#Angst and Wump

[iconicanemone]

After the End

Grian fought the dragon. He should have been able to go home. He wasn’t allowed to

A Wump and Hurt/Comfort of Grian’s experiences after the Evo Dragon Fight.

Written and completed in a week. Teen rated, with 13k words

Here’s a quick link to the final chapter for those waiting for the update

[ultimate-marysue]

I like the idea of Cass struggling with privacy. She knows so much about everyone all the time, and it's not like she can close her eyes or constantly look away. And her siblings would obviously say that it's okay as long as she doesn't go saying it out loud...but they only think that when they're okay. When they're the ones comforting her.

But she knows it's not okay. She knows Dick will actively avoid her when he's feeling down or angry. He will pretend like he's not doing anything weird. She will reticently pretend she can't tell he's lying. Jason yells at her to just stop looking at him like that whenever he's too on edge. She tries to say it's fine, but he's already pushing her aside, tears from shame at his own rage. She can tell Jason needs comforting, but also that he will not accept it.

She will chase Tim through the house trying to get him to rest, to stop obsessing. The case will still be there in the morning. Nice, calm Tim will smile sweetly and close the door on her face. Damian tries to remain unbothered. He's showing restraint, unwilling to be perceived as weak. Sometimes he breaks, storming out or insulting her. Most of the time she leaves before he has to, his physical discomfort too clear for her to read.

Duke lies at first. He says he's okay and Cass accepts it. She knows not to push, she knows she can't just out people's feelings. She really wants to have this, Duke is new and maybe this time she'll manage. It doesn't last. Soon he realizes that Cass can always tell and suddenly he closes off too. He's irritated with her, upset at the lack of privacy.

Cass gets it. It's not her intention and she doesn't want to make anyone uncomfortable but she simply can't stop. It's easier for Steph and Barbara, they don't sleep at the mansion. They can just make any excuse and leave whenever Cassandra's eyes get too much for them. And it's not fair to the others, being cornered. Dick can't just say "ummm actually I'm going back to Blud" when he's meant to be staying. Jason could leave, but he knows that that's just going to create more drama and put even more attention on him.

Cass doesn't want to make them uncomfortable so she's the one that avoids them. She puts space hoping that's enough for them to forgive her, and suddenly everyone is telling her that she shouldn't close off. And Cass is mad. She doesn't want to be, she wants to be good. Understanding. But it's so unfair. There's no way for her to do good.

Sure, she doesn't always try to be good. She has purposely observed her siblings, to make sure they're alright. To make sure they're not really mad at her or each other. Out of curiosity too, she's not proud of that. But even when she's trying her best she can't win. She can't give her siblings the privacy they want (to lie about their feelings) and she can't avoid them and make them feel sad.

Babs says she understands, since she knows everyone's social security numbers and no one can hide things from her. But it's not the same. She can choose not to see, not to know. And Cassandra is tired of understanding too much and struggling to be understood. It's not fair.

[fic-prompts-feel-free-to-use]

Back on my baizhu shit again

Pantalone is Baizhus older brother. His brother was constantly hanging off him, barely left him a minute of peace; but he was born sickly and his family was poor.

So he left home early to pursue fortune enough to take care of his brother and family; and baizhu was left mostly bed bound and alone while his parents worked tirelessly to make enough mora for his medicine.

By the time the village is struck with disease, Pantalone has joined the fatui and Baizhu forgets he had a brother in the first place, unknowing of the money his brother sent home every quarter. From this point, the story progresses as normal. Baizhu joins the traveling doctor and Pantalone only knows his family is dead. He rises through the ranks, having nothing left to him but work and Baizhu enters the contract with Changsheng.

It's only after the Rite of Passing, when Childe and Signora head back to Snezhnaya with the gnosis when he hears of a doctor that looks almost exactly like him.

Does he disregard it, married to his work as he is now? Or does he start to silently worry again, remembering the sickly child who hung off his every word?

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.12

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"Make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face."

Summary: Aemond Targaryen visits Storm's End to cement his brother's alliance with the Baratheons, only to find that his runaway wife is already five steps ahead of him and will not let him take another victory away from her mother.

Word Count: 5.1k

"You called, my Lord Hand?"

