you will continue to shine like gold in my memories

a place for my self indulgent writings

[halcyon-writings]

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please read the rules before requesting!

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my tags:

#chatter. - my yapping tag, also for miscellaneous posts

#recs. - for fics i like!

#mutuals. - my beloved moots.

#fic talk. - asks about any of the fics or hcs i post!

#concept. - things that aren't long enough to be full fics but i like to write it out a little

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☆ REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY: OPEN

+ the inbox is always open for general chatting or concepts !

[raesource]

kissy kissy prompts

if you are sending to a multi-muse, remember to specify the muse that the prompts are being sent for . you can add + reverse to swap roles . a couple of these are considered usfw / nsfw .

🫣 Kiss the receiver for the very first time.

🥀 Kiss the receiver as if it is for the very last time.

😡 Kiss the receiver during a heated argument.

🧱 Pin the receiver against the wall while kissing them.

🫦 Bite the receiver's lower lip before kissing them fiercely.

😭 Kiss away the receiver's tears from their cheeks.

😴 Wake the receiver up with kisses all over their face.

🔥 Kiss the receiver while snuggled up by a fireplace / campfire.

👔 Pull the receiver in for a kiss by their collar / tie / belt.

🛏️ Push the receiver onto the bed and pounce them with kisses.

💋 Gently kiss one of the receiver's scars / wounds.

🌃 Kiss the receiver while quietly stargazing.

😱 Kiss the receiver to shock them out of an anxiety / panic attack.

🥂 Press a kiss on the receiver's lips / cheek while a little tipsy.

🎭 Kiss the receiver while on a pretend date (for a mission / wedding etc.).

🌿 Kiss the receiver while standing under some mistletoe.

😈 Kiss the receiver on / near one of their private parts.

💦 Kiss the receiver while they slowly come down from their release.

💄 Leave lipstick marks on the receiver's face / neck / body.

🧛 Leave a trail of bite marks along the receiver's neck / body.

[halcyon-writings]

god the modern piece you did with maegor made me laugh out loud in the break room especially with “because that’s your name”

im glad it landed bc I was cracking up just as I was writing it.

There’s something fascinating (read: terrifying) about the sight of Maegor Targaryen yearning. He does not yearn, he corrects.

And yet, he lets you reload your account to some overpriced coffee shop that makes really good breakfast sandwiches with his card. Not the company card. His own personal card. It felt like a small weight in your palm the first time he’d handed it to you.

The sight of one Maegor Targaryen, CFO and resident boogeyman to anybody who lazed about and played games on company time, simply sitting in your own smaller office just because you’re there, freaked many of your department members out. He mostly just sat, quiet and contemplative at least as he looked out the window.

“Please do not scare any more interns, they need the college credits,” You admonish slightly.

Maegor grunts.

(He still scares a poor intern who had been trying to flirt with him with a look of disdain.)

There’s also the fact that Visenya Targaryen knew about you. That alone was frightening enough.

But it was the fact that Maegor had told her about you. So you nearly felt your heart stop when some of her own security came to escort you to a short lunch with her.

At least Aenys was there too. His penchant for easy conversation and the skill to keep it going were both blessings you did not know you had needed until this very moment. Even he managed to get Visenya’s attention more than once, but she would return her keen gaze directly on you.

You looked like a deer caught in headlights. You felt like it too, and this intimidating woman was the person driving the car that was about to hit you.

(It was nothing that scary, you don’t hear Visenya say as she meets with her son for dinner.)

Do you nearly faint when you learn that you made a good first impression? Absolutely.

But Maegor buys you lunch and you order yourself something sweet (or two) to make up for it.

[halcyon-writings]

Hi darling. I hope I'm not bothering you. Could you write prompt lists 3, 5, 6, and 8 for Maegor? Thanks ❤️

I’m doing only one prompt per character, so I will choose one of the prompts I haven’t done already - 6 !! This will also have a bit of a shift compared to the other fics, bc I don’t want to be too repetitive, so it’ll be set in a modern au!

I have already written prompts 5 and 8 for Maegor, which I will link below:

Prompt 5

Prompt 8

nav.

yearning prompt list.

original art: naomimakesart

modern au +

having them constantly on their mind, finding reminders of them in the most mundane of daily activities.

Aenys knows his brother can be a bit… much.

