hells, no one tells me anything!”

Before you could ask just what they meant, your attention was pulled by the sound of metal on stone which you knew only meant one thing: a knight had been foolish enough to come into The Pit. Had they not heard the stories of men being boiled between breastplates by dragonfire? You never cared for the noise and you knew most dragons did not either, the grating sound too sharp for their liking. But soon enough, two whitecloaks rounded the corner and set their sights on you.

They called your name and you stepped forward, expecting to be summoned to the Great Hall or one of the twins’ chambers. “Prince Aemond requests your immediate presence.”

You wordlessly let them lead you away, fully prepared to be deposited into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Instead, you were all but hefted onto the back of a horse and moved through the city that had all but cleared out to attend the first rounds of the tourney just outside the Lion Gate. You could hear the cheers from the crowd, a dull roar muffled by distance. The knights escorting you said nothing, two silent sentinels on matching white destriers on either side of your horse. They led you through the Dragon Gate and a little further north where the start of the unnamed valley started to slope. “We take our leave of you here, my lady,” one of the knights said. “The prince waits for you below.”

All of this just felt so strange but years of keeping your mouth shut and your head down kept you from asking any questions. You urged your horse down into the valley, dismounting when you reached the shade of one of the few trees. The valley was speckled with wildflowers and dandelions, not unlike the small valley that had been your sanctuary with Vaella during your childhood. The grass was high and soft as it brushed against your legs with each step. It was beautiful and empty. Prince Aemond was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you thought of getting back on your horse and riding away, far away, until you passed The Wall in the North and then kept going. No dragons. No family. No bruises. No lies.

Just as quickly as the thought came, it left. The dragons were your life. Whatever duties you were to be assigned, no matter how low or asinine, you would welcome them. Then, something prickled at the base of your skull and you turned your head toward the sky just in time to see the sun blotted out by a hulking, winged form. The ground shook but you hardly cared as you finally set eyes on Vhagar again. A familiar ladder was unraveled and you watched a tall man descend as you approached the old dragon. Her massive head swiveled in your direction and you could not help but smile as she rumbled in greeting. She remembered you.

“Good. You’re here.” The voice was cool and raspy. Dangerous.

“Prince Aemond?“ You asked, feeling more and more stupid by the second.

As soon as his boots hit the ground, he turned to you, long silver hair catching the wind as your heart leapt into your throat. A cruel cut was jagged and slashed down his face, only broken by the finely crafted eye patch securely fastened over it. And while it embarrassed you to even think it, you thought him... handsome. Almost excessively so. He had all the refinement of old Valyria now with a hardened edge. The type of beauty usually reserved for portraits in the books your family hoarded and never touched, smuggled from a home long ago destroyed in The Doom. The barest trace of a smile pressed at his already upturned mouth as he strode toward you. “Do not tell me you have forgotten me.”

“I-I have not, my prince. I...” You shook your head as if that would stop the improper and impossible thoughts from turning and quickly dropped into a shallow curtsey. “It has been some time, has it not?”

“Six years,” he said simply, taking another step toward you. “You have not changed in the slightest. You are just as I remember you.” His remaining eye drank you in, moving from your silver hair to the tips of your boots. And you felt every inch of his gaze.

“It seems I have been left uninformed about quite a number of things. I had not known you had claimed Vhagar.” At the sound of her name, the dragon huffed. It brought a smile to your face and you reached out to press a hand to her giant neck. “She is a worthy mount.”

The small smile the prince gave you grew by a fraction. “Yes. I’ve heard a few of the smallfolk call her Queen of the Dragons.”

“A fitting name,” you said, smile growing. With a final pat to her scales, you turned to him again. “Now, I’m assuming you are wanting my opinion on the other Keepers at the Pit to care for her, no? So, I-”

“You have been left wildly uninformed, my lady.”

The ice in his tone had you freezing. “I apologize, my prince, I-”

“Did I not say that I would have no other hands tend to my dragon?” He took a single step toward you and the instinct to run immediately rushed down your spine. The only thing keeping you still was the heat of Vhagar at your back. “You are to be in the valley from now on. I have been told your other duties have been relegated to other Keepers.”

It all slid into place, the strange dismissals, the aversion. All of it. “Everyone knew of this assignment, my prince?”

And his strange smile widened. “Of course. I thought it polite to let you finish your time with my cousins, but everyone knew you were to be mine.”

You slowly shifted in your seat, trying to relieve some of the ache in your back from your father’s latest rage as you clapped alongside Baela and Rhaena for the winner of that round’s joust. The tourney was nearing its end and you were dreading every second that passed. Your entire life had been turned on its axis. Being reinstated as Vhagar’s sole keeper meant you needed to live in the Capital once again. Your family’s ire and disappointment had become daily battles, only broken by your escape to the valley or by invitation by the twins to accompany them to the festivities. It was a strange and almost sad moment for you to realize that a valley had once again become your solace and safe place and it had been less than a fortnight since you’d docked.

Despite Vhagar’s immense size and age, she had always been easy to care for. Her scales kept her from harm from anything manmade. You were sure even scorpion bolts would do little more than annoy her. Holes in her wings, from battles long since relegated to story and song, did not grow in size nor hinder her flight. You kept an eye on them regardless. The most pressing of your duties was actually maintaining the saddle atop Vhagar’s back, making sure it was still safe for the prince in any and every capacity. The only trouble you ever had with Vhagar was when she ate too much, ten aurochs instead of her usual seven, and her stomach protested. It was an easy enough fix. At least for you. Some of the other keepers called you insane for coaxing the old dragon to eat a large bundle of flowers you had collected from the valley and then spending an hour or so pressing at the hardened scales of her stomach to help her ache.

It was easy for you to settle back into a routine with her. Even with Prince Aemond standing, unmoving, beneath the shade of the valley’s tree with his eyes trained on you. He liked to watch, you found. Quiet. The day you had met him for the first time in the valley had been your longest conversation with him, even when he handed you new robes and requested you wear them when attending to Vhagar, he said less. The clothes were finely made, of course, and had the same treatment as your other Keeper robes to keep the heat and any accidental flames from burning too quickly...not that it would be of any use against Vhagar’s flames, but you still appreciated it. What gave you pause, however, was the strange crest stitched over the heart. It was the standard Targaryen crest except it was in an unmistakable shade of blue. Deep and bright. It was Aemond’s personal rendition of the signal, his personal coat of arms. You caught him looking at it a handful of times when you told him that you needed this or that for Vhagar, a strange gleam in his eye. But you would take his strange looks and almost unnerving quiet over your family any day. Every day. You learned that the whispers of him brokering alliances in Essos alongside Prince Daemon had been correct—and that was how he’d lost an eye. An overpaid assassin had come at him in the dark of his bedchambers in Qohor and had not expected the younger prince to be so adept at defending himself. For better or for worse, the blood spilt had gained Qohor’s favor and Aemond had allowed the mages of that city to work their strange magick on his face to keep the injury from hurting him as time went on. There were also whispers that the night the assassin came was the night Aemond had claimed Vhagar. “She could smell the dragon blood in ‘im,” one of the smallfolk had said, voice carrying across the stalls of food and linen of the early morning market just a few days ago. Was that true?

“You are fidgeting more than little Viserys.”

You immediately stopped your obvious poor attempt at moving discreetly and sighed, ignoring how Baela was looking at you. “Apologies, my lady.”

Baela sighed, shaking her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I simply wish to know what has you so agitated.”

“Tis nothing. I think I am simply nervous about the feast tonight.”

At the mention of the feast, the last of the name day celebrations for the King, Rhaena leaned around her sister with a broad smile to look at you. ”You are finally coming? You have missed all the others.”

That was true. Every night after you finished your duties, you were all but summoned back to your parents’ manse, once again trapped within the walls of your family. But apparently, tonight they deemed you “enough” to be seen in such a public arena. Or perhaps they’d tired of the questions about your whereabouts and thought the last event would calm them.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted to attend. It had been too long since you’d been invited to anything of this level of pomp and pageantry and you were certain you’d either have absolutely no fun or you’d make an idiotic spectacle of yourself if you did manage to find a bit of frivolity in it all.

After promising the twins that you would save them a dance at the feast after the tourney’s jousting finished, you excused yourself, knowing you were expected back at your family’s manse sooner rather than later. It was almost a miracle that they’d let you attend this portion of the tourney anyway after learning that Prince Aemond had dismissed you for the day after his morning flight.

“I will see you this evening, my lady.” He had said it with such certainty that you didn’t even try to argue that he’d be much too involved with other guests to even notice you, so you simply agreed and thanked him again for the time away from your duties.

The trek back to the manse was short, much to your dismay, but you straightened your shoulders as you were let inside and heard your mother chattering away with one of the other highborn ladies of court in the solar. Just for a moment, you thought you could go upstairs to your chambers, unnoticed by anyone.

“Ah, there you are. You’re late.”

But the hope was all for naught. You turned and greeted the other woman at your mother’s side after dipping your head toward your mother. “Is there something you need of me, Mother?”

Your mother gave a tittering laugh and she pointed at a rumpled bit of cloth draped over an opened box near the end of the settee in the corner of the room. You moved toward it, pulling away the fabric that must have served as a wrapping for the box, and opened it to reveal a gown. Inky black damask fabric was lined with the deepest blue beads you’d ever beheld, stitched carefully to detail a three headed dragon over the breast. Crimson hued eyes were looped on each, twinkling in the dying sunlight spilling in through the open windows. The cut would show off your shoulders and the curve of your neck, dipping only slightly between your breasts, while your arms would only be slightly covered by loops of more black fabric, cut loose to give you freedom of movement. Simply put, it was gorgeous.

As you pulled it fully from the box, you noticed a small bit of parchment tucked into the folds of the skirt. You retrieved it, careful to have the dress’ bodice lay over your arm to avoid wrinkles, and unfolded it. A small token of my gratitude. The small note was not signed but there was only one person you knew it could be. A blue dragon. Gratitude. He didn’t owe you gratitude.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman at your mother’s side said with a dreamy sigh.

“Yes, it is,” you murmured. After all, there was no way you could deny it. The gown was exquisite. You would need to speak to the prince about this. It wasn’t necessary. “I-”

“I was telling Lady Webber that we’ve decided that I will wear that gown to tonight’s feast,” your mother said, a smile on her face.

“But…” The rebuttal died on your tongue as you looked at your mother’s growing smile and the unknowing look on Lady Webber’s face. This was a trick. Your mother knew you wouldn’t refuse her in front of company because the consequences would be catastrophic. So, you pushed a smile to your face and nodded, swallowing your pride and argument. “Of course. And I know she’ll look radiant as always.”

Your mother’s chin tipped up, pleased. “I’ll have one of the maids bring Vaella’s gold gown for you.”

You nodded again. The gown was beautiful but nothing like the one you held now. But still, you carefully folded it back into the box and took your leave, hiding the note between your fingers as you trudged back to your chambers and tried to keep your head held high. Letting them know they had won by crying or screaming or pouting wasn’t an option. You weren’t a child anymore.

Handmaidens eventually filed into your room and lathed you with oils that made your skin soft and made you smell like the roses that were growing outside the manse’s walls. They tightened the corset on the back of the gown until you winced and only then gave a final tug to finish, saying, “the lady of the house said you are to look your best.” They then made sure you had a dainty gold necklace around your throat, golden dragon pendant falling just above your cleavage, to finish the look after you slipped into the soft soled shoes Vaella had left behind alongside the gown. You did look beautiful. There was no denying that—there was also no denying that this gown held no candle to the one Prince Aemond had sent. And you could not forget that the necklace around your neck had been discarded by your mother years ago for being out of fashion in her mind. Your family wouldn’t have you looking like a lowborn beggar, but that did not mean they would ever allow you to shine on your own. You just hoped Prince Aemond would not be insulted. But, again, you knew he’d be too busy to notice anyway.

But it was fine. This was what you grew up with—this is what you knew how to survive. This was them being almost kind. It was a kindness that they did not remark on your poor posture on the carriage ride up to the Red Keep as the setting sun started to bleed red over the city. Your family was announced as you walked in and your parents hissed for you to behave yourself, “don’t embarrass us more than you already do,” before getting swept away by their friends to enjoy the festivities. Rhogar quickly fled your side, too.

You managed to find a seat near the doors and the others at the table greeted you politely but largely kept to their own conversations as you picked at the food in front of you. Large crowds like this always made you nervous. Mayhaps that was why you’d never found a husband. As promised, you danced with both Rhaena and Baela but when you saw Prince Jacaerys walking toward his betrothed, intent on a dance of his own, and Rhaena had tugged at your sleeve and nervously asked if she looked all right when she spotted Lord Corwyn Corbray walking toward her, you assured her that she was beautiful, and quietly excused yourself back to your seat and another few bites of dinner.

You glanced up at the head table, unsurprised to see it filled with silver haired royals. Of course, Rhaenyra’s sons inherited their father’s dark curls, and Alicent’s auburn tresses were as beautiful as ever, but it was still silver silver silver as far as the eye could see. But there was one silver-haired prince missing from the table: Aemond was nowhere to be seen.

But you hardly had the time to think of his absence when Rhaenyra’s carefully braided hair almost seemed to sparkle in the torchlight as she and Alicent stood, each with a golden goblet in hand. A hush quickly blanketed the crowd.

“We thank you all for joining us tonight as we celebrate my father, the king’s, nameday. It has been a trying few years so to be able to come together like this is a blessing from the Seven themselves.” The crowd cheered, raising their goblets in response. “And we have more to celebrate.”

Rhaenyra looked to Alicent who was smiling softly at the princess, her goblet curled close to her chest. Rhaenyra whispered something to her, a matching sweetness in her gaze, before Alicent nodded and raised her goblet higher and you heard the crowd around you murmur, trying to discern what she was about to say. “It is my honor and privilege to announce that all of Westeros will be unified with the marriage of Prince Aegon to Prince Qoren’s heir, Princess Aliandra Martell.”

The crowd erupted in applause and, as if on cue, the doors beside the head table opened and orange and gold spilled out into the hall and a Dornish delegation swept in, headed by a man you assumed to be Prince Qoren Martell. At his side was a stunning woman, draped in similar gold and yellow with a golden headpiece fashioned to look like the sun settled over her dark hair—that must be Princess Aliandra. Prince Aegon rose from his seat and walked to Aliandra’s side and dipped his head before holding out his hand for her to take. She readily did and preened as he kissed her fingers.

The crowd cheered again and room was made at the tables for the Dornish company to join the feast as Qoren and Aliandra were given seats at the head table. King Viserys stood and welcomed Qoren himself before they sat beside each other. It was only then that Aemond reclaimed his seat on his mother’s right, leaning to the side only slightly to murmur something in Helaena’s ear which coaxed a small smile from her.

But it seemed that the announcements were not finished as Rhaenyra and Alicent still stood. Again, Alicent raised her goblet, “And I am blessed to announce that Princess Helaena and Lord Stark will be married, joining the houses of ice and fire!”

The crowd erupted, again, and you watched as Helaena stood while Cregan Stark moved through the crowds and up to her side. An adorable pink had settled on both their cheeks and you weren’t sure if anyone else would notice, but Cregan slowly held out a hand toward her, low and mostly hidden, and Helaena took it, curling her fingers over his. That simple bit of affection had your heart leaping. You knew Princess Helaena had an aversion to most forms of touch, so to see her happily accepting his hand was beautiful. The men of the North were known to be loyal and devoted—the look on Cregan’s rugged features made it seem as if he were already besotted—and that was what Helaena deserved, the gentle princess who always spared a kind word whenever you crossed paths in the Pit.

You joined in the raucous applause and raised your goblet along with the rest of the crowd before Viserys stood again and announced that Aegon and Helaena would take the first dance of the night with their betrothed and soon the hall was filled with music. Aliandra and Aegon were a swirl of black and yellow fabric as they turned about the floor, a command of the dance. Cregan and Helaena were more content to take up less room and smile at each other as they moved through the steps. It was entertaining to see how vastly different the couples were, but you thought it suited them.

Soon the floor was filled with more couples as one song bled into the next and then the next. You had no girlish hope that you’d be asked to accompany someone for a turn about the floor, so you happily took advantage of the extra room at your table and let your posture fall from its rigid line and indulged in a few more bits of cake, too.

Rhaenyra danced with her sons and Ser Harwin. Alicent was swept out onto the floor by Prince Daeron. There was love there. In that large, powerful family. Ser Harwin eventually took Helaena for a spin around the floor, making her laugh, as the Princess and the Queen regained their seats at the head table. You watched them between bites of cake. They bent their heads toward each other, whispering for only the other to hear with smiles on their painted lips.

They may both be married and they may love their spouses, but you knew there was something special, something other, between them. Something that usually only existed in song and story. Just for a moment, you wondered if anyone would ever look at you like the Princess was gazing at the Queen. You wondered if anyone would ever hold you like how the Queen was tugging at the Princess’ wrists, pulling her close, like you were something to be treasured, protected.

Probably not.

“My lady.”

You nearly dropped the piece of cake you were trying to bite. Turning in your seat, you saw Prince Aemond standing behind you, hands neatly folded behind his back. His purple gaze dragged across your face as you stood and curtseyed, hoping you didn’t have any cake smeared on your lips. “Prince Aemond.”

Without a word, he curled his fingers and turned, ordering you to follow him into the shadows behind one of the many pillars of the hall. You nearly slammed not his back when he suddenly stopped before turning to you again, close enough for you to feel each of his breaths against your hair and surround you in his scent of cold mint and dragon, tinged with steel. His thin lips were set in an even thinner line as he reached out and touched the edge of your golden sleeve before you had the chance to step back. “Was the gown I sent not to your liking?”

Your heart dropped to your knees and you resisted the urge to curl into yourself, as if you could hide your dress from him. “I…I adored it, actually. It is the most beautiful gown I’ve ever beheld. But, my mother requested it for tonight’s feast. And,” you cleared your throat, trying to pass the lump growing behind your teeth. It always felt wrong to speak of your family so kindly. And it felt wrong to lie to Aemond who had only been trying to treat you kindly. Hadn’t he? “And who am I to refuse my mother anything?”

But some small voice at the back of your mind was whispering that you needed to apologize and make sure it never happened again, for both your sakes. “I am truly sorry if you feel as if I have slighted you. It was never my intention and never will be.” You paused and tried not to recoil when Aemond’s gaze did not waver from your face. “I would not be comfortable accepting such a fine gift again,” you added, keeping your voice low. “I would not have you debasing yourself in any way-”

The words stalled on your tongue when his fingers skimmed up your arm before sliding across the ridge of your collarbone to pluck at the golden chain of your necklace. He pulled until the golden dragon pendant rested in his palm. “I will give you anything I deem suitable.” Then, before you could do anything, his hand closed over the pendant and he yanked. The clasp snapped against your skin and the rest of the necklace fell slack, broken. He pocketed the necklace before reaching into the finely constructed doublet stretched over his chest and pulled out a small silver chain. A necklace. Even in the dim light, you saw that it was finely crafted, its twisted rings braided together delicately. And, at the very bottom was a charm of a dandelion, no bigger than the nail on your forefinger. And Aemond was quick to fasten around your neck, long fingers sliding over your pulse and tapping—just once—against the vertebrae just beneath the base of your skull. “It’s perfect.”

The metal, warmed by being tucked so closely to his skin, was almost scalding. The dandelion charm slipped beneath the edge of your gown and hung between your breasts. Against your heart. “Th-thank you. But, I don’t feel as if I can accept it.”

“But you will,” he said, lilac eye burning into yours. “I had it fashioned in Qohor.” He whispered it like a secret.

“I…” What could you possibly say to that? Questions upon questions started to storm through your mind but the only thing you could say was an unsteady, “you were in Qohor ages ago, my prince.”

“I was.” Then he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.” His tone broached no argument. But didn’t you owe him that much? He’d sent you a gown that you didn’t wear. You’d once again tried to refuse a gift from him. This wasn’t…this didn’t feel right. You were just a Keeper. He was a prince. You’d overstepped with Lady Laena but that had felt different, almost reciprocal, in your affections for each other but you were always aware that you were a servant of sorts, no matter your highborn status and Valyrian bloodline. This didn’t feel like that…this felt different.

You couldn’t say no.

You placed your shaking hand in his and let him lead you out toward the dancing masses. You watched the crowd part for him as you took your places off toward the side as the next song began. Eyes were crawling all over you. You could feel them. The answering whispers sounded like a buzzing fly behind your ear but you could not discern what they were saying—not when Aemond looked at you, even as your hands dropped for a moment. You were quick to wipe your sweaty palms on your gown as the song began. The dance was fairly simple, one Vaella had drilled into you during your childhood, but as Aemond reached for you, long, roughened fingers curling over yours, you nearly forgot the steps. If he noticed your fluster, Aemond didn’t say anything, continuing to lead you through the dance with all the grace princes of your childhood stories possessed. As you spun beneath his arm, his other hand sliding along your waist, you tried to steady your heart with little success, his fingers searing through your gown to brand your skin. As he pulled you closer as the dance intended, your eyes shot to the long expanse of pale skin of his throat.

“Are you going to speak or should I be content with your silence?” He asked, voice low enough just for you to hear.

The barb stung and you tried to not flinch when he pulled you closer and then urged you backward in time with the song. “What would you have me say, my prince? I am sure I would bore you with my stories of my time in the Pit or on Dragonstone.”

“Will you not let me be the judge of my own feelings, my lady? Or will you rob me of that, too?”

“What have I robbed from you, my prince? If I have offended-”

“Offended? My lady, you have done more than offend me.”

Aemond’s grip on your hands tightened when you tried to pull back, continuing to drag you along in the dance. “I am sorry, my prince,” you whispered, the words cracking on your throat. “I did not know that my mother would take your gift. She is…she takes everything she wants from me.” You hated the words coming out of your mouth, hating how weak you sounded. “I never-”

Aemond yanked you to a stop, your chest colliding with his with each hurried breath you took. The song continued on, the couples dancing beside you were a blur of colors at the periphery but all you saw was Aemond’s light eye staring down at you as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm around your back to drag you ever closer, your other hand pinned with his between your chests. “Is that what you think? That a gown has soured your presence for me?”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was saying over the roaring of blood in your ears. All of this was inappropriate. All of this was near scandalous. All of this was Aemond.

And, just for a moment, it was silent between you, only buffeted by the music continuing to play. “You alone have consumed my thoughts. For years.”

That didn’t make any sense but you still let him push and pull you through the next few steps as you tried to understand what he was saying. “If my presence has caused you discomfort, I shall remove myself from your employ, I swear to you. It was never my inten-”

The hand that had been holding yours swept to your face and his calloused thumb pressed against your bottom lip, robbing you of your thoughts and stalling the words on your tongue. The heat of him was near scalding, even through his leather and your fine gown, enveloping you, surrounding you, like a dragon’s fire.

He hummed, pausing for a moment to think—he always chose his words carefully. “No. No, my dandelion, you will not rob me of your presence. I have waited too long for this.” He pulled in a low breath, like he was trying to restrain himself. “I shall see you tomorrow after your duties finish. I expect you do not need reminding as to where, yes?” He asked, nearly demeaning.

You shook your head, his thumb sliding across your lip and heat burning your throat.

He hummed, again, and leaned down a little further, just enough for his breath to bloom across your parted mouth before he stepped back just as the song finished. He clapped along with the other dancers for the minstrels, never once taking his eye off you. He grabbed your hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back of your fingers before turning and walking away without a word.

It was not until you were home again, hours later, that you realized he’d called you my dandelion and your neck had bled from where he’d snapped your necklace.

How does one say no to a prince and keep their head?

Trick question: you don’t.