The air within Lord Otto Hightower's chambers hung thick with tension, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on every surface. Aemond Targaryen, entered cautiously, his steps hesitant as he surveyed the room. His grandsire sat at his desk, his piercing gaze fixed upon a small scrap of parchment clenched tightly in his hand, while Aemond's mother stood by the window, her expression troubled, her eyes distant as if lost in thought.

The prince cleared his throat softly, seeking to break the heavy silence that enveloped the room. Otto's head snapped up, his eyes ablaze with fury as they landed upon his grandson. Without a word, he rose from his seat, the parchment falling forgotten to the floor as he strode purposefully towards Aemond. The young Targaryen felt a surge of apprehension rising within him as Otto's hands closed around his shoulders, his grip like iron.

"This is all your doing," he seethed, his voice low and menacing. "If you had just kept control of your wife as I instructed, none of this would have come to pass."

Aemond frowned in bewilderment, his mind racing to comprehend the accusation laid at his feet. Behind them, Alicent moved forward, her voice a soothing counterpoint to her father's rage.

"Father, please," she implored, her tone beseeching. "Aemond meant no harm. You mustn't blame him for this."

But Otto's anger was unrelenting, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon his grandson.

"No harm?" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "Look at what your incompetence has wrought!"

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"One thing! I only asked for one thing: keep that mutt of a girl on a leash, but you couldn't even do that! And now the consequences of your weakness are plain for all to see."

"If you would just tell me what is going on..."

"Lord Borros is dead," Otto hissed, his words heavy with accusation. "And Storm's End has retracted their support for the king."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling at the implications of his words. 

"How... how did he die?"

His grandsire's scowl deepened, his grip tightening on the prince's shoulders as if to punctuate his words with physical force.

"It is said he was set ablaze. And your wife was witnessed at the scene."

Aemond's mind raced, struggling to reconcile the image of his Daenys with the accusations being hurled against her. Just days ago, she had departed in a state of disarray, bruised and broken almost beyond recognition, and now, she stood accused of committing crimes of war. The realization hit Aemond like a thunderbolt, leaving him reeling with a mixture of shock and the slightest bit of awe. 

"The least you could have done, if you were going to let her go, was to ensure that she wasn't fit to cause trouble like this."

I didn't think she was fit enough to be capable of it.

"Father, surely it was not Aemond's fault," Alicent pleaded once again, her words falling like petals on the wind. "The princess must have deceived him in some way. She is to blame for our troubles, not our son."

But Otto Hightower's wrath was not to be assuaged so easily. With a snarl, he turned his fiery gaze upon his daughter, his words dripping with venom.

"I have told you time and time again, that Rhaenyra will not hesitate to put your children to the sword to secure her claim, and yet you refused to let me do the same to her daughter. That girl should have been dealt with from the very beginning, so do not tell me how to handle our affairs now, when you should have done a better job of keeping an eye on the situation."

The dowager queen almost flinched at her father's words, and she bowed her head in silent acquiescence. She would defend her son with every fibre of her being, but now faced with Otto's relentless tirade, she found herself unable to muster a defence for herself. 

"I always knew your... concern for your childhood companion would cause us trouble," Otto continued in a low menacing tone. "And now look what has happened."

"My mother is not at fault here" Aemond declared, trying to divert his grandfather's attention. "I will try to make it right. It is my fault, and I will be the one to fix it."

Without waiting for a response from Otto, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls as he made his way down the corridor. Anger simmered beneath the surface of his outward composure, a seething fire that threatened to consume him from within.

He would not have cared as much if his grandsire's remarks were aimed only at him, but it drove him mad that the target of his admonishes was his mother. His beloved mother, who was already at her wit's end with all that had transpired. As put together and formidable Alicent Hightower may be in her own right, somehow Otto seemed to have the ability to reduce his daughter to a mere child when he spoke to her. 

Mingling with his resolve was a newfound anger, directed not at his grandfather or his mother, but at his wife. For the first time, Aemond Targaryen found himself questioning the woman he had sworn to love and protect, wondering how she could have betrayed him so utterly. She had left him all alone despite knowing how much he needed her and she had left his mother to face the blame for allowing her escape.

Daenys Velaryon found herself in Lord Borros's study, a space she had never before imagined herself entering, let alone reclining within, and yet here she was. Perched upon the window sill, she felt a strange blend of apprehension and curiosity swirling within her. Her legs were propped up, one knee drawn close while the other extended outwards, the warm rays of the sun gently caressing her skin, bestowing a sense of calm amidst the tumultuous atmosphere. With her elbow resting against her knee and her face cradled in her palm, she watched Cassandra Baratheon diligently engrossed in her task at the imposing desk that had long served as her father's domain.

