#Ancestor Boy II

[lvmoure]

But Daddy, I Love Him CS55

Summary: In the youngest child of King Charles II and late Princess Diana of Wales fell for an F1 driver, and is willing to do anything just to be with him.

Warnings: slight angst and rebellion.

You want nothing but to escape from the royal protocols that your family have set.

You are a lot of things: classy, smart, beautiful, elegant, and also, away from the eye of many, you are nothing but a rebel. Growing up in a dysfunctional family where your brothers seem perfect, life is nothing but complicated. It becomes even more complicated when your older brother, Harry, decides to live away from everyone with his wife, Meghan. You feel the weight of expectation in Buckingham Palace, where every action is scrutinized and every misstep could lead to scandal. You yearn for freedom, for a life beyond the gilded cage of royalty.

It’s a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the clouds outside your window reflect the turmoil inside. The dark sky looms over the palace like an ominous reminder of your frustrations. You sit on your bed, staring at the opulent walls adorned with portraits of ancestors, wondering if any of them ever felt trapped in their roles. Your heart pounds in your chest, a constant reminder of the fight brewing inside you.

“Why can’t you just act like a proper lady?” your father’s voice booms from the hallway, pulling you from your thoughts.

You can hear him pacing outside your door, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. “You’re a princess, for heaven’s sake! This isn’t a game!”

You stand up, your anger boiling over. You open the door, your resolve hardening as you face him. “This isn’t about being a princess, Dad! It’s about being myself!” Your voice trembles slightly, betraying the intensity of your emotions.

He turns to you, his expression a mix of exasperation and disappointment. “Being yourself is exactly what got you into trouble last time. You can’t just run off to… to some racing event with that Sainz boy! It’s unbecoming.”

“Unbecoming?” you scoff, crossing your arms defiantly. “What’s unbecoming is pretending to be someone I’m not. I’m tired of this charade. I want to live my life!”

He steps closer, towering over you, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “And what kind of life do you think you can have? You’re throwing away everything—your title, your future—for a whim. For a boy!”

“Carlos is not just a boy! He’s passionate, driven, and he understands me in a way you never will!” Your heart races, but you refuse to back down.

“Passionate? Driven? Those are just words to romanticize what he is—a reckless race car driver! You think this is some fairytale?” His voice rises, echoing in the grand hallway, and the walls seem to close in on you.

“Maybe I don’t want a fairytale, Dad! Maybe I want to create my own story!” You take a step back, your breath quickening, realizing how far the argument has escalated. The tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away, determined to stay strong.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. “You are a princess! You have responsibilities, expectations! You can’t just abandon them!”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a princess anymore!” you shout, the words escaping before you can stop them. Silence hangs between you like a taut wire, both of you breathing heavily, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air.

He studies you for a moment, disappointment flashing in his eyes. “If you leave, don’t expect to come back. This family doesn’t tolerate such behavior.”

Your heart sinks, the threat echoing in your mind, but the fire of rebellion burns brighter. “Maybe I’ll take my chances.” You turn on your heel and storm down the hall, the echo of your footsteps reverberating through the palace like a drumbeat of defiance.

As you grab a small bag, you throw in a few essentials—clothes, your phone, and a picture of Carlos you keep tucked away. The thought of leaving fills you with both fear and exhilaration. You pause at the door, your heart racing as you glance back at the life you’re about to abandon.

With one last deep breath, you step out into the rain-soaked streets of London, the cold air invigorating. Each step takes you further from the constraints of your title and closer to the life you’ve always dreamed of—one filled with passion and freedom.

Days pass, and you find yourself standing on the sun-kissed shores of Mallorca. The salty breeze tousles your hair as you sit on the warm sand, staring out at the turquoise waves crashing against the shore. You left everything behind: the palace, your family, the expectations. You made the choice to find solace in the sun, but it feels like a band-aid over a deeper wound.

Carlos, with his warm brown eyes and infectious smile, had always been a light in the dark. It was his idea to meet here, a promise he made to show you the world beyond royal duties. As you watch the horizon, you remember the first time you met him at a charity event, his passion for racing sparking something inside you that you never knew existed.

Suddenly, you hear his voice, and you turn to see him approaching. “There you are! I thought I’d lost you to the sea,” he teases, his smile lighting up his face.

You smile back, feeling the weight of your past lift slightly in his presence. “Just contemplating life and my terrible decisions,” you say, trying to sound light-hearted.

“Hey, every decision leads us somewhere, right? At least we’re here now.” He gestures to the beach, and you can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at his optimism.

“Yeah, here. Away from everything,” you reply, your voice trailing off as you recall the argument with your father.

Carlos sits beside you, his presence comforting. “Is everything okay? You seem… distant.”

You sigh, looking out at the waves. “It’s just hard to let go of everything. My family… they expect so much from me.”

“You don’t owe them anything. You’re allowed to be who you want to be.” His words are gentle, yet they cut through the chaos in your mind. You turn to him, your heart racing.

“But what if who I want to be isn’t what they want? What if I’m just throwing everything away for nothing?”

“Nothing? You’re not throwing anything away. You’re chasing what makes you happy. And if that’s me, then I’ll do everything to make it worth it.” His sincerity makes your heart flutter, and you feel the connection between you deepen.

As the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the island, you realize how much you longed for this kind of connection. “What if this is just a summer fling? What if you go back to racing and forget all about me?” The fear creeps in, but you push it down, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Carlos takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. “Then I’ll race back to you. No matter what, I won’t forget you. You’re not just some fling to me.” His eyes hold a promise, and for the first time, you feel hopeful.

That week, you explore the island together—dancing under the stars, sharing stories, and laughing until your sides hurt. Each moment feels like a stolen treasure, a world away from the palace. But as the days pass, the looming thought of returning home creeps into your mind, a shadow over your newfound happiness.

The week has come to an end, and you find yourself at a quaint café overlooking the Mediterranean. The sun rises slowly, casting a warm light that contrasts with the storm brewing in your heart. Carlos sits across from you, sipping his coffee, a content smile gracing his lips. You want to capture this moment forever, to freeze time in this perfect bubble.

But the bubble is about to burst. Your phone buzzes, a message from your father breaking the serene atmosphere. You read it, and your stomach drops. “Come home. It’s time to face your responsibilities.”

You set the phone down, feeling the weight of the message like a boulder on your chest. “I can’t go back,” you whisper, panic rising.

Carlos looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my father. He’s demanding I come back to the palace. I can’t bear to face him after everything.”

“Don’t you want to talk to him? Maybe he’s just worried.” He reaches out, but you pull away, the thought of facing your family unbearable.

“Worried? Or controlling? He’ll never understand. I feel like I’m suffocating in that place.” Tears brim in your eyes as the emotions flood over you.

“Then let’s not go back,” Carlos says fiercely. “We can stay here. We can make a life together away from all that.”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of reality. “I can’t run forever, Carlos. My father will always find me.” You realize with a sinking heart that this paradise can’t last forever.

The conversation grows heated, both of you struggling to find a solution. “You have to fight for what you want,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Don’t give up on us.”

“It’s not that simple! My family… they have expectations. I can’t just turn my back on them.” The thought of your father’s disappointment stabs at your heart, but the idea of losing Carlos cuts deeper.

“Then you need to stand up for yourself. Tell him how you feel.”

You pause, considering his words. “What if he doesn’t care? What if he just wants to control me?”

Carlos reaches for your hand, holding it tightly. “You

won’t know until you try. You deserve to be happy, and I want to help you fight for that happiness.” His eyes are fierce with determination, and you feel a spark of hope igniting within you.

But the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your heart. “I don’t know if I can go back and face him,” you admit, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Then we’ll face it together. I’ll be right by your side.” His warmth envelops you, and for a moment, you believe him.

But then reality crashes in. You know what you must do. “I have to go back, Carlos,” you say softly, pulling your hand away. “I can’t abandon my family, no matter how hard it is.”

The decision hangs in the air, and you can see the hurt in Carlos’s eyes. “I understand. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy.” His voice trembles slightly, the pain evident.

“I wish things were different,” you murmur, your heart breaking as you stand up, ready to leave the paradise you’ve found.

As you walk away, every step feels heavier, and you can’t shake the feeling of loss that grips you. Carlos’s figure fades into the background as you board the plane back to London, leaving behind a piece of your heart in Mallorca.

Back in Buckingham Palace, the weight of reality crashes down like a heavy fog. You wear a smile for the cameras and the public, but inside, you feel like a ghost drifting through the hallways. The opulence feels suffocating, and every laugh shared with your family feels hollow. They celebrate your return, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside you.

Each day, the longing for Carlos grows, filling the empty spaces where happiness used to reside. You replay every moment from your week in Mallorca, from the gentle caress of the ocean breeze to the warmth of his hand in yours. The memories haunt you, and the loneliness settles in your heart like a cold stone.

One evening, you find yourself wandering the gardens, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the flowers. The beauty of the night contrasts sharply with your inner turmoil. You stop by the fountain, the sound of water soothing yet haunting.

Your father’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the responsibilities you’ve shunned. You should be grateful for everything, yet all you feel is regret. “Why can’t you just be what we want you to be?” he had said, and the words sting like a whip.

You sink to the ground, tears spilling as you realize the truth—you cannot live a life dictated by others. You want to fight for your love, to reclaim the happiness you’ve tasted with Carlos.

“I can’t keep living this way,” you whisper to the night, your heart racing with determination. “I won’t lose him.”

The decision crystallizes in your mind: you will leave again, this time for good. You’ll fight for the life you want, for the love you’ve found. The fear that had held you back shatters, replaced by an unyielding resolve.

As dawn breaks, you pack a small bag once more, your heart pounding with the thrill of rebellion. You leave a note for your family, knowing they may never understand, but this time, you don’t care. You are doing this for yourself.

The flight to Mallorca feels like an eternity, your heart racing with anticipation. You step off the plane, the warm breeze washing over you, carrying the scent of the sea and memories of laughter. The familiar landscape unfolds before you, each corner reminding you of the moments you cherished with Carlos.

You find him at the same café, his laughter echoing through the air as he chats with a group of friends. When he sees you, his face lights up with a mixture of surprise and joy, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

“Is that really you?” he asks, disbelief evident in his voice. “I thought I lost you for good.” You run to him, throwing your arms around him, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. “I came back. I had to fight for us,” you breathe, tears of relief streaming down your cheeks. Carlos pulls back, searching your eyes for the truth. “You mean it? You really want this?”

“Yes! I want you, Carlos. I want this life, the one I choose for myself. No more hiding, no more running.” You take a deep breath, the weight of the world lifting off your shoulders.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, cupping your face in his hands. “I was worried you’d change your mind.”

“Never. I’ve spent too long trying to be someone I’m not. I want to embrace who I am, and that includes you.” You lean in, and he captures your lips with his, a kiss that seals the promise of a future together.

For the next few days, you immerse yourself in the vibrant life of Mallorca, exploring the island hand in hand. You learn more about racing, his passion igniting something within you. You share your dreams and fears, building a bond stronger than ever.

But then, the day comes when Carlos must leave for a race. As you stand on the balcony, watching him pack, a wave of sadness washes over you. “You’ll come back, right?” you ask, the uncertainty creeping in.

“Of course! I’ll always come back to you,” he promises, wrapping you in his arms. “Just remember, you’re the reason I push harder on the track. You give me strength.” As he leaves, you feel a mix of pride and longing. You have finally found your voice, your path, and love. But you know that this journey has only just begun.

Months pass, and you find yourself at peace with your choices. You’ve forged a life away from the palace, pursuing your passions alongside Carlos. The connection you share deepens, built on trust and understanding.

Finally, the day comes when you stand before your father again, ready to confront the past. You’ve made your decision; you want to forgive him and seek a relationship based on honesty.

“Dad, I want to talk,” you say, your voice steady as you approach him in the gardens. He looks up, surprise etched on his face. “You’re back from your… adventures.”

“I want to understand. I want us to move forward, but I need you to understand me too.” The words come rushing out, a torrent of emotions spilling over.

Your father’s expression softens, and for the first time, you see the regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just wanted to protect you.”

“I know. But I need you to let me be myself,” you reply, your heart open. “I want to find my own path, and I want you to support that.”

As the conversation unfolds, you both find common ground. There’s healing in vulnerability, and slowly, you rebuild the bridge between you.

A few months later, you stand in a sun-drenched chapel surrounded by friends and family, your heart pounding with excitement. Carlos stands at the altar, his eyes full of love and determination.

As you walk down the aisle, your father by your side, you feel a sense of peace. You’ve embraced your past, and you’re ready to step into the future. You take Carlos’s hand, and in that moment, you know you’ve chosen the right path.

The vows you exchange are a promise not just to each other but to yourself: to love fiercely, to fight for your happiness, and to always remain true to who you are.

As you seal your vows with a kiss, the future stretches before you—unpredictable, thrilling, and entirely yours.

[ellecdc]

All's Fair in Love & Chaos (II)

2nd instalment (I - II - III - IV)

a short blurb style mini-series in collaboration with @unstablereader no real plot, just vibes and comedy.

Synopsis: soulmate au, everyone's soulmate's initials become visible on their wrist when the last person in the bond 'comes of age' (I've left the age ambiguous because their may be mature insinuations later on in the story). As luck would have it, and much to everyone's horror; it appeared that you, Barty Crouch Junior, and Sirius Black were soulmates

poly!DeathStar x fem!reader

Though this soulmate thing had caused Sirius a bit of grief so far, he was feeling rather chuffed about it today. He was currently sitting with you in the library; you were currently doing research for your Herbology project, and he was pretending to work on his Transfiguration essay.

It was an odd sight, he was sure; Sirius Black found in the library working quietly without being involved in some sort of mischief. It was no secret he didn’t exactly take his school work seriously, but that was only because he didn’t have to; classes came easily to him and getting good grades didn’t require any extra work on his part.

But…

But, he had a pretty little thing sitting across from him, that was certifiably his, and she was spending time in the library, which meant he was, too. 

It was a precarious arrangement, but Sirius found he didn’t much mind when the unpleasantness wasn’t around. 

Unfortunately, the unpleasantness was insistent on following him around.

“Junior.” He growled lowly as a figure sidled up behind you and cast a shadow over your shared table.

“Black.” Barty sneered before turning a saccharine smile in your direction. “Hello, sweet darling angel.” He cooed, earning him a scoff from Sirius.

“Hello, Barty… what are you doing here?”

Barty laughed as if you’d made a particularly funny joke. “I’m here to spend time with my best girl, of course!” 

“Like hell you are!” Sirius barked, earning him indignant shushes from the other students around him.

“Barty… you agreed to this.” You tried placating.

“Agreed to share you with Black?” Barty squawked. “I’d sooner start wearing red and gold unironically.”

“Junior, this schedule was your idea. I get the library study time on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. You get the library study time on Sundays, Mondays, and Wednesdays. It’s Tuesday; get lost.” Sirius lamented.

“But I don’t want to!” Barty pouted particularly petulantly, even stomping his foot for good measure. 

“Well, you can take it up with management.” Sirius taunted.

“You just sodding said yourself that this was my plan; I am the management!” Barty countered. 

Sirius mustered his most Noble and Ancient menacing glare from countless Black ancestors. The Slytherin boy had no problem reciprocating it, and it wasn’t until you intervened that the boys broke the silent war being waged between them.

“Barty, I…I think you should go see what Pandora is up to? And…maybe we can sit together at dinner?” You offered hopefully. Sirius was simultaneously grateful you were trying to rid them of the unpleasantness and also terribly jealous that Barty was going to share a meal with you.

“Yes! Okay, I’ll go get Pandora to help me organize a romantic meal for us tonight.” Barty beamed excitedly.

“Please. How romantic can a meal in the Great Hall be?” Sirius sneered, albeit slightly worried that Barty may in fact succeed.

“You mind your fuckin’ business, Black. Salazar’s balls you’re a pest.” 

“I’m the pest!?” Sirius exclaimed, but you were quick to place a conciliatory hand on Barty’s forearm.

“Please, Barty?”

Barty looked down at you with a pained expression that Sirius could understand all too well.

You were impossible to say no to.

Barty looked between you and Sirius a few times before groaning exasperatedly. 

“Fine.” He relented, pressing a smacking kiss to your cheek and stalking off.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief as you turned back towards the table with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh!” Sirius heard, causing him to let his head fall with a thump to the table before him. “I almost forgot.”

And Sirius lifted his head from the table to watch as Barty pulled at the collar of your uniform shirt to expose part of your neck and began sucking a bruise into your skin.