It had been nearly a moon since the feast and the dance you’d shared with Aemond. While he continued his silent watching as you tended to Vhagar, he would usurp any time you might have had to yourself. He had luncheon brought out to the valley. He would have you take tea with him and Helaena in the gardens if Vhagar decided she needn’t be tended to that day, searching for sharks to eat out of Blackwater Bay. He’d have you climb up into Vhagar’s saddle as they landed to see something that he thought needed tending to or mending. (And while he never moved to touch you, he burned like a fire at your back as you worked.) He had you inspect the hatchlings’ nests to make sure they were properly cared for (as he loomed behind you). He did the same with the clutches of eggs kept within the Pit as well.

It soon became something of a common occurrence for you to be “accompanied” by the Prince to the Dragonpit. While most of the Keepers took it in stride, having trusted you in the past, your brother once ground his teeth so hard as you halfheartedly looked over the chains on Sunfyre that you could’ve sworn you heard one of his molars crack.

And when Aemond asked why your eye was swollen shut the next day, you knew he didn’t believe you when you said you’d fallen off your mother’s horse. But you never denied him anything else. Anything he asked of you, you gave. That was what you were raised to do. Loyal to no one but the Targaryens and their dragons. If Aemond felt the need to investigate, he never gave you any indication other than a soft hmm rumbling in his throat.

You told yourself that you should be thankful the prince was doting on you so. If his strange affections at the feast had been any indication that he felt more for you (which was preposterous–you were nearly ten namedays his elder!), he had not acted on them other than the infrequent murmurings of the nickname My Dandelion. The heat you had felt vanished the moment he stepped away. The only habit of his you could not truly comprehend was his nickname for you.

Lucky. Yes, that was what you were, to know he appreciated your care of Vhagar. He cared enough to essentially install you as the overseer of the Keepers. Or perhaps it was making sure that the gold you were paid was being earned and he felt the need to give you extra duties as Vhagar was fairly easy to keep appeased. Lady Laena had doted on you as well, hadn’t she? Of course, her affections had been overtly platonic and familial, and Aemond’s were decidedly not in some instances. But there was no way you had garnered his attention in that way. How many times had you been told by your parents and brother that no one would ever want you in that way?

You scratched at your chin, trying to ignore your racing thoughts as the sky was starting to bleed an inky purple. It was the first light of dawn and you had hoped to check on the hatchlings before Aemond took his morning flight. One of the other Keepers had mentioned that two of the smallest dragons had been fighting and some blood had been spilled. While dragons were largely hard to kill, they were still not immortal, especially when they were so young. You’d wanted to make sure there hadn’t been any infection in the wounds and to see if you could settle them separately.

You heard whispers from the smallfolk as you passed. Whispers of the Targaryen madness, whispers of their dragons being an abomination to the Seven, whispers of how Rhaenyra would never be a suitable queen, whispers of the crown inching closer to the Old Gods instead of the Seven with the betrothal between Helaena and Cregan. Or how the blasphemous, bloody gods of the Rhoynar would come to usurp the Seven because of the match between Aegon and Aliandra. And you wished this had been the first time you had been privy to such whispers, but only having taken true notice of them a fortnight ago.

Whispers.

They unnerved you. They weren’t…right. You heard them too often to be idle gossip and too outwardly for them to be a true passing thought. Something or someone had come to King’s Landing and had started the whispers. Purposefully.

The whispers came to a head as you hurried toward the Pit. A crowd had assembled, far larger than you’d ever seen this early in the morning, filling the street to near capacity, all of them looking toward one man that stood atop the edge of a fountain, proselytizing. He was missing one of his hands and was wearing roughhewn clothes. His unkempt, grey beard swayed with each exaggerated word that spilled from between his half-rotted teeth.

“These Dragon Filth will lead us all into ruin! Think of your families! Think of your eternal souls!”

The words themselves had your blood turning to ice in your veins but it was the answering, near-gleeful shouts that had you running. And, as if on cue, you heard the crowd turn and start to follow.

You nearly fell through the Pit’s open floors as you careened by the guards stationed near the doors, shrieking at them to be ready, that an attack was coming. But you scarcely heard if they replied as you sprinted down, down, down. You undid the chains on Dreamfyre first, screaming at her to flee, to fly. Her dark eyes nearly blazed as she looked at you before she tore past you with a roar, stretching out her wings as soon as she was able. Screams from the crowd were nearly musical as you set about freeing Vermax, Syrax, and Arrax next.

“Go! Fly!”

The thundering footsteps of the crowd were growing closer. You could hear the scrape of swords being unsheathed, of axes battering against the door or sliding against the stone floor. They were coming.

Just as you were reaching for Sunfyre’s chains you were yanked back by a rough hand grabbing at the back of your tunic. You were thrown to the ground with a scream that quickly died as your skull bounced against the stone.

A man you didn’t recognize loomed above you with a rusted sword in hand. “Dragon filth!” He raised his foot and stomped it down onto your stomach twice before you could even try to move or defend yourself but you were able to grab his ankle and roll as he went to do it again. You felt his bones twist and break beneath your fingers as he screamed and you stood, your ribs protesting. A flurry of movement to your right had you screaming, matching the scream Sunfyre let out, snapping his chains before he let out a bellow of fire just as you ducked, reducing his attackers to charred flesh and bone in moments before spreading his wings and taking flight. You scurried out of the roost and toward the next, knowing that was where the hatchlings were kept, and your heart plummeted as you heard the sounds coming from within.

The hatchlings were screaming—dying. You threw open the door to see two men hacking away at the nest, their daggers bloody.

“Stop!” You wailed, throwing yourself forward and catching one of the men’s arms. Wrestling for control of his dagger was a short affair as the other man’s fist quickly connected with your cheek and nearly took you from your feet again. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. Not when you could still hear the little dragons crying for help. You lurched toward the nest and managed to curl your hand around one of the small dragons before you screamed, a dagger thrust through the meat of your forearm. But still you curled toward the nest, trying to keep them safe—if you could just save them-!

Blood coated your tongue as you picked up the dragons and you barely had the wherewithal to look down to see the handle of another dagger buried into your side as the men beside you called you a “dragon’s whore!” and a “demon’s servant!” Your knees knocked together as the dagger was pulled from your side and you clutched desperately to the hatchlings as you teetered backward, heartbeat roaring in your ears, but they were cruelly ripped away from you.

For the second time, you hit the stone floor and a heavy boot collided with your cheek as a final cry came from the nest. Just as your vision started to blur, you saw the roof of the Pit shake, raining down stone and dust. There was a thunderous roar that you could feel in your marrow just before the world went dark.

The world swam back into focus slowly, in a swirl of creams and blacks and reds. It took you a moment to realize you were in one of the many chambers inside the Red Keep, carefully propped up against a small mountain of pillows with a blanket across your waist, embroidered with a familiar three headed dragon in black thread that shimmered like gems in the muted sunlight, seeping into the room from around the edge of a heavy curtain. You only had a moment to appreciate the fine furnishing before a stab of pain which seemed to pop and fizzle across every inch of your body had you wincing, eyes clamping shut as you bit your lip to keep your whimper quiet.

That’s what you knew how to do. Stifle your noises. Make yourself silent. It always helped. And you could not stop the flinch which shot through you when someone’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to scare you!” The Septa at your side squeaked as she yanked back her hand.

Your eyes opened again and you had to breathe through the sudden nausea that rushed over you in a wave. “N…no apology necessary.”

“I will call for the Maester. And I believe your family has been waiting to see you, shall I let them in?”

Before you could answer–a polite but firm no–the door opened and your parents and brother stormed into the room. You briefly saw a handful of handmaidens trying to keep them back before the door was firmly shut behind them. Your mother burst into tears at the sight of you, fat droplets falling down her cheeks, before all but hurling herself toward you with a cry of, “oh, my daughter!”

You bit back a yelp when her hands, covered in rings, grabbed at your arms, poking and prodding at you as her touch moved higher and higher until she was grasping at your face. If she noticed your wince when her nail scratched against what could only be broken skin, she didn’t reveal it nor did she pull back.

“My lady,” the septa started gently, rising from her seat, “the maester said-”

“I do not care what that old man has said!” She screeched, nails biting into your skin for a moment. “My daughter has been…” The rest of what she was going to say, and you were sure it was going to be quite the show, was drowned out as more tears spilled and she shook her head.

You’d only seen your mother like this once before. It was when Vaella was getting married. Of course, those were supposed to be happy tears; she was sure to cause a scene so more people looked at her than at the bride. It was all a show. Crocodile tears dabbed away with a silk kerchief. Fanning her face. Whispering to anyone who would listen that she was the mother.

Despite the throbbing of each of your limbs and the stabbing pain behind your eyes, you looked to see your father and Rhogar standing beside the bed, doing their best to look concerned as the Septa walked out of the room. If you were an outsider, you may have believed their pantomime. But you knew. They didn’t care. All of this? All of it was for show for anyone who was watching. They were the distressed family of the person being cared for by the royals.

Your father stepped to yourself and pressed a flat, unmoving hand against your shoulder, a frown tugging at the sides of his mouth. “How are you faring? You look ghastly.”

“You look like you have nearly-single-handedly saved the Targaryen dynasty from an immeasurable loss.”

Everyone in the room turned to see Aemond stride in, shoulders back and eye entirely focused on you. Your family was quick to curtsey or bow and then shuffle back to make way for him to step to your side. Aemond paid them no mind before he cupped your face. His grip was surer as he touched you, almost familiar. The touch of his thumb skirting across one of your many slow-healing bruises had you shivering, or perhaps that was the way his light eye was focused entirely on you.

“You are healing well, my lady,” he said quietly, just as his finger looped around the necklace still at your throat, pulling the dandelion charm out from under the chemise (which was definitely not yours) you were wearing.

That same, strange heat started to smolder in your stomach as you looked at him, watching that small smile you saw so infrequently start to push at his lips. But now was not the time to ponder that–after all, it could just be a bit of nausea–as you had other, more pressing, concerns. “The hatchlings, my prince, did they-”

“You saved all you could, my lady.”

That meant some had died. Hot, angry tears immediately stung your eyes as you shook your head, only exacerbating the pain radiating across your body. “How many? H-how many of the little ones-”

Aemond moved to grasp at your hands, gently, softly, as he shook his head. “You need not worry about that now. They will be avenged.”

“We apologize for her childish tears, my prince,” your mother said, voice pulling you away from the prince’s gaze. Her comment only made the tears burn hotter as you tried to blink them away. Shouldn’t you know better? Tears gained you nothing. Tears changed nothing.

“They are not childish,” the prince said, still not turning to give them a glance. “She mourns with my family.”

The Septa swept in again and cleared her throat, thick eyebrow arching high enough to disappear into her habit as she looked at your mother for just a moment, before curtseying in Aemond’s direction. “The maester has been summoned, my prince.”

The prince nodded but did not move from his place at your side, long fingers sweeping lightly over the bandages you saw over your arm and then brushing against your temple.

“We are grateful you have extended your family’s maesters and healers for her care, my prince,” your father said as he stepped forward.

“As I said,” Aemond started, not pulling away from you at all, not moving his gaze from your face, “House Targaryen owes her a great debt. It would be in poor taste for her not to receive the finest care this land offers.”

Everything burned. The skin he touched, his minted breath against your lips, his unrelenting gaze on you. It burned. For better or not, you could not tell. All it was, was consuming.

“If we may, my prince,” Rhogar said, voice low, almost shaking as he spoke for the first time since coming into your temporary chambers ears, “I know my sister would be well rested in her own bed. We can never repay your House’s kindness-”

It was only then that Aemond looked away from you, dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have my lady withdrawn from her chambers until she has fully recovered.”

“We understand the debt you feel you must repay, my prince.” Now it was your mother’s turn to try, once again dabbing at her damp cheeks with her kerchief. “But it is unnecessary. We know she is but a guest here. We would not repay one debt with another for her care.”

“Tell him,” your mother said through gritted teeth, varnished smile starting to wane. “Tell him you do not need to be coddled so!”

There would be hell to pay if you didn’t. Your mouth opened and-

But Aemond simply waved his hand, a flick of the wrist as if he were batting away a gnat. “I will hear nothing of it. The Queen and Princess Rhaenyra both have ordered daily reports on her health.”

“We understand that, my prince.” Your father argued, tone low and placating, as his own periwinkle eyes bored into the Prince. “But we have been kept from my daughter’s side since the attack. She belongs with her family-”

“She belongs here.” Aemond’s tone was cold, broaching no argument. It was the tone of a king. The tone of a dragonrider. And why did something twist behind your ribs at the sound of it? Or was it because his simple sentence had your family looking as if they’d all been collectively slapped. Your mother’s mouth dropped and you saw your brother look to her, questions in his eyes, before they both turned to your father.

“The maester is due shortly. I would advise you all make your goodbyes now and I will have word sent when it is suitable for you to come again.”

After a stretched silence, your mother came first, pressing a too firm kiss to your temple and whispering a rushed, “do not embarrass us,” into your ear before stepping back. Rhogar was next, each of them murmuring his best wishes into your cheek just loud enough for Aemond to hear but not convincingly in the slightest. Your father was last, taking your hands in his in a strong grip that had you wincing, heat rippling up your arm to burrow beneath the bandage where you were certain dozens of sutures were holding your skin together. The look in his eyes had you instinctively trying to pull back, out of his hold, but he held firm.

You knew that look well. Too well. It had been the face of your nightmares since you could dream.

“Daughter mine, I trust you will-”

His words, threats or otherwise, were drowned out by the door opening and the maester being brought in, a flurry of other healers behind him. Aemond stood back, spine pressed against the wall as you were looked over, poked, and prodded. You learned that your stab wounds were healing well, possibly aided by the three days you spent unconscious. “You didn’t move at all!” The maester said with a smile. He also said that he would leave Milk of the Poppy at your bedside to help with any residual pains you were bound to have and that he would come back after dinner to check the mobility of your arm.

It was only when he and his entourage were finished that you noticed Aemond had not left the room at all during the commotion. He stood sentinel near the door, arms crossed over his chest. And, as the chamber door closed softly behind the last of the parade of maesters, you were left alone with him. Again.

A nervous tickle started to grow at the back of your throat and you tried to will it away, head a little lighter thanks to the few drops of Milk of the Poppy you’d been given beneath your tongue a few moments ago, as you awkwardly tried to push yourself higher onto the pillows with only one arm when he started to walk toward you. The effort was only marginally successful and a sharp pain from your side nearly buckled your uninjured arm anyway. By the time you settled again, you were strangely out of breath. But still, you knew you had to say something. “I am once again in your debt, my prince.”

“There is no debt. I would do it a thousand times over, Dandelion.” He then looked you over, something you couldn’t place in his eye, a look you’d seen a dozen times before and couldn’t name. “I will have the handmaidens tend to you before the maester comes again. Dinner will also be delivered. I am assuming you still like the honeyed chicken and carrots.” It wasn’t a question and the prince didn’t give you time to say otherwise before striding out of the room as a gaggle of handmaidens—who you knew usually tended to Queen Alicent—streamed in. They were quick as they helped you move from the bed with delicate, careful movements.

A shining tub was hauled in soon after and filled with steaming water. And, even when the group of handmaidens squawked about waiting for the water to cool a little, you were quick to submerge yourself in it, only relaxing when you were enveloped and sunk down until the water hit your chin. They eventually sat at your side and scrubbed you clean, mindful of your injuries, and added rose oil to the water and massaged more of it into your damp skin.

And while they seemed to be content to work in silence, you had to ask, the question pressing on your tongue like salt, “what happened?”

“Oh, it is just the most wondrous story,” one of the handmaidens said, punctuated with a dreamy sigh. “The prince himself carried you out of the Pit and flew you across the city on Vhagar to the Red Keep where he demanded the maester see to you immediately.”

“It was fit for song,” another handmaiden said. “I would not be surprised if artisans use the scene of him standing amongst the rubble and blood and fire for their finest paintings for years to come.”

“Prince Daeron has already commissioned a tapestry of it to be made.”

An embarrassed heat started to claw at the back of your throat as they continued to chatter away, only stopping their recounting of the Storming of the Dragonpit (as you learned the attack had been dubbed by the city) to sigh, wistfully. They eventually helped you out of the tub and into a silk robe with a blue, three-headed dragon stitched over the heart, just the same as your Keeper robes. Aemond’s sigil.

“But, what happened?” You asked again, ignoring the strange swooping feeling in your stomach. “Who were they? Why?”

One of the handmaidens gave a tittering laugh. “Oh, Sevens. Please excuse us, my lady. We thought you would want to know who rescued you, but of course you would want to know who nearly killed you! The Shepherd—that rag-covered old man—was a zealot who the Triarchy paid to come to King’s Landing. He believed he was doing the Seven’s work. But they knew he would simply cause a riot—apparently he’d already done so in Lys and they offered him freedom in exchange for listening to how King’s Landing was ‘in desperate need of his teachings.’”

The revelation left something aching behind her ribs. While the Triarchy may have been outmatched before, striking at the heart of the Targaryen dynasty’s power was a well calculated and cruel move. Truthfully, you cared only for the fate of the dragons.

The handmaidens eventually helped you back into bed after the maester deemed the mobility of your injured arm as “suitable.” He also made the passing comment that your “womanly duties” would not be affected by the wound on your side, nor the repeated kicks you had sustained to your stomach. “But you may want to hurry it along. You are far past the age of majority, my lady.”

And with that unhappy reminder, you slept fretfully despite your belly being full of your favorite foods and being surrounded by the finest bedding gold could buy. You woke the next morning before the sun, wounds aching, and let a few drops of Milk of the Poppy pool beneath your tongue. Your head swam unpleasantly almost immediately, like undercooked meat in unsalted broth, but your veins no longer felt serrated after a few moments. And it seemed it was almost fortuitous as you didn’t particularly feel embarrassed when the handmaidens came again and helped you into a gown you passively did not recognize and gave you a cheese filled pastry to eat as they guided you through the winding halls of the Red Keep. It did little to settle your sloshing mind and actually seemed to make you feel nauseous the more you ate.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, essentially shoving the half-eaten pastry into the hand of the nearest handmaiden as your stomach gave an impressive lurch.

“The Prince has asked for your presence on the steps outside the Keep.”

Well, that didn’t answer anything and your next step had your side lighting up with a sharp pain. You gritted your teeth as they continued to lead you forward and through the winding Keep and its halls and courtyards until you were gently ushered outside. Kingsguard were set out in three lines on either side, flanking the steps, their armor shining in the growing sunlight. At the center stood Aemond, sunlight framing him in a glow so bright you had to shield your eyes for a moment.

“She has arrived, my prince,” one of the knights said, taking a step to the prince’s side.

Instantly, Aemond turned and set his eye on you and moved to grasp at your hands, pulling you forward to stand at the edge of the top step. The sudden movement had your stomach rolling and your eyes shuttered. “It is good to see in the sunlight, my lady.”

“I…” The words you wanted to say were heavy on your tongue, tangling behind your teeth. “My prince, what do you need of me today? Is Vhagar-”

“Vhagar is happily roosting in our valley. She only settled once I learned of your prognosis. I shall have you back at my side shortly, where you belong.”

You heard him step to your back, his scorching heat bleeding through your gown, and nearly jumped as one of his hands settled on your hip and you could feel his next exhale against your ear. Your stomach rolled again and your breath was ragged in your throat. You needed to sit down. Needed more Milk of the Poppy. The stabbing pain in your side started to splinter out toward all of your extremities and the swimming of your mind was growing more pronounced. “My prince…”

“Keep your eyes open, Dandelion,” he prodded. “I’ve kept him alive just long enough for you to see him die. All of them.”

His words had you frowning. Who? You opened your eyes and looked out, nearly retching at the sight of it all. From the steps of the Red Keep and down into the city, all of the Shepherd’s men were tied to posts. They looked haggard and hungry. Bloody and bruised. As you pulled in a breath to try to steady yourself, all you could smell was pitch. There were puddles of it beneath the feet of each man.

“What are you doing?”

Aemond hummed. “Dragon fire would reduce the city to ash. Uncle Daemon suggested a substitute.” He grabbed a torch from one of the knights and held it in front of you as he kept his post at your back. “Light the first.”

“I-I cannot, my prince. It is the King’s justice, not mine.” And could you kill a man? Truly?

“You saved the Targaryen dynasty from ruin and nearly lost your life in the process. The King, the Queen, my sister, they all know you have saved us. Protected our dragons at the cost of your blood.” The hand on your hip skimmed up your side, thankfully light in his touch over your covered sutures, to trail up and over your shoulder blade and to the delicate bit of skin hiding your rapidly beating pulse. “You deserve vengeance, my Dandelion. Let the world burn for the blood you spilt, just as our ancestors demanded in Valyria.” Aemond paused and the roughened pads of his fingers pressed into the base of your skull, an oddly soothing pressure. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” He then reached around you and made sure you curled your hand around the torch. Then, slowly, with deliberate but careful steps, he led you toward the first man on the right as everything faded to a high pitched ringing in your ears.

Betrothal gift.

You chanced a glance at the man tied to the pole and he snarled at you from beneath the gag in his mouth, eyes blazing.

Betrothal gift.

Then, with a gentle, guiding pressure of Aemond’s hand over yours, you dropped the torch into the pitch.

One by one white cloaks and gold cloaks stepped out from their formation to drop their own torches, each man set alight, consumed by licking red flames. Further on through the city, trailing up to the still-smoldering Dragonpit, the Shepherd’s men were strung. At the base of the ruins of the Pit stood the Shepherd himself.

Aemond had carefully set you atop the saddle of his favored steed, a Courser just as silver as Valyrian hair, and led you through the city so you could see all of it.

When the flames came for the Shepherd, he screeched like the hatchlings had in their tiny nests, drooling through the gag. But you couldn’t take your eyes away from the sight and the ringing in your ears had not ceased.

Betrothal gift.

Just as the smoke started to blot out the morning sun, you heard Vhagar’s distinct roar in the distance and your eyes rolled back in your head and you were lost.

The war had come again in the night. Boats had come ashore, striking under moonlight. They’d targeted the Isle of Tarth, Driftmark, Duskendale, Maidenpool, and Gulltown. Only Driftmark managed to push back the assault with Princess Rhaenys atop Meleys and Lord Laenor on Seasmoke, aided by Lord Corlys’ Velaryon fleet. The others were left in ruin and the marching bands of mercenaries and Triarchy soldiers pushed further inland, dividing the crown’s armies and raining terror down on low and highborn alike.

And you were shuffled off to Dragonstone with Vhagar and Aemond. From there, the Prince would help command the royal fleet which was now dispersed around the crownlands, to keep any other forces from arriving and to keep any from running back to Essos. Prince Daemon and Caraxes were there, too, and the Bloodwyrm had trilled happily when he’d noticed your presence on the island only to be snuffed at by Vhagar—just once.

And while you were happy to be away from the stench of King’s Landing and to say hello to Vermithor who still roosted in the depths of the volcanic mountain, you found it…boring. You had thought the war would at least be a bit exciting (and you knew you should use a different word but the notion still persisted) but it was strangely boring. There were meetings between commanders and the like with Aemond and Daemon and then more meetings between the Targaryen princes and the castle’s castellan and then the island’s sworn lords.

And you should have been thankful for it. You should’ve been happy that Aemond’s attentions were elsewhere. But it only left you more confused. He had called the pyres of the rioters a betrothal gift and then had said nothing else to give you even the slightest indication that he had meant it or was expecting something in return. And by the end of the first moon since you had relocated to the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, you had deduced that he hadn’t meant it and perhaps you had even imagined it, your mind altered by the Poppy. There was no plausible way a prince would be interested in you. But you were still thankful for the quality care you had been given for your injuries, the scars the only reminder of your brush with death with no other lingering aches. And something almost good came from the storming of the Dragonpit; it had been decided that the Pit would not be rebuilt and the dragons would no longer be confined to the stone roosts when not ridden and could roost anywhere they wanted outside the city. The Keepers would still tend to them and make sure they were well fed so no farmers would lose their livelihoods (and no one would lose their lives) because a dragon was hungry. It was good—dragons were meant to be free.

