Her eyes gently fluttered and she felt the pressure behind her. She slowly awoke, senses coming back to her; a slight ache in her princess parts, the confusing stretching feeling, a firm hand over her wrist. Her already melted brain detected a soft cooing. “Hush little one, back to sleep. Mummy is just looking after you” her eyes fluttered again as the dull ache worsened, her little insides stretching wide then wider as her face pushed into the pillows.
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Halduron and Rommath lounging in the latter’s personal chambers at the end of a long, grueling day. Halduron gently brushing Rommath’s hair in long, slow strokes while they pass a hand-rolled smoke of bloodthistle between them as the minutes crawl by. The magister occasionally warning the ranger to not get ash in his hair, but his tone always lacks bite.
There is a castle, high on a hilltop, where a powerful king lives. He treats his people well, for a monarch, and is fairly well liked. The taxes are reasonable, the people eat well, and the land is defended.
The king has a daughter, fair haired and beautiful, the people of the land adore her. High within the castle walls, in the tower, the princess lives her life in luxury and peace. A garden down below in the courtyard where she gazes, servants to wait on her every need. Life is good for the princess.
A day comes where the king hears tell of a dragon, a great white creature like the clouds. It lives far across the plains, the woodlands, in another place. He worries that, while it maybe another mans problem now, it may become his.
He begins preparations, great ballistae are built high upon the walls, mounted upon parapets. The soldiers of the castle trained in their use. The wealth of the kingdom is placed deep beneath the keep, word of its movement spread to hopefully reach the servants of the white dragon. The king is satisfied, his kingdom, his wealth, will remain safe.
His daughter objects to her placement, high in the tower, where she could be harmed by a dragon before she could even flee. The king reassures, the dragon could not even reach the tower, and the walls of the tower are mighty.
A day comes, where screaming out of the sky a cloudwhite form appears. Lightning splits the walls of the castle, shattering stone. The ballistae are armed, and fire, but miss the shrouded target by great lengths.
The princess, panic filling her heart, begins to run down the tower, deeper into the keep, praying to any that will listen that she will escape from the disaster. A cool chill fills her to the core, a lulling voice seems to say she will suffer no harm.
The king rages, his soldiers spilling into the garden, where the dragon alights carefully, and admires the flowers. The soldiers weapons slash through the downy soft exterior of the dragon, which closes just as quickly, leaving no visible damage. The dragon ignores them.
The princess makes it to the foot of the tower, to the garden, to where the dragon sits. She stops and stares at the beast. Visions of a tower, filled with servants, other beautiful girls, delicacies and treasures for them all to enjoy and admire floods her mind. The dragons shock-blue eyes call to her, she runs out into the garden.
With a sweep of a great talon, the dragon pushes all the soldiers away, and holds out a great claw, palm up, for the princess to step onto. The king shouts in horror, screaming blood and murder at what he sees. His daughter steps out onto the dragons palm, and it lifts her to its back. She sinks into the cloudy white fog that surrounds it, and is gone.
The castle, in ruins, is the last thing on her mind, as the dragon lifts her off into the bright blue sky, lightning flitting off its wings as it flies. The princess thinks, instead, of the reports her father had heard. That other kingdoms were losing their princesses, they were being taken by something even kings could not stop.
There is a tower, high up on a mountain, where a powerful dragon lives. It treats its treasures well, for a dragon, and is loved.
Lazy Morning: Vincent Sinclair x Gender Neutral Reader Fluff
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Waking up to the sight of a body positioned into a chair, covered in wax with the eyes staring directly at you should have been horrifying. Yet, you just blinked and decided to ignore them, opting to roll over to snuggle into the hard lines of Vincent’s chest. Vaguely you could hear them trying to speak, the rumbling noises they made as they tried to beg you for help. The fact was, you were too far gone, too enamored with Vincent and the rest of the Sinclairs to feel much for the victims they claimed.
You tilted your head up when Vincent grunted and stirred, watching with a small smile as he blinked awake. Your heart swelled at the sight of him, hair mussed from your activities the night prior and a tired but pleased look in his eye as he flicked his gaze down to you. The muffled whines of Vincent’s latest art project grew louder and you watched as Vincent turned his head to glare at them. With a gentle touch, you turned his attention back to you and shifted to press your lips against his own.
It was nice waking up to his maskless face, reminded you of the deep trust and affection he held for you. You grinned into the kiss when you felt Vincent loop one of his toned arms around your middle and pull you closer. It was clear from the way he rested his chin on the top of your head that he had no intention of going anywhere quickly, mumbling victim be damned. That was completely fine with you. Lazy mornings with Vincent were always a welcomed treat. He kissed your temple before shifting into a more comfortable position and slowly drifting off to sleep once more. And you smiled before sighing and joining him in slumber.
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Angélique knows what it is like to be alone at home. Now that she is older, her governess no longer has to dote on her constantly and thus go on trips. However, the loneliness can be suffocating in such a large house. Steve must feel the same sometimes. ❝ I can stay if you want me to. ❞ Setting her bag down, she leans over to press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.
❝ If I do stay, do you mind if I borrow a shirt? I didn’t bring any pyjamas. ❞ Staying the night couldn’t hurt, could it?