A yawn, slow and involuntary, crept up on Daenys, breaking the stillness of the room. The warmth of the sun, though comforting, seemed to amplify the drowsiness that had settled within her. Daenys blinked languidly, her gaze momentarily drifting from her companion's figure to the sprawling vista beyond the window. 

Her mind wandered, contemplating the purpose behind Cassandra's summons. It had been several days since the incident, and yet, despite the urgency implied by the lady's initial raven, their discussions thus far had been confined to trivial matters. Daenys couldn't help but wonder at the true nature of Cassandra's intentions,

Her mother's decision to send her away had been a bitter pill to swallow, its taste lingering on her tongue like unripe fruit, and despite her fervent protests, Rhaenyra had remained steadfast in her resolve, insisting that it was for the best. Yet, beneath the veneer of maternal concern, Daenys detected a faint undercurrent of dismissal, a subtle suggestion that perhaps her presence at court had become more of a liability than an asset.

A banishment of sorts, a sacrificial lamb offered up to be of service to the Lady of Storm's End, and mollify the clamouring lords back in Dragonstone who would surely be demanding punishment for her recklessness. 

Having watched Cassandra diligently go about her duties over the past few days instilled a newfound sense of gratitude within her; gratitude toward her brother. For all her flaws and failings, Daenys knew that she was no politician, no ruler. She lacked the patience and the fortitude required to navigate the treacherous waters of courtly intrigue, and fortunately, she would not have to. Jace had always been the more suitable one for the task, and he would make an honourable king one day, while Daenys would do everything in her power to ensure that he got that opportunity. 

Meanwhile, Cassandra, her gaze drawn irresistibly to the princess, could not help but observe her in return. Daenys had closed her eye by now, oblivious to the world around her, and to her companion's watchful gaze. Her features were softened in the late afternoon sun, appearing almost ethereal in her repose. Gone was the mask of uncertainty and anguish that had perpetually marred her countenance, replaced instead by an expression of quiet serenity. She was dressed in all black, the only colour Cassandra had seen her wear as of late, as if she was in perpetual mourning, and her snow-coloured hair was bound tightly in a simple plait that hung over her shoulder. 

The Lady of Storm's End could not help but feel a pang of guilt though. It was true that she had summoned Daenys without quite explaining why, but it was difficult to explain that she was driven by a sense of impending doom that she couldn't quite shake. The princess's new epithet as "the Queen's executioner" was reassuring enough though, ripe with the promise that should anyone come to Storm's End looking for trouble, that is exactly what they would find. It also helped that her beast of a dragon lounged in their courtyard for all to see, and as long as Daenys remained a frequent fixture by Cassandra's side, there would be few who would challenge her claim to her father's seat —a place she had schemed for years to finally attain. 

Just then, the door creaked open, breaking the stillness of the study as Cassandra's youngest sister, Floris, slipped inside. The older girl's frown deepened at the intrusion, her brows knitting together in disapproval. 

"Flo, it's rude to enter without knocking."

Floris pouted, a stubborn tilt to her chin as she retorted, "But the rule doesn't apply to me, does it?"

Cassandra sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. It was a constant battle, trying to instill a sense of decorum in her impulsive younger sister. 

"Rules apply to everyone, and we have a guest."

Floris seemed to deflate slightly at her admonishment, her shoulders slumping as she cast a sheepish glance in Daenys's direction. Then she fell silent, a hint of curiosity flickering in her eyes. 

The moment hung in the air, tense with unspoken words, until the young girl finally mustered the courage to speak. "Is... is she awake?" she whispered to Cassandra, her voice barely more than a breath.

Before Cassandra could respond, Daenys's single eye opened, fixing Floris with a steady gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. She had chosen to forgo the coverings that usually concealed her wound, and the sight of it was unnerving for the child before her. 

Straightening her posture, Floris approached Daenys hesitantly, her earlier bravado replaced by a sense of trepidation.

"Um, Princess," she began, her voice wavering slightly, "if you're not too tired, would you perhaps... spar with me?"