(He recalls secretaries leaving his brother’s office in tears, turning in their resignations the next day. Executives from rival companies flinching and giving into his demands easily.)

The position paid well, he had said. But there was a nervous flicker in his eyes. Despite the feedback, they were able to at least get the position filled quickly. The salary after all, was nothing to sneeze at.

“Aenys,” You say, eyes mildly alarmed, “Am I going to war or am I just filling in until they train the new secretary.”

Aenys swallows. His smile becomes strained, and you begin to regret agreeing to help him.

You, fortunately, had your own place at the company already. But somehow, Maegor’s brother had convinced you that while they train the next secretary, you could hopefully and temporarily fill in. At least just for now.

You consider arming yourself with the roll of bubblewrap and a stapler you found in the supply closet. You had been in there for a few minutes to calm your nerves, but as the closer to 10 AM got, you left; bubblewrap and stapler left behind.

Behind his desk, he looks like a normal-ish man. Well, as normal as a giant man with pale hair and violet eyes could look while glowering at the data sheet in front of him.

“You?” He grunts.

You don’t know if you should feel offended by how informal it is. But you know when to pick your battles.

“Yes, Mr. Targaryen had asked me to fill in, while they train someone new… Mr, Targaryen,” You finish lamely. Right, sharing the name and all that.

Maegor blinks. But then says nothing else.

“You have a meeting that can either be done before or after your lunch, and your Mother has called, wanting to have dinner together,” You quickly outline.

For the meeting, the appropriate documents are taken from a folder he hadn’t even realized you were holding. A small dossier even, about who he was meeting with, their quirks, if any.

You were well prepared it seemed.

“Oh! Your brother also got you a coffee,” You say, placing the paper cup down.

Maegor nods, and you take it as the dismissal that it is, turning on your heel and leaving the office quietly. When the paper cup reaches his lips, Maegor’s nose crinkles. Some sweet concoction that Aenys had probably decided he’d needed. When a simple bit of milk and sugar would have sufficed.

It takes two weeks exactly to learn that you are good at what you do. Competent, and you don’t fawn over him as if you’re hoping to land on his arm or on his bed.

The mini dossiers do wonders, and he’d have to remember to get you something as thanks. It certainly saved him as he had little people skills, nor had he wished to improve on them.

You also know what information needs to go to whom, without prompting. Sometimes your commentary manages to even get him to snort.

He thinks of the way you shared a side eye when an executive from Essos sounded like he was making an innuendo or something, rather than talk business. Even as you typed your report for that meeting, you had looked at Maegor with a look that asked: Was that a real interaction?

He leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly tapping a pen on some memo pad.

His mug of coffee was empty. He already imagined you lightly shaking your head, mentioning how much caffeine he could consume was probably bad for him. But at least it wasn’t the iced monstrosities of sugar that Aenys sipped on with extra whipped cream and chocolate.

Caffeine is still caffeine, you said, placing a full mug on his desk anyway.

“Maegor,” Aenys had called him, shaking him from his thoughts.

“They called me Maegor,” He says, his cheek resting against his fist while his eyes stared holes into another document that definitely did not need to go all the way up to his office. For a moment, he sounds… forlorn. As if such a thing could happen.

The new secretary had just started this morning. And because of that, you had returned to your proper department. A sticky note left on his desk that read: It was great working with you! was placed on his memopad.

His brother blinks. Once. Then twice.

“Well, brother, because that is your name,” Aenys says kindly.

The other hums. Or rather, grunts. Regardless he says little else. It’s a silent dismissal, Aenys knows. But a part of him wonders if Maegor had realized what he had been feeling yet.

[halcyon-writings]

hi dear! I was wondering if I could request number 8 from the yearning prompts with Maegor? He’s such a fascinating character to me and you write him very well!

ahhh im so glad that you think so, anon! to me, maegor is both an interesting character to write for and a difficult one lowkey.

notes: loosely adjacent to events in fire & blood when it comes to maegor’s death, character death (points @ previous point.)

nav.

yearning prompt list.

original art - naomimakesaart

leaning in to gaze at them better, taking note of every little detail, every new addition to their appearance, and staring like they'll slip through their fingers if they ever look away.

There is always a weight beneath the gaze of Maegor Targaryen. Men who were too proud knew to keep their gazes low. Ladies who gossiped knew to silence their whispers and talk. None dared to be so bold in anything that could have been considered treason. Not if they valued their lives.