Sirius spit out a shocked guffaw as he watched Barty pull back, admire his work, press a chaste kiss to it and replace your collar to its proper place before leaving the library for good. 

“What…” Sirius started as he turned his attention from the door he’d been keeping an eye on to ensure that menace didn’t return to continue tormenting him back to you, just as you were embarrassedly rubbing at your neck. “...in the buggering fuck was that?”

“That’s just Barty.” You replied timidly. 

Sirius let out another scoff, eyes still glued to your neck. “Are you okay?”

You chuckled at that and offered Sirius a smile that was equal parts apologetic and equal parts teasing. “I’m pretty sure that’s his way of showing…affection? Or possibly marking his territory; he’s done it before when Diggory spent a, quote, ‘unreasonable amount of time complimenting my potion’.” 

Sirius relaxed a little at that. He supposed if you were comfortable with it, he wouldn’t push it. And though Sirius clearly had better impulse control than your other soulmate, he couldn’t deny how much he was tempted to do the same.

“Alright then.” Sirius relented, allowing you to return to your research.

“I hope you know you’ve just opened up the need to schedule meals now though.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You groaned, plopping your head down into your textbook.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Megathread: All Clues concerning “Elrond = Sauron” in “Adar meeting/Kiss scene” (2x07) - Part I

Fellow fans and I have discussed this theory several times, and in many posts, but I think it’s time to create the ultimate megathread, with all the clues, about it. 

And brace yourselves: this is a long read. The amount of evidence is mindblowing and so extensive I had to make two posts about it: Part II.

I) Visual clues:

1) The Touch ™

Let’s start with the obvious one:

This might parallel Sauron’s proposal to Galadriel in 1x08 (and even Galadriel’s reaction is somewhat similar in both scenes):

In 2x08, there’s also a callback to his previous offer (in Season 1 finale): I would have placed a crown upon your head. I would never have rested until all Middle-earth had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its Queen.

In 2x07, there is an actual callback to Sauron’s offer in 1x08; when Galadriel reveals to Celebrimbor that she did wanted to accept Sauron’s offer (to be his queen):

2) Elrond's Inexplicable Glow Up

When Elrond arrives at Eregion, leading the Elven army, his face is soiled with dirt and mud. However, in the tent with Adar, he’s all cleaned up, with a fresh face, and pristine clean and polished armour and cloak, and flowing hair.

You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins, you must know you cannot defeat me in battle. Adar can't see a pretty boy without gushing over him, 2x07

Why is this mention of Melian odd in this context? Melian was the Maia who fell in love with an Elf, Thingol, and birthed Lúthien, the Half-Maia, Half-Elf lady who married Beren, a human (and these two are Elrond’s ancestors). Maiar falling in love with Elves? Does this ring any bells?

Adar compares Elrond’s looks to one of the Maiar, angelic beauty (that Elrond, in spite of having Half-Half-Half-Maia blood, cannot truly have, no matter how attractive he is). And this isn't the first time in Season 2, that Adar talks about Maiar beauty, either:

And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger... I saw it. His servant's face. Sauron's face. And it was beautiful. Adar talks to Halbrand/Sauron, 2x01

There is also a lot of fire (red) on this scene; especially over Elrond himself: the ones who read my post about Sauron's color code in "Rings of Power" already know that red is the color used to signal Sauron's deceptions.

3) The Mystery of the Two Pins 

Hercule Poirot has entered the chat because the pin Elrond usually wears isn’t (1) the same as the one he has on in the scene with Adar, nor (2) the one he gives Galadriel: these are two different pins.  

Elrond’s pin is square-shaped and fits the circle; and the metal is mate. The one he used on the tent scene with Adar is diamond-shape and shiny (like Galadriel’s), and it’s placed on top of the circle (and not inside). 

3) Passing plot-device objects in an intimate manner is kind of their thing

4) The Two Saurons in Prince Durin’s speech

This is actually my favorite clue, and it’s used in mystery/thriller genre.

When Prince Durin is giving a speech to the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm to get them to fight for Eregion alongside the Elves, he mentions Sauron on two occasions. And what’s the footage on screen?

Sauron with Celebrimbor at Eregion (predictable):

But then, we have this: Elrond leaving the Orc camp after his meeting with Adar. Odd...

After we see him leave Orc camp, Elrond's next scene in 2x07 is him in full battle. Which might indicate that the battle didn't stop for Adar's meeting with Elrond... for some reason. 

4) Bear McCreary (OST)

“Elrond’s theme” is not present in the “Kiss OST”, which is strange, because when two characters kiss, usually their themes are mixed together. Yet, in 2x07, we only hear “Galadriel’s theme”.  

"Battle for Eregion": 4:27 - 5:20 (Kiss OST)

"Last Temptation": 6:27 - 6:55 (Rendition of Kiss OST with Sauron's theme on the background | this bit was edited and cut from 2x08, for some reason)

II) Autopsy of a Scene 

In this scene, we, the audience, see Elrond acting completely out of character. “Rings of Power” has established him as diplomatic character, a politician, and even Adar himself tells us this: "You are a courtier. More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

We do see (the real) Elrond growing into his “warrior” role in this episode, however, we still witness a certain vulnerability and unsureness to him during his scenes at the Battle of Eregion, because he’s starting his warrior arc, and we see him suffering with the loss of his kin, and his anguish and heartbreak over Durin not coming to help.  

We don’t see this in this scene, at all. It’s a completely different vibe. Here, his body language and attitude it’s like he owns the room. Even when Adar is a bit uncertain, "Elrond” is commanding and bold. Sure, he knows that Durin will come to help, but Adar’s legions are still massive (and the Dwarves only manage to control the situation in 2x08 because the Orc army is shattered and their leader is having a religious experience at the top of the hill).

Let's dig in:

"Your kin"!?

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin."

Nevermind the threat, Elrond calls the Orcs Adar’s “kin”. Why is this odd? Perhaps we should recall Galadriel’s chat with Adar back in Season 1, to understand how the Elves truly see the Orcs:  

Adar: My children have no master. Galadriel: They are not children, they are slaves. Adar: But each one has a name. A heart. A heart. Galadriel: A heart created by Morgoth. Adar: We are creations of The One, Master of the Secret Fire, the same as you. As worthy of the breath of life, and just as worthy of a home. Soon... This land will be ours. Then, you will understand. Galadriel: No. Your kind was a mistake. Made in mockery. Adar reveals to Galadriel that he killed Sauron, 1x06

Galadriel calls the Orcs "slaves" and "your kind" because their existence is a mockery to the Elves themselves. Morgoth breed them as a corruption to Eru (Ilúvatar)’s creation (the Elves are called the “Children of Ilúvatar”). Meaning: no Elf alive would ever acknowledge the Orcs as “children” out of nowhere (let alone Elrond who’s meeting Adar for the first time, but apparently can read him so well like he has known him for ages).

The previous scene to Elrond’s arrival at Eregion, there's a lot of weight on Sauron’s blood being black, too: If you do not believe me, cut him open. Look at his hand, look at his blood. Black as pitch" as Celebrimbor describes it. We also see Sauron perform an illusion for his blood to appear red.  

Adar: My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud. Elrond: "Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar? Are they?"

Why does Elrond keeps acknowledging the Orcs as "Adar's “children" or “kin”? He’s the enemy, and there is no agreement or diplomacy happening in this scene, because Elrond has been antagonizing Adar even since he set foot on that tent. There is no reason for Elrond to talk like this... unless he’s not Elrond, at all.

Because, in 2x01, we saw another character speaking in such a way: 

There is one. Since Galadriel's defeat, she sought out a new ally. An ancient sorcerer, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon. One you first told her about. A power over flesh. Do you remember those words? A power that will allow him to use your children as slaves in his army once more. Sauron/Halbrand "plants the seeds" of the Battle of Eregion in Adar's mind, 2x01

And this is the moment when Adar realizes that Halbrand is, in fact, Sauron, and later has Galadriel confirm his suspicion. It’s the mention of “his children” (Orcs) that triggers the recognition between them. Maybe, because: "Do you want to know what he [Sauron] offered me? [...] Children." He tells Galadriel, in 2x06.

The “idea” of the Orcs came from Morgoth, and Sauron was the one who used Dark magic to see it through. And, perhaps, that "magical imprint" creates a recognition between them, because, like Charlie Vickers said, Adar and Sauron share a deep and mystical connection.

Why is all of this relevant? Because after “Elrond” calls him “Adar” (“Father of the Orcs”), there is a switch on Adar’s whole demeanor, and we can even see him looking deeper into Elrond’s eyes, as if he was suspecting him not to be actually be Elrond. And we can see this in Adar’s body language:

Vorohil: The enemy outnumber us ten to one. So why the confidence? Elrond: Because I know something the Father of the Orcs does not. Vorohil: And what is that? Elrond: Even now Prince Durin is rallying a legion of Dwarves to our aid. And at the first rays of sunlight... you will guide them straight into Adar's flank [...] Ride to them now. Meantime, I will ensure that Eregion's walls hold for one more night.

Elrond continues to call Adar the “father of the Orcs” after he leaves the tent for some reason (force of habit?).

But it has to be noticed that Vorohil himself is puzzled by Elrond’s confidence and boldness. And why is Elrond sending him away, exactly? It’s not like Durin and the Dwarves need an escort to get to Eregion, we know they have been there before, in 2x03. Or is he sending him away for him not to tell anyone about this meeting with Adar? 

It's also worth mentioning that another character is also "ensuring that Eregion's walls hold for one more night":

Sauron: Lord Celebrimbor refuses to permit a counter-attack. He says the river will protect us [...] And that is why we're not going to obey him. Gather your finest troops. I am taking command of our defenses.

And how would Sauron know that the Dwarves are coming to help Eregion? Because King Durin III has one of the Seven rings of power, connected to Sauron himself. Which means that Sauron has a direct streaming service into Khazad-dûm, and is aware of everything that happens there. More; King Durin (by the power of his ring) doesn’t allow the Dwarves to help Eregion. Which means, the Elven army will be defeated (just like Sauron wants).

Planting the seeds of discord 

The diplomacy isn’t in the room with us, because we, the audience, don’t see Elrond trying to reason or deal with Adar in any way, shape of form. Instead, Elrond taunts him with doing Sauron’s biding and sacrificing the Orcs’ lives, while going full warmongering on Adar. 

Adar: Sauron is my enemy as much as yours. Give me what I need to defeat him and let us all be rid of him. Elrond: Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion? Adar: Eregion has fallen into shadow. It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls.

What an odd thing for Elrond to say... How does he knows that Adar is doing “Sauron’s biding”? Has he earned his “gift of foresight” already? Without his ring of power? 

Elrond: Are you prepared to spend their [Orcs] lives so freely, Adar? Are they? Adar: The Ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be? Elrond: Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours.

In this scene, "Elrond” is taking advantage of the Orcs’ dissatisfaction with Adar to create even more conflict between the “father” and his “children”. And the camera lingers on Glûg after “Elrond” says this: who was the first to betray Adar for Sauron, and stroke the first blow to kill him, in 2x08?  

Why is Elrond using tactics from Sauron’s playbook of manipulation and deception in this scene, exactly? Because, here, he’s “planting the seeds” of everything Sauron wants: the Battle of Eregion proceeding (as planned), the Orcs betraying Adar, and giving Galadriel a means to escape (which appears to be the only reason why Elrond is there, in the first place).

Houdini Elrond 

Elrond removes the pin in front of the Orcs and not one sees or says a thing about it. Glûg might have seen it (as I’ve read some fans saying), but Galadriel breaking free wasn’t going to stop the battle, so there was no point in him allowing it; and Galadriel killed several Orcs during her escape, so it kinds of contradicts the theory that Glûg  “let it slide” because he was upset with Adar. 

However, the Orcs being blind it’s one thing, but Elrond boldly faces Adar without his pin. Are you telling me that this corrupted Elf, with thousands of years old (older than Galadriel herself), doesn’t notice that Elrond’s pin is missing and that he took it off? 

What kind of sorcery is this!? Is almost like... magic.

"Forgive me"??

Why is Elrond asking for Galadriel’s forgiveness in this scene, exactly? It can’t be because he’s allowing her to stay as Adar’s prisoner, because he’s giving her a means to escape. And he looks very emotional for it to just be a trick to fool Adar. 

Also, Elrond being there in the first place is a contradiction to the promise he made Galadriel, in 2x04: 

Galadriel: Promise me, Elrond, you will put opposing Sauron above all other considerations. Even my life.   Elrond: I will make no promise whose asking is borne of that Ring. But I swear to you... defeating Sauron will come first. Even before you.

Is he apologizing because he broke his promise? Or because he’s about to kiss her (as I’ve read some saying)? All of these justifications seem kind of weak.

There’s another character who has a lot to apologize for, and who already had a similar to parallel this one, back in 1x05:

[stupidocupido]

house of balloons

aegon ii targaryen x fem!reader | based on this hotd upper east side au

Like the conqueror he was named after, Aegon finds his treasures just to destroy them. Leaving them emotionally unsatisfied, drained of their self-respect, and covered in his cum. He sees it as a challenge, to make even the toughest woman beg for him. And eventually, they all do, because, in the end, all women are the same.

modern au; porn without plot; dom!reader, sub!aegon, blowjob, actual sex, hitting, degrading language; one shot; minors dni

I rewrote an old pwp I posted around 2020 for another character. Enjoy ;)).

All the lights in the office are off. Some eco-bullshit rules the MT came up with to save energy. The only thing that illuminates the place is the mixture of white and red city lights coming in through the windows. Ground to ceiling, the windows don’t open at the top floor, but they give a spectacular view over Kings Landing. From behind the desk, his father has a splendid view over the city, their ancestors worked hard for it after all.

Not a view Aegon currently can enjoy. His mouth is opened, and his tongue is being held between her fingers. It is drying up and when he tries to pull his tongue back, her nails dig into it. He tries to close his mouth, but she refuses to let him go. Instead, she grabs his jaw, pulling his mouth further open.

“You tell so many lies with this pretty tongue of yours—so much wasted energy. There are better things you can waste your energy and tongue on, oh Aegon. Didn’t I teach you that the last time?”

Aegon can only nod and it makes her finally let go. Her fingers are wet with his spit, which she swipes clean on his pants. Her hand stays there, her long nails dark and moving to the inside of his thighs.

“You’re a slow learner, I think you need to redo that particular class.” She sounds more annoyed than angry. He can feel his skin colour red, as he shamefully nods a bit too willingly. It is pathetic how her annoyed tone and scowl get him aroused.

Aegon never saw himself as the submissive type. He knows he is handsome and that it doesn’t take him a lot to talk women into his bed. It probably is a mixture of his arrogance, money, name and looks.

Like the conqueror he was named after, Aegon finds his treasures just to destroy them. Leaving them emotionally unsatisfied, drained of their self-respect, and covered in his cum. He sees it as a challenge, to make even the toughest woman beg for him. And eventually, they all do, because, in the end, all women are the same.

They all long to be dominated, to be domesticated. Women only need to be strong and independent when they open their legs to give birth to a child. They’re only good for three things: to be fucked, to make him a sandwich after and to be fucked again.

At least, that is how Aegon likes to profile himself to the world. The wild Targaryen son, the boy who is overlooked in favour of his older sister. With a father who probably gave him the token Targaryen name so he wouldn’t forget his unwanted son’s name. A mother who probably regrets not using a condom and siblings who are much more interesting and deserving of the Targaryen name than him.

And all those insecurities he masks by drinking, sniffing and fucking his monthly allowance away. Pretending he is the alpha male that boys who long for female attention talk about in their podcasts. Aegon knows, because sometimes they use him as an example in their boring click-bait conversations they post on TikTok.

“You’re so pathetic.” She says as she moves her hand off his thighs again. She pushes her index and middle finger against his lips. “So, like a dumb, mindless, uninspiring child, you need to be taught this one simple lesson again.”

Aegon knows what to do, he opens his mouth to lick her fingers. She pushes them in his mouth immediately. He sucks her fingers off like it’s her cunt. His tongue swirls around her fingers. His pleading eyes look up to her barely illuminated face. Then she pushes her fingers deeper into his mouth, her long nail scraping over the back of his tongue. It makes Aegon gag, his body moves with recoil.

Her laugh is cold and cruel. “Pathetic boy, you want to hit the back of my throat with your dick, but you can’t even take two of my fingers.”

She brings her wet fingers to her mouth, licking Aegon’s spit off her digits. She makes sure to look him straight in the eye as she does so. Aegon had been a very bad boy, telling everyone at the party she had been his latest conquest. When the both of them know the only one who gets pillaged here is the one with the growing erection.