You also learned that Princess Rhaenyra and her son Prince Viserys had become the official dragon-riding guardians of King’s Landing. Helaena and Dreamfyre had taken to aiding Cregan and his armies in the northern border of the Vale and Riverlands. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Daeron had flown out to burn any enemy encampments that had cropped up and had been successful, from what you had learned, while Baela and Rhaena were stationed at Driftmark with their grandmother and uncle, as another line of defense between Westeros and the Triarchy. You wished them well. But still…you were bored. Even news of Daeron’s betrothal to a young lady of House Lannister and Lucerys’ betrothal to the only daughter of Lord Tyrell had you excited for just a moment.

In an effort to have a bit of adventure and escape the gloom of the island, you would swim to one of the small islets that surrounded Dragonstone every morning when you weren’t tending to Vhagar in between her and Aemond patrolling out toward the Stepstones. Your favorite was just a small stretch of land with sweetgrass and wildflowers and a handful of looming trees, barely big enough to withstand the crashing waves of the surrounding ocean. Bodies of Triarchy soldiers would intermittently wash up on the shore and you would drag the corpses further inland in an attempt to help the fisherman nearby—no one wanted a dead man in their nets or on the end of their hook. You took a sharp stick and stabbed at their tattered clothes or armor and pulled them onto the wet sands, one by one, listening as the dragons roared overhead.

In the growing light of dawn, you tugged the last corpse beneath the tree you’d dubbed ‘the grave’ and haphazardly shoved it toward the rest of the mess of rotting skin and sun-bleached bone before turning away, letting the tall grass lick at your legs as it moved with the wind. The rains from last week had dotted the islet with flowers, and you stooped to pluck a dandelion. The stem was almost warm beneath your fingers as you twirled the wildflower in your grip, watching the early morning dew catch the first bit of sunlight and start to sparkle.

What would you wish for now?

You nearly yelped when you felt a sliver from your stick gouge into your thumb. And then a dragon roared overhead. By the sound alone, you knew it was Grey Ghost, one of the wild dragons of the island. He was free.

You switched the stick into your other hand, letting the smallest bit of blood smear against the stalk. You pulled in a deep breath and readied to blow the small seeds away and watch them disappear over the water. But just as you were about to exhale, something prickled at the base of your skull. A sensation you hadn’t felt since you started your Keeper training and it had your breath stalling in your throat.

Slowly, lowering the stick in your hand to a less antagonistic angle, you turned. Every curse you could have muttered dried on your tongue as soon as you locked eyes on the dragon looming at your back. Angry, blazing green eyes were locked on you. The rest of the dragon was as black as pitch with gnarled, grey scars littering his broad neck and chest, leading up to a mess of sharp teeth, left exposed on the left side by a chunk of missing flesh. The dragon rumbled and you could not look away.

This was the wild dragon known as the Cannibal. The fact that he hadn’t devoured you yet was a miracle, truly. The dragon huffed, bathing you in a green-tinged smoke for a moment and blowing away the small flower in your hands. Through watery eyes, you saw the bodies you had pulled from the sea, stacked messily together. Had the dragon done that?

When it didn’t look like he was going to eat you or burn you to ash, you slowly walked backward, keeping your head down. Submissive posture usually did wonders for an unruly dragon—it had saved your skin half a dozen times when Sunfyre had thrown a fit when Aegon was raging about something—and it seemed it worked with the Cannibal, too, because all he did was huff again before turning to feast on the dead.

And then you went back, again and again, pulling more bodies from the sea. But now your intention was less selfless and more selfish. No one had ever been able to get that close to the Cannibal and live to tell about it, their demise only being whispered by unfortunate bystanders or when their burnt husk of a corpse was discovered weeks later. But you survived. You came back to do it again, pulling more and more bodies from the sea and eventually stopped jumping when the large, scarred dragon nudged at your stick, urging you to fetch his meal from the waters. As strange as it was, you considered the large dragon a friend. Mayhaps your only friend on this side of the Narrow Sea. You would speak to him about your duties, point out the other dragons and their riders, telling him anything and everything that came to your mind. And then, when you, as delicately as you could, fed him another arm, you nearly shrieked when his jagged teeth suddenly sunk into your sea-soaked robes and all but threw you onto his back.

The scream that bubbled in your throat was short lived when he swiveled his long neck to look at you, as if making sure you were secure. He was mimicking the other dragons. The thought that this dangerous, old, angry dragon was playing pretend with you almost had you laughing. You adjusted your seat, slotting yourself between the large barbs and ridges down the dragon’s back and then grabbed at two of the curved spikes just at the base of his neck. Then, you spoke the word that changed your life irrevocably.

“Sōvēs!”

Fly.

And then he kept letting you up onto his back, letting you suggest where to go—he mostly listened. But you never truly cared if he wanted to go South when you had hoped to go North that day. He was yours. Truly, strangely, you felt as if his heart had wedged itself beside yours behind your ribs. The bond you had studied and kept sacred was now yours. You were a dragonrider. A dream, a wish you had never voiced. And you knew that if anyone ever knew, it would cost you your life.

But then you had a terrible, bordering on stupid, idea. You could see Vaella again. You could fly your dragon to Volantis and see your sweet sister again in days instead of the months it would take you to sail to her city. You could be free of all this. Of your family’s waiting wrath. Of the boredom. Of Aemond’s confusing actions. You had never been given even the opportunity to think of such things; your life was a series of going and doing what was expected of you. Pondering the possibility of true, if not brief freedom, and the repercussions that would surely follow, you stroked at the Cannibal’s flank as he ate the corpses you had piled for him earlier. The waning sunlight cast him in dark shadows as you both found solace in the seldom used western beach outside the castle’s curtain.

“Would you like to go to Volantis?”

The dragon rumbled between bites.

“Vaella tells me they have elephants there. You’ll have to promise not to eat them.”

He rumbled again and you couldn’t stop the soft laugh from escaping your lips. You could do this. Somehow. You’d offhandedly learned that Aemond and Daemon were considering flying to Braavos to meet envoys from the city to possibly form an alliance. You had heard rumblings about Braavos and Pentos both claiming dominion over the Stepstones and the Targaryen princes had hoped to resolve the issue and strengthen their armies and naval fleets in the process. It could be the perfect distraction.

A large, dark shadow suddenly washed over you in a wave and you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. But the angry bellow Vhagar let out had you freezing. You couldn’t fight her, you wouldn’t. Even if the Cannibal rivaled her in size and ferocity, Vhagar was still your charge: you wanted her happy and healthy. Having two dragons fight to the death would destroy you. You needed to leave now.

Vhagar landed, sand spitting into the air under her weight, just as you pushed at your dragon’s side and screamed at him to fly, starting to scramble up to your perch. But before you could even try to move or take to the skies, the great dragon’s maw opened and closed around Cannibal’s neck and bit down.

You screamed alongside him as you were thrown back down onto the sand from the force of the impact, green fire spitting out from between his teeth. It nearly burned you but just as soon as the attack came, it paused. The prince’s dragon held yours down against the charred and crystallized sand. Dark blood slithered down the Cannibal’s neck to pool near your boots as you stood on unsteady legs. In a singular moment, he had been subdued. Just as you had been. Atop Vhagar sat Aemond and even as the sun blotted his features out, you knew he was entirely focused on you.

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, let him go. He has done nothing against you.”

“On the contrary, my dandelion. He has nearly taken you from me. Did you think I did not see you climbing on his back, day after day?”

Tears gathered at the edges of your vision as you shook your head. “I am not yours, my prince. I am not-”

“Enough.” Aemond’s voice cut over the grumbling of his dragon and the seething of yours. “You have tested my patience. It is time to put this charade behind us. You are mine. You have always been mine. Just as I have been yours.”

“When have I ever been anything more than a keeper to you? I have done nothing to warrant these feelings. You are misguided.” You tried to quell the tears to no avail. Not when you could feel your dragon growing weaker by the moment. “When were you ever mine?”

But the prince was undeterred and swung out of the saddle and down the ladder to step toward you, lilac eye nearly burning. “I have been yours since you placed that dandelion in my hand as a boy that night on Driftmark and swore to me that I would have a dragon.” His hand slid against Vhagar’s neck as he stepped ever closer. His dragon released her bloody hold on Cannibal’s neck but kept her head close to his, effectively keeping him pinned.

More blood pooled in the sand as you shook your head. “You just needed a bit of kindness. That was all it was. Nothing more.”

“But it was more.” His voice was ice. “It was everything.” He moved closer still. “My entire life I have been nothing more than a spare, falling further down the line of succession with each birth. No titles of my own. I have had to fight every day to simply have my father’s attention, to make a name for myself, to be anything more than a footnote in a history book. Tis I who studies histories and battle and who rides the largest dragon in the world and leads the charge against our enemies. I have pushed them back across the Stepstones and into the Disputed Lands to lick their wounds but it matters little. Everything I have ever wanted is beyond my reach or shared with others, divided up before I can claim what is mine.” His eye blazed as moved ever closer. “Why should I not have something that is entirely mine?”

Heat crackled down your spine at his words, at his unblinking gaze anchored on you. “My Prince…”

“Mine to have. Mine to keep. Mine. You always have been and you always will be.”

“Y-you don’t mean that. I am nearly a decade your elder! I am not… My family serves yours and your dragons. We do not marry,” you tried to argue, thinking of every reason why it should not and could not come to pass. “I have no court refinement. My family reviles me. You ar-are a prince! You are the one who rides the largest dragon in the world, and you are a learned warrior worthy of song. And I cannot be the one-”

Aemond was in front of you in a flash, long fingers curling around your wrist. “You are. No matter what you think of yourself, I have seen you. I have known you. You are my only equal. Your family will be dealt with and I will give you the option as to how for their mistreatment of you.”

Still, you shook your head. “Your family will never-”

“My family has known I would wed you since I was a boy. They knew you simply needed time to see it. While my mother and sister tie the Seven Kingdoms together, you and I will maintain the old ways. Valyrian. Fire and Blood. Do not try to hide yourself from me. I knew what you were since my time in Qohor and I remembered how your blood shone on that little dandelion in the dark. You said it that night: there is magic in our blood. You would not be able to tame this beast without it,” he said, inclining his head to your dragon. “And so easily. Just as easily as you calmed all the others. They sense it in you, as I did. As I do now.”

And what could you possibly say to that?

But Aemond did not care to give you time to formulate a response and tugged you away from your coiled dragons and toward the castle. And, just as soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your back hit the cold, stone wall of the corridor and Aemond’s mouth was on yours. The kiss was not kind. Not the stuff of songs and girls’ whispered dreams. It was all hard edged lips and searching tongues after his hand fell to your jaw, pressing until your mouth opened with a whine. He stole your breath in an instant, seeming content to have you gasp against his tongue as he plundered. And then he was tugging at the laces of your trousers until they fell loose at your waist before falling with a single twist of his wrist.

You turned your head as you felt it, letting his next echo of a kiss smear against your heated cheek. Fear and something else crawled up your spine like a slow-moving spider.

He rucked up the edges of your tunic to curl his long fingers over your smallclothes and pushed them down to hang uselessly around your ankles and join your trousers. The moment he touched your clit had you keening, your own hands fisting at the leather stretched across his shoulders. To push him away, to pull him closer, you could not know. “My prince, please, you will ruin me. I am not what you want.”

“But you are,” he said. “You are all I want.” His fingers trailed lower, gathering slick as he pressed into your folds and then curled them into you without preamble. Your body shook with the intrusion, a strange burning sensation bleeding out into a pleasurable pressure as he continued to push push push in and curl his fingers, then he retreated just enough to have you gasping before he pushed back in. Again and again he pressed in, dragging the flat of his hand against your clit with each pass until you were whining against his mouth. An embarrassed heat licked up your chest when you realized what you had done. How could you like this?

“There we go, my dandelion. You sing so sweet for me.” Aemond bent his head just enough to drag his lips across the hollow of your throat, the wet, sucking sounds of your cunt nearly drowned it out. A heat was coiling in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his wrist but you felt him shift, just slightly, and his next press had your knees buckling, sparks rippling up your spine.

“My…” Your tongue couldn’t form the words. Every inch of you was buzzing, pulling tighter, inching towards something that-

You came with a cry and Aemond kept you upright by shoving his knee between your legs, his other hand coming up to press at the base of your throat. As he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, you couldn’t look away as he pressed his fingers into his mouth. He let out a soft noise, eye closing as his tongue wrapped around the digits to get them clean.

“You are sweet everywhere,” he said before slamming his mouth against yours in a harsh kiss that tasted of you as he pried your lips open to lick inside.

Your tenuous grip on his shoulders tightened as your blood sang through your ears. A sudden, warm pressure against your thigh almost had you retreating but the wall and his grip falling to ensnare your waist halted any movement.

“I want it all,” Aemond murmured against your mouth. “And you will give it to me.”

“Aemond-” The rest of your rebuttal choked you, stalling like a rock in your throat, as you felt like you were being split in two as he sank into you. He pushed and pushed and pushed, seeming to go on forever, and punched the air from your lungs when his hips were finally flush with yours. The prince stilled for a moment as your body throbbed with an almost uncomfortable heat and his lips dragged against your pulse, humid breath wetting your skin.

“My perfect little dragon.” And then he moved. Sliding out just enough to punch back in, dragging a yelp from your throat, and then doing it again and again and again until your yelps turned into wet, pathetic keens as the coil returned. It looped around your stomach and pulled as Aemond’s thrusts had you shoving up onto the tips of your toes, completely at his mercy. Each drag and push of him was hitting that spot inside of you that you didn’t know could possibly exist, and brushed against your swollen bundle of nerves and sent more sparks up your spine. All you could do was hold on and sob as he took what he wanted and drove you closer to another terrifying euphoria.

And then it was crashing over you, seizing your body and making you shake in his grasp, but he was not done, continuing to thrust until he suddenly stilled and a scalding heat pooled inside you before you felt it start to slip down into the crux of your thighs.

Aemond did not pull out as you thought he would, but instead stood straight and smoothed a hand across the side of your face before pressing an almost gentle kiss to your quivering mouth, just a touch too firm to be truly careful. “Let us retire. I fear we have tempted fate too much by cavorting in such a place.” Only then did he pull out, hands squeezing at your hips as his release started to slide further down your legs. You burned with something almost like shame, but the residual tingling from your own kept it from truly consuming you. “Your body is for my eyes only, those little sounds you make are for my ears only. You are mine. And I plan to have you again before I call you my wife in front of the gods of our ancestors.”

And Aemond did. He took you apart on his featherbed and he had you screaming into the hand he cupped over your mouth as he drove into you until your legs were too weak to sustain your weight when you tried to stand afterward. But it mattered little because he still had you bathed and dressed in the traditional robe of a Valyrian wedding and he’d led you out to the beach like a lamb to slaughter where the priest wed you to Aemond in the Old Ways. He cut your lip and you cut his with unsteady fingers, knowing you could not run now.

Much had changed.

With the tenuous allegiance of Braavos and Pentos gained with careful political maneuvering by Daemon and Aemond, the war with the Triarchy was over in three moon’s time. King Viserys lived long enough to see it and welcome the entirety of his family back to the Red Keep again in victory before succumbing to his age.

Queen Alicent was the one to place the crown on Rhaenyra’s head and proclaim her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the crowds assembled.

Your lip scarred and your husband liked to press his mouth to it whenever you were alone and you could feel his smile against your skin. And, just as he had said he would before your wedding, he had his first heir growing within you. His warm hand would curl around your ever-growing bump at every opportunity, no matter the company present. Advisors, siblings, knights, low and highborn alike. All of them saw the possessive curl of his fingers over you. You had come to expect it, almost welcome it.

It was strange…to be wanted. And to be wanted to completely. It was stifling and terrifying and all consuming. When you had come into your shared chambers and murmured the news that you were with child, Aemond had taken you again but slower than he had ever before. It was almost as if he were nervous to move too quickly, despite the power behind his thrusts, and hurt you or your babe.

The next day, he had the tongues of your mother, father, and brother delivered to you, wrapped in the dress Aemond had gifted to you and your mother had stolen. Aemond had given you a choice as to how to deal with them. You had asked for them to never speak ill of you again but for their lives to be unaltered. Horrified, you realized he had done as you had bid. They would never utter a word against you. They would never try to use you as leverage in a scheme. Aemond had taken it a step further to have you known as a Targaryen Princess rather than your House’s name.

“You make him so happy,” Alicent said as she cupped your cheeks in her soft hands, a matching smile on her face. “I cannot thank you enough.” The Dowager Queen had been endlessly kind to you and the rest of the family had welcomed you with open arms.

As if they had always expected you to be one of them.

Your dragon healed, new scars to add to his collection. He still allowed you onto his back but only when Vhagar was near. Your freedom still had caveats. But you still felt the wind beneath you as you soared through the air with your husband at your side. You still knew what it felt like to fly. You still knew the taste of clouds after a storm. You still knew what the city looked like from miles in the sky. And Aemond had sworn that he would fly with you to Volantis to visit Vaella after your babe was born.

“I love you,” Aemond spoke the words first, just after your bump started to show, only a week before you were set to fly North to see Helaena marry Cregan under the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood. “I love you,” he said again after watching Aegon happily kiss his wife in Sunspear under the blazing Dornish sun. “I love you.” And you wanted to believe him. One day you would. And, perhaps one day you would say it, too.

A few months shy of your suspected due date, Queen Rhaenyra summoned you both to the throne room from the chambers you shared. “You may have any land you wish, brother,” Rhaenyra said with a small smile. “You have fought valiantly for this kingdom, often without reward or gratitude. It is a paltry sum for what we and the crown owes you, but I hope this is a start.” She waved a hand and a serving man handed Aemond a small scroll. “If you wish to rebuild any castle or keep on that list, you will have any materials and skilled workers you may need. If you would prefer something built new, you shall have the same. You need only ask.”

Aemond unfurled it to reveal a list of islands, vacant lands, and ruined castles. You recognized a few; Red Deer Island in the Riverlands, Bloody Isle near Oldtown, and Whispers which was the ruined castle near the tip of Crackclaw Point. But the list was extensive. Aemond had his pick of lands. He could take you anywhere he selected. How far would he take you? And why did you hate that you didn’t care? As long as it was him? It would be just you and him—forever

A/N: thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!

#Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x oc #Aemond Targaryen #aemond Targaryen x ofc #House of the dragon fic #house of the dragon #hotd #female reader

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thewriterg · 11 months

Text

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing(s): miles morales x fem!reader, miles morales x witch!reader, earth!42 Miles x fem!reader? earth!42 miles x witch!reader,

summary: You had been dating your vigilante boyfriend for a few months now but to his surprise you were hiding something a little more than complicated

word count: 2.4k+

request: Hi, if your request are open. Can I ask for a Miles Morales x fem witch reader or headcanons. Fem reader has powers and is a witch. She always carries a Spellbook and can always sense danger when it happens. How would Miles react and feel about reader being a witch? Sorry, if this is to much lovely. -@mbruben-stein

warning(s): reader hurts miles on accident, spidey/prowler activities, mentions of blood, spells, witchcraft, a little angst (I couldn’t help myself 😖), very VERY rusty Spanish it’s been a while, kisses, pet names, Both Miles are older in this like 17, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @manny-jacinto & @xmoon-soul-vibrationsx, @merakyn & — This was too fun to write 😭

1610 Miles 𖤐

Being honest completely and totally honest he would find out by total ACCIDENT

I feel like you would knew he was Spiderman your young, but with your craft you’ve matured and gotten a lot wiser

Everyone’s vibrations were different but it was something about Miles that simply was not… normal

That and the fact every time he’d cancel on you with a million apologies Spiderman would seemingly be spotted somewhere around Brooklyn in ten minutes tops

coincidence? You think not.

One day Miles was on his secret patrol or so he thought and your nerves got too bad you just felt that tingling, scratch worthy, sensation that told you that something bad was going to happen

what you did not expect was Miles to find out about your… power that very day

You switched off the TV with a small sigh the News Reporters speech dying down in their throat as you nuzzled a cup of warm tea to your chest the last foreign voice in your apartment talked about a Spiderman chance against a few criminals who thought it was a perfect day to rob a convenient store

Letting out a soft hum you made sure you caught yourself before you were lost in a heavy trance Miles found you like that a lot and it made you chuckle the first couple of times since he was so… shaken about it now it was a normal occurrence and he’d just wrapped his arms around you standing rocking side to side and a few minutes later you were out of it and greeted him softly

You weren’t dumb far from it you were wise and had an older mind you caught on that your boyfriend was the spider portraying vigilante the second time he had ran out from one of your dates that coincidentally as soon as your boyfriend left your presence Spiderman was magically making an appearance around New York

You could also feel Miles vibrations when he was around you and they were very abnormal from your average human being. You could feel his discomfort when he came back from his ‘secret’ patrolling by simply being around him

long story short he couldn’t really hide anything from you.

You cleared your throat as you snapped out of the trance you had tried ever so hard to stay out a few vintage framed pictures shaking on your wall

You weren’t usually this… jumpy it was usually only when Miles went on patrol and you needed to stop scaring yourself with the endless possibilities you just needed to clear your mind it would be a while before Miles got home so you stepped to your shelves of jars with different herbs, plants, and books sitting atop of it

Grabbing your jar of salt and a stick of chalk crouching down to draw a big enough circle for you to sit in as you stood in the middle of it before lining the outer line with salt you finally sat down

“Papilio lux, papilio lux, papilio lux” You muttered repeatedly your spell book left unopened on the coffee table beside you you’ve done this spell more than you can count it was your first spell you learned actually

You felt the heavy weight lift from your chest as a comforting wind slipped through your hair and the atmosphere of your home

💌💌💌💌

Miles swung from building to building the wind that was usually comforting and cool was now nipping and frigid against his skin

Your apartment building was in view and he found himself breathing in a fresh breath of air and pushed through even more determined to crawl his way into your arms when you needed him to take the weight of the world of his chest to help him breathe properly

Sometimes Miles just need you to put all of your weight and more on his body sometimes he just needed you to hold him sharing the weight of the world together

So with a harsh breath he crawled up your building to your window taking off his mask putting it up to his mouth to hold before pushing up the latch with one arm and crawling in with the other

What he expected least was to be thrown into a wall with the feeling of his windpipe being cramped down to practically nothing his eyes widened as he looked at you sitting cross legged in a circle eyes closed your hair softly whirling in different directions as he struggled to breathe clawing at his neck

Suddenly he watched as you gasped before he dropped to the grown coughing profusely and you rushed to him reaching out to touch him before you retracted your hand not wanting to scare him more than you already had

You explained to Miles everything a short while after that you made sure to get him some water first and sit him down comfortably making sure he was ready

My brother was in AWE as you explained your craft to him

You promised him 1,000 times that you wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt him that when the spell was interrupted with another presence it wasn’t approached with it tried to eliminate the potential threat

He reassured you that he knew that you wouldn’t actually hurt him

“I know you would never intentionally hurt me mi amor”

His secret already very prominent to you his suit being the biggest flag you could see to check off but he decided to offer the now but so secret to you anyways to make you feel better

“If, if it’s not obvious I’m Spiderman” His voice slightly cracked when he spoke and you softly giggled a bit as he hid his flushed out face in your shoulder and the beginning of your neck

“Hmm I can see that, but if it’s not obvious I’ve know since our second date” My boy was on the brink of WHIPLASH the way he looked up at you with the speed of light

“YOU KNEW!?”

After that day there was a lot more peace and comfort in your relationship especially with not having to keep anymore major secrets

He finds your ability to know when something bad is going to happen the coolest

Calls you his twin because his spidey senses are very similar

SPEAKING OF SPIDEY SENSES

THEY DO NOT GO OFF WHEN HES AROUND YOU AT ALL

Like if you guys are in your apartment or his Dorm? And you sneak up on him?

GASPING FOR HIS LIFE.