The request hung in the air, fraught with uncertainty, yet tinged with a glimmer of hope. It was a tradition that had become something of a ritual whenever Daenys had visited Storm's End in the past, a chance for the two of them to test their mettle against one another in good fun, for Floris was the only one of the Baratheon sisters who shared Daenys's penchant for such activities. 

As the girl's hopeful gaze bore into her, the princess felt a pang of guilt tug at her heartstrings. She longed to muster the enthusiasm that once fueled her passions, and yet, try as she might, she found herself unable to summon the energy within her, as if a thick fog had settled over her soul, obscuring all traces of joy and vitality as of late.

It was a peculiar sensation, this numbness that seemed to envelop her, leaving her feeling hollow and disconnected from the world around her. Each movement, each action felt like a mere shadow of its former self; a marionette going through the motions of life. 

And yet, as Floris persisted, her eyes alight with a fervent hope that Daenys couldn't bear to extinguish, she found herself unable to refuse. With a heavy heart, she nodded reluctantly, her gaze flickering towards Cassandra for approval.

Cassandra's smile was warm and encouraging, "It would do you good to be active, princess. Perhaps a bit of sparring will help clear your mind."

"I suppose I could spare a moment," Daenys told Floris. "If your sister does not mind sparing me."

"My sister has had you all to herself for days," Floris grumbled. "It is time she let you spend some time with the rest of us."

Daenys marvelled at the young girl's cavalier attitude and briefly wondered if she knew what she had done; if she knew that she had been the one to take her father from her. Perhaps Floris would one day like to whet her blade with Daenys's blood, and Daenys would let her. Everyone was entitled to their revenge after all. She only hoped it would be after she had instated her mother on the Iron Throne. Then she would have nothing more to live for, and would hand over her life gladly to whoever wanted a piece of it. 

It was difficult for the princess to imagine that the little girl in front of her held no desire for retribution. Not everyone was built to hold on to such rage. 

Aemond Targaryen landed his dragon in Storm's End for the second time in his life, his hands itching to do something, and his mind scattered with fleeting thoughts. He had given his grandsire his word that he would try and make this right somehow, and so here he was, making an attempt. 

When he was shown into the main hall, he was surprised to see Lady Cassandra Baratheon seated on the stone throne that her father usually occupied. He tipped his head in respect and opened his mouth to start with his condolences when he received the second surprise of the day. From one of the adjoining corridors stepped out one of the last people he expected to see there. 

Despite his best efforts, the Targaryen prince found himself studying his one-eyed wife, charting the changes in her countenance and in the way she carried herself. The scar on her face stretched gruesomely across her face, the skin still swollen and sutured, and yet she looked calmer than he had seen her look in the longest time. She seemed to have just finished sparring with someone because she was slightly out of breath and sweat plastered her silver hair to her forehead and neck as she sheathed her sword —a shiny new thing that seemed to be made of Valyrian steel. Aemond suddenly felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of her sparring with someone else, at the thought of her in close proximity with anyone who wasn't him. 

He had driven himself mad over her departure, and here she was getting comfortable with another in the home of the man she murdered. 

"My lady, I hope you are in good health. I came to pay my respects...and to offer my deepest condolences for the passing of your father. You must know that you shall have our king's support should you need it, during your time of need," Aemond finally managed to pull his attention away from his wife long enough to address Cassandra Baratheon.

Daenys looked up and her dull eye lit up with renewed fire as a grimace pulled at her lips. She moved her hand to the sword at her hip but was stopped short by Cassandra's sidelong warning gaze.

"Yes, Prince Aemond, I thank you for paying your respects to my father. I am his heir and the head of House Baratheon now so you may take up any further discussions with me."

Aemond frowned slightly. He distinctly remembered Lord Borros saying that should the gods ever grant him a son of his own blood, Storm's End would pass to him. He seemed staunchly against a woman ruling in any right, so it was surprising and doubtful that he would name his daughter heir. Nonetheless, it was not his place to raise the issue, only to attempt to solidify another alliance.

"I also wish to discuss our alliance, my lady. Your father had plans to discuss Prince Jaehaerys's betrothal to your youngest sister."

"Ah yes about that, I am afraid House Baratheon can no longer stand by your brother. I do hope you will understand but I believe that it is in our best interests to support Queen Rhaenyra and her claim. She is after all her father's true heir," Cassandra explained.

"And may I ask the reason behind this sudden change of heart, my lady? It was my understanding that House Baratheon had an agreement with my brother?"