Kinslayer, they whispered nonetheless. Monster.

It had not mattered then, and it had not mattered now. You looked at him with a small expression of surprise as he opted to join you for the evening rather than spend it with any of his wives.

"You honor me, your grace," You say with a laugh as you pour him some wine, sweet in its notes, but spiced in the aftertaste. You take a seat across from him, legs curled beneath you on a plush chair.

"Honor," He says with his own snort, "I suppose one could call it that."

You raise your arms in a lackadaisical shrug, "Well, your grace, it is that or a scandal that you do not lay with your rightful consorts."

Not to mention how much the Faith utterly detested his decision to take more than one Lady to wife. But you didn’t raise that point, even you know when to keep your mouth closed. He is quiet. And for a moment, you think you’ve offended him by simply bringing up your relationship to him. If it could even be called one.

An advisor, maybe. A lover, rumored. But ultimately, no one would know for certain.

"Come," He beckons you over, and you give him an owlish look, for you already made yourself comfortable where you sit. He grunts, uncaring, "I do not wish to command you a third time. Come here."

You make a face, like you've bitten a lemon. For a moment, you meet his gaze with a challenging one of your own. But eventually, even you bow to the intense gaze of the Targaryen.

It is his own madness, one may think. One that even you are not privy to, no matter how close you would have believed to be. Maegor was equally stranger to you just as he was familiar. How his eyes can communicate words cannot, yet at the same time, you are left guessing.

Perhaps it is for the best that you do not see how he looks at you.

How it seems he can see right past you in ways that no one else can. As if you’re a subject to study, to observe.

How your brow quirks upward but not enough to be noticeable. Your fingers when they twitch, after a councilman makes an offhand remark on your close relationship to the King. (He knows that you itch to reach for the blade you have hidden on your person, only staying your hand because he is present.

If that council member took a slip down one of the stairs, non-lethal, of course. He would watch as you offer feigned sympathies.)

He watches how bands of gold decorate your wrists. A collection of sorts, you had mentioned offhandedly. Only for a new set to be delivered to your chambers within the next few days.

He notices you do not flinch when traitors to the crown are found guilty. You bow your head as ceremony required, offering your respects, real or not. The sight of blood does not turn you away when the executioner’s blade swings. Tales of confessions under duress do not make you flinch.

You simply receive them in turn, just as you receive him.

It makes you a wonder. It makes you dangerous.

And yet, Maegor cannot resist the gnawing urge that demands more.

He takes and takes. You give and give.

And as he bleeds sitting on the Iron Throne, he sees your eyes. They sparkle upon seeing him there, and they continue to shine as you walk up the steps leading to the throne.

Your fingers trace the arm rest, seemingly not being cut by the several blades, lingering on the cuff links you had pinned for him that morning.

With a final bow of your head, you press your lips to his bloody temple. And Maegor, gurgling on his blood, has never found you more beautiful than in this moment.

[halcyon-writings]

hi I hope that you’re having a great day/night! Can I request number 4 from the yearning prompts and gepard from hsr? thank you so much in advance!!

hello! Gepard is actually another character that I haven't written much for, so I am glad for the chance to write for him!

nav.

yearning prompt list.

bodies in close proximity, focusing on how electric the air is, and being hyperaware of how their heat is searing itself into their skin.

You exhale, and with the cold that always permeates the air, you see it as you sigh. Your weapon is slung over your shoulder, as you use a stick you had found to walk, your boots crunching on the snow.

The Stellaron had been sealed, yes. However, it would still be some time before the everlasting winter would fade away.

Gepard himself seemed to be especially concerned when it came to the Silvermane’s patrols. He always erred on the side of caution in the event of monsters from any lingering fragmentum appeared, and thus chose carefully on who would go. You were among them, as a sharpshooter who could remain at a distance if you needed to retreat.

If there was one fortunate thing about it all, was that at least the fragmentum and its monsters had begun to dwindle as thanks to the Express crew’s efforts and involvement.

So when you return from the expedition with your group, hale and healthy for the most part, Gepard awaits you.

A small pot of brewed coffee also waits for you. It’s not your drink of choice, but it’s hot and warms you up enough that you can’t complain at the bitter taste. It is tempered by the fact that Gepard also knew how much sugar and cream you liked to add to it.