Like Gwen, Gankee, any classmates of his? FAIL. EVERY. TIME

BUT YOU!?

He needs his inhaler.

Also your spell book is so beautiful in it’s own way to him

Does not even TAP it if you don’t give him permission

He’s very big on respecting boundaries he would feel very flustered and embarrassed if you were to look through his sketchbook so he channels that into your spell book

If you do let him hold it and peak around in it? Internally screaming.

It’s leather cover, filled pages, stained Hogwarts letter looking paper in his words

He’s once again in awe

Brags about you ALL THE DAMN TIME.

Hobie is honestly tired of hearing him being such a “lovesick daft”

He’s literally the most happy for you both

Loves when you take care of him

He just a ‘wittle baby 😖

Make him a cup of tea when he comes back from a rough patrol, rubbing circles on his back as he practically lies on top of you

Miles has gotten used to the feeling and knows when you’re “working your magic”

Suddenly he’ll feel a strong peace slip into his head traveling through his skull, down his spine, and into the rest of his bones

Then the feeling he gets when he gets home from a long day and embraces you, puts his face in your neck, the bliss?

He feels that times a hundred

He likes to say “he can feel you” and you’d say “I feel you too”

He’s falling asleep in like 10 minutes MAX and that’s when he’s fighting it

We love witchy gf and spidey bf 😊

Earth 42 Miles 𖤐

I’m getting hero/villain trope

You’re a masked vigilante making sure New York is safe and he’s the prowler trying to make money so you, his mom, his uncle and him can be straight

The way you both found out about each other was so heartbreaking tbh

Miles did not want you to find out like that, hell he didn’t want you to find out AT ALL

You were trying to protect New York and he was trying to wreck it

Neither of you knew who you were fighting underneath your masks

Felt like his world was crumbling when he finally snatched off your mask

You wheeze slightly crouching on the top of an abandoned building putting pressure on your side tapping the small black piece in your ear as the prowlers voice rings through your senses

“I’m close I just need more time” The mask he wore distorted his voice as he mumbled something to another person over the phone you could hear his steps as he breathed heavily into his mic having hacked into it

“You don’t have that time the police are in Route!” That voice was familiar to you, too familiar.

“Listen you kill this chick? You’re set full ride you, your moms, your girl.” Aaron Davis? What the hell did he have to do with the prowler?

“Miles you get this done? And you’re out for good.” Your breath hitched in your throat along with bile that burned your mouth as much as you wanted to believe that this was just coincidental there were too many pieces that added up

Aaron Davis

Nights you didn’t go on patrol and randomly woke up to Miles gone

The recent excessive money

When he didn’t answer his phone for hours at a time when it was closing dawn

It just made sense.

Everything else was a blur as you reached underneath your mask taking your earpiece and throwing it across the rooftop of the abandon building it cracking into bits as it landed harshly

You were so… angry

“Come on asshole” You muttered having jumped down from the the top of the building your body pressed against the the side of the brick wall waiting for him to walk by and as soon as you heard the first step you were already throwing a direct kick to his chest causing him to stumble in his step just a bit but enough for you to have an open window of opportunity

“Motus” Your hands moving through the air swiftly as the prowler went flying backwards into a wall debris crumbling around him before he was back on his feet tackling you to the ground trying to get you hands pent up above your head before you spoke

“All this time you’ve been lying to me Miles!” You shouted and his attack stuttered as either of his thighs rested on the side of your torso his hands pinning your wrist down to the floor

“How do you know my name?” He questioned gruffly the realization that you knew hadn’t registered

“After everything, out of anybody, you lied to me!” You yelled tears swelling up in your eyes and finally his gripped loosened and his gaze softened under his mask You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of how much he hurt you but it did hurt and maybe you were a hypocrite because you kept something from him too but he knew how you felt about the prowler

“Y/n?” Miles mask opened on command it showing the exact person who you knew it would his carmel skin complimenting his doe brown eyes his braids falling down and stopping at his shoulders carefully he brought a hand down towards the lining of you mask before he slipped it off carefully, delicately as if you hadn’t kicked each others asses for weeks on end his breath slowed and the world seemed to stop as he looked down at your face sweating and bleeding from a cut above your brow

“Out of everyone you were supposed to keep it real with me you said I was your ace, you said that. This, this is just a joke, un juego” You hope he felt like you did betrayed, hurt, like time had slowed down and the world had stopped.

“Espero que haya valido la pena” And then you were gone right from underneath him into the thick tension filled air he sat on the blood snatching off the mask from the back of his head and throwing it with a curse before placing his head in his hands

“oh mi vida”

You would think that after everything that had happened Miles would give you space

and he would… not

Blowing your phone UP.

Would try to stop by your house and your mom loves him and Rio as well would tell him how you’ve been down recently maybe not eating abs that he should talk to you later when you came back from running errands for her

Then realizes you haven’t told anyone he was the prowler and that makes him feel ten times worse

YOURE AVOIDING HIM HEAVY TBH

he’s sending you gifts and flowers every day. Jewelry, clothes, shoes, food, just about everything

He’s not good with words or expressing his feelings whatsoever.

Gets to a point where he can’t take it anymore and he’s at your your door step on his knees for you to forgive he doesn’t care how desperate he looks because he is to make it up to you

“por favor dame una oportunidad mami, don’t close the door”

“Miles please get up, ese suelo está sucio”

“Jus’ let me explain and if you don’t forgive me than that’s that”

he was lying out his ass.. as if he would ever be over you pshhh

You wanted to say no

Just say no

NO.

“you have three minutes”

FUCK.

That’s all he needed y/n 😖🙏🏽

Goes on a full blown rant about how he felt about you and how he wanted to keep you away and safe from all that stuff

probably the most he’s talked about his feelings in one setting your whole relationship

He loves you so much and wants to see you good and well

he loves her more trope? Yes.

You also apologize for keeping your crime fighting a secret

You guys have stuff to work on but you’ll get through it

“I love you mi reina”

“I love you too querido”

💌💌💌💌

I’ve been so brains dead when it comes to writing request 💀

trying my best 😖🙏🏽

request are back open

#miles molares #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales x reader #atsv fic #witch!reader #poc!reader #black!reader #fem!reader #black!fem!reader #romance #fluff #angst #i love you #thewriterg #2023

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ashtavula · 4 days

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Hi, I've been reading a lot of your work lately and I absolutely love them!

If it's not a bother can I request Jamil, Azul, Vil and Riddle with their S/O being the children of the great seven? Like they got isakaid there instead of yuu (I'm going to ask for all the Overblot boys because personally I think Idia, malleus and Leona are somehow related to the great seven, either a direct Descendants or distant relative)

Anyways thank you so much if you decide to do this and it's alright if you don't I just really love your writing style and works on the Overblot boys!!

This is a really interesting idea, considering all of the boys really respect the great seven!

Jamil, Azul, Vil, and Riddle with a reader who is the child of the great seven

Jamil:

-Jamil is usually reluctant to show off how smart he really is, but he feels like he has to prove his intelligence when he's with you. You are, after all, the child of the Sorcerer of the Sands. He fully believes that you must be just as wise as your father, even if you actually aren't.

-Jamil never refers to you by title, since it just reminds him that he's a servant, and you are the child of a grand vizier. He knows that you don't care, but he'd rather avoid bringing it up. Instead, he calls you habibi when you're both alone, and he can be more affectionate.

-He refuses to hear anything about you possibly returning to your home. Jamil knows that your father wouldn't approve of you dating a servant, and he can't stand the thought of losing you forever. All he can do is hope that you'll stay, against all odds.

Azul:

-Azul practically begs you to share what you know about your mother. He's always admired the Sea Witch, and he wants to know all there is to know. He'll light up if you reveal some of her wisdom to him, or show him how some of her magic was done.

-I assume that you're also an octopus mer, and that puts Azul at ease because you're like him. The two of you will both curl up in his octopot, giggling as his tentacles tangle with yours. Azul sweetly calls you his precious pearl as holds you, though he'll blush if you give him a pet name too.

-Azul is terrified that you'll leave him one day, and he tries his hardest to make you want to stay with him. He'll spoil you, and he constantly strives to prove that he's worthy of your love. He loves you too much to be able to bear losing you.

Vil:

-Vil doesn't want to push you too much, but the Fairest Queen is well-renowned for her poisons. Surely, you've learned from her, and can teach him. He also asks a lot about her beauty routines. He'll be ecstatic if you share any of her secrets with him.

-Vil adores being able to call you his beautiful prince/princess, and he tends to flaunt your relationship. He preens if you compliment him in return, and gets ridiculously happy if you call him your perfect prince. He feels tempted to record you telling him that, just so he can play it whenever he wants.

-He acts like he's not worried about you potentially leaving, but deep down he's scared that it will happen. He'd do just about anything to get you to stay with him, even if it meant facing off against the Fairest Queen.

Riddle:

-He gets even more serious about following the rules of the Queen of Hearts after realizing that she's your mother. Surely, you're pleased that he remembers all of them, right? Riddle would be baffled if you told him it wasn't necessary, or if you went so far as to criticize your mother for making up so many ridiculous rules.

-Riddle still refers to you by your title, but it's become a term of endearment. He'll kiss your hand as you stroll through the rose maze, and will affectionately call you his prince/princess. He also gets flustered if you refer to him as your prince. Or even better, your king.

-He worries that you miss your mother and your old home, but he desperately hopes that you'll stay with him. If it came down to you going back to your original place, Riddle would choose to go with you. Nothing is more important to him than his love for you.

#riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #jamil viper #jamil x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #twst x reader #twst

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vidavalor · 3 months

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(Non-Frozen) Peas. A Good Omens Sex Meta Thing Side Dish

Shorter little vegetable-themed side dish to Crepes, which you do not have to have read first. All by way of Aziraphale's dirty French in S2 about how he has a craving for Crowley's Eden.

*slips into GO fandom quietly* *whispers*

Do you all realize that another translation of Aziraphale's "Ou est la plume de la jardiniere de ma tante?" is...

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?"

I probably don't need to tell you that both 'garden' and 'box' are sexual euphemisms for lady parts and, to make matters funnier, remind you of this scene earlier in the season, in which a literal box became related to... well, it's somewhat open to interpretation so let's just call it a gasp-worthy, part-related situation. :)

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?" is Aziraphale saying that it's been a minute since he worshipped Lady Crowley and he misses her.

This would account for Aziraphale's impish "but you understood me" and flirty little smile and wiggles. He's so cute about it that Nina comes out of her coffee shop to try to hear what they're talking about that's made the bookseller look so alive and has Snarky Sunglasses all flustered.

Crowley's "Only because, for two hundred and fifty years, you've been wittering on about the plume of your imaginary 'tante.'" = "Only because, ever since you took French lessons the human way, I've had to listen to you euphemistically referring to my occasional wild flower garden and calling me your queen in two different languages and I love to hate how much I absolutely love it."

We know that Crowley did understand Aziraphale and not just because he also speaks French but because his traditional choices in translating it back to Aziraphale in protest-- "you don't have an aunt, she doesn't have a gardener and he doesn't have a... pen"-- is intentionally a bit incorrect because Aziraphale used the feminine French word for 'gardener'-- la jardiniere-- in his sentence. As a result, Crowley is protesting that "the gardener" is a he right now, Aziraphale, and he doesn't have a-- pause of 'wait, this isn't going to work if I translate 'plume' as 'feathers'-- euphemistic or literal-- as I have both so I'll go with the other thing the word means instead'--... pen.

(Which winds up even funnier since a pen is phallic and euphemistic, in this sense, for currently having a penis, which is actually Crowley's current state of effort in that moment. Hold those thoughts until we get to turnips and inkwells down below lol.)

A 'plume' in French is a pen, a feather, a quill, and a cloud of rising smoke. In Good Omens, it's also used in the smoke-like definition by Michael to describe the pink plume of magical energy that came from the bookshop when Crowley and Aziraphale miracled together. Crowley responded with 'pen'-- which is a riff on the fact that Aziraphale is riffing on "la plume de ma tante", a cliched line said derogatorily to mean 'those sentences that you learn when you learn a new language that you'd never say in real life.' Crowley used 'aunt', 'gardener' and 'pen' as the translation in reference to the cliche Aziraphale was referencing. Aziraphale, though, adjusted the line, as we saw-- adding words to it to make it a stealth, flirty request-- and Crowley did hear the innuendo. Crowley correctly heard Aziraphale using 'plume' in the 'feather' sense (hilariously, considering that they have actual feathers in their angel/demon forms lol), with the 'feather'-context 'plume' being euphemistic for Crowley keeping it real down below.

(It could be worse, Crowley. He could be in a blasphemous mood and referring to it as "The Burning Bush"... which I feel like you'd actually find hilarious but anyway, moving on...)

In English, appropriated from the French, a 'jardiniere' is a flower box/garden planter. 'Tante' is French for 'aunt' but it's also a word meaning both 'queen'/'pansy' in the queer sense of the words (a 'pansy' also being a kind of flower, of course, adding to the Eden motif that "*the* Southern Pansy" Aziraphale has going on for his gardener partner here) but 'tante' is also one of the words that just means 'queen' as well, in the 'regal' sense of the word. It might not be the first word Aziraphale would use if he were, instead, speaking a sentence in French about, say, Queen Camilla-- but it's maybe a more appropriate one for flirting with his gender-everything partner by telling him in French that it's been too long since he spent some quality time with his queen's jardiniere.

'A la jardiniere' is also a French cooking term. It translates as "in the manner of the gardener's wife" (Gabriel: "Whatever that is."). It is obviously an archaic-sounding term when it comes to gender but, for the purposes of metaphor here, it's actually a little useful. The phrase is born out of the idea that the chef would be male, straight and married and that his wife would be keeping their kitchen garden-- which, even though she was probably running it, is credited to him, because the patriarchy-- from which fresh vegetables could easily be picked and used in a dish. As such, it's a lot more fun that Aziraphale is using the French here because the actual gardener doing the garden work in the definition of 'jardiniere' is specifically female by the term's description, so it's another way to reference Crowley's femininity.

There's also, of course, that "in the manner of the gardener's wife" is about as porny a definition for a phrase that can possibly be translated from one language to another lol and so adds to the idea of 'jardiniere' being sexually euphemistic. Atop that, there's the fact that the word itself relates food to romance and sex by referring to the chef and the gardener as married in its definition. The second half of this scene is the Nina & Crowley "partners" conversation. In a season that has Crowley and Aziraphale unable to deal with words like 'couple' and 'partners', if only Maggie and Nina understood that maybe they don't know how to use traditional words but damned if Aziraphale isn't already on covertly calling Crowley his spouse when flirting with him.

While 'a la jardiniere' is a cooking term, 'la jardiniere/jardiniere' is also a French food term. It is a side dish or a garnish of mixed vegetables, usually spring garden vegetables. So, carrots, green beans, potatoes (Crowley: "You say 'potato', I say 'excellent'" lol), turnips (Aziraphale can turn garden variety sex into inkwells!-- haha 'garden' pun, get it? please send help-- and inkwells are the things one dips a quill pen into.... and, now, we're back to the 'pen' translation of 'la plume...').

The most signature vegetables of jardiniere, though, are peas.

As Crowley would tell Shax and anyone who will listen, literal ducks-the-water-fowl need not get their actual jardiniere defrosted.