As an intern at the publishing company the Targaryen’s own, her reputation is at risk. She is a serious girl, a hard-working girl. she is everything Aegon is not. Perhaps that is why he keeps on coming back.

“Can you repeat rule number one to me?” Her hand strokes his right thigh. She leans in closer to his face, wanting to make sure she doesn’t miss his words.

“No one will ever know about what happens behind closed doors,” Aegon mutters, looking away from her piercing eyes.

Her stroking stops, and she pushes her nails into his pants. “And which rule did you break, my stupid little boy?”

Her lips are almost touching his when she speaks the words. Aegon swallows the pain that comes with her nails into his skin away. “Rule number one.”

She backs away from him again, her lips curved into a smile that does not reach her eyes.

“Do you know what they do with boys who break rules?”

Both her hands are on his belt, loosening it. Aegon does not dare to look away from her face. They barely did a thing (they didn’t even kiss, for fucks sake!) but he is so turned on already. He shakes his head, pretending he does not know what happens when he breaks her rules.

“No? Well, let me tell you then.” She unzips his pants, her hand immediately sliding into his opened trousers. With her palm she rubs over his erection, scraping the fabric of his black boxers over the sensitive skin.

“They are punished.”

Aegon his head falls back because of her torturous movements. “Yes, please punish me.” He is shocked by the words that so easily fall off his lips. He is shocked by the desperate tone, he is shocked by the want he feels in his body.

He wants to feel her skin against his, but at the same time, he enjoys this building up a little bit too much. Her degrading words made him angry and ashamed at the same time. He is ashamed, that he, the famous Aegon Targaryen, so easily gets walked over. Walked over by a woman even! He is ashamed for liking it so much and feels ashamed he wants to please her. He does not do the pleasing, he is the one who usually is pleased.

Her hand slowly wanders into his underwear, her fingers stroke his pubes. Aegon mentally scolds himself for not shaving. But all his worrisome thoughts disappear when her hand slowly strokes his shaft.

“Such a good boy you are, at least you remembered rule number two.” Her thumb finds his head, circling around it, making her and his skin coated with pre cum. “Manners are what keeps the world spinning after all.” Aegon wants to argue and tell her that strong and rich men keep the world spinning. But for once he is smart and keeps his mouth shut. He knows she’s not happy with him, and he does not like it when she becomes cruel.

“How shall I punish you tonight? Will I make you come so many times you’ll remember who the real conqueror is? Or will I give you nothing at all?” Her hand curls around his cock, her nails pressed harshly into the flesh. Aegon lets out a pained yelp, tears well up in his purple eyes.

“Please don’t, I’ll be good.”

“If only you had thought about being ‘good’ sooner.” She does not loosen her grip, on the contrary, she presses her nails deeper into his sensitive flesh. Aegon his cry is filled with agony, he is afraid she will draw blood.

“I am sorry, I promise I will never do it again.” His voice comes out desperate, he hates himself for being this weak. The humiliation of it colouring his cheeks a rosy tint. She lets go of him and movies off him. Aegon resist the urge to touch where it hurts, instead he watches how she lowers herself. Her bare knees hit the carpet. She pulls his pants down to his ankles, his legs forced apart by her hands.

“No, you will indeed never do it again. Or this will be the last time you’ll be in my mouth.”

She kisses his upper thigh first. Her lips hit the spot where she had been hurting him before.

Her left elbow leans upon his knee, her cleavage pushed against his legs, as she leans forward to touch him again.

Aegon watches how her hand moves down from the tip to the base. His skin is still a bit sore, but Aegon forgets about the pain when her lips are wrapped around his head.

Aegon brings his hands to her head. His neck snaps back, and his eyes close, as he revells in the feeling her warm, wet mouth brings him. But the feeling doesn’t remain there for too long, because only seconds later she releases him from her mouth again.

“Don’t move, or it will be over.” She warns

She takes him slowly, her eyes locked with his. His cock is shiny with spit, her low moans vibrating against his skin.

Aegon really hates it when people are loud chewers. Hates the sound of people eating apples in the office, and despises the sounds girls make when they ‘seductively’ try to suck their iced coffees through a straw. He dislikes it so much it gives him goosebumps and makes him want to snap out to the ones making the disgusting eating sounds.

But the sounds that are produced as she sucks him off, are sounds that no matter how nasty they are, will never annoy him.

He feels like a true king, the way how her head moves up and down between his legs. He will never be able to sit in front of his father’s desk again without remembering what is happening right now. And it feels so good, the way she takes him deeper and deeper. Her tongue slid against the sensitive skin where her nails were before.

His hips buck up, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. He can feel it hit the back of her throat. The gagging sound she makes, makes him moan.

She presses her nails harshly into his thigh, changing his moan into a yelp of pain. For a moment, Aegon almost forgot who the real power had. Her teeth scrape against his cock as a final warning.

She only sucks the tip now, her tongue swirling around it, to let it pop out of her mouth only a second later. She looks up to his face, brows furrowed. “I told you not to move, Aegon.” The way she says his name makes him feel like a small child and he hates it.

He almost wants to cry when she stands up, ignoring his cock completely. He was so close to coming, painfully close. The tip of his cock is red and leaking with precum. “Not fair.” Aegon groans. “I was so close to making your mouth into a daycare.”

She ignores his disgusting joke. “Why did you break the rule, Aeg?” Her hands move beneath her dress, pulling her panties down in one motion.

Truth be told, he did not like how the other men were talking about her. He was not sure if it was him being possessive, or his ego that needed stroking. There is nothing better than letting dull people know you’re having (or fucking) what they want.

“I guess I didn’t like the way they talked about you.” Her eyes grow larger after his sentence, she clearly did not expect this answer. She climbs on his lap, her hands hold his face, her thumbs stroke over his burning cheeks. Her fingers move into his hair, to the back of his head. This moment feels strangely intimate, and it makes him more uncomfortable than her degrading words do.

“What were they saying?”

Aegon swallows.

“Filthy things only I am allowed to say.”

She kisses him for the first time this night and Aegon is grateful for it. He tastes himself in her mouth, her lips still wet with spit and him. He is fully aware of the fact she’s not wearing panties. Now her dress had ridden up her legs, he can finally feel her warm and wet core against him. Oh, how he wants to be inside her, to feel her cunt clench around his cock when he takes some of his control back. His painful erection hits her leg, as she moves up to deepen the kiss.

“Let me make it up to you.” He is almost willing to beg for it at this point, his hands stroking her back in an attempt to convince her he deserves it. “Please, I want to make you feel good.” She laughs hard at this. “The only thing you want is to fuck me. To spill inside me and to go back to your ‘dominant’ self after.”

She of course is right, but Aegon is too desperate and horny to fight her. “Please, I think I learned my lesson. I want you so bad, please, I would do anything.” She grabs his shoulder, leaning a bit back. The hand that is not holding onto his shoulders moves between her legs.

She’s touching herself, Aegon can’t see what exactly she’s doing beneath her dress, but he knows he wants to be the one to do it. “Anything you say?” Her head tilted to the right, her eyes finding his purple ones.

“Anything.”

She loosens up his tie, pulling the green silk fabric from his neck. His mother had made him wear it, said it belongs to his father.

“Hold your hands together.” Aegon raises his brow. “What?” She slaps his tie against his chest. “Do you want to fuck me or not Aegon?” There, she does it again. Saying his name like he is a piece of trash she needs to clean up. He does what he is told, pushing his wrists against each other.

She ties his hands together with the green silk. Making sure he cannot touch her and control what is about to happen.

She sinks down on him, her skin slapping against his. Aegon’s groans are filling up the office, as she sets the pace. Finally, he is inside her, but he can’t move, he can’t do anything. He is completely at her mercy. He hates that he loves it, to be commanded and tied up by her. She takes him so well, every inch of him filling her as if she was made to do so.

Her right hand is around his throat, pushing his head back. He is so stimulated, so embarrassingly close to his release already.

“You feel so good, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are closed.

“You better don’t come before I do.” She says then, but it is too late. Her words make him give in to his release.

In a way it is to punish her, Aegon hates that he likes what she does to him. Hates she is the one who can dominate him. So he climaxes, curses falling from his mouth. Her eyes narrowed, as his hips thrust upwards in the last moments of his aftershock.

He expects her to pull him out, to slap him maybe. Instead, she keeps on moving, in a frantic, rough manner.

It hurts so much, his soft flesh being ridden like this. Her moans are loud, drowning out his moans of pain. “The fuck you thought, coming before I came?” She slaps him.

“Shut up, I hate it when you act all silly and hurt when you get what you deserve.” Aegon his head falls back, feeling a bit foolish for liking the pain.

And when she finally comes, Aegon is panting as loud as she is. She kisses him on the mouth when she finally allows him to slip out of her. “I think you learned your lesson now.”

He can’t help but smile, for the game is over. They can go back to who they are now.

“Keep fucking me like that and I’ll tell father to hire you,” Aegon says. “And when I take over, you can be my assistant.”

He wants to fuck her on every surface in this office. Fuck her against the window while they watch the cars drive by. Fuck her on the plush couch his father always makes him wait on. Make her suck him off while he has online meetings, and let her ride his face while she makes important calls.

“Assitant?” She says in a mocking tone, destroying his fantasies. “I am made to lead, Aegon. Never to serve.”

She loosens up the tie, freeing his hands. She puts her panties back on and straightens her dress. “Clean up your face, it’s covered in my lipstick.” She advises him before leaving him alone.

Aegon grins as he watches her leave, oh, this is just the beginning.

--

@laedeviour @aegonswife

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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[afro-hispwriter]

Rhaegar’s Nameday

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!reader x Aegon ii Targaryen

Summary- it's Rhaegar's name day and he's in for a few surprises 

Warnings- poly relationships, Aegon is scared of a 6-year-old, use of the word whore and bastard, brief smut, y/n being a worried mother, Aemond gets a daemon moment

Part of ‘A Good Wife’ Universe 

Wc-4.8k

-

"Cake, music, and food are finalized." You say as you cheek off the boxes. "I am never planning his birthdays again." You were stressed out for Rhaegars Nameday as well as planning your wedding. 

"You should have let us do something." Aemond kisses the top of your head. 

"He's turning six, it needs to be perfect." 

"He'll love anything, Rhaegar is not an ungrateful boy," Aegon says from behind you. Aemond then pushed some of your hair away from your neck and started kissing down your neck. You let yourself relax into the kisses even throwing your head back slightly. 

"Aegon." Kiss. "Help me take care of our princess." It wasn't long before you felt a second pair of lips on your neck. 

"Not ready." You say and reach up to grab the back of their necks. "Few more weeks." 

"We don't need to fuck you with our cocks to help you relax," Aegon says. "Stand up." You did as he instructed and they started guiding you to the bed. Aegon sat down first and pulled you on his lap, he then placed his hands on your hips and started grinding you against his leg.

"Mmm." Aemond sat down next to you and slowly started pulling down the top of your dress. When your breasts popped out Aemond immediately attached his mouth and started sucking. As you were still lactating his mouth was flooded with milk. You tugged on Aemonds scalp and he groaned. "More." Aemond pulled away then grabbed your dress and pulled it over your thighs. He dropped lower and started kissing and sucking close to your mound.

None of you heard the door opening, it was the small gasp that made you all jump apart. 

"Rhaegar!" You exclaimed and pulled your skirt down. Aemond sat on the ground and wiped his mouth. 

"What's wrong?" Aemond says and Aegon shifts uncomfortably and moves from behind you.

"Why is uncle Aegon kissing momma like that?" He instantly frowned and you saw his eye start to gloss. "Do you not love each other anymore?" 

"Oh, baby." You frowned and stood up to go to your son. You picked him up and started walking back, Aemond sitting on the bed now. You say in between the two brothers. 

"Rhaegar, your mother and I love each other very much still." 

"But why-." He started but you cut him off.

"Shh. You know the story of our ancestor Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives?" He nodded. "Me and your father had to marry for duty but it turned into love very quickly, we were in love before the wedding." You looked at Aemond and smiled at him, he was already smiling, thinking of all the fun you had. "Now I know it's not quite the same as them but we love uncle Aegon, just like me and your father love each other." 

"So father and uncle are like Rhaenys and Visenya and you are Aegon... in a way? Do they fight over you?" You laughed.

"Not anymore and yes I guess you could say that." 

"Are you going to marry uncle?" 

"Rhaegar," Aemond says, pulling his attention to him. "We should also tell you that yes your mother is marrying Aegon but it's not just her marrying him, as am I." Rhaegar took in the information, he may not understand completely, but he knew enough.

"Okay. Will uncle be my father now? Since you're marrying him?" Your breath hitched and you looked at Aegon. 

"Rhaegar." He says. "You don't have to call me father, I can always be uncle it's whatever you are comfortable with." The little boy nodded. 

"Does that mean when you have uncle's children I'll have to fight them for a place in court?" You all raised your eyebrows in confusion.

"No, no you don't have to worry about that." You knew why he asked that. "Our situation is similar to Aegon and his wives but it isn't the same as Visenya and Rhaenys sons fighting to have the throne." 

"Oh okay." You sighed. You had to tell him about Elyas. "Rhaegar, about Elyas." 

"Y/n." Says Aegon and he was staring at you almost pleading for you to stop. 

"He must know." Rhaegar tilted his head to the aide and waited. 

"Elyas is your half-brother... so he is Aegons, son." He didn't answer he just furrowed his eyebrows and you gently passed your hand into his silver curls.

"He is still my brother, and I will still protect him just like I protect Aerys." His words couldn't help but bring tears to your eyes. "Can you take me to bed momma?"

 "Of course my little dragon." 

-

"We should've told him when this started." You groaned as you entered the room. "This could ruin his whole day tomorrow for all we know." Aemond sighed and walked to you.

"Y/n it's going to be alright, Rhaegars is still young and doesn't understand what it all means yet."

"Aemond me and you both know our son isn't stupid." 

"Yes, I know." Aemond pulled you in his arms and gives you a big hug

"Well to me he took it quite well," Aegon interjects and you peered over Aemonds shoulder to glare at him.

-

"Aemond what if he's not ready?" You ask him as the five of you walk to Rhaegar's room, Elyas strapped to your chest and Aerys in Aegons arms.

"My love, me and you watch Rhaegar train with Aemond and Daemon all the time, we all know how good he has gotten." Aegon says trying to ease your worries.

"I know, I know. You’re right I just don't want him to hurt himself." 

"He will not because I am going to go over the rules," Aemond says while he holds a long skinny box that carried Rhaegars present. It took a while to convince you to let him get a sword for his son. It was a small one, suitable for a six-year-old. You knocked on his door but received no response. 

"He is asleep." You opened the door and walked in. Rhaegar was curled up in his sheets, sleeping soundly. "Rhaegar." You shook him gently and he started to stir. 

"Muña?" He asks groggily.

"Happy name day my little dragon." He shot up immediately and a bright smile came to his face. You bent down and started kissing him all over his face, he giggled and moved away. He looked down to see Elyas' head poking out from the swaddle. 

"Hello, Elyas." He whispers and kisses his brother on the head. You turned your head to Aemond and Aegon and gave them a knowing smile. He the. looked around and saw his father, uncle, and little brothers. Rhaegar shuffled off the bed and immediately wrapped his arms around your waist then he ran to his father. Aemond set the case on the floor and went down to one knee and pulled his son in. 

"I remember when you were such a small thing." He placed a soft kiss on Rhaegars cheek. Aerys squirmed in Aegons arms and he set him down. The little toddler then stumbled towards his father and brother to join the hug, laying his cheek on Aemonds bicep. Rhaegar pulled away and took a few steps to his uncle. 

"Morning, uncle." 

"Happy name day, Rhaegar." Aegon ruffled his nephew's curly silver hair making the boy smile. You sat on the small bed and Aemond picked up the case.

"Rhaegar come here," Aemond says and Rhaegar started walking towards him. 

"Yes, father?" 

"I have a gift for you but you need to understand that this isn't a toy." He turned around and you saw your son's eyes brighten. 

"A sword? For me?" He instantly reached out for it, and Aemond placed it in his small hands. He instantly adjusted it in his hands to hold the handle.

"You will not swing this sword while your brothers or little cousins are near, this sword is for training purposes. Do I may myself clear? Because me and your mother will not hesitate to take it away from you, she knows how to handle a blade." 

"Yes, father." Rhaegar lowered the blade to his side. Aemond felt satisfied and turned back to grab the belt that contained the holster. 

"Put this on once you get ready." Rhaegar nodded and you smiled.