“Thank you,” Comes your quiet murmur as you take long sips, the mug warming your hands, despite having worn gloves.

Gepard nods, his own expression softening as he sits with you. The hearth crackles nearby, fresh wood having been added just this morning.

“You’re alright?” He eventually asks, the blond haired man turns to face you. There’s still concern in those eyes of his, and usually you weren’t one to be so fawned over. But despite that, you don’t seem to mind.

“If you mean my leg, it’s fine. It was just a sprained ankle that’s long since healed,” You say, placing your now empty mug down on the table, “I just happened to miss my step and embarrassingly slip on some ice.”

Still, Gepard worries even if he doesn’t say so out loud.

“No need to worry, Captain, we all did make it home,” You say with a playful expression, the corners of your eyes crinkle as your lips move into a smile.

“Still, you had me- all of us, worried,” Gepard scolds lightly.

You thankfully miss his slip up, but it sends his heart racing nonetheless.

It had meant to have been a routine operation; having taken place a few nights go, ensuring that anything, beastly or monstrous had not wandered close. But like all expectations of normalcy, it was ruined by the very same monsters.

He had helped you back, as you were favoring weight on one side. You had forgot what the topic of conversation had been, and had paused midsentence when Gepard had simply picked you up. Having been stunned into silence momentarily, it took you a moment as cleared your throat awkwardly then.

Your colleagues had an array of reactions. One had gasped, eyes wide, gloved hands covering her mouth. Another had looked away, shoulders shaking before they cleared their throat. The third had his eyes closed, lips thinned as he moved his head down.

Unbeknownst to you, Gepard too had realized what he had done. He was all too keenly aware of his hand resting on the small of your back. It had felt that, despite wearing the layers of the Silvermane’s uniforms, your skin was hot to the touch. Or maybe that was his face burning bright red.

“Well- anyway…!” You say, sounding almost hysterical as you settle, “We should get going, yes? Please? I’d like to prop up my foot.”

Everyone present knew it was not about propping up your foot. But rather, about preserving your dignity, or what remained of it. Gepard only nodded jerkily, still holding onto you tightly.

The rest of the group followed obediently behind, with nary a peep leaving them.

You were very much glad for it.

[halcyon-writings]

please please please please please write yearning prompt 5 (“idealizing them, imagining them in their fantasies, thinking repeatedly about their best qualities.”) and maegor! I think he’d really be that delusional about someone

you guys have surprised me with the maegor requests (I got a few yesterday so hopefully i can work on them soon)! so I will hopefully do my best in writing for him!

notes: reader is a noble (they can be from westeros or not if you wish, it's not explicitly stated), gn!reader (as per my usual works, but i just wanted to state it outright djsfkjds), maegor is delusional for real, slightly suggestive but its not ultimately the mainstay of the fic, also we need to get the baddie that is Ceryse out of here bc Maegor could not handle her and in this essay-

nav.

yearning prompt list.

original maegor art - naomimakesart

idealizing them, imagining them in their fantasies, thinking repeatedly about their best qualities.

In an ideal world, you would have been promised to Maegor. He would be yours and you, his. As it should have been. He was the rider of Balerion, son of Visenya the Conqueror, he was not some Andal lord who cowered and bowed. The blood of Old Valyria burned within him, he would have been the best choice of husband for you.

You too had come from a House of well renown, one even known prior to the reign of the Conquerors. It made you a suitable candidate, but it would not satisfy

"Old Valyria has been gone for a long time, Your Grace," You had said once. You were walking with him, arm in arm in the garden's of the castle. They had only just begun to bloom, colorful petals and blooms decorating the paths.

Anyone else would have gotten a strict backhand for the slight, but not you. You, whose words could make a man drink poison from your palm, "If you wish to prove yourself, do it for the present, not for the past that has already been left behind. The bones of the old men will not stir."

But it was not enough.

Not even being a Prince would convince your family to agree to a potential match. As if he was not a Prince but some stable boy wishing for a chance at courtship.

He could have just stolen you away, he thinks. There’d be little need to ask permission, and he could just send gold and other gifts as apology if truly necessary to be in better graces with his good family.

Maegor would bring you to Dragonstone to wed you in a ceremony of proper Valyrian tradition. His marriage to Ceryse Hightower had still proven barren; and it was his right to marry twice, just as his father had.