"You must understand that alliances shift all the time. My grandfather's allegiance was to Princess Rhaenys and her kin Rhaenyra, while my Father's was to Prince Aegon. Now mine is to Queen Rhaenyra. It is as simple as that." 

"Whatever Princess Rhaenyra has pledged in return for your alliance, I can promise you that King Aegon can provide you with that and tenfold more. Name your price."

Aemond's shrewd observation did not miss the way Daenys's knuckles tightened into fists when he referred to his half-sister by her true title. 

"You cannot buy our loyalty, my prince. I am afraid you will have to return to your brother with my apology. We cannot support his claim for the Iron Throne, and I understand that this would also mean that the betrothal between my sister and his son is no longer applicable."

"My brother offers stability," the prince tried again, his tone measured despite the bitter words in his mouth. "He offers strength and unity in the face of adversity. With his leadership, there will be peace to the realm."

"I cannot in good conscience ally myself with King Aegon," Cassandra insisted, her voice unwavering. "Queen Rhaenyra has provided unimaginable support to House Baratheon. She has stood by us in our darkest hour, and I will not betray her trust."

Aemond nearly scoffed. 

Provided support? More like brought about your darkest hour. 

As he stood there, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like molten lava, he felt a surge of bitterness welling up within him. Despite his best efforts, it seemed that his mission to secure an alliance with House Baratheon had ended in failure. The staunch loyalty of Lady Cassandra to Queen Rhaenyra had proven to be an insurmountable obstacle, leaving him with no choice but to return home empty-handed.

He glanced towards Daenys, standing silently beside her companion, her expression inscrutable. He had always known of her close friendship with Cassandra, and it was clear that their bond ran deep, perhaps deeper than he had realized. But in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration towards her, a resentment born of his own failures. He would have to once again face his grandsire's disdain and his mother's disappointment. Worst of all, he would have to face Aegon's glee, because there was nothing his older brother liked more than to see him be reprimanded. 

"Very well my lady. It will be as you wish, but if I may, I do believe you are making a terrible mistake allying yourself with someone who has no hope of successfully claiming the throne. You shall find yourself on the wrong side of history, as my brother already sits upon it. The matter is as good as settled," Aemond conceded, giving her a final tip of his head.

What he did next was foolish and petty, but he did it anyway, spurred on by a desire to get to his wife in the only way he knew how. Steeling himself, Aemond approached Daenys with purpose, his jaw set in a determined line. Daenys stiffened, a subtle tremor betraying the turmoil that churned beneath her composed exterior, as she braced herself for the confrontation that was about to unfold. Her nails dug bloody crescents into her palms, but she forced herself to remain silent. She would not cause another scene. She would not grant him the satisfaction of a reaction. 

With a smug twist of his lips that belied his irritation, the one-eyed prince leaned in close to her, his voice a low murmur meant for her ears alone. "I didn't think you capable of this, but I suppose it is the only lesson my whore of a half-sister has ever been able to impart to her children; how to take things from others," he whispered, his words dripping with disdain.

Crack.

Without a moment's hesitation, Daenys's clenched fist lashed out like lightning, aiming for Aemond's nose with unerring precision. The impact was visceral, a sickening crunch filling the air as he staggered backwards, clutching his bleeding nose with a strangled grunt of pain.

"Daenys!"

Cassandra's indignant exclamation of Daenys's name fell upon deaf ears, lost amidst the swirling maelstrom of anger that consumed her. She would have gladly swallowed down any insult he spewed toward her, but she would not tolerate slander against her mother. It was enough to snap the fragile threads of her restraint. 

"You insolent pig!" she spat, her voice dripping with venom as she advanced upon her husband, her eye blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you speak of my mother in such a manner? She is the queen! Do not speak of her if you cannot do so with respect."

Aemond almost flinched. Pig. She had never called him that before. It brought back old memories and even older scars. She was not so different from her bastard brothers after all, hateful and full of scorn. 

Before anyone could react, Daenys surged forward, her hands seizing Aemond by his collar, slamming him forcefully against the wall behind him with a ferocity that startled even herself. The impact reverberated through the room, the sound of the prince's skull meeting stone echoing like thunder in the tense silence that followed.