"Eowyn will escort you, we will be in the dining hall waiting, do not take long."  You say and he nods. You all start making your way out the door, Aerys holding your skirt with his thumb in his mouth.

When the door closed Rhaegar couldn't help but feel overjoyed. The events from the previous night washed away. The new sense of responsibility and freedom from his parents overthrew everything.

-

"The tourney is being prepared as we speak, it should be finished by noon." Says Daemon who was balancing Aerys on his knee.

"Good, we already have guests and other houses arriving." You say as you fed Elyas. "As well as Daeron and his wife."

"That's good, w-will my mother be there?" Asks Aegon, and as you were trying to come up with the words, Rhaenyra beat you to it. 

"Yes, Lady Alicent will be attending, she will be with us but has stated she won't be speaking to any of us or anything of the sort." Aemond and Aegon both bit their cheeks and they fumbled with their hands awkwardly. They loved their mother, no matter how much they went through with her, especially Aegon. It hurt that she wouldn't speak to them. 

Alicent only spent her visit with Helaena and her children. She visited Rhaegar and Aerys and only greeted Elyas if he was in the room, never seeking him out. Her and Rhaenyra's relationship was beyond repair when Rhaenyra was crowned queen and beheaded her father. Maybe he deserved it maybe he didn't, he caused Rhaenyra suffering during her youth and turned many people against her, as well as trying to unsurp the throne to put Aegon on there but it was shut down. 

"But on the bright side, Rhaena and Baela are arriving with Jace and Luke soon, and they'll be staying for the wedding." You say trying to brighten up the mood. Of course, you couldn't let your younger sisters in the dark, they knew everything that happened, and no doubt their husbands do too. "Daeron and Lady Baratheon just after the tourney, but in time for the celebration." 

"Ah, the man of the hour." Your father says as he looks at the big doors. You turn to see your son standing there with a big smile on his face. 

"Join us Rhaegar." Aemond patted a seat next to him and Rhaegar started walking towards him. Ser Eowyn trailed behind and pulled the chair back for Rhaegar and let him slide in before pushing it forward and stepping back. 

"How has your day been?" Asks Rhaenerya and you swore you could see the boy shake in excitement.

"Father has gifted me a sword!" 

"Oh, how exciting." She responds

"Lucky." Jaearhys pouts from the other side and Aegon raises an eyebrow.

"Well maybe if you attended your lessons you'd also have one." He poked his son's belly and he giggled. 

"Alright let us eat, we are all famished." The queen says and instantly the food is brought out. Everyone dug in, passing plates of food around so everyone got their share.

"Aemond are you ready?" Suddenly asks Daemon from across the table. You looked at both of them and set your utensils down.

"Ready for what?" 

"Father and Grandsire are going to be fighting against each other during the tourney." Your eyes widened as did everyone else's at Rhaegars words.

"Aemond, my love weren't you the one who said that you didn't give a shit about the tourney?" You placed a hand on his bicep and squeezed.

"I know what I said but my son wanted this and I will go through with it." You took in a deep breath before sitting back in your chair and grabbing the utensils again. 

"Okay." You say almost in an amusing tone, the tone that scared Aemond quite a bit. "Rhaegar, what else would you like to do before the Tourney?" 

"Um, would it be okay if uncle Aegon took me on Sunfyre?" Everyone looked at Aegon who had a blank stare. 

"You'd have to ask him." You felt Aegon place a hand on your thigh and squeeze. 

"If that's what you'd like, Sunfyre has been dying for a flight." Rhaegar nodded and sat back in his seat. Aegon released his grip on your leg and rubbed his thumb up and down. 

"It's going to be alright." 

Aegon didn't know if he believed you. 

-

As the dragon keepers brought out Sunfyre from the pit, Aegon was fastening the last pieces of his riding gear as you helped Rhaegar into his. Aemond had to go and prepare himself to fight. He left quickly after the breakfast, as much as he loved you he did not want to hear an earful from you. 

"Calm down Rhaegear." You say trying to calm him down. 

"Im just so excited." He says, practically bouncing on his heels.

"I know baby." Sunfyre crawled out of the pit and let out a roar. Aegon mumbled something to his golden dragon while rubbing his large nose and the dragon seemed to respond in his own way.

"Whenever you are ready Rhaegar." Says Aegon as he now waits patiently by Sunfyre. 

"Okay go." You say and he shot off to his uncle. You walked towards them and Aegon opened his arm.

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" 

"I'm sure, have fun now." You kissed the edge of his mouth. Aegon smiled and nuzzled your cheek with his nose and placed a kiss on your jaw. 

Rhaegar looked up at his mother and uncle and furrowed his eyebrows at the man. But seeing the growing smile that adorned his mother's face made him relax. 

"Alright ill go up first, Rhaegar you follow, carefully." Aegon started his way up Sunfyre and settled on the saddle. He then leaned to the side and held his hand out. Rhaegar grabbed on the ropes and hoisted himself up like he's done many times before. Aegon grabbed the boy a lifted him up onto the saddle.

"Come back before the tourney." 

"Yes, princess." Aegon winked at you. "Soves Sunfyre." You stepped back as the golden dragon started walking towards the large exit before opening his wings and taking off. 

-

"Where do you want to go?" Asks Aegon as they now flew over the Keep. 

"Can we go over the sea?" 

"Of course." He urged Sunfyre to the direction of the water and it wasn't long until they were over it. 

"I love the water, do you?" Rhaegar asks and Aegon just chuckles. 

"It makes me quite uneasy." 

"Hmm." He grunted and Aegon smiled at the familiar sound. 

"I remember my mom crying a lot and my parents fighting." 

"Parents fighting is the worst," Aegon says, memories of his youth coming to mind.

"My father made my mother sad, but you make her happy... do you love my mother?" 

"Of course, I love her more than life itself." 

"Good, because if you didn't I'd have to kill you." 

To say Aegon didn't fall nervous is an understatement. His eye flashed to the side and saw Rhaegars little hand on the handle of his sword. 

"If you hurt her, I will hurt you." Receiving a threat from a 6-year-old was not something Aegon was expecting. 

"I wouldn't dream of hurting your mother." 

"Good." A silence fell over them, Sunfyre flapping in the air. "I'm still going to call you uncle, but I wouldn't mind if Aerys calls you father, he is still young, and doesn't understand." 

Aegon's hands started to twitch as he tightened them.

"I appreciate that, but in the end, it's truly up to your parents."

"I know." Rhaegar looked down to see a ship flying the Velaryon and Targaryen flags. "I think those are my aunts and uncles." Aegon looked down and smiled. 

"Why don't we go great them?" 

"Really?" Rhaegar looked up at him with large violet eyes. 

"Of course, I never miss a chance to give our family a scare." They smile at each other mischievously before Aegon urged Sunfyre to go up near the sun.

"Why so high?" 

"Im assuming nobody has taught you battle tactics on dragon back?" Rhaegar shakes his head. "Well, say the enemy has yet to spit you yet, if you fly up just enough towards the sun the glare of it will shine on your enemies preventing them from seeing you until you're already attacking." 

"That is smart." When they got into position Aegon made sure to tighten his arm around Rhaegar tightly. 

"Hold on." Sunfyre started to dip down towards the ships. Rhaegar giggled, laughed, and screamed as the fast winds almost blew him away. But just before Sunfyre hit the water, Aegon pulled the reins gently and the dragon straighten out just behind the ships. The force Sunfyre created brought water in waves behind him, completely drenching the people in the ships. People shouted in displeasure as they watched the golden dragon take off.

"Sorry, Auntie," Rhaegear yelled loudly down to the ships and the twin sisters just shook their heads in displeasure when they noticed who it was. 

-

"Please do not injure yourself or get killed by my father, he has many reasons to kill you." You say as you stand in the corner of Aemonds tent.

"He won't kill me, hurt me yes." He mumbles and you sigh. "When are Rhaegear and Aegon returning?"

"Hopefully-." You were cut off by the tent opening and a little boy running in. 

"Father! Aegon took me so high up and we snuck up on my aunts and uncles it was exhilarating!" Rhaegar practically threw himself at Aemond. 

"And how did you do that?" As Rhaegar explain the tactic to his father(that Aemond already knew), Aegon leaned over to you.

"He threatened me." Your eyes widened and Aegon just holds his hand out.

"It's alright, he must get it from being with Daemon so much. He just wanted to protect you." 

"Hmph, doesn't mean it's right. Rhaegar let's go see your grandfather then sit down." You walked to them and placed a hand on Aemonds shoulder. "I'll see you later." You pecked his lips a few times before Aemond deepened it. 

Rhaegar looked back at Aegon and he stuck his tongue out in disgust. Aegon chuckled at the reaction and shook his head. 

"See you out there." 

The brothers watched you leave hand in hand with Rhaegar.

"Well, now Daemon can now kill you without any legal consequences." 

"I know." 

"Don't die. Please." The sudden crack in Aegon's voice caught Aemond off guard. "Imagine how destroyed Y/n would be, your children, our mother, Helaena... Me. I've grown to really care about you brother." Aemond swallowed thickly and looked down.

"As have I." He says quietly. "I'm not dying, I can't even fathom leaving any of you behind." 

"Good."

Aegon couldn't help but walk up to his brother and place his hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down. Aemond hesitated slightly but let his brother place his slightly chapped lips on his cheek. Aegon let his lips linger before pulling back. Aemond turned his head letting the tips of their noses brush gently.

"Kiss me." It came out a small whimper almost, Aegon could barely hear it. 

"Win and I will." 

- 

Aegon settled in beside you and you immediately grabbed his hand. 

"Did you talk to Daemon?" 

"Yes and he said he wouldn't kill him, but that doesn't mean he won't do something." 

"It's going to be fine." He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. He heard a familiar laugh to his side and looked to see his mother laughing with her ladies-in-waiting. He searched for her eyes but received nothing.

The Herald stepped out onto the ground and started saying what he had to say. It was quite boring so you just chose not to pay attention. 

"Now for our first fight. Our Prince Consort, Daemon Targaryen versus Prince Aemond Targaryen." People cheered and screamed for them, you tried but only clapping came out. 

Daemon came out on a black horse wearing his helmet with dragon wings on it. Aemond then came out on his grey horse he's had since his teens, he wore his heavy armor and a helmet that didn't hide most of his face, so it would make it easier on his eyesight.

They trotted their horses to the royal family stand and stopped side by side. 

"I would like to ask for the favor of the Queen," Daemon says and lowers his head. Everyone looked at Rhaenyra and she stood up and walked to the table that carried all the favors of the other ladies and princess. They both smiled at each other, such admiration in their eyes. 

"Princess Y/n, may I have your favor, it shall help ease me into victory." You grabbed your favor and tossed it on the poll. You leaned against the railing and frowned. "Don't do that gevie, ill be fine."

"Okay." You immediately turned away and sat back next to Aegon, watching the two men go to their spots. Aegon looked at you and watched a tear run down your cheek. 

"Hey hey, don't do that." He grabbed your chin and tilted you towards him. "He's gonna be fine."

The Targaryen men went to their respective sides and waited for the horns. A fanfare started playing followed by drums. The Herold raised his flag and quickly lowered it. 

They yelled and urged their horses to run. Right before they reached the middle, they lowered their poles down. But before they touched you instantly looked away just hearing the crash. Rhaegar cheered beside and Aegon elbowed you. 

"Still on their horses." He kissed the side of your head. They were on opposite sides now, grabbing new polls to charge back at each other. This was usually the time when one would be knocked down, and it's never Daemon. 

Aemond crashed to the floor and everyone sucked in a breath. Daemon hopped off his horse and was handed the Dark Sister and a shield. Aemonds sword was thrown at him and landed next to his head.

"Fuck." He groaned already regretting agreeing to this. He scrambled to his feet, swiping the sword in the process. Daemon was looking at him in amusement while slowly walking towards him. "Remember our agreement uncle?" Daemon just chuckled.

"Yes I know, but you think I will let you win so quickly without me getting a few strikes in." Daemon raised his sword to strike but was blocked by Aemonds shield. They grunted and yelled as they clashed. People cheered but Rhaegar seemed the loudest. He cheered for both his grandpa and father. 

"You're getting old uncle," Aemond says as he watches Daemon pant and limp. 

"And I can still kick your ass." It seemed to spur Daemon on so he charged. Aemomd doges and swung his sword back slashing Daemon. He cradled his side as blood started seeping through. 

“I doubt that.” Aemomd almost laughed and they clashed again. It wasn’t long until Aemond manages to trick his uncle and knocked him to the ground. The people cheered loudly, some yelling to Aemond to finish Daemon. 

“In any other circumstance, I would run you through,” Daemon says as Aemonds blade sits on his jugular. 

“Not with your daughter and grandson here you won’t.” Aemond let the blade slice the skin slightly and watched the blood start to ooze out before pulling the sword away. 

Aemond didn’t dwell on his victory and limped away from all the cheering.

-

The party was in full swing. The people were dancing and getting drunk. And it was now at the point where you could relax and enjoy yourself after feeding Elyas and making sure Aerys was asleep. 

Rhaegar was enjoying the party, mostly because he got to play around with his cousins. Daemon has gifted him a small dagger and has been warned multiple times to not pull it out on his cousins. 

Aemond got patched up but the fall from the tourney has kept him sat for the entire party.

Aegon twirled Jaehaera around. 

You on the other hand got whisked away by your father for a dance.

“You bounced back quicker than Aemond.” You laugh and he chuckles. 

“He still has much to learn if he ever wants to be as good as me.” 

“He will be better.” You say and look at your husband who was in deep conversation with the queen. “I know it.” 

“Hmm, Aegon seems to be doing better.”

“He is.”

“Does Rhaegar know? About the three of you?” 

“He does, it will be slow but I know he will accept.” You look up and him and he smiles. 

“I'm so proud of you.” He says and grabs the side of your head and placed a kiss on your forehead. Tears start to well up in your eyes and you sniffed. 

“Thank you.” You wrapped your arms around his body and held him tight. Daemon hugged you back tightly, but the moment was short-lived. 

Some bumped into you harshly making you stumble. 

“Excuse me?” Daemon starts and he pulls away. An older man, a lord really, turns around and scoffs. “Apologize to the Princess.” Daemon places his hand on the hilt of his sword, at this point people have stopped and looked, Aegon ushered his daughter to her mother and moved his way to the crowd to stand next to you.

“I will not apologize to that whore.” People gasped. “She is unfaithful to her husband and had a bastard child with her husband’s brother, now the three of them are to be wed.” 

“Choose your next words carefully, Lord,” Aegon says, darkly almost. 

“I will not listen to a man who intends to marry a whore, and fathers a bastard at that. Who knows maybe all her fucking children are bastards. AHH FUCK.” He was suddenly stabbed in the thigh. When you all looked you saw Rhaegar holding his new dagger into the Lord's leg. “Oh, you stupid cunt.” The lord shoved Rhaegar hard to the ground earning more gasps. 

“Shoving a Prince is treason, take him!” Rhaenerya yells at her guards and they start moving but it was too late. The lord suddenly had no head. His body fell to the ground and his head rolled toward the people. Aemond stood above him already cleaning his sword.

“Not a party without a death.” 

You instantly ran to Rhaegar and grabbed him from the floor. 

“Oh, my sweet dragon are you alright?” 

“Yes, mama.” He says but you could see tears. “I wanted to protect you.” 

“And you did,” Aemond says and crouches behind him. “You did well.” Rhaegar dug his face into your neck and you pulled him in tight. Aemond kissed both of your heads before standing. “I think we should turn in.” You nodded in agreement and kissed Rhaegars cheek before standing. 

“Let's get you to bed.” You walked past everyone and left with Ser Eoywn in tow. 

“I will oversee that the cunt is made into dragon food, the two of you should go with her.” Daemon says as the guards take the body.

“We will,” Aegon says and tugs on Aemonds arm. 

-

“Okay go get ready and you can sleep with us tonight.” You tell Rhaegar and his eyes light up.

“Okay.” He runs out of the room almost knocking into Aemond and Aegon on the way. 

“He is going to spend the night with us.” You tell them and they say nothing.

“Are you alright?” 

“I guess.” Aegon pulled you into a hug.

“Don’t listen to what they say, it's not true.”

“I know.” You kiss his neck and pull away. You looked at Aemond and smile. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

Rhaegar came in already for bed, holding his knitted blanket and his Vermithor stuffed toy.

“Im ready!” You all laughed and he climbed on the huge bed. 

“We’re going to get ready for bed you just wait there.” You say and walk away to change. Aemond goes to follow but Rhaegar calls for him. 

“Kepa.” He turns around to his son.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for protecting me and mama.” Aemond can't help but smile.