His mother, Visenya, would have led the proceedings; as the Queen Dowager had still been dissatisfied that he had been married in ways she had said were beneath them.

You would have ruled, leal and powerful, by his side. A circlet that complimented his own crown placed upon on your head as you stood beside him on the Iron Throne.

He imagines it is you instead of his Hightower wife. That it is you who calls him husband, with the crinkle in the corners of your eyes that always appeared when something amused you so. Your body beneath his, or above it. That he would take you to the skies on Balerion as you looked down at the Kingdom below that was rightfully his and yours.

In the end, it is his Hightower wife who sleeps beside him. He stands, unbothered by cool night air against his skin, a goblet of wine brought to his lips. Sleeping pants hung loosely on his waist, but even then, he is not cold.

Your eyes would have watched him as you lay on the bed, a half-hearted scold on your lips as you toss a thin robe at him, "You'll acquire a chill, husband," You'd laugh and your eyes would crinkle in their corners.

Ceryse slept silently, her expression at peace.

Maegor could not help but scoff, before bringing the goblet of wine to his lips and emptying it in one go. His eyes were narrowed as he looks out into the night’s skies.

“Come to bed,” He’d hear you say, arms opened and inviting as he pulls you flush to his chest. His lips would be on yours, whatever clothing had remained upon you both would be shed.

It would be the taste of wine and you that linger.

You would not be far from him, then. Not as you were now, married to some other unworthy Lord.

You would be his and his alone.

thank you for reading! ♡

[halcyon-writings]

HI BESTIE I ADORE YOUR WRITING TO BITS AND PIECES 💖💖💖

May I ask for prompt 7 from that prompt list for maegor 👉👈

hello my darling! yes, you absolutely can! (this is my first try in writing for maegor so I hope it's not terrible fhdkdjd) also i think a man should yearn (even if he’s eventually does commit atrocities.)

nav.

yearning prompt list.

original maegor art - naomimakesart

a tightness in their chest, an ache in their body at the thought of what they don't have.

You had come to court on a quiet afternoon, having little fanfare in your presence as you exit the wheelhouse that carried you. Courtiers had sought to seek favor of the royal house. But somehow, you were never amongst the front of the crowd. Instead, your presence was a quiet but steady thing. It was not as fickle as others were,

Aenys spoke of you kindly.

For you, in his brother’s words, were someone did not titter or posture. You certainly were respectful of the royal family, but you did not feign ignorance to when there needed to be some criticism. Especially when it came to matters of the kingdom com

“And then they said I was too cordial with the Faith,” Aenys continued. For a moment, Maegor resisted the urge to laugh, because of course, of course, Aenys would listen to anyone else. Anyone else but him it seemed.

“That would be a correct assumption,” The son of Visenya replied, arms crossed. The Crown Prince’s solar was a private place. At least here they were hidden away from prying ears and eyes.

Aenys only smiled. For a moment, he’d been taken back to a time before they were proper Princes of the Blood. But like all memories, they were to remain in the past. Now, his focus needed to be on their House and strengthening its position. Something that Aenys, soft hearted Aenys, had not quite figured out.

He only manages a chance to speak to you, when you’re invited to a luncheon in the gardens. Very few got the opportunity, as Queen Dowager Visenya had all but commanded they eat together.

You sat to Aenys’ right and Maegor’s left, just in the center. Your napkin neatly placed over your lap and your hands folded on the table.

“So you are the one that my brother has spoken of,” Maegor spoke. His voice was low, yet gruff. His eyes were on the assorted cuts of meats and cheeses, fruit on the corners of their platters.

“Well I hope it is nothing bad, your Grace,” You say with a polite nod. Bread with jam is on your plate, your hands, decorated in thin rings of silver, reaching forward.

It is Maegor who grabs what you reach for. A small bowl of ripe blackberries, which he places beside your own plate.

Your thanks is quiet. But you give it nonetheless.

The berries stain your lips, a dark color akin crimson, as you smile, your teeth glint. Maegor’s gaze finds yours, as he cuts into a particularly bloody cut of meat.

“Not bad,” He agrees.

The luncheon passes quickly. (Or not quick enough depending on who is asked.)