Aemond grunted in pain, his hands scrambling to break free from Daenys's iron grip as blood trickled down his chin, mingling with the crimson stain that marred his tunic. His eye widened in shock and disbelief before he schooled his expression into a mask of nonchalance. He found himself more surprised than hurt, his wife's strength no match for his own. He could easily have shaken her off if he so wished but he waited to see what she had to say. He was either arrogant enough to believe that she couldn't hurt him, or foolish enough to believe she wouldn't. 

Most of all, he was curious. He craved her nearness, and if he had to contend with a bloody nose to have it, then so be it. 

"You have some nerve coming here!" Daenys snarled. "To show your face and spew the shit that you just did!"

"I only spoke the truth, my dear wife," Aemond drawled in return. He wished to add another scathing remark, but then thought better of it. He didn't wish to lose his nose altogether. 

"Do not call me that. I am not your anything!"

"We are still bound, you and I. No matter how much you hate it, in the eyes of the Gods, old and new, you are still mine."

And I am yours.

"Do not use the Gods to bend me to your will. It will not make me spare you!"

"No? But she might," Aemond gestured toward the lady of the house who was now watching them with a curious expression. 

Cassandra Baratheon was entertained. She should have called for the guards, should have forced the arguing couple to separate and sent the young prince on his way, but she was curious about something and wished to confirm the status of their unravelling relationship herself. She was not disappointed. 

Meeting Cassandra's gaze, Daenys's grip faltered. She knew that she shouldn't have been causing chaos in someone else's halls but she couldn't help herself. Just the sight of Aemond made her blood boil and seeing him here brought all the awful memories rising back until they choked her. It made her want to choke them right back but she'd settle for strangling him instead.

"I hear you have a shiny new title," the one-eyed prince murmured, much too calm for someone with a possibly broken nose. "The Queen's executioner, hmm? Now, how'd you go about doing that?"

Daenys stiffened. She was not deaf to the rumours that followed her as of late, but she tried not to let it bother her. She had sacrificed her morality already, and there was nothing she wouldn't do for her mother. 

"It did not come steeped in the blood of a child, Kinslayer," she bit out through gritted teeth. 

"It had a blood price all the same. Or do you really expect me to believe that Lord Borros just happened to die peacefully in his bed after handing over his seat to his daughter? You must think me foolish."

"What do you want me to say? That I killed him? It does not matter. It doesn't make Lady Cassandra's claim any less true. In fact, Lord Borros named her his heir with his dying breath," —her lips twisted bitterly as she parroted the words he had once said to her— "You of all people cannot dispute this."

Aemond scoffed, his face hardening a fraction, "Lord Borros has always made his opinions regarding the succession very clear. Everyone knew it. How do you expect anyone to believe his sudden change of heart?"

"If I recall correctly, my grandsire also made his opinions very clear. It is apparent that the people will believe anything."

"All this trouble because you are upset that the nobility is choosing to support my brother's claim to the throne? You can't just go around killing anyone who opposes you."

"No, but you can?"

Aemond rolled his eyes, continuing as if he hadn't heard her, "Now you've gone and painted a target on Lady Cassandra's back for the sake of your pitiful ambitions. Do you think that the rest of her kin are going to sit back and watch her take the position?"

"Do not speak of me as though I am not here," Cassandra finally interrupted. "I think it's best that you leave now, Prince Aemond. You have surely overstayed your welcome, and you shall not find the alliance you seek here."

Aemond kept his attention on his wife, all humour gone from his gaze, "This will not save your family from their fate and all your efforts will have been for nought."

"Like being a peacekeeper saved my brother from his fate? You really ought to leave before I lose my restraint and Lady Cassandra has the unfortunate luck of having to order your blood scrubbed off her floor."

The Targaryen prince was done being playful. His single eye gleamed with a steely resolve as he hummed thoughtfully, his lips curling into a malevolent smirk. With a sudden, brutal force, he wrenched Daenys's hands away from his collar.

As blood trickled down his chin, he swiped an arm across his mouth, smearing the crimson stain across his sleeve with a contemptuous flick. Then he lunged forward, his fingers closing around his wife's arm in a deathly grip.

Daenys inhaled sharply as pain shot through her body, the sensation of Aemond's fingers digging into her still-raw wounds sending a wave of agony crashing over her. She tried to pull away, to break free from his vice-like grasp, but his hold was iron-clad, unyielding in its ferocity.

With a low growl, he began to drag her away towards the exit.

"I will leave, but perhaps I will take along what belongs to me."