“I will always protect all of you, until my last breath.” 

-

A/n- this was unnecessarily too fucking long

[genz420]

What kind of Music do they Listen to 🎵 🎧

Masterlist | Rules

Content: Headcanons

Warning: None

Pairing(s): None

Character(s): Percy, Jason, Frank, Leo, Nico, Annabeth, Piper

Percy Jackson

Let’s be realistic here 

Percy is a kid from New York

I know nothing about New York expect it was stolen from my ancestors and that it had some crazy shit happening in the 70s  

And whatever was in Hamilton 

I feel like Percy would listen to a mix of rap and mainstream music 

He would listen to Kendrick Lamar, Lil Mabu, Eminem, Kanye (I know he’s a weird and bad guy), and Tyler, the Cartor

He thinks he can rap

He can not 

But will try for anyone who lets him

Jason Grace

2000s white girl songs

Rihanna, Fergie, Kesha, you know the classics 

Who doesn’t love that genre of white girl music 

It happy and classic

But also a huge fan of the Fleet Foxes

And that of course means he loves father john misty and Lana Del rey

Frank Zhang 

I just know Frank listens to Canadian artists 

Like everything from Nickelback to The Tragically Hip

But also bands like Mother Mother

And the Weekend 

And Drake 

And Justin Bieber

But his music taste isn’t limited to Canadian classics 

He loves ambiance music/Brown noise 

Sometimes, he just wants to listen to nothing but something 

Leo Valdez

Country 

Not like “I hate my wife” Country 

Let’s not forget Leo is from Taxes

He obviously loves the classic like Marty Robbins

But I see him listening to Zach Bryne, Dolly Parton, and Carrie Underwood

You can’t convenience me that he doesn’t love the song “Before He Cheats” 

That shit was blasting when Argo II was being built

He gets into the music 

Like screams it while it plays

Doesn’t matter if he is with other people 

I also get the vibe he would listen to some Spanish artists 

Like oldies.  Stuff his grandfather and mother would have listened to 

Because the people you grow up with influence your music 

Artist like: Chavela Vargas, Jeanette, and Eydi Gormé

Nico Di Angelo

Old man Nico would listen to Italian music 

But as he gets older I see him listening to artists like Radiohead or The Smiths 

Because he is a bit of a sad boy 

Maybe even some more modern Italian musicians like Fiordaliso or 

Would also get into Ska Music 

Specially 2 tone Ska

I see him liking The Specials, Prince Buster, and Madness

He would also love Amy Winehouse 

Annabeth Chase

Movie/TV soundtracks 

Loves the song where it’s all instrumental 

I think she would be a huge fan of Bear McCreary, Ramin Djawadi, and Hans Zimmer

She wouldn’t even watch the show the songs are in 

She just enjoys the sound of music

When she does eventually watch movies, you know the Prince of Egypt soundtrack took her out 

Piper Mclean

I think she would be a HUGE Dido, Kate Bush, Cranberries fan

Would also be the type to have their music influenced by Tiktok 

Nothing wrong with that

It happens to me 

The top song is Grafton Street by Dido

Loves Fleetwood Mac

And Florance & the Mechian

[berlynn-wohl]

everyone talks about how leto atreides II was a boy born with the complete memories of all his 20,000 human ancestors and was allowed to have one (1) boner before discovering that in order to save the human race from total destruction he had to marry his twin sister, become emperor of the universe, and slowly turn into a giant worm over the course of 3500 years, but no one ever mentions the *weird* thing about him, which is that his giant worm body is so impervious to damage that when he is bombarded by laser fire it just makes him fart

[underwxrldprincess]

Jewish Nathaniel Kurtzberg headcanons

It is canon that Nathaniel is Jewish, evident in his surname and absence from the Christmas special. However because "religion is a secular matter and cannot be portrayed in a children's TV show" (🙄), Nathaniel's heritage won't be represented in any of the episodes, so I'll be writing these headcanons.

Nathaniel (like Marinette, Adrien, and their classmates) was born between late 2000 and mid-2001.

The law on religious display in public schools (la loi sur les signes religieux dans les écoles publiques) was signed on March 15, 2004.

The law on face-coverings in public (la loi interdisant la dissimulation du visage dans l'espace public) was passed by the Senate on September 14, 2010.

TW for references of antisemitism and Islamophobia

Nathaniel's great-grandparents were German Jews who fled to France shortly before World War II

his family is not Orthodox but they are religious, they go to synagogue, celebrate the holidays, follow kosher, etc.

Nathaniel has always been a shy, quiet kid but his parents raised him to be assertive and to question authority if necessary

the first time Nathaniel realizes he is different is when he is three years old and starts preschool, during lunch he can't eat what the other children are eating in case the food is not kosher

his parents contact the preschool, who refuse to provide a kosher/pork-free option or let Nathaniel pack his own lunch, they compromise to let him go home for lunch instead

December rolls around, and the other children are excited about Christmas, except for Nathaniel, who is excited about Hanukkah but can't help but feel a bit left out

at six years old, another boy in his class starts running his hands through Nathaniel's hair out of the blue, "I heard that your people have horns, where are yours"

at eight years old, a girl in his class sees the gold Star of David necklace that Nathaniel always wears and starts bombarding him with questions

Nathaniel knows that she has no bad intentions but can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable and othered

at nine years old, during a class debate on the hijab ban, another boy says how anyone who wears their religious symbols are not truly French and should go back to where they came from, leaving Nathaniel flushing with shame and anger

at eleven years old, he begins attending Collège Françoise Dupont

on his first day of middle school, Principal Damoclés makes him remove his Star of David necklace

he is afraid but looks the principal straight in the eye and refuses, "this is my religion and my identity," he says, his heart pounding and his voice shaking

after a few more resists, Principal Damoclés suspends him

when he goes home to his confused parents, Nathaniel breaks down in tears as he explains Principal Damoclés suspending him on his first day of middle school for his necklace

his furious parents storm over to the school to confront the principal, demanding he allow their son back to school immediately and for him to wear the symbol of his religious pride

Principal Damoclés lets him back the next day but Nathaniel never wears his necklace to school again, only at home and in non-school settings

the day he returns to school, fellow classmate Alix Kubdel approaches him

Alix explains her family heritage: her family is of Algerian origin and Muslim, and while she can pass as white, her parents and brother have faced racism, Alix's mother have even had her hijab ripped off by an old white man on public transit and no one defended her

Nathaniel knows that he, as a white-presenting boy, cannot relate to the experiences of Alix or her mother, but appreciates having a friend who understands

he invited Alix to his bar mitzvah

he loves learning about the Holocaust, it is painful but his ancestors' strength and resilience make him proud, he can't stand how all of his classmates seem to stare at him during class whenever it comes up

in his third year, he is placed in Miss Bustier's class with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Chloé Bourgeois, Sabrina Raincomprix, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Lê Chiến Kim and Max Kanté

when he arrives at school one morning he sees a swastika drawn in permanent marker on his desk, drawn by Chloé "Can't he make sushi like everyone else" Bourgeois

he reports it to a furious Miss Bustier, who sends Chloé to Principal Damoclés, who lets her off with a mere warning, which infuriates Nathaniel and his parents

as much as he wants to stay home from school the next day, Nathaniel is determined to not let Chloé win and shows up at school the next day

a sneering Chloé comes up to him, but before Chloé could open her mouth, fellow classmate Marinette Dupain-Cheng spoke up

"you suck, Chloé." Marinette glares at the blonde. "you speak of him as if he is below you, but he's got more nerve in his finger than your entire body"

Rose and Juleka join in, "Leave him alone, Chloé" "go pick on someone your own size, someone with an overinflated head like you"

Chloé started bullying Marinette

meanwhile, Nathaniel starts to fall for Marinette and becomes closer to Rose and Juleka

in the middle of his fourth and final year, he gets over his crush on Marinette/Ladybug and instead starts falling for Marc Anciel, with whom he works on their Ladybug comics

he confides his feelings for Marc to Alix

"you might be bi or pan," Alix, who is aromantic and an expert in LGBT terminology, explains to him

he first comes out as bisexual to Alix, who is nothing but incredibly supportive and proud of her best friend

Rose and Juleka (canon girlfriends!) are the next to know, and he grows closer to the girls than ever

Nathaniel is hesitant to come out to his parents, however: he feels like he is betraying the Jewish identity his parents instilled in him since childhood by coming out to them

he begins to research queer Jewish identity on the Internet and hears stories of others from all across the globe, who are queer, Jewish and proud

Nathaniel eventually asks out Marc, who agrees to be his boyfriend and he is happier than ever

Marc isn't Jewish but is more than happy to learn about Jewish culture and to fight anyone who dares to say anything antisemitic, whether about Nathaniel or not

since he started dating Marc, Nathaniel gains the courage to come out to his parents, who immediately accept him, much to his pleasant surprise

"you are our son, and our religion accepts everyone," his father says

"love is love, and if this boy Marc makes you happy, that's all that matters," his mother says

he gets into the same design school as Marc and Marinette for high school

in his first year of high school, he and Marc finally publish their Ladybug comics, which quickly become successful

towards his final years of high school, he begins studying for the baccalauréat while continuing his relationship with Marc and their comics and applying for his birthright trip

on his final year of high school, he passes the bac littéraire along with Marc and Marinette, and the three reunite with their middle school friends to celebrate

soon after graduating high school, he leaves for birthright (Alix cried buckets of tears at the airport)

the trip is the best ten days of his life, Nathaniel feels at home as he connects with other French Jews and Jews from across the globe and visits the cultural sites

shortly after his return to France, Nathaniel invites Marc to the Seine, where he gets down on one knee, much to the latter's delight (they both cry tears of joy that night)

his and Marc's wedding was the most beautiful day ever, they have a traditional Jewish wedding filled with ketubah, chuppah, glass breaking, joy, light and love

[inky-duchess]

i've resumed watching reign season 1 and hoo boy they've really gone crazy with henry ii haven't they?

Oh yes they did. But I feel like I can't judge any representation of Henri II because my ancestor sorta turned him into a kebab so...

[augustheart]

oh good christ what did legends of tomorrow do? i know about the agatha show but i was gonna watch that show?

oh boy. off the top of my head:

only jewish actor playing the only jewish character on the show at the time played an ancestor of his own character (also jewish, the guy’s last name is literally stein) who was a serial killer that used the blood of his victims in an occult ritual (to resurrect a man who worked with nazis)

only jewish actor playing the only jewish character on the show at the time got shot in the back and killed by nazis during dctv’s “crisis on earth-x crossover,” which takes place in a world where the nazis won world war ii and all of the main hero characters from dc shows are nazis (and main universe eobard thawne is a mengele-style nazi scientist). this includes jewish coded kara zor-el. you get to see the star of david on his coffin as it’s lowered into his grave which is great representation. said actor publicly stated he would like to come back but was never asked. sorry zayde <3

at a different point in time they also had that character go undercover and sing for nazis for some reason. i don’t know why they did that

new jewish actor! this one is playing the definition of a nebby jewish stereotype! but he’s bisexual (maybe pansexual?) so it’s fine and nobody cares

the nebby jewish stereotype turns out to be an human-eating (potentially reptilian or insectoid but i don’t fully recall) alien in disguise. they are told they should have known he was an alien because his last name is green and all aliens are green. btw. but he’s bisexual (maybe pansexual?) so it’s fine and nobody cares

the show’s “perfect woman” who was the foundation for many “perfect woman clones” is a white goyishe blond lady. people said this was progressive because she’s sapphic (i think a lesbian).

character who is not jewish on the show but is in the comics works for the devil

they also redeem at least one (iirc two?) characters who worked for nazis. the show runner said he considered one of them to be as lovable as the main cast

and this doesn’t even include things like them having two separate black female characters who went into animalistic rages, a fan favorite character trying to pressure a muslim woman into eating bacon, the nebby jewish stereotype complimenting someone’s nordic features, and the genuinely sickening scene where they go back to the civil war era and the only female black character in the cast has to watch a slave be whipped. so the real question is what DIDN’T legends of tomorrow do!

[honey-rye]

Mama's Boys Au Master Post!

welcome to my brain child, Mama's Boys! A ROTTMNT Separated AU lovingly titled DNA Doesn't Make a Family (We Do) on Ao3!

Draxum has a project, a project to create warriors that will conquer the surface under his command- only, he doesn't get that far. His DNA 'donor' escapes with the turtles, leaving his lab destroyed in the process. Luckily for Draxum, he recovers two of his subjects: L and D.

Flash forward through time, and Big Mama finds two clearly abused turtle children abandoned outside of her hotel, and decides to take them in. She unexpectedly falls into a motherly roll, and soon enough has a family she didn't know she wanted. Meanwhile Splinter, the former actor turned mutant rat, raises his own turtle children, teaching them the way of his ancestors.

Years later, the four subjects reunite and become an unlikely alliance in a fight they were never prepared for, (with the help of some more found family members.)

follow along for art, comics, maybe some animation, and fanfics!

Asks are always appreciated!

Find the fic here: DNA Doesn't Make a Family (We Do) [Rewrite]

Fun Stuff Under the Cut

Main Tag: #honeys mamas boys au

Art:

-> Main Stuff

New Lineup!

Fond Memories

Everything Comes Together

Dee Makes a Choice

Comic : First Meetings

Big Mama and Sons

Big Mama and Sons II

Big Mama and Sons vid

Lee and Mikey Vid

-> Fanart!

Lee and Dee by Shadow

-> QNA (#mama's boys qna)

discord question bomb

emoji ask thing

multiple au emoji ask

-> Old Stuff

there is,, so much old stuff that i'm not gonna link. i'm linking the fun stuff, and anything else can be found via # scavenger hunt :))

Screenshot Redraw

Intro for Sep Polls

Ch. 11 art (old fic)

Battle Nexus Twins

Old Sheets (Lee and Dee, Mikey and Raph)

Other Au's/ Works:

We Raise Our Cups (Apocalypse Au)

Barista By Day, Ninja By Night (Human/ Coffeeshop Au)

Dad Au

[tickletastic]

Cryptids, Ghosts, and Everything in Between

Fandom: Red White & Royal Blue

Ship: Henry/Alex

Summary: Henry and Alex swap ghost stories, turns out Henry is afraid of cryptids. Day eight of Miya and Mia’s Tickletober: haunted!

Henry wakes up with a start, daring to look out from the safety of the blanket, seeing that the light hasn’t begun to shine through the White House windows, it must be before dawn given the darkness and how long he thinks he has been asleep. He checks the time on his phone and his suspicion is confirmed, it’s approaching 5 o’clock, and the sunrise isn’t due for another hour or so.

He is alerted quickly to the fact that he really, really needs to pee, but he finds himself practically glued to the bed, scared to leave its safety.

Alex and Henry had spent the night sharing ghost stories, Henry sharing how some have claimed to see the ghost of King George II, one account claiming that his apparition had made a chef faint. Henry had said he hadn’t had any personal experiences with Kensington’s haunts, though he had admitted to his boyfriend that the hollow, empty halls often scared him in the darkness, and sometimes the floor’s ominous creaks would have him rushing back to his bedroom, forgetting why he had even left it. He mentions how Bea has been bugging him for ages to do a ouija board, claiming it would be interesting to ‘meet’ their ancestors. Alex had laughed, saying June and Nora had once wanted to do a White House séance charity event for Halloween, and it had been immediately vetoed by everyone that had an opinion in the matter of White House going ons. 

Alex, competitive as he is, claimed the White House had to be more haunted than Kensington Palace, that every president who died, whether in office at the time or not, would want to haunt the White House. Henry wasn’t so convinced, citing the presidents that had gone on to have full lives once they had left the office, saying he’d rather haunt a quaint countryside cottage or his favourite old bookstore than the place where he served mainly as a symbol in his time there.

The sharing of ghost stories had not been what had him so frightened; he was used to Bea trying to spook him by sharing the stories of those that had died in the same palaces they grew up in. Instead, he was scared by the stories that England notably lacked, the stories of wild beasts and woodland deities, the stories of spirits returning and desperately crying for their children, or hearing your name called in an empty forest. The urban legends that every region of the United States crawls with, and brings to life with each generation’s retelling, those are what scared him. 

He spent a while deciding on whether he had to really pee, or whether he could wait until he woke up again, with the golden light brightening the room. In the dark the historical halls of the White House could be just as creepy as Kensington Palace’s labyrinths, and, though Alex had never really been able to fall asleep in silence, the movie they had picked to fall asleep to was long over, making the silence feel a million times louder. 