You’re a curious thing. You do not linger amongst the gossiping courtiers, and yet you always seem to know secrets of theirs. You never make too much noise during the occasional feast, but you do share a dance or two with an expectant lord.

It’s as if your existence exists few and far between the courts own notice and Maegor’s.

And despite himself, Maegor seeks more of it.

A lesser man would be punished for their honest and blunt words. But you? You had a way of making them sound better.

“If they fear you, they obey you,” You said once, as dawn crawled into the sky. When the practice grounds were still silent, and other knights and squires still slept, “But if they love you, they’ll do anything you wish.”

A part of him would have laughed.

Another part wonders just how true your words were. And if you would be one of them. But you depart the way you came before he can reply.

He doesn’t think much of it. And perhaps that is the beginning of his undoing. You give little reason to be sought out. It’s as if you disappear just as easily as you show yourself.

It gnaws at him.

More so that he realizes that your attention does not linger on him.

(Why would it? A crueler voice in the back of his mind supplies. He was no Crown Prince, a simple replacement of an heir until Aenys properly has children of his own.)

You’re walking arm in arm with his brother; your expression pleasant. Aenys laughs at something you say, but he cannot hear what amuses him so.

Then it becomes aching sting, and he feels it growing in his mind. It’s unfair almost. Once more he is not chosen. (Not by his Father, being left behind on Dragonstone, not by you, not by Aenys.)

He is not chosen. And the ache lingers. It’s a hunger that continues to gnaw at him.

—

thank you so much for reading! ♡

[mirantics]

yearning. subtle signs of want.

eyes tracing over their features while they're turned away, catching on their eyelashes fluttering against their skin, the slope of their nose, the curve of their lips.

hands brushing, fingertips twitching, savoring the sparks that ignite from touching them, and resisting the urge to chase after it.

hanging onto their every word, engraving the sentences they speak into their very bones.

bodies in close proximity, focusing on how electric the air is, and being hyperaware of how their heat is searing itself into their skin.

idealizing them, imagining them in their fantasies, thinking repeatedly about their best qualities.

having them constantly on their mind, finding reminders of them in the most mundane of daily activities.

a tightness in their chest, an ache in their body at the thought of what they don't have.

leaning in to gaze at them better, taking note of every little detail, every new addition to their appearance, and staring like they'll slip through their fingers if they ever look away.

staying silent when the topic is brought up, too fearful to broach it in case of rejection, or maybe just unwilling to fully commit, and merely returning to their longing afterward.

overthinking what they say, what they do, desperate for the other's attention, just to have their eyes on them.

being unable to believe that what they feel could ever be returned, becoming complacent with the absence in their chest despite its heaviness.

[halcyon-writings]

send a character + a prompt if you’d like!!

[halcyon-writings]

We can have something of Ryota (Dislyte), genuinely can't find anything about him 😔 it hurts my heart.

I think about Ryota expressing himself for real, even if it's behind closed doors.

I didn't think I would like the fox man as much as I did, but the event story and his general story endeared me to him and now here we are.

☆ nav.

Ryota does not trust easily, despite how charming and well spoken he is. That has all been a part of his facade since he had assumed the role of being in charge of the shrine after Kagura had passed. You must be very important to him if he feels that comfortable to drop that facade. Especially when he has his mini-exile, because traveling away from the island is a new experience for him.

His real self can definitely be a bit more quiet, and his body language will speak the loudest for him in comparison to words. Conversation may be a bit one-sided for a while, as Ryota lets you do more of the talking. He nods along, and you know that you have his undivided attention when his tails flicker behind him or they gently wrap around your wrist as if to say ¨Go on, continue.¨

Which brings me to this point, that he’s sitting close enough for one of his tails to gently grab your wrist in the first place. Behind closed doors, he can take solace in the quiet. He can leave behind the loudness of the outside and simply rest. But in the early stages of your relationship, he was very closed off. It was nothing against you, it was just how he naturally had come to act in front of other people.

It’s very important for him that he can allow himself to be open in ways he hasn’t been before. The mask when he was Ryota, the island representative, to the mask when he is Ryota, the merchant, weigh on him in equal measure. But then when he’s with you, he can simply be Ryota.

I still hc that as an adult, he’s still lowkey a little childish. Maybe a picky eater, so whenever you have dinner, he sneakily puts what he doesn’t like on your plate. Or when you’re both out and about, when the social battery has changed, he stands more behind you, his hand in yours as he gives a squeeze. It’s as if to say, “Can we go home, now?”