"I do not fucking belong to you. You have no right-"

"Of course you do, and I have every right. You are my lawful wife. No one in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms can dispute this. I think I'll take you back with me. Make a gift of you to my mother. Grandfather has been exceedingly upset with her for allowing you to leave so bringing you back will be a fair exchange for the alliance lost. A princess and her dragon in exchange for the Baratheons. You must understand it is a little disappointing returning empty-handed."

Behind them Cassandra watched. She had no intention of letting the prince leave with what did not belong to him, but once again her inquisitive nature won and she simply waited to see how the one-eyed princess would deal with the matter. 

She wanted to see just how feral the Queen's executioner could be against the man she loved. 

"What? Not so opposed to the idea?" Aemond mused when Daenys stopped resisting, instead walking along with him. 

Although his hold did not loosen, his stance became less rigid, and his arm came into closer range. Before she could think about it, she used the advantage to raise her arm where his skin met hers, baring her teeth to sink them into his flesh. He grunted, his fingers tightening hard enough to form bruises.

"Are you fucking insane! Did you just bite me?" 

Aemond's startled exclamation only triggered her to bite down harder, drawing blood and the two remained locked in their deadly embrace, neither of them easing their grasp. The prince then used his opposite hand to grab a fistful of his wife's hair at the base of her neck. He yanked her head backward and her teeth dislodged from his arm as he pulled away from her momentarily. 

That was all she needed to slip out the thin blade she had started keeping in her left boot, but before she could slam it into him, Cassandra's guards were there between them, while the lady of Storm's End herself was instantly at her side, placing a hand on her shoulder to restrain her. 

"No bloodshed under my roof, princess," she reminded calmly, before turning her attention toward Aemond. "And as for you, I will not have a kidnapping on my lands, my prince. I do not think I would be able to face my Queen if two of her children were lost on my lands. Begone."

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

I think the distinct lack of wesper sick-fics is bordering on diabolical, dastardly even

[aludraslytherin]

I can read angst, fucking smut, wump, whatever the fuck you think about with a fuckinbg amazing poker face, but the moment there is fluff, I'm done, I'm smiling like an idiot !

[captain-cold-approved]

im 8k into a WIP that was originally planned to be a 5k one shot and now it's a 5+1 wump fic projected to be well over 30-40k

I love writing with literally no plan or outline whatsoever.

[sallowsunshine]

MC was able to take away Anne's curse, but in order to prevent her from losing all emotion, the curse had to be transferred to MC. Summer before year 6, MC isolates herself, not wanting anyone to know.

[your-girl-nina]

So like- situationship/ relationship with characters A and B where they're raising an orphaned child together and they have many enemies after their necks, one night character A comes back from a long 1 month long work trip. They're stressed, exhausted, and just wanna sleep. They get Bach home just in time to see character B passed/knocked out on the drive way clearly severely hurt,and I'm talking 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, looking into death's eyes basically. While a van is leaving quickly, no doubt having kidnapped their child. The child who has brought happiness back into their lives, the child whom they vowed to always protect. So the question is, would they go after the van to bring their child back while their partner is fighting death and deal with guilt of losing the only person who has been by their side their whole life? Or would they help their partner while their child might be getting hurt or they might lose the kid and deal with the guilt of having failed the kid and their partner resents them for not going after the van?

Leave the answers below!

[guardian-angel12]

Gone. {Outcast excerpt)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Reuben felt numb as he made it to his room, closing the door behind him before slumping against it on the floor.

She's gone, she's gone, she's gone...

Karina… he’d never see her again.

It was all gone. Over. And he was left feeling like an empty shell of what used to be a man so completely consumed by keeping her safe.

But she'd died anyways. And he couldn't save her.

Tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Throat too tight to breathe. He couldn't think as his body felt like it was freezing and on fire and numb af the same time.

His little girl... his baby, never again would he turn around and smile at her presence.

An image flashed in his mind; a baby with big blue eyes, reaching her little hand up to him as she laid in the crook of his arm, a warmth that was only a fathers undying love blossomed in his chest and seemed to spill out of his smile to her.

It flashed again and this time she was months older, his fingers tightly interlocked with her miniature hands as she wobbled out a few steps, giggling through her mouth of three teeth.

Her wobbling steps became a toddlers run, her little blue sundress catching wind with her wavy chocolate locks as she ran with a hand full of wildflowers straight to him, and he scooped her up into his arms.