Finally, he decides to be a big boy and rushes to the bathroom, armed with his phone, the flashlight lighting up everything ahead of him. The White House halls creak with every movement, echoing throughout, and Henry avoids eye contact with the portraits on the walls, some of the presidents long-dead, others looking as though their eyes follow each of his movements.

When he finally returns to Alex’s room, shutting the door with a sigh, he turns off his phone’s flashlight, flopping back into bed. Notably, the bed is lacking some of its previous warmth, and Henry feels around, realizing Alex is no longer in the bed. 

His heart races as he scans the room, his eyes not well adjusted to the darkness, finally, when he looks behind the door, he sees two eyes reflecting back at him. Henry gasps, frantically pushing himself up to the headboard. 

“Boo,” Alex says, before chuckling in a deep, sleepy way, “you should see your face right now, your majesty.”

Henry glares, thick eyebrows knitting together harshly, “You could’ve given me a heart attack! I- you are-” He sighs in frustration, grabbing for his phone that had been lost in the sheets during his struggle. 

“What are you doing?” Alex asks, approaching the bed. Henry hates that he’s still sporting that stupidly smug grin, wishes he could wipe it off, but he’s too embarrassed to lean up for a kiss.

“Inquiring with Shaan about when the plane could be ready,” Henry says, trying to keep his voice dangerously serious.

Alex sees right through it though, and jumps on the bed, wresting Henry down until he’s laying on the blonde’s chest, grabbing his phone from his hands, “oh no you’re not.” He turns the phone around before turning it off and sees that no, Henry hadn’t been texting Shaan, he had been playing Candy Crush. He can’t help but roll his eyes, putting Henry’s phone face down on the nightstand. 

“I should stay mad at you, you know? You’re an absolute cretin,” Henry grunts, tangling the fingers of one of his hands with one of Alex’s.

“We both know you wouldn’t last that long,” Alex says, bringing his free hand up to trace lazy shapes over Henry’s ears and collarbones. Henry starts giggling almost immediately, but melts into the feeling. Alex starts kissing him softly in the same places, and Henry is practically done for.

Henry had admitted once, during a night so tiring it bordered on drunkenness, that he found tickling like this peaceful, that it would only take a few minutes of it for him to be out cold. Alex had taken advantage of it whenever Henry was stressed, or overworked, which are two circumstances that the two of them are far too familiar with. Of course Alex knew Henry liked tickling in all forms, even if he would never admit it, but he knew when his boyfriend needed to be treated softly, when Henry needed to feel like the world wasn’t ending.

“You are playing such a dirty game, Alex,” Henry gets out through his light giggles, desperately trying not to squirm, to block Alex the access he needs to make Henry feel good. 

“Hmm,” Alex thinks for a moment, “playing dirty would be telling you about my bigfoot sightings. This? This is mercy.”

Henry rolls his eyes, which are rapidly closing as the minutes pass. “Bigfoot?” He questions.

“Oh yeah,” Alex says, “massive gorilla-creature with hair everywhere. He likes to steal from campsites.” 

“Hair everywhere?” Henry giggles, a mischievous tone to his voice, “maybe you two are cousins?”

“Oh, shut up.”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (41/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 8030

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: On the first day they have spent apart since they were wed, Aemond and Arianwyn fly far away from each other on missions for the new King.

Warnings: none, unless you count frat-boy-esque characters

Author's Note:

I'm back! And I'm so, SO sorry for the wait!!! Those few days I warned y'all about kind of turned into an impromptu hiatus! But, I hope that the veritable FEAST I'm about to give y'all will make up for it.

The story of what Aria and Aemond get up to on their respective missions was originally going to be just two, regular sized chapters (one for Aria, one of Aemond). But… it kinda turned into a monster as I was writing.

So, instead of two single-POV chapters, y'all are getting a three-parter! Both Aria and Aemond have roughly equal time in each, so you won't have to go without either of them. Today, I'm posting the first part. Part II will follow tomorrow, and part III the day after. Each chapter is longer than any that have come before it. This one is just over 8K, part II is a WHOPPING 18K, and part III should be coming in at around 10K…

Enjoy!

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Three Days, Part I

On the 23rd day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s conquest…

As she soared over the Westerosi countryside, Arianwyn found herself wishing that the Vale and the Eyrie were somehow further away so that she and Emrys could stay in the skies for even longer.

But there it was.

Just coming into view was a great expanse of sparkling blue-green water, bounded on either side by a patchwork of towering sandy dunes, salty marshlands, small fishing villages built entirely upon stilts, and a hundred small streams.

The Bay of Crabs. The border separating the Crownlands from the Vale – her adopted home from the place of her birth and the land of her ancestors.

Some small part of her that still yearned for adventure and unrestricted freedom urged her to turn Emrys from his path. If she turned east, it would only take a few hours to reach Essos. If she followed the water to the west, she would find herself at the mouth of the Trident in the Riverlands.

Perhaps another day, she and Emrys would pick one of the river’s forks on a whim and follow it to its end – with Aemond and Vhagar beside them.

But today, she had a mission.

She hadn’t held Emry’s reins for hours – hadn’t needed to. After they had left King’s Landing, she only needed to direct him once. North and ever so slightly east. Then she had simply let him fly.

He needed no encouragement beyond that. For so long, he had been restricted by Daemon’s threats against him, his cherished rider, and her home. He could hardly go half a mile from Dragonstone’s shores before fear gripped them both, and he had rarely been in the air for more than a few hours. Now, he was flying further than he ever had before.

It was not entirely a blessing.

They had left not long after dawn, and it had only been a short while since the sun reached its zenith, but his wings were aching with effort and overuse. After one particularly strong beat of his wings, to combat the wind he was flying against – a shooting pain went through his right shoulder, and he faltered a bit, causing Arianwyn to sit up in her seat and seize the reins again. He let out an apologetic roar, struggling to right himself and fly steady.

“Issa sȳz, Emrys,” Arianwyn called over the roaring wind. “Iksan sȳz. Issi ao?” It is fine, Emrys. I am fine. Are you?

He grunted in reply, the sound strained.

She sighed and leaned forward to pat the scales of his side. “Iksan sīr vaoreznuni, ñuha byka ossȳngnon.  Iksi va naejot Wickenden. Kessa daor sagon bōsa, se pār kostā emagoniā mība ēdrugon.” I am so sorry, my little dread. We are near to Wickenden. It will not be long, and then you can have a short rest.

Indeed, Otto had anticipated this. That either Emrys or Arianwyn would tire before they reached their destination. The Hand had therefore sent a raven to the Lord of House Waxley, asking if they would host the newest Targaryen princess – and Lady of Runestone – for an afternoon tea as she made her way to the Eyrie.

Lord Waxley had been all too eager to accept. Wickenden had never had the honor of hosting a member of the Royal house before. It had been planned for King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to visit during one of their many progresses, but an assassination attempt on the Good Queen had ended the tour before they had been able to visit the castle – which was conveniently located just over halfway between King’s Landing and the Eyrie.

As they flew over the Bay of Crabs, Emrys flying valiantly, Arianwyn made a note to thank Otto for his foresight when she returned. She whispered encouragement and praise, laughing at the dragon’s eager yelps as they finally began to descend toward the picturesque town, the humble stone castle that looked over it, and the great fleet of beehives that stood like soldiers in the fields beyond.

A large bonfire had been lit in one of the fields on the western side of the town – the signal for where Emrys should land. He did not need Arianwyn’s encouragement to aim toward it, but she had to pull up on his reins to ensure he didn’t descend too quickly. His tail, tipped with the same horns that ran from the crest of his head down his spine, came dangerously close to tearing through their beautifully thatched roofs and ensuring that a Targaryen would never again be invited to Wickenden.

Lord and Lady Waxley themselves were waiting in the field to receive them with genuinely warm formalities. They were older, bordering on truly elderly, but in good health. Both had a friendly air about them, and their cheeks were flushed as they gazed in awe at the dragon before them.

Every person who beheld Emrys bore that same look.

Regardless of their education, every person in Westeros knew of the Balerion, the mighty black dragon that had won the Seven Kingdoms for Aegon the Conqueror. Whose fires had melted the very stones of Harrenhal and forged the Iron Throne itself. Nearly two hundred years old at his death, he had been the last living creature who had known the glory of Old Valyria.

Though Emrys was smaller, younger, and had no great feats to his name, no one could look at him and not recall the legends of Balerion the Black Dread.

Arianwyn had a sneaking suspicion that he somehow understood why people looked at him with such amazement and that he relished in it. Why else would he always preen as he did now?

Emrys let out a pompous huff as he stood tall despite the ache in his muscles, and Arianwyn was sure he was holding a great breath in his chest to make himself seem larger than he was.

However, his posturing ended when Lord Waxley summoned a wagon full of chained goats and large barrels of water. Emrys, exhausted from their flight, eagerly bounded toward where knights began to unload his provisions. He was so thirsty that he shattered one of the water barrels between his teeth as he hurried to gulp it down.

Arianwyn gave her flustered apologies for his inelegant behavior to her hosts. They were overly gracious and assured her it was unnecessary, seemingly relieved that her fearsome beast was indeed not fearsome, but rather more like an excessively large, frighteningly deadly herding dog. Albeit, one not quite fully trained.

Emrys was fully trained, technically, but still filled with youthful wonder and joy at the world. He was not a creature of war, and Arianwyn was glad of it.

Dragons were not weapons, though her ancestors had so often used them as such. And they were more than beasts of burden or even beloved pets. They were more akin to peers than any other animal. Companions, partners, friends. Viserys had told her something of the like once, not long after she had taken her first flight.

But looking back at her friend as she climbed into the Waxley’s carriage to ride to their castle for a short visit and some refreshments, Arianwyn realized that the mission they were on suggested that neither of them may have a choice.

War was looming. If it came, Emrys might very well be forced to become a creature of war.

Arianwyn was repulsed by the thought. She let that revulsion and fear settle within her, let it become something heavy and sharp in her gut. It made her muscles tense, her heart beat faster, and her mind race.

She savored the feeling. Though it was uncomfortable, it sat well next to her burning desire to bend to Aemond’s wish to go to Runestone together – to leave the court and King’s Landing behind. She had not realized how much it appealed to her until she let herself imagine Emrys in the moorlands of Runestone, flying along its coasts and resting in its Dragonpit.

Emrys would love it there, especially if Vhagar was there with him. The old dragon would, of course, join them as well. And for the first time in decades, she would not be alone.

Smiling at her hosts, Arianwyn silently vowed that she would do anything to succeed in her mission – for Emrys and Vhagar, Aemond and herself, and the peace they all wanted.

-

Vhagar was old, and slower than she once was due to her massive size, but she still loved to fly. Aemond had to laugh each time she trilled joyfully whenever they caught a strong updraft or passed through a group of clouds. At least she could still fly fast enough that the lingering water from the clouds dried within moments.

Still, the flight to Storm’s End was longer than she was used to, and her vocalizations had become less joyful and more irritable the closer they got to their destination.

Her groans of protest as they ascended higher to fly over the mountains of the Crownlands were particularly crass – or they likely would have been had she been able to speak rather than roar. Aemond had no doubt that if Vhagar could form words, she would delight in cursing like a Braavosi sailor.

“Kesi jiōragon konīr aderelo jī toliot,” he shouted to her as he slackened his grip on the reins. “Yn lo ao drējī jaelagon naejot, kosti jikagon grevenka.” We will get there sooner if we go over. But if you truly want to, we can go around.

Vhagar’s answering growl echoed through the stone of the mountains. If anyone below had heard, they would be terrified. Aemond, who knew by now what each noise meant, was only vaguely annoyed.

The sooner I can get you off my back, the better, she had seemed to say.

He rolled his eye and tugged on her reins – not to give any order or direction, but to show her he did not appreciate her sentiments.

“Issa daor ñuha gaomilaksir bona iksā uēpa se ēdrugī,” he laughed. “Se nyke gīmigon ao jorrāelagon nyke, se ao jorrāelagon issare isse se jēdar.  Iksā biare naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke, se ao daor ruaragon ziry.” It is not my fault that you are old and tired. And I know you love me, and you love being in the sky. You are happy to be here with me, and you cannot hide it.

Indeed, she could not hide it. But she could huff delightedly as she spun herself around, flexing her wings just right to keep her airborne as she crested the mountain peak upside down. She roared with glee when Aemond finally began shouting for her to right herself.

“Vhagar, kesā mazverdagon nyke ropagon lo jā olvie tolī,” he screamed as the blood rushed to his head, and he strained to keep his hands on the horns of the saddle. “Kostilus? Iksan vaoreznuni!” You will make me faint if you go much further. Please? I’m sorry!

Satisfied, she righted herself. She was impressed by how long he had lasted. He was getting better. Soon, he may be able to go longer than even Visenya had. She gave a low roar.

Very good, little Prince. You shall be fierce yet.

Aemond rolled his eye again as he smoothed down his hair, but his heart swelled with pride. If only Arianwyn had been there to see that, she would have proclaimed him the dragonriding superior to the Conqueror then and there.

His chest tightened at the thought of his sweet wife alone on her journey, hundreds of miles away from him. By now, she would be in Wickenden or, ideally, already departed from it. He hoped she would not linger there too long, for the thought of her arriving at the Eyrie in the dark – or worse, getting lost in the mountains at night – was unbearable.

At the thought, his hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. He had intended to send it with her so he could offer her at least some protection. But Ser Ruban beat him to it, giving her the first dagger he had ever owned as they climbed into the carriage. It was obviously made for a boy not yet grown, and as such, was the perfect size for Arianwyn.

She had protested, insisting that such an heirloom should be passed down to his own sons, but Ruban had vowed he had no intention to marry or sire sons and that it would be the greatest honor of his life for her to wield the blade. Who could have refused that?

Still, Aemond was glad, in the end, to have his dagger with him, for it reminded him of Arianwyn. She had bit down on the hilt so hard when he was buried between her thighs that she had left teeth marks in the leather and dented the gold wire wrapped around it.

Normally, such an imperfection would have frustrated Aemond to no end. But nothing she ever did could ever be called imperfect. He ran his thumb over the marks, his heart lightening at the memories it brought back. If she had thought he was ravenous yesterday, she would be amazed by what he planned to do once they were both back in King’s Landing.

Three days, he reminded himself. Then, gods willing, they would return to each other, having successfully won the allegiance of two of the most powerful houses in Westeros. An alliance that would surely dissuade his half-sister from pressing her dubious claim to the throne.

There would be no war, no death. Nothing to stop them from going to Runestone and starting their lives together.

He only had to wait three days.

Vhagar’s curmudgeonly roar stopped his mind’s wanderings.

Wake up, little Prince, it said. We are nearly there, and you must be ready.

Aemond had been so far into his daydream that he was well into picturing him and Arianwyn walking across the hills of the Vale with their flock of sheep and their small army of children.

He set those wonderful images aside, retaking Vhagar’s reins to guide her down toward the castle perched on the seaside cliff. Its singular tower reminded him of the descriptions he had once heard about Dragonstone, where the bricks used in its construction had been fused together with dragonfire, for even his keen eye could find no seams in the stone.

But Storm’s End was far older than the arrival of dragons on this continent. No, it had been constructed by men – or the Children of the Forest and a demi-god, if the legends were to be believed. The stones were so precisely cut that there were no seams, no vulnerable spaces for the winds that racked Shipbreaker Bay to find purchase.

Storms that Aemond had just noticed were conspicuously absent. Clouds covered the sky, yes. But no rain fell, and no thunder crashed through the sky.

Perhaps the gods were on his side.

-

When they finally left Wickenden – more than two hours later than she intended – Emrys was rested, well-fed, and eager to resume their journey. Lord and Lady Waxley had been so sweet and kind, and so excited that their humble castle was finally hosting a Targaryen that Arianwyn had not had the heart to interrupt the tour they insisted on giving her, along with a detailed history of their house. That part, at least, Arianwyn was mildly interested in.

She had only reached her limit when they began to escort her to the apiary itself, casually mentioning their more than five hundred beehives. Thanks to Helaena, Arianwyn had spent more time around insects, including bees, than most nobles. But the sheer number of bees that would surely be in those fields was too much even for her.

So, she hurried back to Emrys’ side and stuffed the ridiculous number of scented candles Lord Waxley had gifted her with into his saddlebags. She was sure at least half of them would be snapped or smashed by the time she reached the Eyrie, much less King’s Landing.

But she had grand plans for those that survived. A candlelit night with Aemond was precisely how she wanted to celebrate their return – and, hopefully, their successful courting of the Vale and the Stormlands.

That was what she needed to focus on right now. Her mission. Her duty to her family and her King. Her role as a Princess of the Realm.