Aziraphale-- the more discerning duck-- likes his hot, though.

~~~

If you have not already and would like to read more meta like this:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #good omens s2 #genderfluid crowley

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kaorusan241 · 1 year

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Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader | Headcanons

og screenshot: @rimaeternax

He redefines the meaning of ‘jealous’. He obsesses over the thought of Ominis knowing something about you that he doesn’t.

“Ominis simply needs a moment with you and he'll change his mind. Is that it? There has to be more to it than that. Tell me.”

The jealousy is particularly hard for him to stamp down when it involves Ominis, because he is well aware of all the brilliant traits and abilities his best friend possesses.

If he wasn’t so determined, and if Ominis was less of a pacifist, he might have conceded defeat. But that’s not who Sebastian is. He knows that the end justifies the means.

To cast the Cruciatus Curse, he has to mean it. There’s a thin line between love and hate, and Sebastian channels that.

This is the first time he’s felt genuine romantic feelings for someone, he’d previously seen it as just a means to an end... a way to get people to do whatever he wanted.

He learns everything he can about you, to the point that it’s almost annoying. He even tries to read your diary, but you’d already cast protective enchantments on it. He finds himself more impressed with your skill than irritated by it.

He claims that he does things for you to keep you ‘in his debt’, but actually he just likes knowing that he is the one making you happy, no one else.

Nothing can stop Sebastian from devoting himself to the dark arts. If you’re driven away by his increasingly disturbing views, he’ll only blame someone else for ‘leading you astray’. If you’re killed, he won’t see it as a personal failure, but as a reason to seek endless vengeance. He’s accountable to no one - except you.

You’re drawn to the dark arts, but don’t want Sebastian to get himself killed. You toe the line, finding yourself capable of doing loathsome things, anything to keep him alive.

You worry about what might happen once you leave school, and no longer have Anne and Ominis around. You don’t trust yourself, know that you’d probably do whatever Sebastian asked of you.

Sebastian doesn’t give up on those he loves. Once a cure for Anne has finally been found, in seventh year, he shifts his focus.

Deep down, he’s terrified of you leaving him, because he doesn’t believe that anyone else is powerful enough, or worthy enough, to protect you.

Anne finds Sebastian’s shift in attention incredibly amusing, wondering how much he must have suppressed his feelings while he was focusing on finding the cure.

He’ll do things like wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin while you’re at dinner, seemingly unaware that he’s even doing it.

These soft moments are exclusive to you, but you find yourself becoming jealous of the way he casually uses a flirty tone with others. He doesn’t view it as flirting at all - in his mind, you’re the only one worthy of his attention. The others barely register to him.

He’ll stop at nothing to make sure you don’t come to harm. His parents’ unexpected deaths plague him more than he cares to admit.

He suffers from nightmares most nights. You hear this from Ominis first, but don’t experience it for yourself until you’re forced to share a room in a nearby village while out exploring. Guttural, heart-wrenching screams have you scrambling to wake him up, smoothing his hair as he shakes and tries to slow his breathing.

Sebastian only allows you to call him ‘Seb’ when he’s at his most vulnerable.

You ask him at one point what he dreams about, and he admits that he has visions of you, Ominis, and Anne being tortured in front of him, his own body that of a small child with no magic, forced to watch, helpless.

He doesn’t push you to learn dark magic, but secretly hopes that you’ll join him, dreams on his better nights of how it might feel if you cast Imperio on him.

Your first kiss, predictably, is a result of Sebastian’s endless jealousy. You’re at the Three Broomsticks together one afternoon laughing and drinking, when you feel a tap on your shoulder - Garreth Weasley. Sebastian can’t hide his distaste. He’s seen how Weasley follows you around in potions, and despises it. He’s nowhere near your equal.

You gently approach him as you’re walking back to the castle together, asking what’s wrong, why he hates Garreth so much. Sebastian snaps, not understanding how it’s possible that you don’t notice the disgusting way Weasley looks at you.

As you reach the undercroft to train, Sebastian feels restless, untethered, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the fact that you could leave him, that you don’t belong to him. You’ve been doing more quests with other people lately, and after all, isn’t that the only thing keeping you together? He’s pacing, agitated.

You say his name, and he snaps his attention towards you, striding up to you with purpose and grabbing your face with his hands, trying to express everything he feels for you with his lips.

At one point, Imelda mentions that he never seems to do much for his girlfriend. He frowns, having never paid much attention to other couples.

In response, he goes a bit overboard - organising for hundreds of roses to be delivered to your dorm room, leaving chocolates on your bed during your period, chaperoning you between your classes.

Eventually, after a lot of reassurance, he begins to believe that you’re just as devoted to him, as he is to you, and that none of those things are necessary. He still does a few of them occasionally, because he loves the way you blush at the extra attention.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #harry potter universe #headcanon #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #kaorusan241 writes

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cod-dump · 26 days

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Okay. But. What fantasy/Mythical creatures do you think the cod characters would be?? (Satyrs, centaurs, merfolk, gorgons, etc.)

Ghost as a demon or demonic entity. He has a human form but he can barely keep it from being uncanny valley so he just hides behind a mask. He can travel through shadows and manipulate them (cause a lit hallway to become completely dark without touching the lights). He doesn’t eat in front of people and those who have seen him eat are thankful.

Gaz is a vampire. He’s relatively young for one but he’s very efficient. He chooses to ethically get his food from blood banks and is genuinely grossed out by the thought of drinking from a living being, willing or not. Gaz has trained himself to have excellent self control around blood or those who are injured and considered easy prey.

Price being a werewolf or lycan or some kind of shifter. He visibly appears human and there’s little showing that he isn’t. He’s very efficient in controlling his transformations and being in control while as a beast, but he is not above blaming the wolf to get someone off his back when his temper gets the better of him. He’s very protective of his people and those he considers family.

Soap is a descendant of a Fire Giant. He’s not a full monster and he’s not in control of most of his abilities. He has an immunity to fire and intense temperatures along with an ability to control fire with his hands (manipulate an existing flame). He is not half Fire Giant or even the child of a half human hybrid, so his gift in his fire abilities is rather odd. His lack of control is a result of having no one in his life that could show him how to be in control.

Laswell is human but she’s with the occult. She has a powerful gift in magic and knows how to use it. Though there’s wonder if there’s something else in her bloodline that gave her such a gift, she hasn’t bothered to look. She is considered a monster expert, if she doesn’t know something she’s quick to figure it out. Has mastered the ‘shut up’ spell. It does exactly what you think it does.

Nik is another lycan or shifter. He’s huge when shifted, bigger than Price. And he has a complete immunity to the cold. While being a shifter is very obvious, there’s something else that no one can pinpoint. He does have a gift in magic but he’s very private about who he shows. His loyalty is fiercely towards Price but he does extend it to Laswell and the boys.

Farah is human but is an expert monster slayer. Like Laswell, Farah has a vast knowledge about monsters and their abilities and weaknesses. Is very open minded about good monsters and their existence, which is why she aims to try to figure out how to help someone before she results in killing them (if they’re worthy of help). Has mused the idea of being a lycan after Price and Nik have showed her the pros of being a creature of the night.

Alex is a human. He has no gift in magic and isn’t a gifted slayer or has much knowledge in monsters. One day Laswell just hit him with a mission that involved a pack of feral vampires and he has been lost ever since. He’s learning but there’s so much going on. Lost his leg to a lycan (is terrified of Price and Nik as a result but he won’t admit it).

Don’t ask how many monster aus i have now I don’t even know lol

#monster 141 #call of duty #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #cod nikolai #alex keller #ask #thanks for the ask <3 #drabble

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annymation · 4 months

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The Kingdom of Wishes- A “Wish” Rewrite

Chapter 1- The Intro

Our tale opens the same way many classic Disney movies did before, with a story book.

The book opens, and we are presented with the illustration of a king looking down from his tower, and we listen to the narration of an elderly male voice:

Long ago, there was a kind and wise king, who wished that all his people could live the happiest and most fulfilling lives in his kingdom, and have all their dreams come true. "But how can I fulfill ALL their dreams?"The king pondered.

Then, he had an idea. Using his vast knowledge, the sorcerer king developed a new kind of arcane magic, Wish Magic. With it, the king granted the wishes of all the citizens in need of his help. And so, this became the tradition, in the Kingdom of Rosas...

But this is not his story, oh no no, King Eric was just the first of this loooong line of wish granting kings.

The pages of the book flip, revealing in each page a different king, each generation, and each one with their names written on the top of the pages, these kings are all named after the 9 old men, the famous animators that worked in the creation of Snow White. This is the first of many Disney references I’ll throw around in this rewrite.

Our tale begins with the birth of the 10th king of Rosas... Prince Magnus.

We see an illustration showing a young king Magnifico learning magic with his father, king Ward.

Young prince Magnus grew in power as quickly as the evening primrose blooms in the night. However, the young prince feared he'd never be truly worthy of following such a great legacy. With that in mind, the King and Queen decided that a... second option could be required in the future. And thus, prince Florian was born.

The two brothers grew into powerful sorcerers. But once it came the day to choose the heir to the throne, Florian was chosen, for Magnus didn't feel like he could be just as great of a king as the ones that came before him, he felt like there was something... missing in his life, something that would give him the confidence and strength he required.

And sure enough, that something, or rather, that someone arrived.

The most beautiful maiden Magnus had ever laid eyes upon. She was found by fisherman, passed out and floating adrift in a boat. By King Florian's orders she was brought to the castle, once she woke up, the maiden introduced herself as Amaya.

We see an image of young Amaya being found ashore by fisherman, she's dressed in a white dress similar to how Ariel was found by Eric in The Little Mermaid.

Amaya wanted to thank the young king for his hospitality, she didn't ask him to grant her wish, all she wanted was to serve in the castle as the king's personal alchemist, and Florian gladly welcomed her in his court. And as the days went on, Magnus and the mysterious maiden became hopelessly in love, and together, they felt as if they could do... Anything.

The narrators voice sounds confused with that last statement, like he doesn't know what's referring to. But he continues.

After a year of the kingdom prospering under king Florian's rule, Magnus, inspired by his new found love, decided to go on a quest for adventure, to leave the kingdom for once in his life.

We see an illustration of Magnus and his brother hugging each other goodbye next to a boat. It's a sunny day.

But every tale must have a tragedy, and Magnus faced the most painful tragedy of all once he returned to Rosas, and found out his dear younger brother fell ill and passed away while he was away.

We see an illustration of Magnus now back to Rosas, looking devastated, but one important detail is that he's now holding a staff with a green gem we haven't seen in any of the previous pages, it's a treasure he got from his quest.

But from this tragedy, Rosas reemerged stronger, with Magnus and Amaya as our new rulers. Magnus let go of his fears and swore to make the kingdom shine brighter that ever before, It's what his brother would've wanted after all.

Magnus changed the way that wishes were granted, instead of granting just a few per month like the kings that came before him, he granted dozens per week, by sending them up from the top of his tower, and making them float down to their wish makers as they sleep.

The kingdom was so happy and so grateful for their new king and queen that they started calling them by nicknames that reflected their magnificence and their passion. From then on, they were to be known as King Magnifico and Queen Amable.

The End

The book is closed by an old man's hand.

We now see the face of the man who was reading the story, Sabino, Asha's grandfather, looking ever so slightly younger than he was in the movie, but still very old.

He's laying on the bed with a smile, admiring the golden and flowery details on the book cover, and he says:

"I admire your interest in more sophisticated books Asha but ummm don't you think this one might be a bit too advanced for your age? hehe"

the man chuckles looking down to his side, where we see a little 5 year old Asha under the bed sheets.

"Yeah... I thought it would be better cause' the cover was so pretty, I wanted more fantasy, but its just romance... yuck" she makes a face of disgust sticking her tongue out.

"One should never judge a book by it's cover, what you got here is a history book." he tells her as he get's up from bed to put away the book and blow away the candles in the room.

"Sure doesn't explain things very well though, like where did queen Amaya even come from? And what's the deal with this staff the king found? And what sickness did his brother have? The book explains none of it." The little girl says frustrated with all these questions unanswered.

Her grandpa can’t help but chuckle, he's way too familiar to these unceasing questions of her's, Asha always had the habit of questioning everything.

"Well, 1. the queen is quite reserved about her past, it's best to respect that. 2. that staff is just a souvenir that the king got from his travel. And 3. sometimes bad things just... Happen, with no explanation, and there's nothing we can really do about it but to move on." The old man explains to her wisely "Now, it's time for bed."

"Noooo!" Asha interrupts before her grandpa blows away the last candle in the room "I want another story, this one didn't count because I didn't like it"

"And since when that was a rule?" her grandfather sounds amused by that

"Since now, I just decided" the 5 year old claimed proudly

"Hehehe and what exactly didn't you enjoy in this story?"

Asha thinks for a moment, but then she has an idea "Weeeeell for starters, romance is yucky, there was nooo villains, and I like villains in fairytales, and most importantly… it didn't have MY favorite king and queen in it"

(Ya know, I laugh to myself while writing this because not only Asha will grow up to live a romance in this rewrite, but also because there are indeed villains in that fairytale, it just so happens that the villains made themselves the protagonists.)

Sabino looks confused "... Your favorite king and queen? Now what do you mean b--" Sabino realizes who she’s referring to, and his confusion melts back into a tender smile "Oooh... hehe you mean THEIR story, huh? Say, didn't I already tell you their story this week?"

"And the week before that too, yes, but I just love it! Pleeease saba, then I promise I'll go to sleep, honest"

"*sigh* alright alright, but only because it's my favorite too"

Sabino sits down on his rocking chair next to the bed, no book required for him to tell this tale.

Once upon a time, there was a king, who traveled to a far away place with his son, his prince. They were looking for a place peaceful to make it their home, and they found it, a quiet house in the middle of the forest, not so far from a kingdom called Rosas. The prince was quick to meet the people that lived in the nearby kingdom, and among the people he met there was-

"A FAIRY!"

"Who's telling this story again?" Sabino glanced at Asha smugly

"Sorry sorry, hihihi keep going" she says hugging her pillow tightly.

So yes, the prince met a fairy, a fairy with the most incredible of powers, she could bring drawings to life! The prince was marveled by the fairy's magic, and hurried to tell his father, at first, the king didn't believe it "Drawings that move? That's absurd, son" but sure enough, the prince invited the fairy to their home, and she proved it to the king, she showed him her sketchbook and flipped the pages quickly, and all her drawings together seemed to move as if it was magic

"Because it WAS magic" Asha corrected

"Hehehe you're right, it was"

Years went by, and the love that the prince and the fairy shared only grew more and more. The fairy became an art teacher, sharing her magic and artistry, while the prince became a philosopher, passing on his wisdom and knowledge about the stars. And one day, they were blessed with the most beautiful little princess.

"That's meeeee"

"Yes, that's you" Sabino looks at Asha with eyes full of administration for the girl’s enthusiasm for such a simple story he only came up with to teach her about who her parents were.

And they lived ha--

Sabino interrupts himself before he finishes that phrase, he knows that's not how it went.

But he has to finish the story somehow, so he just says

And now that little princess is going to sleep, the end.

Nailed it.

"Very well Asha, a deal's a deal, good night now-"

"Saba! Look!" Asha points to outside the window with a huge smile "It's starting!" She jumps out of bed and runs to the window

We see countless wish bubbles floating out of the castle, like glowing lanterns filling the sky and making their way down to the people of Rosas.

"Huh, he started earlier today... Or rather, it's even more past your bed time than I thought, come on, back to bed mi nieta" Sabino rushes her back to bed, talking more sternly now.

Asha doesn't want to go to sleep yet though so she tries to stall some more "Saba, when I'm big, what if I wished to have magic like mama's?"

Sabino's eyebrows raise in surprise by the question "Y-you mean wish to make drawings move?"

"YEAH! I wanna be a great artist like her! I bet mr. King Magnifico could grant that wish pretty easy, right?" The little girl says cheerfully, her eyes shinning as she still looks up at the glowing wish bubbles in the sky.

Asha isn't seeing it, but her grandfather has a sad and conflicted look on his face, like he's trying to find the right words to tell her something really important.

"Heeey... You never told me what was YOUR wish to the king!" Asha realizes, turning back to the older man and walking closer to him on his rocking chair "What did you wish for?" She asks him curious with a big smile.

"... I don't know" He admits, trying to hide from her how sad that makes him feel with a forced smile.

"... Huh?" The girl tilts her head confused

"I was asked to give my wish when I moved to Rosas and... To this day I can't remember what it was... But maybe that's just how it works" He shrugs like it's no big deal. But it clearly is.

"That doesn't sound fair... He hasn't granted it yet?"

"... Could be…" Sabino admits what has been thinking for a long while, his eyes light up with an idea and he turns to his granddaughter with a serious expression "Asha, can you promise me something?"

Asha looks at her grandfather attentively and nods positively.

“When you turn 18… Oh never mind, you’ll probably not even remember this talk anyway”

“Yes I will, what is it?” She asks determined.

“… When the time comes for you to make your wish to King Magnifico, DO NOT wish for him to make you an artist like your mother, Sakina spent years practicing to master her craft… and I think she’d like you to do the same”

“Okay! I’ll practice everyday! To make drawings just as pretty as mama’s!” Asha’s joy returned with full force, she actually couldn’t wait to draw more in the the morning.

She jumps back to her bed, now ready to go to sleep since she has something to look forward to.

Sabino seemed pleased “That’s good to hear, thank you”

“But what should I wish for then?”

Sabino fell silent for a moment and just said simply “You have quite a lot of time to decide, I’m sure you’ll know by then... Now all I wish is that you'd stay in bed and went to sleep hehe” He jokes with a gentle smile.

He get's up from his rocking chair and goes to blow out the last burning candle in the room, but before he does so Asha says

"Saba... Do you miss them? Mama and papa?"

Sabino looks at the candle with downcast eyes.

"Yes... But it's alright, I still get to see them everyday"

"WHERE?" Asha exclaims, thinking her grandpa just casually admitted he sees ghosts.

"In you" Sabino tells her as he caresses her head "You have your mother's talent and beauty, and my son's intelligence and curiosity... They live in you, dear"

(Is this a Lion King Broadway musical reference? Yes, yes it is)

"You think I'll be able to make magic too, like mama?" Asha asks with a big smile

"If you keep trying, and never give up, you can do anything, my dear." He says calmly, looking at her full of pride.

"Okay... *yaaaawn* good night saba, I love you" She says while getting comfortable in bed.

"Good night mi nieta. See you tomorrow."

Sabino blows away the last candle, it all goes dark.

We cut to a sequence similar to the opening from UP.

(oh yes, it'll be that level of sad)

So as happy background music plays, with no lyrics, no lines, just visual story telling, we get a series of scenes showing some snippets of Asha’s life over the years.

We cut to the same little Asha waking up in the morning with a big smile on her face.

She's waken up by her grandfather, and she gives him a hug.

Sabino prepares breakfast while Asha draws on a sketchbook.

Sabino looks proud with Asha's doodle and hangs it on the wall.

Suddenly, they hear someone knocking, Asha goes to open the door and we see a young Dahlia selling sweets.

Sabino buys some, and as Dahlia walks away Asha notices she could use some help carrying all that food, since she's walking with a crutch.

Asha looks at her grandfather as if she's asking for permission to go, and he nods reassuringly.

Off she goes to help Dahlia, and the two quickly become friends

Asha get's back home after sunset, dinner is ready

she and her grandpa read some books together.

Asha went to sleep

This cycle would keep repeating during the whole musical sequence, and I don't want this to take too long so just imagine we see events similar to this repeating 7 times, each time we see Asha meet a new friend, and we see her grandpa become more and more senile and more dependent on Asha, as she gets older.

I'll just give a few more examples to illustrate it but if you're curious about how Asha met all her friends and in what order just read it here: Reimagining the 7 teens

We’ll skip the sequences showing how she met Simon and Gabo.

The music sounds slightly less upbeat

Asha wakes up, now looking more like a 10 year old

She’s ever so slightly less excited when waking up but still smiling

She goes to wake up her grandpa, who seems a bit lost at first but smiles once he sees her

She makes them breakfast

The walls of the house are covered top to bottom with Asha’s drawings

She helps her grandfather walk as they go watch a children’s play at the plaza, her friends Dahlia, Simon and Gabo are with them

Asha notices a young girl looking very uncomfortable on stage

Once it’s her scene, the bashful girl runs off stage

Asha goes back stage and we see her sit next to Bazeema and give her some words of encouragement

Bazeema goes back stage and plays the role of the queen perfectly with her eyes closed

Asha gets a new friend in her friend group

Sabino looks pleased

Asha prepares soup for dinner (remember she’s 10 here)

Asha takes her grandfather to bed, because he’s struggling to walk

Asha reads him some books

Asha went to sleep

…

We gonna skip to the last friend Asha made

Asha wakes up, now looking 13

She has a hopeful expression, it’s another day

She helps her grandfather get out of bed, he’s not smiling anymore, his expression seems distant

She makes them breakfast, and help her saba with eating it

There’s even more drawings on the walls, and they look way more detailed, showing Asha’s art skills improved

She and her 6 friends all go hang out for what was supposed to be a short walk

They spot a girl trying to practice juggling and failing miserably

Asha asks if they can help, but the girl just smiles awkwardly as if she says they can only help if they could make her a proper entertainer in the snap of their fingers

Asha indeed can’t grant that wish BUT she knows how to help her

Cuts to them all in Asha’s house, the 8 preteens all sit together on a round table and Asha brings in some papers, pencils and a book titled “Jokes and tales for jesters”

We see the whole gang now formed, as they talk and laugh together, helping Hal come up with jokes for her act as a royal entertainer

All is well until, Asha noticed her grandfather coughing on a chair right behind them

She rushes to give him some water and stays with him, while her friends watch from the table, with expressions of sadness and pity

Asha is hugging her grandfather when she feels a hand on her shoulder, she turns around and it’s Dahlia, with the other 6 behind, they all give her a reassuring smile as if to tell her it’s gonna be alright

Simon brings a blanket to cover her grandfather, Bazeema makes some tea, Dahlia prepares dinner, Hal plays some songs with her flute, Safi and Dario are dancing to it with Asha (as a reference to the “Silly Song” scene from Snow White where she dances with Dopey and Sneezy) and Gabo is just sitting there tapping his feet to the music.

Asha finally got a break, a moment to just enjoy herself

They all have dinner together, Gabo offers himself to help Sabino eat.

Asha waves her friends goodbye as they all return to their homes

Asha helps her grandfather go to bed, we don’t see his face much

Asha went to sleep

…

Asha wakes up, now 15 years old, she has an excited smile on her face just like how she had 10 years before

She shakes her grandfather to wake him up

He doesn’t move

She tries again…

No answer.

The music turns silent.

Her smile fades away.

…

We cut to her in Sabino’s funeral.

Asha is crying all alone, until she once again feels a hand on her shoulder.

She turns around to see all her 7 friends, all of them grieving with her.

They hug.

…

Asha wakes up, now in present day.

It’s her 18th birthday.

“… It’s another day” she says with a hopeful, but somewhat worried smile.

End of intro.

Chapter 2

Final Thoughts

And so it begins. This is just the first of a LOT of chapters.

This is my first time actually writing a story, in English no less (I’m Brazilian btw) so this has been a pretty big deal for me, please give me suggestions on how to improve if you have any, it’s really appreciated.

Asha and Sabino’s relationship hits really close to home for me, I think whenever we write something it’s inevitable that we bring a little bit of our own experiences into it, and here’s it’s not different, in my case I also had a really close relationship with my grandpa, and I grew up watching him develop Alzheimer’s, just like Asha I used to draw a looooot and my grandpa had a whole wall in his room dedicated only for my drawings, so yeah I got pretty emotional writing about that.

Rip Vovô Dudu

Anyway, what I wanted to accomplish with this intro was establish:

- King Magnifico and Queen Amable’s backstory… Or at least what the people of Rosas think it’s their backstory.

- Who were Asha’s parents and how they’re important to her and shape who she is.

- How Asha met all her friends, as well as who they are.

- How Asha is always going out of her way to help others.

- How her life went from being taken care of by Sabino to being his care taker, which in turn made her become more mature and hard working from an young age.

- But nevertheless, even with all the loss and pain she felt, she always remained kind and optimistic.

With all of that established, we can actually start this story, see you all on chapter 2!

Thank you for reading!

#disney wish #wish #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish disney #wish movie #wish rewrite #king magnifico #queen amaya #wish reimagined #rewrite #long post #kingdom of wishes

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lostinforestbound · 1 month

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Hi, like your writings a lot ❤️ may I ask for a request?

What about Rolan asking sorcerer/wizard Tav to be his teacher after Lorroakan death? Tav has never been bad for him, only saving his life and his siblings, giving advices and protection, so, why not? At least, it a good way to become closer OR Rolan quietly (or not quietly) pining for powerful Tav