He saw her covered in paint, a missing tooth and a huge smile as she held up her newest creation, flashing again to become a preteen sitting next to him with a guitar over her legs as he held her hands where they were meant to go.

Then she was a teen, blossoming with womanly beauty and taking a tight hug before waving to him from the side of a vehicle.

Then the girl he knew—a ray of Angellic light and sapphire eyes, but no tears. No pain. No scars. Just her captivating smile and she was standing beside Nathan, a baby in her arms that she passed to him, and he stared down into the eyes of a child from the one he'd raised.

Raised forever.

Like she'd never been taken from me.

His breath hitched violently. Taken when?

She's gone.

His body couldn't even move, crippled by the weight of it all. And it felt like sitting in an endless chasm where only dark surrounded, no light. No love. No purpose.

No point in going on.

Before he realized, his feet were moving at that thought. Stiff, trembling steps as he repeated it again and again.

There's no point.

When Sira and Zari had been killed he hadn't wanted to go on then, but feeling Karina's soul desperate for him in some other reality had kept him from ending it all.

Now it was truly all empty.

Dried up and barren with nothing left but a broken, shredded soul and a heart that was nothing more than ashes on the wind.

So he took the hand gun from the drawer, and readied it. Hands shaking as he lifted it slowly up.

At least if he was good enough, he'd see her on the other side.

Just one pull... one pull and it's over. One pull. His finger twitched to tighten around the one thing that would change it all, the one mechanism that would twist fate—

Two soft-yet-urgent knocks came from the door, making him pause for only a breath.

"Reuben?" Ash's voice was thick with emotion. "Reuben... it's Karina... she's—she's alive."

He met eyes with himself in the mirror, some dark and hollow thing inside told him not to believe it, that it was just a fools hope to change reality, but a tiny glowing ember deep in his core tried to relight, hearing those two words.

"Reuben, she's alive." Ash said again.

He slowly set the gun down, shaking so hard as the tears kept flowing.

The next few moments were robotic, driven on that last spark of hope inside to open the door and face his friend, then confirm if the two words he'd said were true.

[mercifulbutbroken]

If Nav never met his dear Charles how would his life play out?

Hmm..... If Nav never met Charles, a very interesting event would happen.

You see, in the timeline path where Nav is rescued, he never knows about the timelines. He never had access to the powers to summon items for choices.

And in the pathway where Nav has no hope left, he is shoved back into the clan... something awakens within him. A drive to survive so strong it allows Nav to access this power. In the moments where someone is about to attack him for backtalk once he was released, time froze. Nav, flinching, closes their eyes, but after a few moments of no pain, stares at the options in front of him.

This Nav would become cruel and controlling. Using this power, he took back the clan, became the clan's LEADER, and lead the toppats to riches unknown. He found Ellie once more and brought her back aboard. While she thought everything was going to be different, it would be for the worst. This would branch off to TCW, but with Ellie teaming up with the government in exchange for legal immunity and the promise to talk with Nav. Charles would help lead the infiltration, and either succeed or fail. The choice is in his hands... or is it?

[iconicanemone]

Grian fought the dragon. He should have been able to go home.

He wasn’t allowed to.

[gracemwrites]

My parents are reading my writing for the first time in years, and I am getting a flood of comments like what the hell is wrong with you and I'm so sad right now and if this doesn't have a happy ending, I will never forgive you and IM LIVING. Every single one fills my happy evil writer times.

[boss-the-goofball]

🤔 What’s one genre you’ve never written that you’d like to try?

True Horror, it's actually something I haven't fully dabbled in because my experience with the Horror Genre in general is very lackluster

It's only recently that I actually started to get into this genre for real

[multi-musemenagerie]

Anyone want a stripper!au starter?

[mementomoriwithacherryontop]

The wump gremlin in me sees the wump gremlin in you, raises a glass, and says, "cheers". This art is amazing. I already love @asidian's work, and this fic was in my To Read section.

Suffice it to say, I'm gonna read this one tonight.

@deadboyween Day 10 - Hell

Ahhh another amazing fic that I had the privilege of collaborating with @asidian on their fic To Walk Back into Hell. As always it's so hard to pick a scene to draw when reading because theres SO many incredible moments to choose from but the whump gremlin in me latched onto this scene and if you think it looks bad here...ITS SO MUCH WORSE.

Enjoy!

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