Although, as the soaring peaks of the Mountains of the Moon loomed closer and the sun set lower behind them, she realized that her delay in Wickenden meant that making it to the Eyrie easily would be difficult – and arriving before sunset was impossible.

Aemond would be so upset. Though by the time he found out, she would be safely back in King’s Landing, he would nevertheless worry retrospectively and fuss over her relentlessly. She smiled at the thought. To all the world, he was such a fearsome warrior, yet he would fall nearly to pieces just from her arriving at her destination after dark.

The fearsome ‘One-Eyed Prince,’ indeed.

By the time they were well within the mountain range, snow-capped peaks extending beyond their view, it was truly dark. It was only thanks to the glow of the nearly-full moon off the snow that Emrys was able to navigate his way through the stony maze.

Though there were several close calls.

Arianwyn was reduced to prayer the further into the mountains they got. She would have to go to the Grand Sept itself to beg forgiveness for the string of curses that interrupted her beseeching of the Crone when Emrys suddenly swerved to avoid a peak he had not seen.

Eventually, there was a light other than the moon beckoning them. Seven other lights, actually. A fire had been lit atop each of the Eyrie’s spires, and every window in the castle was illuminated.

“Kirimvogon se Sīkuda.  Se ao, Emrys. Īlon vēttan ziry,” Arianwyn muttered, as reverently as any of her prayers. “Ao vēttan ziry. Ao gōntan sīr sȳrī, Emrys.” Thank the Seven. And you.We made it. You made it. You did so well.

Though she could still hear the nervousness in his voice, Emrys trilled triumphantly as he rose above the castle’s white walls and lowered himself into its large garden.

Arianwyn leapt off the saddle, grateful to feel solid ground beneath her feet once more. Emrys immediately turned his head to nuzzle her, equally grateful that he had gotten her here safely. He made a soft sound, questioning whether she was alright after their harrowing flight.

“Iksan sȳz. Ao gōntan sīr sȳrī,” she assured him again as she stroked his snout. He was as much of a worrier as Aemond. Now that she thought about it, her husband and her dragon were, in fact, quite similar. I am fine. You did so well.

She looked around the expansive gardens, surprised at the wealth of greenery within. The Maesters must have toiled for years to get anything to grow atop the tallest mountain in Westeros.

While it was beautiful, but all Arianwyn could think of was its rich history.

Leaning into Emrys as she heard hurried footsteps approach from within the castle, Arianwyn whispered gently to calm him. “Vhagar māstan kesīr istin, ao gīmigon.  Lēda Visenya, skori ziry jiōraton se Vāle.” Vhagar came here once, you know. With Visenya, when she won the Vale.

Emrys glanced around the large courtyard as if he would still be able to find a remnant of his new friend, and sniffed deeply to see if her scent lingered after more than a hundred years. But, of course, it did not. And his attention was soon drawn to the small party emerging into the gardens.

“Aria!” Ser Gerold called as he ran to her side and pulled her off the flagstones and into his warm embrace.

She squealed with undignified delight as she hugged him back, laughing with joy at finally seeing him again. He had made many entreaties to visit her at Dragonstone during her time there, all soundly rejected by her father.

But now, he stood before her, holding her at arm’s length as they inspected each other.

Gerold’s hair had gone entirely white in the last six years, and his hairline had receded even further. He was heavier, too, and wearing a different set of armor than he had when she saw him last. There were shadows under his eyes, so like the ones Alicent wore. But his gray eyes were bright and shone with tears of relief as he looked at Arianwyn and cradled her cheek in his large hand.

“Oh, Aria,” he sighed with a half-smile. “You are a woman now.”

She blinked tears from her eyes and laughed sheepishly as she smiled back at him. “And you are an old man, cousin.”

He laughed with her when she ruffled her hand through his hair. “Now we really look like family, don’t we?”

“Next time you come to King’s Landing, we can try and pass you off as a long-lost Targaryen Prince!” Arianwyn snorted, her eyes wide as her mind turned mischievous. “If Aegon is drunk enough, I know he will believe it!”

Another laughing voice joined them, soft and feminine despite its deep tone. “As much as watching this long-overdue reunion warms my heart,” it said, “I should like to be introduced to my godsdaughter, Gerold.”

Arianwyn peered over her cousin’s shoulder to look at Lady Jeyne Arryn – her godsmother.

Jeyne’s dark eyes were filled with nearly as much pride as Gerold’s, and her thin lips were curved in a hesitant, hopeful grin. She extended a long arm toward the girl, beckoning her forward. “Come, it had been nineteen long years. Let me look at you at last.”

With childlike enthusiasm, Arianwyn obeyed, taking Jeyne’s hand and even giving her a quick twirl as he godsmother looked over her. But her impatience grew as the Lady remained silent, thoroughly examining her – and her bronze armor.

For a moment, she was afraid of rejection, that she would somehow be found wanting. Indeed, Jeyne frowned when she ran a hand along her braided silver hair, but then she lifted her chin to look at her eyes, and beamed.

“You look so like your mother,” Jeyne whispered, her voice breaking.

Arianwyn stifled a sob. No one had ever told her that before. She had only ever heard how unlike her father she was. To know that she resembled Rhea, and not some distant ancestor she never knew, was cathartic.

She was a Royce, in more than just her eyes.

“Oh, but I have forgotten my manners,” Jeyne tutted, releasing the girl as she lowered herself into a curtsy. “You are more than just my godsdaughter, the child of my oldest friend, and the Lady of Runestone. You are now a Princess, if rumor is to be believed.”

“I have told her it must be true,” Gerold added as he came to stand by the girl’s side. “But our Lady has always been hesitant to believe gossip. And since you did not write to confirm any of the rumors…”

Jeyne rolled her eyes. “You would be wary as well, were you the subject of so many whispers over the years. And if the stories were as contrary as what we have heard.”

“It is true,” Arianwyn said, cutting off whatever witty reply Gerold had planned. He was so much less awkward now, here. She liked him like this. “Prince Aemond and I were married. I am so sorry I did not write, but it was… the last few days have been quite strange.”

“They must have been for you to be wed in a secret ceremony,” Gerold reasoned. “Unless that particular detail is untrue?”

He and Jeyne both took Arianwyn’s blushing and stuttering as confirmation.

“Well, I cannot wait to hear the real story,” Jeyne said, looping her arm through the girl’s to lead her out of the garden. “You would not believe what people are saying, my dear.”

Gerold followed close behind. “And I cannot wait to hear what delayed your arrival – you were expected hours ago. I was quite worried, Aria. I was almost ready to send a raven to Wickenden to ask after you.”

“Oh,” Arianwyn gasped, waving a quick goodbye to Emrys, who was already wrapping himself around a smoldering brazier to sleep. “I am so sorry! Lord and Lady Waxley kept me longer than I intended, and they were so sweet that I could not bring myself to stop them.”

She told them the story as they led her through the winding marble halls of the Eyrie, finally depositing her on a blue sofa before a roaring fire. A servant quickly brought her a hot meal, and she was introduced to Jessamyn Redfort, a dear friend of Jeyne’s, before Lady Arryn bombarded her with questions about her childhood and youth.

Arianwyn nearly choked on a piece of her roast chicken when Jeyne asked whether she had first kissed Aemond before or after she had flowered and if their relations had progressed further even than that before they were married.

She looked at her godsmother with wide eyes. “I… we never did anything like that until we were wed. And the bedding ceremony.”

Jeyne laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine – her fourth cup of the night; she and Aegon would get along famously. “Gerold tells me the two of you were practically inseparable from the time you arrived in the capital, yet you mean to tell me you never even kissed before your wedding?”

“Well, we came close a few times,” Arianwyn said, thoroughly flustered as each memory of their relationship flooded back through her mind, “But I had never felt that way about him until I came back from Dragonstone. At least, I wasn’t aware of it if until then.”

Gerold sighed, “Aria, I can assure you that you were aware of it, though you were too young to know how to do anything about it. When you love someone, you cannot hide it, even from yourself.” He smirked, glancing to where Jeyne and Jessamyn shared a couch. “From what I saw, you have loved each other from the time you could walk, perhaps earlier.”

Jessamyn sighed dreamily, resting her head against Jeyne’s shoulder. “Your story is so lovely… how did those horrible rumors even start?”

The room fell silent, no one meeting her eyes. The hour Arianwyn had been here had been blissful, without a single mention of those rumors, or what happened the morning after her wedding.

They could not ignore it forever.

“It was my father, actually,” she explained. “Lies he concocted to try and have the marriage annulled. He could not stand to see me happy, or more than that, finally free from his control.”

Gerold grimaced. “Daemon Targaryen is a monster. It is simple as that.”

Arianwyn solemnly nodded her agreement, turning to Jeyne. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Or rather, something related to it. I don’t know how much the Hand told you in his letter, but…”

“Not tonight, Aria,” she snapped, her wine-flushed face turning stern for the first time that night. Arianwyn could, at last, see the great Maiden of the Vale in her godsmother, the woman who had soundly put down three rebellions against her rule. “I know why you are here, and I will happily listen to your petition – tomorrow. But, for tonight, I simply want to know you. To hear about all I have missed. Will you grant me that?”

Truthfully, Arianwyn was glad not to have to make the case for Aegon’s rule so late at night, when she was tired and already starting to feel quite fuzzy from her wine – Jessamyn had hunted down the sweetest vintage in the Eyrie’s stores to suit her fickle tastes.

She took another sip and looked back to her godsmother. “What would you like to know?”

-

Despite its impressive size, Storm’s End was still not large enough for Vhagar to land within its walls. But, by this point in her life, she was more than used to it. So, she contentedly settled beside the castle walls, where a great number of braziers and chained cattle were already laid out for her.

“Hāre tubissa, Vhagar,” Aemond murmured as he climbed down from her side. “Lēda biarves, kessa daor daomio, se kesā sagon arlī naejot se bāneves hen Dārys Tegorīr gō ao mirre ūndegon iā iōrves.” Three days, Vhagar. With luck, it will not rain, and you will be back to the warmth of King’s Landing before you ever catch a chill.

She only groaned in response, looking up at the clouds above them. Though no rain had fallen, the sky roiled with brewing storms.

Aemond sighed, a bemused grin on his face as he patted her worn scales. “Kesan ūndegon nūmāzma mirri ruaragon syt ao, sepār naejot sagon ȳgha.” I will see about some cover for you, just to be safe.

As he was escorted through the castle gates, he politely requested – he would never presume to give orders to another Lord’s servants, even if he wasn’t so determined to make a good impression – that some kind of shelter be arranged for Vhagar. He didn’t particularly care when the man started blustering about the labor and expense of such a thing. After being on dragonback for more than eight hours, his patience for other people was running dangerously thin, and he would need all of it when he finally met with Lord Borros Baratheon.

His mother and grandfather had warned him that Borros was perhaps the least refined Lord in all of Westeros. Their descriptions painted a picture of a man that, had he the choice, Aemond would have gladly avoided.

But they needed his allegiance. Aegon needed it, if he wanted to keep his throne.

So, Aemond would ensure he had it.

When the servant brought him before a set of dark wooden doors, he willed his face into one of his many masks, this one of pleasant indifference. He did not try to look friendly – he knew he couldn’t manage it, even if he wanted to. He had given that up long ago, even before his scar turned him into something truly terrifying to behold.

Indeed, when the doors opened, every man in the room looked at him with a healthy measure of fear as they stood and bowed their heads to the One-Eyed Prince.

It was not the throne room, where a Prince of the Realm should be received, but some sort of garish trophy room. Each wall was covered with horns and the stuffed heads of boars, deer, and even a few more exotic creatures. A few smaller animals were fully preserved, and posed in poor imitations of how they had been in life.

Aemond found the whole thing revolting. Especially the shadowcat pelt on the floor in the middle of the room, its head stuffed and frozen in an eternal howl. Even in death, such a creature deserved more than being trampled on by countless muddy boots.

Still, he kept his face impassive, not letting his offense at either the disrespect of greeting him here, or his personal disgust at Borros’ crude choice of décor show.

The Lord of the Stormlands was easy to identify, not only by the chain of office around his neck, but by the way every other man in the room looked at him expectantly. He was as Aemond expected – a thick-bodied old Lord with graying hair and a beard. What he hadn’t expected was the keen look in his eyes, though it faded quickly as he took another drink from his cup.

By the smell that pervaded the room, Borros and his entourage had been enjoying their ale for some time.

Ale – not wine. A drink more suited to the slums of Flea Bottom than the castle of a great Lord. It was nearly as vulgar as the décor.

Aemond crossed his hand behind his back and stared at Borros. He had tolerated the slight of his humble reception, but he still expected a formal greeting befitting both their stations. Though, even if he did not receive it, there was little he could do about it.

He would not fail Aegon.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Borros began, his voice somewhat arrogant but respectful enough. “Welcome. You honor us with your presence.”

“The honor is mine, Lord Borros,” Aemond replied with a gracious bow of his head. “You have my gratitude for agreeing to host me with so little notice.”

Borros gave a tight smile. “How could I refuse? Our houses have long been allied, and you are the brother of our new King, after all.”

“Your loyalty to the crown is much appreciated,” Aemond said as he conceded a slight grin. This may not be as difficult as he was anticipating. “King Aegon sends his warm regards, as well as an offer – ”

“Oh, but where are my manners?” Borros interrupted, with an distinct lack of manners. “You have had a long journey, my Prince. Let us eat, and you can entertain us all with the tale of your brother’s coronation, since none of us were present – or even invited to attend.”

Aemond only nodded, for if he said anything, it would no doubt be rude and quash any chance he had of charming this brute of a man.

This would be just as difficult as he thought.

-

Very few of the men seated at Borros’ table were Lords themselves, or even highborn. Only half were even knights. It seemed all they had in common was their love of ale and the favor they held with their Lord.

Aemond had taken note of several who introduced themselves with the surname ‘Storm.’ They were too old to be Borros’ own bastards, though perhaps they could be his half-brothers or cousins. Whatever the relation, if there was any relation at all, their presence at the table was yet another poor omen for Aemond’s success.

He would not be able to argue that Rhaenyra’s bearing of her own bastards, and insistence on their legitimacy, posed a threat to the realm should she press her claim.

The first omen, other than the boorishness of Borros himself, had been the conspicuous absence of his wife and daughters. When Aemond inquired after them, under the pretense of paying his respects to the Lady of the Castle, he was told that they rarely eat with the men, especially before a hunt. Apparently, Borros and his men were ‘too rowdy for the women’ when they were together.

There could be no doubting the veracity of that statement.

More ale was brought to the table, along with a single bottle of wine for Aemond, which he did not drink. Though he had to admit to being tempted. If only to dull his mind and make the meal more bearable.

The food was not terrible, though there was a severe lack of vegetables in favor of nearly obscene amounts of meat. But the company was precisely what Aemond hated about court.

Boastful men telling tales of their exploits, brazenly embellishing their feats to a mythical degree. At least the stories were mostly about hunting and battle, not other, more vulgar conquests.

Whenever possible, Aemond tried to insert himself into the conversation so he could steer Borros to the actual reason he had come. But each time, Borros brushed him aside, calling instead on one of his men to tell yet another tale.

Aemond had resigned himself to silence when, at last, Borros turned to him.

“Tell me, my Prince,” he said, picking the last remaining scraps of meat off the bone he held. “Do you hunt?”

“I cannot say I am accomplished as you or your men here,” Aemond said cautiously, surprised that he was addressed directly. “But I have hunted, though not for some time.”

Borros looked somewhat conspiratorially at the man sitting to his left before turning back to the Prince. “And when you hunt, do you ride your horse or that dragon of yours?”

Aemond was surprised by the question, by its boldness and sheer ridiculousness. “Hunt with Vhagar? Certainly not.” He started, choking on his water as he realized how his words may offend his host. “I… she is far too large for most hunting grounds. And any prey she caught would either be swallowed whole or burnt. There would be nothing left to bring back. It would not be an effective method of hunting.”

“I see,” Borros muttered, refilling his mug of ale. “A shame. I was hoping you would join us tomorrow. I sense you are eager to get to whatever business your brother has sent you on. However, this hunt has been planned for months, and I will not postpone it simply because Aegon wants something of me.”

It took great effort on Aemond’s part to not scowl at what he was implying – that the Prince would be forced to wait until Borros deigned to meet with him.

But he could not wait that long. Rhaenys had no doubt told Rhaenyra of Aegon’s coronation, and by the time Aemond and Arianwyn left the Keep, two Kingsguard had gone ‘missing.’ Dragonstone, that hateful place, was no doubt already buzzing as Daemon prepared for war. Even a day’s delay in securing Storm’s End could have devastating consequences.