Thank you so much for your patience! I think I'm finally back in the game! I actually have thought up this situation a lot (especially with my own Tav who's a Storm Sorcerer, maybe I'll introduce him sometime soon)! This was a lot of fun to explore! I'm also a sucker for pining tropes!

Rolan with Sorcerer!Tav Teaching Him Magic

When Rolan takes over the tower, he makes it his sole mission to master the weave. It's harder than it looks, but he's very determined.

There's some aspects he doesn't understand yet, though. Especially how those bloody sorcerers are able to manipulate existing spells and make them more powerful

When everything is over, the Netherbrain defeated, he begrudgingly asks Tav to him about "Metamagic".

Can he learn the aspects of Metamagic on his own? Of course he can! Not only is he a prodigy, he's now the master of Ramazith's tower. All the knowledge he has access to gives him the ultimate advantage.

But he wants to get closer to Tav. He's been pining for them so helplessly since the Shadow Cursed Lands. This is his one opportunity he can spend time with them without it seeming strange.

He also knows Tav is the one person that won't treat him like an idiot. They'll treat him as an equal, a fellow peer of the arcane arts. He'll be respected.

Tav seems happy to do so, teaching all they know about the basics of Metamagic, how they're able to use it, and how Rolan might be able to use it as well.

Rolan can't see it through his frustration, but Tav is so confident in his abilities. While this may take time, they truly believe Rolan can master Metamagic even without being a sorcerer, and pass their own abilities. They may be more advanced than he is, but Rolan is a quick learner.

Gods, sometimes Rolan is so damn distracted. Why must he get so flustered when Tav adjusts his form? Why are their hands so warm? Have they always been touchy? It's all in his head, certainly.

Writing Blurb

Sparks are flying in the palms of Rolan's hands, carefully trying to split the Witch Bolt into two. He never realized the amount of strain it takes to separate one central point of magic, and the amount of concentration it takes. Rolan knows a wizard isn't supposed to be able to do this, but he's also no ordinary wizard. He can do this if he just-

Tav observes him and his hands carefully, and his concentration falters when he realizes they're staring. Sweat beads on his brow as he tries to keep the spell together, but unfortunately, it fades into nothing after all the hard work.

"Damn it!" He practically shouts, shaking out his hands in frustration.

"You were a lot closer that time." Tav comments, about to put a hand on his shoulder, but he turns away before they can.

"We've been practicing this same thing for days. DAYS!" He exclaims, running his hands through his now sweat-damp hair, "Why can't I get this? I should be able to do this by now!"

He's hardly the impressive "master of the tower" he pretends to be. How could he be such a failure? In front of Tav, no less? He's no fool, Tav is a savior of Baldur's Gate, of course they're much more advanced than he is! They know spells he hasn't even been able to touch yet, but gods damn it all, he wants to impress them with something.

He needs to be worthy of their attention. Then maybe, he'll have a slimmer of a chance with them.

They place a hand on his back, jolting him out of his thoughts. "A master of the arcane can't cast properly under stress. We can take a break-"

"No, no, I can do this," He states, raising his hands to start again, "Let me-"

Tav gently grabs his hands, interrupting the spell in an instant. Oh, how he hates it when he feels his face flush; not from exertion, but from embarrassment. He helplessly imagined a situation where he got to hold their hands, but it wasn't anything like this. He hoped it would've been in a more romantic setting when he felt ready to woo them.

"You can't focus when you're stressed like this. I would know, I've tried." They say, summoning a mage hand idly to grab the bottle of Arabellan Dry on Rolan's desk. "Let's take a break and regroup."

He huffs in annoyance but reluctantly sits with them as they fill two glasses with the wine. They hand one over, and he immediately takes a generous sip to calm his nerves. When have they ever sat so close to him? They're practically touching knees- stop, he needs to get it together.

"You'll get it. It's impossible for a wizard unless they have sorcery in their blood."

Scoffing, he takes a few gulps of wine before speaking. "Then I will be the first."

They give him a sweet smile, ignoring how it made his heart flutter. "That's the spirit."

"I don't understand what I'm getting wrong," He quickly continues on, trying to suppress the warmth in his chest. "As soon as I think I have it in my grasp, it fails."

"We'll figure it out. I know you can do it. Think about how you made some spells your own. The Mage Armor, the Thunderwave, the Magic Missle- you have so much potential. Rolan: Master of Ramazith's Tower, always achieving the impossible."

He looks away when he feels his face grow hot again, not noticing when Tav gets up. When he finally turns towards them, they're offering a hand to get back up, so he takes it after pulling himself together, wine forgotten.

"Now, let's try again."

#bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x tav #forest-writes #holy rolan empire #rolan x reader

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the-stars-in-your-eyes-if · 3 months

Text

☀︎NO DEMO YET☀︎

☀︎SYNOPSIS☀︎

Your childhood friend has always dreamed of the big scene, of the crowd singing your lyrics, of a world tour. Max always wanted for your bands to succeed together. Until...

Well, it is was all a big stupid joke.

The real world caught up to you: you are no longer the naive child you once were. Writing a Grammy worthy album isn’t as easy as it seems and the big scene is nowhere to be seen. You navigate through life as you can, you party with your friends every Saturday and write music all week. You enjoy each one of your gigs – big and small. Your burning love for music doesn’t seem to fade. Your band brought together a solid community that crosses borders. You have fun with your band and it’s all that matter.

But you can’t help but fantasize that, someday, you’ll be at the top of the world…

Big stupid joke, right?

✮BATTLE OF THE BANDS IS BACK!✮

You thought 2020 was the end of us, uh?

You couldn’t be more wrong!

The worldwide known music contest is finally back!

We carefully chose the mentors of our beloved participants. This year will be all pink…

Make way for Pink Riot!!!

Application open to foreigners (check our website)

RATED +18

TW: explicit language, (occasional) violence, transphobia (one character is misgendered but just in one scene), use of alcohol and drugs, (soft) sexual content, parental abuse (flashback), depression, self-harm (warning will be in the "next" button), mention of suicide (same as self-harm)

☀︎FEATURES☀︎

– Customize your MC’s appearance and personality. You decide of their public image and persona.

– Your choices will define your band’s public image and popularity. Are they loved? Do they make underground or mainstream music? Are they the parents’ worst nightmare? The reference of rebellious kids?

– Decide your band’s aesthetic. Do they have one to begin with? Or do they each dress in their own style?

– Write your own lyrics!

– Engage in romantic affairs…

– ...or don’t, your choice!

– Are you going to help the people that cross your path or do you only care about yourself?

☀︎A BIT OF CONTEXT☀︎

Of course, this story is set on Earth.

But.

Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, islamophobia, antisemitism and fatphobia will get you in court.

You are not very well seen if you do one of those things and, if you’re a celebrity/politician/public figure, it can (and will) ruin your career.

I know that this isn’t realistic at all but I need to believe that, one day, this will be real. My characters have and will go through enough trauma and bad moments, I want to give them some peace.

And it feels really good to make a world where those things will ruin the oppressor and not the oppressed.

☀︎ROs☀︎

THE HERMIT — Diesel Di Angelo (they/them)

Diesel is the soul of the band, they bring a sort of osmosis. Their calm energy somehow has a place on stage and is liked by everyone.

Diesel took their first steps in the music world with Max and MC. It was just the three of them before the band grew bigger. Diesel is a talented guitarist, they worked hard to get where they are and they don’t stop improving. They are quite reserved and don’t talk about their feelings… Who knows what lies beneath their shell?

THE MISCHIEVOUS DRUMMER — Roman Lupin (he/him)

If MC is the backbone of the band, Roman is its beating heart. He has no problem to make the public jump from the back of the stage. He’s a spark that will light a bonfire.

Roman learned to play drum from his mother. He went to the conservatory but he didn’t stuck with it. Since a young age, Roman wants to have a band and to perform all around the world. Roman is full of life and he’s the human version of a sunshine. Is there something behind that smile or is he genuinely happy?

THE LITTLE MERMAID — Isra Wafa (she/they)

Isra brings magic to the band. Her mermaid low voice is unique and enchants the public. If you think you’ve heard good bass players, just wait until you see Isra on stage.

When Isra was a child, their parents let them chose an instrument to learn and to their surprise, she chose the bass. They fell in love with this low instrument. They navigated from band to band before settling for this band her boyfriend was part of. Isra keeps ignoring their responsibilities toward her family. For how long can they pretend it doesn’t exist?

THE REBEL ANGEL — Archibald “Archie” de Beaumont (they/he)

Even with a classical training, Archie managed to switch to their band’s genre without too much troubles. All the members affirm it: Archie is a gift from the universe.

Archie popped out of nowhere to audition to be the band’s keyboardist. He was the most talented person they saw all day and the chemistry was very much here. The band doesn’t know much about Archie, but it doesn’t matter. They are a good person and a dear friend. It wouldn’t change anything to learn about their life before the band. Right?

THE MANAGER — Cal Bremont (he/him)

Cal works in the shadow to make the band shines under the spotlight of the biggest stages. The band claims it, he is the best manager you could hope for.

Cal takes his job very seriously, he has a perfect work ethic. Maybe he is a bit too close to his clients and they may not just be clients… But, well, no one is complaining. Cal is very secretive about his personal life, he never mentioned his family or anything else. Can he maintain his relationship with his friends and still keep his life a mystery?

THE RISING STAR — Max Larash (she/her or they/them)

Max moved their band to the other side of the world and they managed to impose themselves on the west coast scene. We’ll keep an eye on them as they’ll compete against their former friends…

Because of artistic divergences, Max decided to leave the band when Isra and Roman joined them and they created their own band with high school friends. Max had big dreams for Sleep Walking and their friends in MC’s band, but it didn’t turn out as Max has hoped. Sleep Walking left the country for the USA without their friends and they intentionally lost all contacts with them…

THE MUSE — Olivia “Ollie” Madden (she/her)

You may have never see her face but, as a comics fan, Ollie Madden is a name far from unknown. None other than the comics artist and writer of the most followed comics, Ollie is still a mystery to her fans.

Olivia works for Blue Pegasus, a major comics book publisher, since years. She was the comics artist on a lot of books, it took her a lot of hard work to finally publish her own series. Olivia isn’t only a famous artist, she also is a single mother. She’s taking care of a lot by herself and it often leads to forget about herself. There is nobody to remind her she’s human and not a superhero…

THE PRINCESS — Katharina "Kat" Deluca (she/her)

We don’t need to present Katharina Deluca anymore. Success and awards seem to follow every movies our Lady K touched. She confessed that her break from the cameras and greens screens was to be present for her best friend… Athena Pierce.

Also known as the Princess, Katharina is one of the biggest actresses of her generation. Between two roles worthy of an Oscar, she is also a model and the face of the infamous designer brand: Beaumont-Griffin. She is in the industry since she was 12. But, behind closed doors, Kat doesn’t seem to have a joyful life… What is she hiding from the world?

GODDESS OF MUSIC — Athena Pierce (she/her)

Athena is a legend in the industry. Everybody wants to work with her and Pink Riot. Her voice will shatter your world, there is a before and an after Athena Pierce.

Athena is the lead singer and front woman of Pink Riot. She was a star child and charmed America with her angelic voice. But, with the creation of Pink Riot, Athena is no longer the little angel of the USA. She’s now known as a freaking rebel and she is quite provocative. She flirts with the limits all the time. Her persona is loved all around the world, but who is the real Athena?

☀︎CANON EVENTS☀︎

You can customize a lot of things regarding your MC and your band. But there are a few things that are canon.

— MC is born and lives in France. Where exactly is up to you. The only place MC can’t have grow up in is Paris. (I headcanon them growing up in Perpignan or Montpellier)

— The names of MC parents can’t be choose. I tried to make them as common as possible so you can choose their origins. MC is French but their parents can be from wherever you want!

— MC's age can’t be choose.

— MC is friends with Max and Diesel since they are 6. They were in school together.

— MC’s first band is with Max and Diesel.

— During high school, MC met Roman and Isra. They joined MC’s band but Max didn’t like the kind of music their band was into so they formed their own band with other high school friends (Sleep Walking).

— The OG band (MC-Max-Diesel) exist until the fateful break up.

— MC’s band and Sleep Walking always were there for each other and gave mutual support. They also create songs and musics together, some are only instrumental and other are with vocal.

— MC speaks French and English. Feel free to add a third and even a fourth language.

— MC lives with Isra and Roman since they finished high school.

#the stars in your eyes if #interactive fiction #interactive story #choice of games #if #if: intro #dashingdon

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tswwwit · 4 months

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Cult Reincarnation part Three! Here's parts One and Two if you missed 'em.

The followers of Bill Cipher are the most blessed of believers. Strong and devoted, they are empowered to overcome all things, through service to their god.

And in times of trouble, the devout always have something to turn to.

Dipper bows his head before the golden image, and tries to force his muscles into a semblance of relaxation.

Worship.

He hopes hating every second of it doesn’t matter. If it works at all.

Praying to a god, in the domain of said god, should technically speaking be overkill. This kind of thing is supposed to reach through the veil between planes, not just partway across a building. The process has a lot of kick to it.

That’s the theory, anyway. Dipper’s working with what he’s got -

But he’s not sure Bill’s all that easy to reach.

No worshiper has ever called for help and received it. There were excuses, of course. Dozens of them. But brushing them off with a ‘not worthy’ doesn’t work when it’s literally everyone.

Either nobody’s worthy, or no help is provided. From what Dipper’s learned about the god himself, it’s the latter.

Probably because Bill doesn’t care about most of them. Maybe because he thinks it’s funny. The third guess - that he thinks helping is boring - is currently leading the pack.

There’s another reason, too. One that’s… technically possible, but Dipper’s trying not to think about it.

No matter what the cause of it, none of those bode well for Dipper’s plan. That’s on top of the fact that summoning Bill is, by all metrics, an incredibly reckless idea.

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Dipper needs a quick way out of an awful situation, and it’s one he got himself into this time.

Focusing on the shape of Bill in the window, Dipper concentrates. Breathing in, then out.

He snaps his fingers, and the candles bloom with bright blue fire, before settling down to the standard red-yellow glow. Despite everything, he spends a brief second admiring the tiny flames.

The magic comes so easily to him now. Studying mysterious texts found in a hideous nightmare realm is another bad idea, but you can’t argue with results. Whoever gathered the books in the guest room must have -

Another wailing howl rings down the corridor. A distant scrabbling echo, the scrape of claws on stone.

Dipper drops to his knees and scrambles to finish his makeshift setup. Something ninety percent cribbed from the ritual he ‘volunteered’ for, minus all the blood.

Rushing through this isn’t optimal, but hell, none of this is. Dipper’s working on a hope and a literal prayer. Being in the guy’s home instead of a dimension away should amplify the effect. Bill might not be able to ignore him, if he’s loud enough.

When the alternative is being devoured by wandering demons, Dipper’s willing to have a bit of faith.

Just a smidgen, though. Enough to make this work.

Another chattering sound, though more distant, gives him plenty more panic-induced belief to work with.

With all the setup done, Dipper claps his hands together. He tries to steady his breathing. The words of the ritual resonate in his mind instead of out loud, which should be good enough considering the god in question.

And he knows Bill, too. Personally, not abstractly. Dipper can hold the image of him in his mind as clearly as if he was standing in the room. The fact that it’s a human shape shouldn’t matter. He’s… ninety five percent certain it won’t.

Now. If he focuses. If he reaches out with sincere effort and desire, pushing with the magic that bubbles inside him - this should work.

He really, really hopes it works.

“You rang?”

His heart nearly leaps into his throat. Jerking up right, Dipper whips around towards the voice.

Where Bill Cipher stands. He’s right behind him and just to his left, as smug and dapper as always. Appearing out of freaking nowhere.

Dipper slumps back down to the floor as Bill wiggles his fingers in greeting.

That’s one hell of a response time. He’d barely gotten started before Bill popped into place.

“Looks like you had a fun little jaunt!” Bill claps his hands together, leaning - but not quite looming - over him. “I wondered where you’d run off to!”

The phrasing makes Dipper wince. That’s not - he hopes Bill didn't really mean that. It would mean he got the wrong idea.

Dipper didn’t ‘run off’, because he’s not stupid. No matter what other people might have said.

All he wanted was a cursory look around. Checking out if there were other ‘apartments’, see if there were any windows. Something brief enough to let him get an idea of what kind of place he was dealing with, then heading back to the relative safety of Bill’s place.

Which might be the weirdest part of all.

That it is safe, for a limited version of the word.

Since being kidnapped, he’s had zero new injuries. Plenty of comfort, reasonable safety, and very little to hide from. Material comforts, not promises that never get realized. Even his room in Bill’s place is the nicest place he’s ever lived, cozy by any definition.

Casting everything aside for the chance at an ‘exit’ is a dumb choice.

Dipper was doing just fine where he was. No running off anywhere. He’s been perfectly fine with his three little rooms, even if it’s a bit limiting.

Technically he has access to four, if you include the living room. But that one usually has Bill in it.

Some worshippers would have bled far, far more than Dipper did, for even the briefest chance at access to their god. Getting their messages to him directly, basking in his radiant golden presence, accessing all his mysteries - a dream that they could hope to think about achieving, one day in the future.

And they’d all be disappointed.

Turns out Bill’s both weirder and more crazy than any scripture made it seem. It’s nothing like… anything, really.

Dozens of passionate sermons on Bill’s infinite wrath, crumbling in the face of him being totally, bizarrely chill with everything Dipper’s done so far. Hours of speeches about his unknowable motives, and infinite grandeur, shattered by watching him pontificate on whether he should wear the ‘cool’ socks today, or the ‘ones with little duckies on them’.

Hell, Dipper watched his god blow up half of a wall by accident and shrug it the hell off - then later get so mad at something on interdimensional television he choked on the gummy bears he was eating.

Years of study has done nothing to prepare Dipper for this, and he was the one looking in forbidden texts.

It’s. Informative. But also, like, a lot.

So for the most part, Dipper decided to hole up in the guest room. It’s easier than parsing the god puzzle, and the alone time is nice.

In the last… few days? More than a week, possibly, he’s had time to read, write notes, take uninterrupted naps, and nothing bad has happened to him. Peace and quiet came at a premium back in the compound. Here, all he has to do is shut a door.

Still, books only last so long to keep someone occupied. Confinement has always made Dipper kinda stir-crazy.

And on the one occasion when Bill wasn’t in the living room, well. Curiosity has always driven Dipper into absolutely dumb actions. Including going snooping again. Maybe a tiny bit of peeking into Bill’s bedroom, because the door was unlocked.

And since that was unlocked, it only made sense to test the knob leading out of Bill’s quarters.

It’s not Dipper’s fault the damn door disappeared the moment he stepped outside.

So really, he didn’t ‘run off’. He wasn’t trying to escape, or even go too far from his room.

He just got bored.

And when that went south, he didn’t have many other options. Turns out the Fearamid is full of demons. He saw that on the way in, but he didn’t truly understand the extent.

Without Bill escorting him, the concept got hammered in pretty much immediately.

The moment he stepped out, he must have caught the attention of damn near every demon in this godawful place. One young human, basically catnip for monsters. The first one showed up within a minute.

Time is strange here, though. It might have been longer.

Dipper has been running for what feels like hours.

“What’s the matter, kid? Trip not as fun as you expected?” Bill gives his shoulder a friendly shake. “Or didja just miss me?”

Dipper shrugs.

Sure, it’s nice Bill showed up. It’s great that he’s not deadly. But he’s arguably a different kind of problem.

A few tugs on his shirt make him reluctantly stand, turning to face Bill. Despite being summoned in his own home, he’s surprisingly upbeat.

“Now I’m guessing you called me - and this is just off the top of my head here - that once you got going, you couldn’t find your way back.” Bill sets fists on his hips, eminently amused. “A little lost lamb like you musta freaked out!”

Before Dipper can do more than shrug, something with way too many limbs scuttles around a corner, filling the hallway with a writhing mass. He surges closer to Bill, heart in his throat.

A moment later the creature spots Bill, and freezes in place. Then, lifting each of its limbs like it’s tiptoeing, it backs all the way up and around the corner. Like it opened a door, saw something twice as horrific as itself - and then carefully shut it again, trying to pretend that didn’t happen.

“Do me a favor, though, and put a little less ‘oomph’ into the magic next time.” Bill pushes a pinky into his ear and twists it around, then pulls it out and flicks it clean. “That crap was loud.”

Dipper nods rapidly. Yep, can do. At some point he started clutching Bill’s elbow, but he’s not about to stop. Not here.

With Bill guiding him, the mazelike corridors present no further problems. Even though they do turn around at least three times, and at one point walk on the actual ceiling, Bill keeps going with perfect confidence in his stride.

There aren't’ any interruptions, either. Compared to mere minutes before, the halls are mysteriously quiet and empty, leaving him and Bill to stroll along, hand on elbow.

When they arrive back at the penthouse, Bill opens the door with a sweep of his arm, and a slight bow that might be mocking - but Dipper’s too tired to be bothered.

So much for the ‘escape’ idea. Running around the Fearamid was nothing but an exercise in terrified frustration.

It would be rational, Dipper knows, to be more upset. But the cult was also a confusing, stupid, terrifying place that held him captive, and back there he could never count on having a hot bath, or privacy, or sleep.

A few weeks ago he would have said the threat of death back home was lower, but now? He knows which one he’d choose, any day.

The one confounding factor is Bill himself.

In the cult, you couldn’t avoid him at all. Always talking about him, if you still were able. Praying to his idols, going to the rituals, chanting and waving your hands like an idiot in the air. Making sure that your every action pleased him. Following all his orders. Every day, some part of your day was spent thinking or acting on his wishes.

Actually being around him every day requires… precisely none of that. He’s so -

‘Different’ would be the wrong word. A being who’s lived for literal eons doesn’t change things up on a dime.

This is Bill Cipher without any convenient ‘reinterpretations’.

The priest was wrong about Bill. Everything he said was at best incorrect, and more likely a bunch of self-serving bullshit. Everything they ever did was stupid and wrong. Bill never cared about what they did, or all the prayers they sent or literally any devotional action. And that’s a true, unshakable fact, because the opposite idea - that Dipper’s mere presence changes Bill’s behavior, even one iota - is laughably outrageous.

Another slight shake. Bill, trying to catch his attention again. He’s raised an eyebrow, examining Dipper’s face as he thinks.

Right, Dipper should - uh. Probably just get out of here. Before Bill does something like get annoyed at his ungrateful guest. Or worse, put on the expectant look again.

With a quick nod, and a ‘cute’ smile, he shuffles out from under his arm, and scuttles for the guest room.

Everything’s just as he left it. The open book. The tidy sheets. The notes he was taking, before he noticed Bill was gone and thought he’d have a tiny look around -

“Haven’t done much redecorating, I see.”

Dipper nearly leaps out of his skin. Shit, what -

Behind him, Bill hovers at a disrespectful distance. His eye is narrowed, and his expression suggests a man who’s not terribly impressed.

“A full week shoulda had you settled in way more.” Bill says, shaking his head in… disappointment? He stalks around Dipper casually, glancing around the room. “Hey, you made the bed! That’s rare!”

Dipper’s mouth works, but that’s an old, dumb instinct. He shuts it, and glares.

Bill wanders around, casually pacing around the small space. A quick check of the bed, yanking out the sheets until they’re messy again - then setting his fists on his hips, looking proud of himself.

Okay. This is new.

Bill’s been around, but he’s never intruded before. Every time Dipper wasn’t sure how to deal with him, he could retreat back to the guest room and be sure that he’d have some space. Quiet, too, aside from the occasional piano playing, drifting through the door.

Now he’s thinking all of that was a courtesy.

Obviously Bill can’t be kept out of what is, after all, his place. He’s simply chosen not to intrude until now.

With supreme confidence, Bill drops onto the bed, tucking his arms behind his head and crossing one leg over the other - yeah. Still his place, and he knows it. He didn’t even take his shoes off.

“Oh!” A bright grin crosses Bill’s face. He rummages under the pillow for a second. “I take it back - you did make one addition to the decor.”

With a grin, he brandishes the stupid plush of himself like he was holding up his firstborn child. Because he is, as Dipper learned, a narcissist.

Ugh, of course he’d find that. Dipper looks away, trying to keep his annoyance off his face.

“Yeah, yeah, glare all you like, kid.” Bill says, wagging a chiding finger. “You’ve been making yourself scarce, but you can’t avoid me forever! At the very least ya need to get those stitches out in a few days.” A smirk. “Though I’d love to see you manage that yourself.”

Dipper can’t argue with that. He does try to stop glaring, but it’s surprisingly difficult.

“What?” Bill sits up, setting mini-Bill in his lap. He raises an eyebrow. “Not got anything to say?”

Obviously not. Dipper folds his arms, and tries not to look at - not an interloper, this is Bill’s. He’s the guest. Getting bothered by it is rude at best.

“But no! Silent as the night is long, and orders of magnitude more boring. This whole time, I haven’t heard a peep from you, Pine Tree. And I've been very patient.” Bill sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What gives?”

Like that’s not obvious, either. Dipper pinches his lips together, tight.

There was a sacrifice. Made in Bill’s name, and for his honor. A devotion bestowed unto him. He can ignore cries for help, but there’s no way Bill didn’t notice that. Just like when he showed at the ritual, or at Dipper’s impromptu summoning. The call would have been too strong.

No, even stronger. With that much blood spilled, it must have been like a signal beacon.

Bill knows what went on. He just didn’t care.

And now he’s being an asshole, just because he can.

“It’s especially irritating when you have plenty of avenues to make a statement.” Bill rises from the bed with a sigh, dropping mini-Bill back onto the pillows. “You just haven’t put in the effort!”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks straight past Dipper and over to the desk. He runs his fingers over the surface, caressing the edge of -