Yes, you both immediately decide to start saying your goodbyes (or the famous, slowly make your way to the door and eventually leave tactic). The relief of being at home is noticeable and you get a very happy and cuddly fox man on your side. Next time, though, you both may just consider ordering takeout and staying in.

—

Thank you for reading! My requests are open ♡

[boozytiramisu]

if you can please donate towards school supplies for children of the congo. they deserve to learn in spite of everything.

[halcyon-writings]

oh hey new invincible season dropped-

[halcyon-writings]

“reader has a name but they aren’t an oc!”

okay girl

[filtheopathic]

puts my filthy little xreader hands all over your fandom

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Reblogs in a chain now get their own notes

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[halcyon-writings]

helloooo since your requests are open, could you write something for either kafka or firefly from hsr with this prompt? “you should be scared of me. i like that you’re not.” i saw you added your prompt list tag and i hope this is okay!

I know your request said for either, but I ended up getting inspired and so I wrote a short ficlet/drabble for the both of them! (and lowkey I forgot about the prompt lists until this ask reminded me whoops),

- reader is sort of a part of the stellaron hunters in firefly's part. reader and kakfa lowkey are on the same freakquency.

nav.

To Kafka, you were a curiosity. Something that made her want to investigate and learn more of. But then again, the feeling must have been mutual. You had a... tentative partnership with the Stellaron Hunters. You did not balk when it came to the riskier aspects of working with some of the IPC's most wanted. Nor did you appear affected when this new partnership lead to your own bounty.

Kafka came with her own level of danger, of course, with her strings capable of cutting down even the most sturdiest of security. And yet, one day, as she "performed" a short song on those strings, you had applauded her. You stood amidst the violence, unflinching and unperturbed.

Bodies litter the ground, her strings shimmer; steady and strong, sharp and dangerous. Instead of any sort of pain, you feel it akin to a lover's embrace. You tilt your head, exposing your neck to the sharp string, so readily offering something that could spell your demise. Your hair had fallen into slight disarray, but nothing you could not fix when you got a chance afterwards.

Kafka’s eyes meet yours from where she stands, they seem to carry their own amusement. The sword she wields is properly put away, as she loosely crosses her arms. Kafka had the outward appearance of being relaxed, but it was clear that she was poised for any enemy hidden in the shadows, as that had also happened once or twice.

"You should be scared of me," The words leave her mouth as she strides forward.

You only shrug while giving her a small smile, "You think so?"

"Well, either way, I like that you're not," Comes her breezy reply, her heel taps against the tiled floor. That makes you laugh, a laugh that makes you throw your head back and that makes your shoulders shake,

You offer Kafka your arm, and your expression is pleased when she takes it. Her hand on your forearm as you both leave the destruction behind,

Firefly seemed to avoid you. Well, that made it sound worse than what it actually was. Because when you both were paired together, the script was followed to near perfection, and the end result would leave Elio pleased. But aside from that, it seemed as though the young lady you knew as Firefly was hiding something. Keeping herself scarce following the debrief. As a Stellaron Hunter, you were privy to your own secrets, but not so much to the secrets belonging the rest of your little team.

There is a particular level of detachment when it comes to fighting. You handle the smaller groups of enemies, doing so with an ease before you feel it. The temperature rises around you, and you can see the burst of flames from the sky before you hear her, Firefly has armored herself once more. Larger and tougher enemies that won't simply be felled by a bullet are handled much faster now.

And yet, when the battle is said and done, she appears troubled. You raise an eyebrow, stepping over the fallen without tripping over any of them. She hasn't noticed your proximity until you're practically standing right beside her. She jumps with a startled sound leaving her lips. "I'm sorry!" And she even bows, as if you had been one of the poor fools getting hurt.

You shrug, "For...? I didn't exactly get hurt or anything, really, you probably made it easier for me to do my job. So I should be thanking you, or maybe apologizing for not helping as much as I should have."

Immediately Firefly jolts, her hands waving away the idea that you should be the apologetic party. Her nervous blustering aside, you can't help but be endeared.

"You're not... scared? Of me?" She asks, wringing her hands. It is a far cry from the cold efficiency that she had taken out your shared enemies.