Besides, Aemond promised Aria that he would be back, and they would be reunited, before their three days were up.

So, he forced a polite smile and his voice to remain calm. “Then surely it would be wise for us to settle the business tonight, would it not?”

“Is there some pressing need for haste, my Prince?” Borros asked smugly.

“Regrettably, yes,” Aemond bit out. He clenched his hand under the table at the smug look on the faces surrounding him. It would be unwise to give his true reason for wanting the business done quickly.

‘One should never reveal more than is necessary,’ as it was written in the book of warfare he was still reading. The same book he had been reading when Arianwyn climbed atop him…

He gave a short laugh and what he hoped was a charming smile to the men that were watching him. They were so simple, so easy to read. And though he hated to discuss his dear wife in such  a way, he knew precisely how to ply them.

“I am sure you have heard that I have been married,” he explained, knowing he would feel guilty the next time he saw Arianwyn. “It has not yet been a week since that happy night, and I confess I find myself impatient to return to my wife.”

“And her bed,” one of the men further down the table snickered.

Aemond drew his hand into a fist so fast that his nails dug into the skin of his palm, but he said nothing. Instead, he smirked, hoping it would be interpreted as a sign of amusement and not the dangerous rage he truly felt.

Borros rolled his eyes before facing the Prince again. “Normally, I would be happy to accommodate your request. I remember how reluctant I was to let Elenda out of my sight when we were first wed. And our own courtship was not half as…” he carefully assessed Aemond before finishing his sentence, “hasty as your own.”

“Where is your lovely wife now, Prince Aemond?” One of Borros’ men – one of the Storm bastards – asked.

A seemingly innocent question, but Aemond knew what he was really asking. Larys had said that Daemon’s accusations had made their way throughout the realm. How, he had no idea. But this confirmed it. As had the two score sets of eyes that immediately turned to him, waiting for his answer.

“The Princess Arianwyn left the Red Keep just before me this morning,” he said, noting exactly which men looked surprised by his words. “She and her dragon flew for the Eyrie. They should be there now, assuming they were not delayed in Wickenden.”

He could have sworn he saw two men exchanging coins under the table. The payment of a wager on whether the One-Eyed Prince had truly captured his bride – whether he was the monster he was rumored to be.

Aemond took in a heavy, calming breath before he continued. “It was my hope to return to King’s Landing before her, so I can welcome her home when she arrives. Neither she nor her dragon have been on so long a journey before; she is bound to be tired.”

Another chuckle went through the men, and several lewd comments Aemond pretended not to hear as he turned back to Borros. “I trust you can understand my haste, then?”

“I can,” Borros conceded. “But I still cannot postpone the hunt. So, you will join us, and we can discuss whatever business you have then.”

Though he would rather dine with the Stranger than spend time in the woods with these men, Aemond agreed. And hastily excused himself from the meal. If he was to endure the next day without killing or maiming one of the men, particularly the bastard who had made the crudest comments about Arianwyn, he would need his rest.

And no small amount of prayer.

After an hour of beseeching each of the Seven for the strength he would need to survive the hunt, he, at last, settled into his bed. His hand reached for the scrap of periwinkle cloth he had held close to him for so many years, but it was not there.

He had given it to Arianwyn the day after their wedding.

“I have the sapphire,” he had said, tapping the gemstone with his finger. “It is only fair you have a reminder of our love too. Particularly since I have not had the chance to get you a ring…”

She had been so delighted that even now, as he longed for some reminder of her, Aemond could not bring himself to regret it. So instead, he stood from the bed and retrieved his dagger – secure in its sheath – before sliding back between the sheets.

Aemond fell asleep brushing his thumb over the marks she had left on its hilt.

-

Arianwyn yawned – again – in the middle of telling Jeyne the very last details she could recall of her first flight as a dragonrider. “After that, King Viserys threw a small feast in my honor. He also had an auroch sent to the Dragonpit as a treat for Emrys. And…”

She was interrupted by yet another yawn, which was soon echoed by Gerold.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes to try and clear their blurriness. “I must have had a little too much wine. I’m afraid I’m quite tired.”

“Nonsense!” Jessamyn said gently. “It is we who have kept you up too late with our thirst for stories. You have had a long day. Of course you are tired.”

Jeyne signaled to a servant, “Perhaps some tea to wake the Princess?”

Gerold groaned and slid his face into his hand. While he loved listening to Arianwyn, he had already fallen asleep in his chair twice, and had been promptly scolded when his snoring interrupted her stories.

“I think,” Jessamyn insisted, grabbing Jeyne’s wrist and lowering it back down, “that we should let her sleep and recover from her journey. We will have more time to talk tomorrow.”

When Jeyne turned back to her godsdaughter to send her to bed, the girl’s eyes were already closed, and she swayed slightly, even as she continued to hold her wine goblet aloft. Gerold, too, had fallen back asleep.

“I am afraid you are right, my dear,” Jeyne whispered to her companion, pressing a brief kiss to her firey red hair. “Forgive me. I’ve wanted to meet her for years, and I let myself get carried away.”

Jessamyn caressed Jeyne’s cheek and smiled sweetly. “It is perfectly understandable, my love. Though, tomorrow you may want to rein your enthusiasm in – just slightly. I am fairly sure she made up many of the details you asked for. Though I cannot blame her. I can’t remember what I wore on my sixth nameday either!”

“Yes, most of that wasn’t actually that important, was it?” Jeyne asked with a wince. “I just want to know everything I missed. Everything Rhea missed…”

They were interrupted when Arianwyn’s hand went slack, and her goblet fell to the floor with a loud clatter. She and Gerold were both startled awake, the old knight stumbling out of his chair and reaching for his sword.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing around blearily.

“Nothing,” Jeyne assured her friend, then looked back at Arianwyn. “Nothing but an old woman being foolish. I’m sorry dear, of course, you should rest.”

The Princess was too tired to do anything but nod gratefully as Gerold offered his arm to lead her to her chambers. But Jeyne and her close companion did not mind. They only smiled fondly as she left the room.

Arianwyn had nearly fallen asleep on her cousin’s shoulder when he opened the chamber doors for her, and she stumbled into the room.

“Servants retrieved your things from Emrys earlier. I am told he did not wake once. Do you need a maid to help you?” Gerold asked. “I can find one to wake and send to you, if you wish.”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you,” she said. Then, mustering the last of her strength, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I missed you very much.”

He gazed warmly at her, cupping her chin in his hands to kiss her hairline. “I missed you, too, Aria. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow. There is something I would like to give you before you leave. A wedding present, of sorts.”

Her smile fell at his words, but then she laughed bashfully as her cheeks flushed. “I… I forgot that I would be sleeping alone tonight. I have so quickly become accustomed to having Aemond next to me.”

“Oh, Aria,” Gerold pulled her into a tight embrace. He laughed with her as he stroked her hair, tears once more coming to his grey eyes. “I am so blissfully happy for you.”

“I am blissfully happy, as well, and nearly as tired,” she giggled, pulling away from the embrace.

Gerold patted her cheek once more. “Then I will leave to your rest, my dear.” He took a deep breath, and Arianwyn thought he might cry again. “I love you, Aria. And I am so proud of you. Your mother would be, too.”

She brought a hand over her mouth as she held back a sob. Every bone in her body cried out to hug him again, but she knew that if she did, she would cry through the night and not get any rest. She lowered her hand as she nodded furiously and whispered her thanks as Gerold left and shut the door behind him.

Thankfully, her tears had calmed by the time she removed her dress – Jeyne had been only just convinced to let her remove her armor before her meal. She was too tired to cry and too tired to don a nightgown. She slid into the bed, wearing only her chemise to cover her, and holding a small scrap of periwinkle silk in her hand.

Aemond had given it to her after he noticed it on the floor the day after they were wed, to be a placeholder of sorts until he found her a wedding ring. But she had already decided not to give it back to him, even after she had her ring.

It smelled of Aemond. His scent of parchment and steel thoroughly steeped into the fabric after he kept it for so long in either his breast pocket or under his pillow. And somehow, it seemed to retain some of his warmth, as well.

Arianwyn fell asleep cradling that small scrap of silk to her cheek.

Next Chapter

[moonchild-in-blue]

Sleep Token X D&D

An expansion of this post because je suis trés unhinged and I miss playing DnD. I'm not including homebrew content for simplicity sake, guiding myself through this website. Feel free to add or change as you will. I'll leave some links for each class specs in case you wanna read more, or aren't super familiar with it.

At first it would make sense for all of them to be different types of Warlocks or Sorcerers, with Sleep as their common patron. BUT I think that would be an easy cop-out, and I want to make things interesting. This is just my headcanon so yeah, don't mean, don't be weird. Let me know how you'd do it!!

(and if there are any DnD players who happen to come across this post and want to take inspiration on it, you're more than welcome to do so!)

Let's get to it, nerds 🎲2️⃣0️⃣

[cut because this is LONG]

Vessel

Race: Tiefling. A lot of room for inventiveness here, and you can change his appearance as you'd prefer. Maybe that's why he's always cloaked and masked. Maybe he gets even more disfigured every time he connects with Sleep. Class/Sub-Class: Warlock, The Great Old One (mysterious entity whose nature is utterly foreign to the fabric of reality). Obviously Sleep would be his patron. I like to think Vessel had an encounter with Sleep whilst not knowing who or what They were, and eventually became their servant. For the pacts, I had thought of Pact of the Tome, where the Book of Shadows would be his lyrics, but Pact of the Talisman is also great, because of the mask. @a-s-levynn had suggested The Fathomless for his sub-class, which is also AMAZING, especially if you want to lean into the whole tentacle/water horror aesthetic. Alternatively, Sorcerer, Divine Soul is an EXCELENT class for Vessel (actually, now that I'm editing this, I kinda prefer this one lmao). Read this and tell me this isn't exactly what Vessel is: Sometimes the spark of magic that fuels a sorcerer comes from a divine source that glimmers within the soul. Having such a blessed soul is a sign that your innate magic might come from a distant but powerful familial connection to a divine being. Perhaps your ancestor was an angel, transformed into a mortal and sent to fight in a god’s name. Or your birth might align with an ancient prophecy, marking you as a servant of the gods or a chosen vessel of divine magic. Yeah.

ii

Race: Lightfoot Halfling (yes I'm making him a hobbit, what about it?) Fire Genasi is also very apt. Class/Sub-Class: Druid, Circle of Wildfire (these druids bond with a primal spirit that harbors both destructive and creative power, allowing the druids to create controlled flames that burn away one thing but give life to another). This primal spirit, of course, would be Sleep. They are a bit of a mysterious entity. ii was the hardest to come up with. I knew I wanted him to be somehow connected to the land/elements, because I think that would be the best translation for his rhythmic prowess (drums wouldn't make much sense as a Bard). And that photo of him with the painted red fingertips reminds me of fire, so it seemed like a perfect fit. Some other alternatives: Druid, Circle of Dreams or Monk, Way of the Four Elements (monk would be SO good because of his silence, like LoZ Link, and the ability to harness his energy).

iii

Race: Obviously a Dark Elf. Obsidian-black polished skin, pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, slim figure. Need I say more? Earth Genasi could also be a good option, due to his golden vein-like paint. Class/Sub-Class: Ranger, Fey Wanderer (a ranger who represents both the mortal and the fey realms. As you wander the multiverse, your joyful laughter brightens the hearts of the downtrodden, and your martial prowess strikes terror in your foes, for great is the mirth of the fey and dreadful is their fury.) I quite like this because the options of how you acquire the magic are endless, and can be traced to Sleep or even Vessel (maybe he granted them?). iii is our favourite chaotic boy, but he can be so intimidating at times, this one plays off his duality quite well. Plus you get Otherworldly Glamour similar to iv which makes sense. A cool alternative could be Sorcerer, Wild Magic, as it has a similar base to Vessel and it draws magic out of chaos.

iv

Race: I thought about making him a Genasi or Half-Elf, but honestly I love him as a Human. I just love the idea that this human is sooo charming and talented, that even all these supernatural creatures can't help but be enthralled by him. Changeling or even Eladrin could also work. Class/Sub-Class: Bard, College of Glamour (these bards are so eloquent that a speech or song that one of them performs can cause captors to release the bard unharmed and can lull a furious dragon into complacency). I like that iv appears to be super low-key, but is actually insanely seductive (I see you mask pulling) and talented. So out of all of them, he was my obvious choice for a bard.

The Vesselettes

I think they could either be sort of like a greek chorus or muses but for Sleep, that appeared at key moments to help the party, or actual campaign members. Race: Aetherborn Class/Sub-Class: Clerics, Twilight Domain (The twilit transition from light into darkness often brings calm and even joy, as the day's labors end and the hours of rest begin. The darkness can also bring terrors, but the gods of twilight guard against the horrors of the night). It would be awesome to have them as healers and protectors of the party, who serve Sleep directly (if Sleep is evil, they could also be secret spies? To make sure the party does as Sleep intents). Or maybe they are protecting the party from Sleep (they can never sever their connection to them, but they will do everything they can to make sure the vessels won't go too far).

I'm not sure how they would all get together, but my [abridged] story would place them all as servants of this magical deity, called Sleep. Vessel was the first to encounter Them and lives as an actual, living vessel for them. They believe that Sleep, albeit mysterious, is a benevolent creature, who was wrongfully cast away from Their plane/stripped of their powers or divinity.

As the one closest to Sleep, Vessel can sense that something isn't quite right, but he's already so entangled and manipulated by them, that he doesn't even care.

So they fight all these people and creatures, believing they're doing something Good, but then it turns out that Sleep was evil all along? The people they have conquered and killed were actually good, trying to stop them from giving this awful, terrible being their power.

Sleep basically uses them to defeat their enemies and get back to whatever place or power they no longer have access to. Maybe the vessels turn their back on them? Maybe Vessel doesn't want to and they fight with each other? Or maybe they just keep serving Sleep?

Or, you know, Sleep could also be an actual helpful deity, and they are genuinely doing good by fighting in Their name. But maybe in the end Vessel can't let go of Them and drama ensues and everybody cries.

I don't know, this is just an idea. I spent WAY too much time researching for this, but it was fuuun. I love talking DnD.

[horizon-verizon]

They yell about dragons being nuclear bombs but at the same time stan the characters who do use them as weapons of mass destruction (Aemond and Daeron) while hating and despising a character who locks them away to rot after one of them kills a child.

A response to this post, which responded (I think) to this post.

(btw, the post all this is came from was written by a clear Rhaenicent fan who called dragons nukes, minimizes the white stag moment and the stag meaning that Rhaenyra was the rightful leader [according to the text of the show itself], says we can't take anything at face value in F&B at face value [which is true but doesn't mention that we must analyze the language and context to reveal subtext which is how people interpret anything even UnReLiAbLE texts/narrations, calls the textual and societal misogyny against Rhaenyra "latent", and writes that HitD is doing a good job of bringing that to life....)

Yeah, anon, the sense is not sensing. Misogyny never senses. Their hatred against Daenerys' altruism while believing Aemond is "just a boy/young man who makes mistakes" or Daeron similarly justified for burning down two towns (and one in stupid needless revenge) and letting troops rape 8 year olds is astounding.

Daeron was 16 when he died so he was about 15-16 when the Tumbleton disasters happens and when he moved against the town at Bitterbridge, thinking that Lady Caswell was responsible for his nephew Maelor's violent death (or so he claimed was his reason). Aemond was 18-19 in the beginning of the Dance. He destroyed an entire house and flamed many villages, towns, etc in the riverlands after he was tricked into leaving KL vulnerable for Rhaenyra's and Daemon's taking. And in the show, Aemond is supposed to be around 16 (if we actually do the math, not take the writers at their word) in the beginning of the Dance because they made Alicent younger/her kids younger for the sake of Rhaenicent. He is still older than Dany is, even with Daeron being the same age in the show.

Canonically, both are older than Dany and by show lore, Aemond is older than Dany, yet Dany has the sense and compassion to not allow rape and punish rape, murder, theft, even punish her own scaly children when a child is killed during their hunts (as told). These dragons she literally breastfed after awakening them with magic and her will during a critically low and vulnerable moment in her life that transitioned into one of her greatest triumphs. Why in god's name should I Stan any Targ man over this woman, and do any of her female ancestors compare to her? The closest are Visenya I, Aegon V, Rhaenys I, Aegon I, and Daenerys II in terms of impressiveness and/or moral character.

*Dany isn't a woman except in her own world, so when I call her a "woman", I mean "active female participant/mover in society".*

Another rant's end.