Oh, shit, no.

His journal. That he left out, like an idiot, assuming Bill would never, ever come in here to see it-

By now it’s far too late - he must have seen a bit already - but Dipper hurries over towards him anyway. It’s not like he can shove Bill out of the way, or smack anything out of his hand. The repercussions would - he doesn’t want to think about those; they make him feel so sick.

Bill’s already picked it up, he even turned a page -

“See? You’re literate, sapling! Reading and writing, both at your command.” He rests the journal against where his heart would theoretically be. “Why haven’t you shown any of it off?”

For a lot of very good reasons. For fuck’s sake. Bill’s already intimated that he knows Dipper doesn’t really believe. But he is arrogant, and powerful. A terrible, awful, confusing god.

He can’t be allowed to read that journal, because gods do not like being called ‘assholes’. Even if it’s true.

Though it’s a dumb move, Dipper makes a grab for the damning evidence. Bill’s too quick though; he misses by a mile.

“Oop!” Bill raises his arm high, looking at Dipper with amusement. “Aww, nice try! So close.” With a wink, he dangles Dipper's own personal, very private notebook over his head. Why does this bastard have to be tall, damn it. “What, you want this?”

Dipper grits his teeth. No, he was never going to get it back by force, or speed, or even a quick wit. One young human doesn’t stand a chance.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

It worked before. It might work now,

Dipper takes a slow breath, and lets it out. Then he shuts his eyes, and kneels.

Above him, he hears Bill’s laugh fall silent. Slightly placated, then. A little more should do the trick.

With a great effort of will, Dipper bows his head, hands pressed together. He can get through this. He can kneel and - kind of sit awkwardly on his foot, he shifts his weight and braces his palm on Bill’s thigh for balance.

He’s about to start praying when something hits him in the head with a thump.

Dipper jerks back, hissing through his teeth. He starts rubbing at the spot, head lowered -

And when he blinks at the floor, a book flops unceremoniously open on the carpet.

Before Bill can move, Dipper snags the journal that was just dropped on him. Tucking it under his arm for safekeeping, and scooting back on the carpet.

“Eh, whatever. Go ahead and keep it.” Bill folds his arms, turning away to sit back down on the bed. Weirdly huffy for a guy who was getting worshiped. Maybe Dipper did it wrong. “Besides! I don’t need to skim through some book to know you.”

Welp, that’s ominous.

Dipper shuffles back over to the desk. He glances over at Bill - looking away, still in his odd sulk - then opens a drawer, drops his journal in, and shuts it with his hip.

Another huff from Bill. By his face he’s not in a great mood, but it doesn’t seem to be actively dangerous.

And he doesn’t make another move for the journal. Even though it’s full of secrets.

That’s one relief. Maybe he considers Dipper’s secrets too boring. Maybe Bill’s not interested in them, beyond using them to antagonize him.

He’s a god, anyway. A demon slash god slash infinite being of pure energy. All human thought should be totally beneath his notice, just like the fleeting human lives that make up his cult -

But that doesn’t make sense, either.

Dipper rubs at his eyes. Silently willing any part of this, at any time, to finally come together.

Because if humans were totally beneath Bill’s notice, why is one of them here? Living in his home, taking up his space, eating his food and breathing his air and getting weird expectant looks. Even for a supernatural being, that’s no small effort.

If it were just about his blood, Dipper could understand that. It wouldn’t be very fun, but he’d get it.

But it’s not. Because none of it has been spilled since the ritual. Because nothing’s been painful or threatening or - okay, a lot of it’s been weird, but nothing like the scriptures said it would be. All the rules Dipper’s learned simply don’t seem to apply.

Bill’s supposed to be -

He’s supposed to be different, is all.

But hee can hardly blame Bill for that. It’s not his fault people got him wrong, or idealized him, or if he’s super weird - that last part was advertised, extensively.

There’s a lot of things that a lot of people are ‘supposed’ to be, Dipper guesses. It never really fits them, in the end.

He just doesn’t understand why Bill’s doing this.

“Don’t think we’re not gonna go over the main pain of the day, either.” Bill gives Dipper a long, annoyed look. “What kinda guy stays at another guy’s place and doesn’t give him so much as a ‘hello’?”

Dipper shrugs, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He can’t quite meet Bill’s eye.

Okay, technically Bill’s right. That would be rude, if it weren’t for certain circumstances.

“And I don’t mean chanting a prayer, either! You got fully functional hands and a brain.” With a frown, Bill stands and approaches. Dipper backs up against the desk, but Bill stops a couple feet away, hands on his hips. “Why not write a thank-you note or something?”

Oh. Well.

That was always an option. Dipper just didn’t know Bill wanted it.

And why would he? Bill’s a mental god, a mind reader. Always keeping an eye on him. The idea that he just wants to be ‘talked’ to is….

Yeah, another weird thing. Hell, at least Dipper can do that. It might not even be too embarrassing.

Before he can grab a pen and paper off the desk, Bill shoves a whiteboard and marker in his hands. He nearly jumps back, before accepting it with reasonable dignity. Despite having seen it before, Bill manifesting things out of nowhere is remarkably startling.

Now he’s left staring at it. Wondering what he should do.

“Ahem,” Bill clears his throat. “You could start with a, ‘Hi Bill!’ or, ‘You’re amazing, Bill’. Y’know, any kinda standard greeting.” He claps his hands together, grinning wide. “But I’ll give you more points for creativity.”

Dipper glances down at the blank white board, then back up at Bill. He clamps his mouth shut, trying to focus.

That was a joke. Right? He’s, like, 90% the ‘points’ are rhetorical, not literal. How do you get a bad grade in talking to a god? What metric would Bill use to - damn it, he’s overthinking this already.

What would be a good answer. What would be bad? And what’s the horribly wrong one that ends in disaster?

Dipper hesitates, biting his lip. He hears Bill make a soft groan, either impatient or already disappointed.

Great. Yet another chance to fail his god. Just like all the other times Bill waited for something, and didn’t get it. Now he’s going to read something Dipper wrote, words made just for him, and those will be the first words Dipper’s ever said directly to him. They have to be -

Shit. Right.

Another glance up - Bill has his expectant look on again, and somehow it’s even brighter this time. Watching tantalizing treat, held just out of reach - but maybe arriving, in a moment.

Of course. That’s what Bill’s been waiting for.

The only truly wrong answer is not giving one.

Dipper gives a quick smile, and starts scribbling on the whiteboard. He can do this. It may not be great, but he can hardly do worse than nothing.

The instant he puts marker to surface, Bill’s grin somehow widens to an impossible degree, even though it’s the single most boring thing that could be going on in the nightmare realm. He even claps a few times, like a particularly annoying, demonic seal.

His enthusiasm takes some of the pressure off. Even if Dipper can’t bring himself to use the most worshipful greetings, Bill should be pleased nonetheless.

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Bill beckons him closer, eye bright and lit from within.

For a second, Dipper’s tempted to hold the board to his chest, feeling warm in the face. It’s really not a big deal. Bill doesn’t need to make one out of it.

After a second, he turns his head away and the board around, where he’s written a fairly neutral - but still devoted! - greeting.

‘I am at your service, my lord.’

Bill looks down at the board.

Then he looks up at Dipper’s face, searching it for something. Then down again.

The smile has slid away, leaving a mix of alarm and disgust behind. Like Bill bit into a donut he’d been saving for a special occasion, and got a mouthful of frog spawn.

The reaction is so unexpected that Dipper’s more baffled than nervous. What, is it his handwriting? A quick check proves it’s perfectly legible.

“Cute, I guess! Give it another shot.” Bill says, and wipes the board clean with two fingers. He laughs, in the tone of someone who’s seen a terrible social gaffe and is glossing over it. “Try ‘Bill’, instead. ‘Handsome’, if you’re daring. A pet name, even!” His smile inches briefly downward. “But ‘bout skip the ‘lord’ or ‘master’ for the next few years. Minimum.”

Dipper slowly turns the board back around, though he does side-eye Bill for a moment. He gets a grip on the marker again, pausing for thought.

What the hell, that was a classic. Every supernatural being likes deference. Especially the powerful ones. Except now the rules have changed up, again, without any rhyme or reason, because Bill just has to be super weird, all the goddamn time.

Not that he’s going to comment on it. If Bill overthinks this ‘no groveling’ decision, he might change his mind.

After a few seconds of deliberation - Bill staring the whole time - he goes with, ‘Hi Bill’

“Much better,” Bill says with satisfaction. He rubs his hands together, smiling wide. “Man, we have a lot of catching up to do!”

He leans in, very, very close, making Dipper lean back against the desk. He clutches the board tight, smiles awkwardly - and hopes this won’t be too bad.

One of Bill Cipher’s domains of power is knowledge. Another is secrets.

With the way Bill asks questions, it’s like Dipper has a bunch that he doesn’t already know about.

Bill wants to know his favorite color - blue - tells him it should be yellow, with a haughty sniff, then erases Dipper’s apology and insists he tell him about his brief trip outside. And about how he likes the penthouse. How he’s found the accommodations - comfy, thank you - and a thousand other minor, dull details. Keeping up with the sheer barrage makes Dipper’s hand cramp, even when he skips out on full sentences.

It’s one of the longest conversations - insofar as it is one - that Dipper’s ever had with someone outside his old cult. Bill, meanwhile, is the god of that cult, and he still doesn’t seem to know anything about it. Or at least he’s asking a hell of a lot of questions about really, objectively, boring crap. At some point, Dipper realizes that eternal smile isn’t there anymore, so it’s probably boring him, too.

“All of that aside - I think we oughta get to the heart of the matter, as it were.” Bill snaps his fingers, and the grin resurges.

Dipper nods. He swallows, throat bobbing, and ducks his head.

Okay. Everything else has been kind of surface level. Now he must be moving on to deeper secrets. Things in Dipper’s head that have never seen the light of day. Or the ones that have, and Bill’s going to dig into them, deeply. Possibly painfully so -

“Why won't you talk to me?” Bill whines.

What?

Dipper runs that sentence back through his head, but there’s no other word for it. The high, nasal tone, the slump of Bill’s shoulders. A look that might be a pout - he’s sulking again, but way harder this time.

But that - Dipper double-checks his board, recalling all his responses. It can’t be something he wrote, that was all pretty bland. So either Bill’s just being weird again, or - something. Another thing.

Damn it. He wishes he had more space to pick this apart, but Bill’s been so close and talking too fast. He didn’t have time to analyze while bracing against the flood.

“Seriously, what are we looking at here?” Bill says, straightening up. He paces around Dipper in a circle, arms tucked behind his back. “Vow of silence? Cause if so, I’m your god, and I say screw that! Pipe up anytime!”

Dipper shakes his head. No. If it was, he would have violated it a long time ago. It’s a weird guess.

It’s weird that Bill is guessing.

“Ethereal binding? A curse, maybe?” The idea must strike him as a fun one, because Bill perks up again. “Now if we’re talking curses, oh man! I’ve got a whole collection! There’s dozens of ways to break those, kid. Hell, depending on type, we could get you patched up this evening!”

Again, Dipper shakes his head. He huffs out a sigh, about to correct Bill’s incredibly wrong assumption -

Then pauses with the marker above the board. Because - well - Bill wouldn’t want to be told the obvious. He should know this already.

Dipper bites his lower lip again, frowning at the blank white space.

Shouldn’t he?

Meanwhile, Bill rattles off more speculations, each one more bizarre than the last. No, he didn’t make a deal with a sea witch, or a harpy. He didn’t wander into the bog of silence, or sell his voice for some magic beans.

By this point he’s not bothering to hold up the board and marker anymore, just so he can shrug better. Without writing down his responses, he has more space to think.

He already knew the ‘didn’t care’ part. An ambivalent, cruel god would hardly have reason to help any easily replaceable mortal. The ‘bored’ part might fit, if Bill wasn’t so bluntly fascinated by the topic. Obviously Bill thinks some suffering is fun, but this ‘conversation’ doesn’t entertain him. It’s something…

There… was a another idea. One Dipper kept to himself.

An assumption, and one that he knows so, so much better than to speak aloud.

Not that he can ever do that again.

Looking at Bill’s face, though. He’s gone quiet, momentarily. Looking back at Dipper with his head cocked to one side. Staring, intensely, like he wants to drill the answer straight out of his brain. Which he can, he’s Bill freakin’ Cipher. But he’s not doing it for whatever reason, so Dipper just has to roll with that.

At the end of the day, there’s no other conclusion to come to.

That despite the all-seeing eye, the power of a god, and knowing mysteries of the multiverse -

Maybe Bill actually, genuinely, doesn’t...

Dipper has to try a couple times before he gets the letters down without them wobbling too much. He gets them down with careful strokes, board feeling heavy in his hands.

His hands only shake a little when he flips it around.

‘You don’t know?’

“Hey, I know tons, kid! A billion things! I could tell you what I had for breakfast, January 25, 1938! Or what Machiavelli did in his spare time! But that’s stuff I was personally involved in.” Bill scoffs. Then waves vaguely, not meeting Dipper’s eye. “Whatever went on in your little conclave wasn’t on my radar. I might be short on specifics.”

Even though he was already expecting something like that, the admission catches Dipper off guard.

Holy shit, he was right.

Bill genuinely didn’t know. He just said it, though not in so many words.

He just. Said it.

There are things in the world that he doesn’t notice, or - or things that he misses, he’s not -

As Dipper reels at the revelation, he braces himself on the desk. Bill’s arm shoots out, bracing his waist like he thinks Dipper’s going to fall.

And. If this wasn’t for - if this wasn’t from Bill. If he didn’t command it from afar. If it wasn’t his order. Then it was always the people around him, especially the priest, and Dipper didn’t, maybe, do something wrong, he just.

Dipper sniffs, then wipes at his face with his sleeve. Hopefully it looks like he was scratching an itch or something.

Weirdly, Bill’s serious face starts edging towards… surprise? Alarm? He coughs into his fist. “So, about the-”

Dipper waves him off, then realizes that was stupid. He picks up the board again, and scribbles, ‘I can’t.’

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?”

How is he not getting this? Dipper huffs out a breath, and underlines ‘can’t’. Twice.

Bill rolls his eye, patting the air in a calming motion. “Alright, alright. Straight up incapable! Now are we talking emotionally, spiritually…” It was already weird to see him serious. Now, his expression is far too calm. “Or physically?”

Maybe Dipper shouldn’t admit this. Maybe telling Bill would get someone in trouble, but it’s not Dipper in trouble, maybe never should have been, and momentum carries him forward.

It takes a second to write it. The words keep coming out wrong. 'They said it was for blasphemy’.

"Show me." Both Bill's face and voice are dead flat.

The sharpness of the command stings. Dipper winces, jaw clenching tight.

There’s the first order he’s been given. Until now, Bill hasn’t bothered, and all things considered it could be worse.

But it is an order. Dipper swallows against the nausea rising, and clenches his fists.

Okay. He can do this. It’s been a long time since he took a look in the mirror at that particular sight, but - right, lord of nightmares. He’s probably seen way worse.

Under Bill’s impatient gaze, Dipper carefully sets his board and marker aside. Then he shuts his eyes, points at his mouth, and opens it.

He only holds it that way for, like, a little bit. Exposing this sucks. It makes his mouth dry, and having Bill stare at it makes the twist in his stomach worse. A few seconds all he can stand before he shuts it again.

A low growl rumbles.

Then Bill’s thumb digs into the corner of his mouth, pulling it back and shoving in between his teeth. Dipper tries arching his head away, but Bill turns him back with a commanding grip on his chin. A thumb digs in, wedging his mouth open and pushing his teeth apart. The only choice is to open up or bite him, and it hurts -

Dipper twists his head. Bill holds him still. The helpless ‘ah’ that comes out of his throat sounds strained and weak. Shit, he should just be quiet, it’s not like he’s not used to it at this point.

Continual pressure, Bill’s not giving in - so Dipper relents, letting Bill get his awful kicks out of the sight. Face burning, eyes shut. He’s never liked having to use his mouth since it happened, and Bill keeps staring when he should have only needed a glimpse to know what was wrong.

Bill holds him like that for a full ten seconds. Silent. Staring.

Then he lets go.

Dipper stumbles back, covering his mouth with both hands. Through the rapid blinking, he can see Bill take a deep breath in.

And another one.

Bill’s eye is twitching but otherwise, he’s dead-faced. No more smile, no easy stance. He’s tense and his fingers flex. His eye glows with a dull, burning light.

That’s… not a happy look. Dipper presses his back up against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the heat from his own eyes.

When Bill punches the wall, it shatters as if hit with a sledgehammer.

Dipper drops. Legs folding, butt hitting the ground, and pressing his hands tight over his face. Shards of the wall tumble onto the carpet, and blink away into ash, as blue fire burns in the crater; drywall flaking away to reveal more of that same black stone.

“You have got to be kidding me! What kind of bullshit is THIS?” Bill’s voice rings through the room, loud and so angry. He starts pacing back and forth, throwing his arms in the air. “Bunch of half-witted jackasses ruining my stuff! And for what?”

His voice turns strange and deep on some of the words, it resonates in the room, it makes the walls shake.

Dipper shuffles up against the desk, taking shelter from the blooms of fire that seem to be popping up on the walls, and the floor, and - everywhere. It’s trailing along the baseboards, climbing up the corners.

Bill didn’t like that. He really, really didn’t like that. He’s angered his god again and it’s going to be bad.

“And in my name! Under my image! What a laugh!” Bill taps his foot against the carpet, teeth bared, eye glowing a bright, hot red - “They like blood rituals? Oh I’ll give ‘em a blood ritual.”

It feels like the entire building is moving by now, as Bill punctuates his statement with a kick. It tosses Dipper an inch off the ground, sending books and pens toppling to the floor. The door to the kitchen splinters into a thousand quietly screaming shards, before vanishing in acrid smoke. The heat’s rising, Bill’s way too close - and the light’s gone strange and shifting, casting stark shadows in dark black and bright light.

Dipper never should have mentioned anything. Never gone outside, never left his room, never spoken up, the last is a lesson he should know by now. Never should have thought that Bill didn’t have infinite wrath available, how stupid was he.

All he can do now is try and make himself small.

Tucking himself against the desk isn’t working but there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing in this room is safe, and it’s so hot - Dipper tries to breathe steadily but he can’t seem to get enough air.

“I never shoulda left that place intact in the first place!” Bill throws his head back, laughing to himself with a manic grin. “That’s the last time I let a bunch of stupid cultists live with their lungs on the inside.”

Bill punctuates his threat with another kick to the wall, which deforms like putty around him. Bill swears again. He yanks his leg, attempting to pull it out - and hey, the door’s open. Bill never shut it, he’s turned away for now and as long as he’s not looking -

Dipper makes a break for it.

Scrambling on hands and knees on too-hot carpet hurts, but the lower he keeps himself the less likely he’ll catch Bill’s eye again. A frantic couple of seconds later he’s out of the guest room, heart pounding, and he leaps to his feet and runs.

Can’t stay out here. Room’s too open, too many places to be cornered. Can’t be in the open or be seen, can’t remind Bill that the source of his anger is right here with him, so easy to catch and punish.

His brain catches up with him just as his foot hits stone.

Dipper freezes in the doorway, breathing hard - but not stepping out.

Okay, the exit opened easily enough, but he already knows that everything outside is terrifying and horrible and - he glances over his shoulder, at the blue light - it’s not much of an improvement.

With a jerk, Dipper abandons that escape route, and turns back to face the penthouse. The light from the guest room is growing, Bill’s anger surging, and before he storms out Dipper needs a place to hide.

There’s too much space under the piano. He’d never fit in the cupboards, or under the couch, and the fireplace is literally on fire -

But there is one more open door that Dipper’s never been in before.

Bill might not like it, but he also won’t look there first thing and it’s further away from him than where Dipper’s standing right now.

He’s through the door to Bill’s bedroom before he can stop himself - no magical resistance, and no time to think about why - Dipper checks, but there’s no obvious exits, or closets, or even conveniently large wardrobes, why does -

In the distance, Bill lets out a loud, angry incoherent sound. He hears the door slam, open or closed he can’t tell.

As another rumble shakes the Fearamid, Dipper ducks and slides underneath the too-large bed.

Thank hell the bed’s totally oversized; there’s enough space to crawl, so he shuffles up and back, towards the headboard. It’s a little dusty and there’s some clutter he can’t see, but all that is easily shoved aside until he curls up, tight, against the wall and under the frame.

That’s it. As far away as he can get.

Nothing left to do but wait.

It feels like a long time. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There’s no way to tell, with the only frame of reference being his own heart pounding, too fast.

The building has gone still again, which. Hopefully that’s a good sign. Maybe Bill’s calming down. Maybe he’s moved somewhere else. Maybe he noticed Dipper left, and he’s going to hunt him down and -

But it might take him a while. This is a decent hiding space. The blankets draped back down after he slid under, covering any line of sight. And all the light. Everything’s dark, and the cloth and bed muffle all the distant sounds.

Somewhere, Bill lets out a single, furious shout. Dipper winces, but he can’t make out the words anymore. It could be about anything.

After that, there’s silence again.

Simply waiting means he could stalk in without any sign. He can be quiet, he’s basically a supernatural predator, and an ambush - he needs some warning.

Dipper shuffles until he faces the wall, pressing his ear against the floor, listening for the approach - No footsteps. Yet. He can still feel his heart beating at a rapid pace, but he thinks he’s not panting anymore, so. That’s good.

The quiet, and dark, and - for some, incredibly weird reason - the smell of the room itself all combine into a strangely calming effect. Not that it’s safe, because absolutely isn’t; there’s literally only a duvet keeping him out of sight.

It just. Feels a little safer. For stupid, back-of-the-brain reasons, totally irrational. Like an animal retreating into its burrow from a predator, pinging ancient instincts.

Which isn’t rational in the slightest. Not to mention the danger is Bill Cipher himself. Dipper’s putting his faith into a blanket keeping a monster from seeing him, and if it wasn’t so terrifyingly real it’d almost be funny.

This is the best he’s got for now. He’ll figure out the next step later. Whenever that is.

The one positive note is the yelling’s been done for a while now. Quiet is a welcome relief. Even if it’s temporary.

Very temporary, as a sudden commotion starts up in the living room.

By the sound of it, Bill’s stomping around and making a clatter. He’s messing around with objects. Breaking something, maybe. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not breaking someone.

More thudding - faster, like a run - then Bill’s voice, loud and slightly breathless. “Hey! Pine Tree?”

A long pause.

Dipper tucks his legs up against himself, wrapping his good arm around them. His other wrist throbs; he holds it close to his chest.

Swearing resumes, at a lower volume - then a rapid thump of a run, before an abrupt stop.

Then Bill shouts again, echoing and distant, as if down a hallway. “Dipper!”

The name rings through Dipper’s nerves like a bell. It’s like being clanged against a metal pot, sudden and shocking, vibrations running through him. He clasps his arm tighter around his legs, and shuts his eyes.

It- maybe that was less angry? Bill, wondering where he went. Dipper’s not in trouble. He shouldn’t be in trouble. It wouldn’t be fair, it wasn’t fair before and it wouldn’t be now, he was just doing what he was told this time - and there’s no way to get out of here. There’s nowhere else to go.

Dipper pushes his nose into his sleeve, face against the fabric.

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s not upset - but he might have taken off somewhere. Found someone else to take his anger out on. A more deserving target.

He won’t be mad forever. Right?. His emotions are flighty, and he’s easier-going than the sermons made him seem. Given enough time, maybe Dipper can uncurl himself from this place, sneak back to the probably-ruined guestroom, and -

Footsteps, again. Close.

Dipper jerks his head up from the floor and he can still hear them, even through the cover of the bed and blanket.

Bill’s not just back, he’s in the room with him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he take off, that was the worst thing he could ever have done. The eye of God is always watching, witnessing everything Dipper does.

He can run, and he can hide, but in the end he will always face judgment.

He claps a hand over his mouth and nose. Holds his breath. A few more seconds. A minute. Every moment he can get is precious.

Bill’s shoes on the carpet make a loud, distinctive thump. The sound heads towards the fireplace of the room - then pauses, and turns back to the door. A quick, repetitive path, back and forth. Not near the bed, yet. Bill’s muttering something under his breath that’s too quiet to make out, staying in the room, not leaving, until Dipper’s lungs burn with the effort to keep still. Keep silent.

“Fuck!” Something slams into the bed, a thump on the mattress that sends the frame shaking. Despite all his effort, some air escapes Dipper’s lungs through his nose with a short, high sound. He clamps his fingers over it, but it’s too late.

Silence.

Bill goes still. He’s next to the bed. But he’s not setting everything under the bed aflame, or swearing or yelling anymore. Dipper holds his breath again, daring to hope-

“Aha!” The blankets whip up, letting all the light in - and showing Bill’s huge, sharp teeth bared in a grin. “There you are!”

Dipper turns away. He faces the back wall, he lowers his head.

“I thought you almost ran out again for a sec!” A low whistle. “Be a real shame if you got devoured, kid. I’ve barely even started with you!” There’s a shuffle, like Bill - the god - himself might actually be kneeling, if only to get a better look. “C’mere.”

Dipper shakes his head. Behind him, he hears Bill let out a displeased grunt.

No, he’s not coming out. Not for this. Not even if Bill’s mad about it.

There's punishment waiting, once he emerges. Dipper can handle it. He has before.

But he will not go willingly. He never has.

Obedience truly offers no protection. Bill asked Dipper to tell him. Dipper did as he was told for once. Getting hurt for it is just unfair. Hi only did what he thought was right. That's all he's ever done, no matter what anyone else says, and even if some of it was blasphemous then it sure as hell wasn't any of Bill’s business. He doesn’t even know what was said.

If Bill wants to make a big, agonizing show out of something that upset him, then whatever. He can't be stopped.

But he doesn’t get to pretend it's anything but cruel.

He'll have to drag Dipper out.

Another grunt behind him, and the shuffle of something on carpet. Dipper hears it come closer, then the soft brush of something on his back - he flinches.

“Oh, for-” A heavy sigh, then a retreating scuffle. Bill mutters something under his breath, then, “Under the bed is where monsters live, sapling. By all rights I should join you! Might wanna get outta the way first.”

Dipper doesn’t move, or respond. He remains still, in the desperate hope that Bill will find it boring enough to leave him be.

There’s a pause. A long one, at that.

The silence lingers, for three seconds. Then five. Ten.