"Nah, I mean, we've arguably seen worse things than you turning into a giant flaming mech suit," You respond.

Despite herself, she smiles, it's an awkward thing, but it lights up her entire face. So you cannot help but smile in return, the corners of your eyes crinkling, as she speaks again, "Oh. Well, that's good. I guess?"

[halcyon-writings]

; Aerion being Aerion, only he does not expect you to defend yourself. (Mentions of controlling behavior, domestic violence, Aerion isolating the reader from others. No real description for the reader. But they’re from a noble house probably(?) if that matters.)

—

One evening, after you have dined with his family, Aerion does not expect you to snap. Having just returned to your shared apartments, he has already begun to try and make your evening end miserably. You usually never respond to his taunts. To the way he supposedly “teases” you as he declares a spouse does.

You learned quickly not to.

You learned not to flinch when he would grip your arm too tightly, beneath your sleeves would lay finger shaped bruises. You learned to cover the bruises on your face that had been covered by powders and tints.

He does not expect you to respond, to rebel against his actions.

But you do. That is what takes him by great surprise.

He ends up on the floor, wine had spilled down his doublet, staining the cream colored fabric of his tunic a dark red. (Too red. Too bright. He almost thinks you’ve taken the glass shards and stuck them into his chest.)

Your expression almost frightens him. How your jaw is locked, your eyes are glaring down at him. His lips part, but not a sound leaves them.

But rage bubbles beneath his skin, and it makes him wonder if this is how dragons felt before they breathed flame. The anger overwhelms his surprise, his shock that you had the gall to act in such a way.

A dripping sound makes him pause. His eyes drift to your hands, with one that is currently clenched into a fist around broken shards of glass. Your palm must have been cut as you grip the glass with a white-knuckled touch.

You have wounded yourself, and yet you barely care.

“How dare-!” Comes next. As Aerion pushes himself back to stand.

Yet it is your unwounded hand that rises and meets his face. The sudden sting shocks Aerion into silence, as he looks at you, wide eyed and confused.

As your husband, he claimed many things about your relationship, your life at court even.

He chose what you wore, how it mostly matched his own clothing. After all, you were his spouse, and wasn’t that all that mattered. He chose who you could speak to. Courtiers who were too friendly, maids who were too nice, all seemingly missing.

And for their safety, many learned to avoid publicly speaking with you. You had been all alone.

Maekar had tried. Your goodfather had certainly tried. But Aerion was good at hiding his cruelty under honeyed words and actions. And you already suspected he had some inkling of what was happening behind closed doors.

But he loved his son. So you grew to hate the man, too.

“Touch me again,” You hiss, your hand trembling, “I will ensure you dare not wish to again.”

Aerion laughs. A cold and bitter sound that almost makes you wish to hide. When you had first been wed, you had naively thought that if you did little to anger him, you could maybe even come to care for him.

What a fool you were.

“You will not dare to strike me again,” He says. His tone is empty of any emotion. But you see in his eyes, indignation.

You take a breath. Steeling yourself and your nerves as you open your clenched hand, glass clatters to the floor. Small cuts litter your palm. But they no longer bleed terribly, if at all.

Your eyes tremble. But you do not break the eye contact first. “You forget, husband. I am also of a house with storied history. And that dragons have also fallen to mortal men before.”

The dragons having long since died before he was born was an especially sensitive topic. You knew it would wound him more than your hand ever could. But you knew he would readily retaliate.

So, you practically turn on your heel and walk with quick and rushed strides; you leave the private apartments you both shared within the castle walls. Aerion would probably scream for someone to clean the mess. But, he does not chase you.

You leave Aerion stunned and angry. But he does not follow. He must have been wroth — undoubtedly so. But for the first time in what felt like ages, you smile to yourself.

No matter what he may try, you know that you have won something against your husband.

That is what helps you endure the coming journey to Ashford Meadow. A part of you hopes that Aerion enters the lists at the tourney and an unfortunate accident comes upon him.

Another part of you wants to see him lose to a hedge knight. One with no renown or any fame to his name. Just to see the Prince falter in defeat. That gets a laugh to form within your chest. Yet, that laugh sounds more like a cry.

As your maids clean your hand (to which you pointedly ignore their concerned looks), you push the thought away for now. It was late already, and you were already tired from the day’s events.

—

nav.