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” Bill says. His tone is calmer, though more sarcastic than soothing. “So the little scene earlier got you freaked out. It’d be a pretty poor showing on my part if I didn’t inspire terror! But none of that was about you, kid.” A patting sound, like a palm on carpet. “You’re fine! No cowering needed!”

Yeah, right. Dipper almost rolls his eyes.

Oh, no, of course he’s not in trouble. He just needs to come out so they can have a little ‘talk’, or participate in this one little ‘ritual’. With commentary that never once mentions his name, but says it louder than any words.

It wasn’t true then, and isn’t true now. One of Bill’s major domains is deception, and in plain terms - blasphemous ones - that makes him a big fat liar.

Dipper tucks his chin down further. Bill missed getting hold of his shirt earlier, so he’s sure as hell not offering his hair as purchase. If he wants to wreak vengeance, he better break down the bed or scoot back under.

Either way, Dipper gets the small satisfaction of making him work for it. It’ll almost be worth what follows.

“Seriously!” Bill says, indignant this time. “Cross my heart and hope to rot in a grave, you’re not the guy in trouble.” He waits a beat, then another - then an annoyed groan, as his lies have no effect. “Always a friggin’ skeptic, huh.”

He pauses, then, “What do you want, kid? A bribe, maybe? Do I gotta blackmail you outta there?” A hum of thought. “Okay, both! If you get outta there, I won’t read your dumb journal and will get you something reaaally nice.”

Let him talk all he wants. It doesn’t mean anything.

“You gotta come out eventually, y’know.” Bill continues. Dipper tries to tune out his voice, but Bill’s very hard to ignore. “You can’t live there forever!”

It’s true, Dipper can’t. At some point, he’s going to need water, or to eat, or use the bathroom. All kinds of mortal human necessities.

But until then, he can put off the consequences. Annoying Bill is just a bonus.

Another, louder groan, and then Dipper hears Bill’s shoes on the carpet again. He stands by the bed for a moment, then goes back to tracing the same pacing path, back and forth. Not bored enough to leave, not annoyed enough to pursue. Even the slight reprieve is a surprising relief.

Bill's also muttering to himself again. Mostly swearing, by the sound of it, but Dipper thinks he hears the word ‘stubborn’. Which tracks.

How long will it take before Bill gives up? Will he give up? Dipper’s kept his interactions with him to a minimum; he doesn’t know how much patience Bill has. Or how long it’ll last until the fire blooms under the already stifling bedframe, heat building -

“Ha!” Bill snaps his fingers. Chuckling, too, like he’s just had a great idea.

Okay. Not that long, then.

Before he can curl up even tighter in the cramped space, he hears Bill’s thudding footsteps -

Running out of the room?

Dipper waits for a moment. He squirms around enough to tilt his head, checking the space left from Bill raising the blankets. Nothing there.

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s truly gone. He’ll be back. By his exclamation and sudden exit, he’s preparing for some dubiously good idea. He’s going to…

To…

Something.

For a moment, Dipper almost wishes he had hung out with Bill more. Talked to him, or, well. Wrote something to him. Maybe then he’d have a better idea of what’s going on in that insane, convoluted head of his. It’s not burning Dipper out, apparently, or convincing him through lies. But that just leaves a giant blank space he can’t fill in with useful information.

It barely takes a minute before the sound of Bill storming back in breaks his train of thought.

Since Dipper knows a scheme is being pulled, he’s sorta prepared. He hopes it won’t hurt, or not hurt too badly.

“Alright.” Bill returns to his previous position, standing by the bed. His breathing has slightly picked up, like he ran all the way somewhere and back. “How about this, then?”

Dipper doesn’t respond. He can tell Bill’s getting back down to peek under the bed; the shadows show it, there’s a scuffle on carpet.

Then, Bill’s voice. Higher pitched, somewhere in the range of cloying and deeply annoying. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree?”

What.

“I heard that someone is reaaaal upset!” Bill continues, with the same godawful tone. “Why don’t you come out and have a big cuddle with your-” A pause, a quick ‘eugh’ - “Squishy little friend! Mini-Bill!”

Okay, what.

Dipper turns away from the wall out of sheer morbid curiosity.

The first thing he catches is Bill - looking annoyed, until he sees Dipper turn to look and instantly brightens. He’s crouched by the bed, looking sideways under the frame, one arm extended, and he’s wiggling the stupid Bill plush.

Dipper stares at it. Bill jiggles mini-him some more, making the black legs and arms flop around like the most noodly of puppets.

Bill dashed off like something was urgent, but it was really only just across the penthouse. Then he dug that out from under Dipper’s pillow, and ran back like he’d just had an amazing idea.

It’s so…

Dumb.

With a playful whistle. Bill makes the puppet’s arms rise up like it’s offering a hug, clapping its little hands together.

In fact, Bill Cipher - is a goddamn idiot.

It’s the same phrase that always occupies a part of Dipper’s brain, only this time instead of the shame, the self-recrimination, and the memory of pain - he kinda feels like he wants to laugh.

God. That’s. Vindication, isn’t it. Even while he’s in danger, it feels really, really good.

Bill catches him watching, and all his smugness returns in a rush. “Ha! Knew this would work.” He says - in his normal tone, thank fuck. “Your - ugh - little friend is waiting, kid! Come give ‘em a kiss!”

Alright, that’s enough.

Dipper makes a swipe for the plushie, but Bill’s quicker on the draw and he misses by inches. That also brought him perilously close to Bill-range - he retreats before Bill can swipe right back.

Too bad. He’s not getting out of here yet. Being under the bed has been safe, so far. He can’t give that up.

Bill groans, slumping down onto the carpet. He lies on his side, turning Mini-Bill around to glare like somehow it’s the reason Dipper didn’t give in.

“Fine. Fine! Take your dumb toy, if he makes you feel so much better,” Bill says, mockingly. With a wordless sneer, he flings the plush in Dipper’s direction and flops down on his back. “He’s stupid anyway.”

Mini-Bill lands just far enough away that Dipper has to shuffle forward to grab it. Bill doesn’t move from where he’s lying, giving Dipper enough time to scoot back against the wall and bring it to his chest, holding tight.

Yes, it’s dumb that Bill got this. Yes, it’s also dumb that Dipper’s glad he got it, and he knows it’s totally stupid, but having the one soft thing in his life in his arms again does make him feel better.

He checks Mini-Bill - still intact, undamaged - then back at the regular-sized version.

Bill lets out a derisive snort, but doesn’t speak. He folds his arms over his chest.

That… was nothing like Dipper expected.

That can’t have been his whole plan. Right? There’s another plot. Deception that he hasn’t seen yet.

On the carpet, Bill lies flat on his back. He’s glaring at the ceiling. One finger taps an impatient beat on his bicep. And while there’s no smile on his face, he doesn’t look angry, exactly, even though his brow is furrowed. It takes a second for Dipper to parse.

Bill. Actually looks…

Tired.

Not physically, of course, there’s no sweat on him. Simply like he’s run out of energy, and needs a moment to recharge. Like someone poked a pin in an inflatable plan, one he put a lot of work into, and now he needs a minute to sulk.

Which means he’s not up to anything just yet.

Dipper squeezes Mini-Bill a few times. It’s soft and clean. A quick check proves it doesn’t even smell like smoke from all the burning; the guest room must be pretty intact.

After a moment, he wriggles onto his stomach, plushie tucked between his shoulder and ear.

But he slows down, and stops. Bill’s eye is on him again, half-lidded. Contemplative.

“What a shame. My human’s decided to dwell with the dust bunnies.” Bill lays the back of a hand dramatically against his forehead, though his eye stays firmly on Dipper. “And here I was, just about to tell ‘em the real reason he’s here.” The barest flicker of a grin, quickly repressed. “Guess he’ll never learn it now!”

Okay, that's a temptation. Dipper glares, but it only makes Bill’s smile creep into a grin.

And… fine. It’s effective, too.

Whatever. Bill was right, earlier. Dipper really can’t stay under the bed forever. It’s cramped and dark and uncomfortably tight. It’s only been about half an hour and parts of him are already sore.

And if he’s got to get out, then now’s as good a time as any.

He rolls onto his stomach, and inches forward, before pausing with a jolt as Bill scrambles up to a sitting position. But he doesn’t go for a grab. He just… watches, with a weird amount of anticipation. When he sees Dipper hesitate, he starts patting his knees.

Great, Bill’s not just stupid, he’s a dork.

Yet another difference from doctrine. The list is getting really long - but Dipper’s okay with that.

It could totally be worse. Way worse.

Crawling his way out is way harder than it was getting in. Without the energy of panic, it’s kind of a pain in the ass. Hiding in a barely accessible place seemed like a great idea until he had to get himself out.

It’s a far less eventful exit than he pictured. More awkward than anything. Also, the sideboard is lower than the space under the bed, and Dipper hits his head on it with a - well, he can’t swear. But he wants to.

“Having trouble, kid?” Bill says, sounding amused. He gets to his feet, grinning wide. “No problem. Lemme get that for ya!” And snaps his fingers.

Light floods over Dipper. So does space, in an alarming amount.

He glances around, where there’s no frame or legs or mattress or - where the hell did the bed go?

“Up you go!” Bill takes hold of Dipper’s arms, pulling him to his feet. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dipper looks behind him - no, the bed wasn’t turned over, or anything. He can’t see a blanket or a shred of wood around. But if Bill he can make things out of nowhere, he can get rid of them too, and -

He. Probably could have done this the entire time.

“Hey,” Bill says. He catches Dipper’s attention again with a little shake, holding onto his upper arms. “Listen up, ‘cause you weren’t earlier - You aren’t the guy I was mad at, kid.”

A brief, hesitant nod. Yeah. Okay.

By now Dipper’s pretty sure that’s the case, or everything else wouldn’t make sense. But the way he - with the punching, and the yelling, the distorted reality -

“No, really! I wanted you in mint condition, sapling. I’m mad at whatever empty-headed asshole decided they should perform an objectively stupid surgery! ” His smile flickers into a grimace, sharp teeth very white in his face. “Someone made a real dumb call.”

On that, they can agree. Dipper nods, one sharp motion. He sniffs, and swallows.

Bill’s smile is back, but not the standard version. This is a thin thing, with tension around his eye.

Though Dipper hasn’t been here long, he has learned a few things. One of them is how to read the variations of ‘happy’ that Bill puts on. It’s a clear cover for other emotions, running just below the surface

Right now, Bill’s still mad. He’s furious.

But like he said - it’s not at Dipper.

This is anger with no immediate outlet, burning underneath his skin. His eye is focused elsewhere, off into the distance over Dipper’s left shoulder, like he can see the person he wants dead but just can’t reach them. Yet.

And Dipper knows exactly how that feels. For exactly the same reason.

There’s something they can both agree on. It was totally bullshit. Unfair and cruel and - and Bill himself had nothing to do with it, he’d never have ordered it done. Maybe Bill would never have said Dipper deserved to -

Dipper takes another, longer, sniff. Clears his throat, blinking rapidly. No, can’t - not the time for that. Dwell on it later, not in front of a friggin’ god.

Bill clears his throat, smile shifting ever so slightly. “Hey hey hey! Easy, there.” He winks, sliding his hands up to pat Dipper’s shoulders. “I, for one, think a little vengeance is in order. And since it was your tongue, I’ll even let you pick the method! How’s that sound?”

That sounds… violent. Gory and chaotic and - knowing Bill - filled with maniacal laughter.

Some deep part of Dipper even likes the idea, but he knows couldn’t go through with it. Even thinking about it makes him feel so, so tired. And awful. Pre-grossed out by the blood. There’s been too much of that already. Still, he nods again, which makes Bill cheer up. The prospect of future chaos, whenever that may be.

Though if Bill tries following up on that, it’ll be pretty hard to pull off. The culprit was last seen dead on the steps of the altar.

“Welp!” Bill claps his hands together. “Can’t say this was a total shitshow! I learned a lot about you today.” He cocks his head to one side. “More than I thought I would.”

A dismissal. According to Bill, everything’s wrapped up.

As he takes a step back, Dipper grabs him by his shirt. It stops him right in his tracks. For a single, stuttering heartbeat, Dipper thinks he’s fucked up, again.

“Oh? Not done with me yet, are ya?” Bill purrs, clearly delighted. He spreads his arms wide. “What’s up, sapling? Miss me already?” He ruffles Dipper’s hair in a rough, annoying way. “I haven’t even gone anywhere!”

No, that’s not it. Dipper frowns, and shakes his head. Though it doesn’t dislodge Bill’s hand, he ignores it

There’s a lot of things Dipper doesn’t get about this place. How it works. Where, exactly, the hell he is. But ever since he was dragged from reality and brought to a weird god’s realm, he’s mostly wondered why.

Why him. Why then, why bring him here in the first place, why stitch him up and feed and house him. Why not earlier, damn it.

And Bill just beckoned him out with a clear, though indirect, offer.

He doesn’t get to back out of it that easily.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” Bill says, slow. He moves in fast enough that Dipper has to back up this time.

Wow, they’re, uh. Really close now. Dipper has a close-up view of Bill’s collar, before a touch on his chin lifts his head.

“If you’re gonna invade my room, sapling.” There’s a twinkle in Bill’s eye. “You should get in the bed instead of under it.”

What, like. Hide under the blankets? Literally, next time? Dipper guesses that makes… some kind of sense. In a nightmare realm, made of thoughts. Shifting spaces, lingering ideas - maybe it actually does protect you from monsters. That’d be strange, but…

Damn it, this place better not run on metaphors, or that’s going to be really annoying to parse.

Also, Bill’s giving him a weird look. He stares forward, lips tucked in, like he didn’t say what he meant to, or a great line didn’t land.

Wait. Was that a joke? Weird god-demon humor? A reference? It could - no, he’s getting distracted. Letting Bill change the subject lets him get away without answering. He gives Bill’s shirt another tug, insistent.

“What’s up?”

Oh, for - Maybe Bill should put some of that infinite knowledge towards remembering what he said three minutes ago.

Dipper holds his hand out flat, scribbling an invisible pen on his palm. Thankfully Bill gets that hint; another board snaps into existence, and Dipper takes it not very gently from his hold.

It only takes a second to write it out, though Bill keeps trying to lean over the board for a peek.

‘Why am I here?’

“Oh, that.” Bill says airly, looking up and to the side. He’s avoiding Dipper’s gaze. “Y’know. Reasons.”

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Okay. Secrets. Another of Bill’s domains, he gets that, but still. He underlines the question, twice.

“Boy, you’re real curious arent’cha?”

Yes, he is. How much more obvious could it be? Dipper taps the end of the marker on the board - then sighs, and writes a quick addition. ‘Please’.

“How polite!” Bill’s smile turns mocking, squeezing Dipper’s shoulders. “Wanna add a ‘pretty’ to that?”

That- Fine. Dipper grits his teeth. After the day he’s had, he can handle one last awful thing. For answers.

The marker smudges from the pressure as Dipper painstakingly scrawls down the word.

“Hm.” Bill’s eye narrows as he hums in thought, He rubs his chin, head tilting to the side. Taking his damn time, too, as he looks Dipper over like he’s evaluating a rather expensive purchase.

It never hurts to look presentable in front of a deity, when it comes to something important. The best he can do is stand up straight, and look attentive. Bill shouldn’t mind. He should just spit it out already.

“The reason you’re here, mortal…” Bill says, drawing the sentence out, word by word. He smiles, something slow and sharp, as his thumb strokes over Dipper’s cheek - then pinches it. “Is for me to know, and you to wonder about!”

What?

Fucking what?

As Bill draws back, Dipper’s mouth works, no sound coming out. Another yank on Bill’s shirt does nothing except make him laugh.

It’s not funny. It’s important, it’s - Heat rises into Dipper’s face. His shoulders inch up towards his ears.

Bill can’t just do that. Not after today. Not after everything Dipper’s been through, the demons, the tantrum, the stupid talk to get him out of the bed. The totally humiliating plea. Dangling this in front of him, the reason he’s been kidnapped and confused and basically alone this whole time, then taking it back?

Nothing ever goes right for Dipper when it comes to his awful god, and - and the laughter stings. Embarrassment burns and rises on the coattails of all the other bullshit Dipper’s dealt with today; there’s heat in his chest and a knot in his stomach.

That’s not what he said. It’s not fair.

He can’t just do that.

“Yep! You’re not getting that one outta me. Nice try, though.” Bill taps his finger against the end of Dipper’s nose, making him flinch. “You’re never gonna gue-”

Rational thought doesn’t have time to catch up before Dipper’s fist meets Bill’s face.

It lands, painfully, in the juncture of his head and neck. With more of a thud than a crack - but it does jerk Bill’s head to the side, and that’s a minor win.

Or would, be, if it had the right effect.

Bill looks surprised and totally unhurt, while Dipper’s knuckles definitely sting from the contact. He shakes them to get some feeling back. What the hell, how durable is that bastard -

His brain, screaming from the background, kicks in again.

Dipper grips his hand tight as shame rising higher in his chest, a burning tide. It feels like he’ll choke on it.

Stupid, stupid stupid. How could Dipper be this dumb, he’s in the realm of a god, helpless, powerless, at the mercy of his whims - and if Bill wasn’t mad before then he’s definitely mad now.

God, this always happens, Dipper does something stupid, he stupidly defies god’s will, and there’s always consequences, no matter how he fights.

He looks up at Bill, chest heaving. Bill looks right back, rubbing his jaw - and starting to smile, wide. Showing those dangerous, predatory teeth.

No way to get out of here. Leaving the penthouse means other dangers, and leaving the realm is impossible. Even if he could, Bill’s got a memory a million years long, and he put a knife in the priest’s chest so casually that it was like putting it back in a drawer.

But Dipper can avoid him, for a bit. Along with all other awful things he found out today, he learned that fact.

He turns on his heel, ready to make his second run of the day.

It fails almost instantly.

One step into his retreat, Bill seizes him by the waist and drags him in, too quick by far. Strong, too; kicking out doesn’t work, hitting him again doesn’t work, he struggles against the tight grip and it only makes Bill let out a terrible, cackling laugh.

Arms come around him, then, drawing him in too close to even hit the bastard anymore, or struggle effectively. They squeeze so tight it’s nearly hard to breathe. Dipper feels a warm grip on the back of his neck, firm and relentless.

God. He never stood a chance against Bill, did he. Too strong, too quick. Too weird to understand, or placate. Nothing was going to be clear, or forthright, or helpful or safe.

Escaping the cult didn’t matter, all of Bill’s previous patience didn’t matter, things are alway going to turn against him and ruin his day and his life. It doesn’t matter where Dipper is, it’s always going to be like this.

It was never going to be okay.

The strangled noise that escapes his throat sounds so much worse than a normal person’s. A wordless, helpless sound he can’t stop, there’s too much frustration and anger and sheer exhaustion, and Bill’s holding him really right, up against his chest. Dipper headbutts his shoulder in one last attempt at escape, then just. Leaves it there.

Bill can retaliate whenever he wants. Dipper can’t fight right now, he just - He needs a minute.

The minute lasts. And passes.

Also, Bill’s shirt is really soft, so it doesn’t hurt when he rubs his face against it. Fuck, and now he’s getting it wet - but actually, fuck Bill, he’s the one who caused all of this.

Absolutely everything is Bill Cipher’s fault, even if indirectly. Dipper hiccups, then wipes his nose on the soft cloth.

It’s all soggy and gross now, he screwed up again -

But no, Bill deserves it. He hopes it sucks for Bill as much as it does for him, trying to stop his chest from heaving. Bill could have let him go and avoided this, but no, he’s stuck in his arms. Let that asshole get all damp.

At some point Dipper started clinging back, but that’s only because he couldn’t go anywhere else. Bill hasn’t relented even in the slightest, this entire time. He’s stroking a palm up and down Dipper’s back in a slow, warm rhythm because he’s super goddamn weird.

Much like living under the bed, this, too, can’t last forever.

Eventually Dipper sighs. The breath is shaky. Still more solid. He doesn’t have any more to let out.

He’s. Still pretty embarrassed, but he can’t see Bill’s face and he’s not dead. Two okay points in what’s otherwise been… not the worst day of Dipper’s life. But maybe in the top ten.

The hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck slows. Then it strokes through his hair again, and down. Bill pats him between the shoulders, letting out a low sigh.

“Aw, look at you. All torn up ‘cause the answer wasn’t handed to ya on a silver platter.” Bill pats his back a couple more times. “Man, are you full of fluids!”

A little squirming manages to free Dipper from Bill, at least by a few inches. Bill gives him a once-over, then pushes a handkerchief into his face.

It’s too late to pretend none of that happened. Or cover up, for dignity’s sake. Or back up, for that matter. With his cover totally blown, Dipper takes the damn thing so he can stop ruining Bill’s shirt, and wipes his face.

“Tell ya what. You had yourself a big day, and your poor human brain’s probably way too overwhelmed to be of use, sooooo…” Bill says, drawing out the word slowly. Smug, again, despite his snotty shoulder and too-close human. “I guess I can part with one hint.”

Dipper looks up. Bill meets his gaze with a grin, totally unbothered. Oddly unbothered.

It’s… it’s like he truly doesn’t mind that his shirt is ruined because some random human’s having a fit, or that he’s been bothered by pointless crap ruining his evening. Bill looks…

Well, he’s… not amused, exactly. Something less snide, and downright impossible to place.

“Truth is…” Bill leans in close, and winks. “You’re special, sapling.” He lingers for a moment - then squeezes Dipper again, slightly more gentle. “Have fun working out what that entails.”

Special.

Sure, it’s a hint. One that’s sorta true. With everything else that’s happened, denying it outright would throw all of the other hints out with the bathwater. But…

Dipper, of all people. Special.

It’s one hell of a word choice - and it’s totally, classically Bill.

With just one word, Bill implied a secret with deep importance. Saying that, deep down, Dipper has something nobody else does.

Because of course he did. It’s about the allure.

Everyone wants to be important. Being important to a god, triply so. It’s the carrot at the end of a long, long stick. A temptation. Doesn’t Dipper want to know why he’s ‘special’? Wouldn’t it be cool if he was? The intrigue is exactly why it’s so dangerous.

His first instinct was right. Bill is an asshole. And a big fat liar.

Dipper blows his nose into the handkerchief, sniffing again. Looking awed at the ‘reveal’ would be the right response, but he’s too tired to play along. And by the look of it, Bill doesn’t mind that either.

“Gross,” Bill says, but his smile doesn’t alter a fraction. Dipper can’t see any other emotion behind it, for once. He reaches up, thumb smoothing some hair behind his ear, before his arm slips around Dipper’s waist. “No amount of special stops you from being organic, unfortunately.”

Yet more Bill, revealed. A liar, an asshole - and definitely the type of guy who can’t leave an insouciant comment unsaid. It’s completely unsurprising.

Even though he doesn’t need to, Dipper blows his nose again, just to watch Bill make a face. He rubs at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the lingering heat.

It doesn’t matter though, Dipper guesses. Bill’s always going to be really goddamned weird and erratic and insane. A person that no amount of learning enables you to entirely predict.

He’s just going to have to work around it. Somehow.

With a smile, Bill starts up his slow petting again. His arms are warm, and that inhuman strength isn’t so bad when it’s just. Holding.

It’s been a long time - or, how long has it been? Years, maybe… god, Dipper can’t remember the last time someone just-

He takes a slow, shuddering breath. Bill goes very still for a moment, then he squeezes Dipper around the back, with both arms. Not hard, just tight enough to be kind of…

Wow. Okay.

This is a hug. Bill might lie about it later, but there’s literally no other word for it.

Dipper turns to rest his forehead on Bill’s dry shoulder, and listens to him chuckle. He can feel his chest moving under his hand, and the steady beat of an inhuman heart.

There’s a secret here. One about Dipper, and what he means. Bill’s partially revealed it, and he wants Dipper to work out the rest. Best thing to do would be to get on that immediately.

But he’ll have time for that later.

He can stay here for a bit. Until Bill gets bored with this part too.

Dipper lets out a sigh, and lets himself relax. He feels the slow stroke start up on his back again, and a low contented hum. This warm body, firm under his arms.

Even if it’s a lie, it makes Dipper feel like he’s special. Just for a moment.

#This is a long one jsyk #writing is hard #I don't have any fun tags on these long posts because spend all my energy making them #I am in need of a nap #Time to grab a cat and cuddle 'em while I rest #I'm also making chili and it smells super good right now

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galedekarios · 3 months

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Are you the one who made the post about how in the epilogue Gale has lines mentioning he has been learning skills from Tavs class?

no, but i can help you if you're looking for what gale and the protag both say.

this dialogue path only triggers if you chose to leave waterdeep behind and went on to adventure with gale after the game ends:

Gale: I confess, when I left Waterdeep there was a part of me afraid that I might regret my decision. But I never have. Gale: I'm delighted to be here amongst friends again, but part of me is reluctant to step away from our new life - even for such a gathering as this.

Player: You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Gale... Gale: Oh, ignore me - I'm perfectly content. Besides, the chance to step out for a night on your arm is hardly one I'm going to pass up. Tara the Tressym: I'm just glad I'm not the only one encouraging you to leave the library once in a while. It does one good to feel the grass beneath one's paws from time to time. Gale: I don't know where to begin in telling people what we've been up to. I suspect they won't believe me...

the player then has various options to pick from depending on their class, showcasing the skills that gale has been taught by them:

Player: Who knew you'd look so good swinging an axe..., BARBARIAN - Player: You've learned to harmonise wonderfully. Not quite solo material yet, but you're close., BARD - Player: Me neither. You've learned much about my faith, and a far more worthy god than Mystra..., CLERIC - Player: I wouldn't have believed it either. I'd no idea you had such a way with animals..., DRUID - Player: I wouldn't have believed it either. You, taking lessons in magic from me..., WIZARD, WARLOCK, SORCERER - Player: Their belief does not matter. You've studied my oath, learned the truth of its purpose - that's achievement enough., PALADIN - Player: That you've learned a trick or two from me? Steal the gold from their palms and they'll believe you soon enough., ROGUE - Player: Of course they'll believe you. Your arrows fly as true as your spells these days., RANGER - Player: Whether they believe does not matter. Our studies grant you an inner peace no external approval could offer., MONK - Player: They'll believe it the next time we get ourselves into a scrap. You wield a sword as well as half the fighters in Faerûn., FIGHTER - Player: Only Mystra herself need know the truth of your accomplishments. And under my guidance, you've served her well., CLERIC_MYSTRA

i do like gale's little response:

Gale: What can I say? You're an excellent teacher.

it's a sweet callback to his spell teaching / weave scene, where the player can tell him he's an excellent teacher after helping them channel the weave.

i do think this - in addition to the little tidbit you get in lae'zel's origin where it's revealed that gale learns tir'su for her - really highlights how truly and genuinely invested gale is in his partner and their relationship together.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #otp: you give me hope #otp: a soul that steels my own #otp: celestial bodies #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #text: asks #also the cleric line is so raw i love it #'a far more worthy god than mystra' 🔥🔥🔥

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