#I REWROTE THIS SO MANY TIMES

[bumblebeedrizzzle]

Tickletober 2024

Maketism Tickletober 2024

Days 7-9: Teasing

Somehow Iruma manages to simultaneously suffer from the Lee and Ler mood (Switch mood?) at the same time. Shenanigans ensue. Same timeline as this fic. Sort of a continuation ^_^

This fic contains ✨tickling✨ so if that might bother you, then I suggest you keep scrolling!

A/N: I think the constant daydreaming about tickles miiiight have made Iruma a little crazy. Good luck, Azz-kun. 🩷💙

The morning started out like any other had recently: Iruma feeling just a little bit frustrated. Azz-kun was definitely going to pounce on him again one of these days, right? Ever since hanging out the other week, when Azz had discovered Iruma was ticklish, Iruma had been in this weird mood. That had been his first fun experience having a friend tickle him. And he’d totally told Azz that he wouldn’t minded being tickled again. So, it wasn’t weird to keep hoping it’d happen sooner rather than later, right? Or maybe Azz was waiting on Iruma to tickle him? Because after all, he had said that he’d like to get Azz back sometime. So perhaps that was the reason? How did any of this work exactly? Iruma felt frustrated again at his lack of experience with friendships, but then he supposed Azz might be in a similar boat. Anyways, he knew one thing was clear. This mood, whatever it was, was really starting to get to him. The more he thought about wanting to be tickled, the more he realized he wanted to tickle Azz as well. It went round and round, distracting him throughout each day. His most recent development was that he’d started to feel sort of fidgety, and he wondered if Azz wasn’t going to notice sooner or later. Iruma couldn’t decide which he’d prefer… He was brought out of his ruminations by two bright voices.

“Good Morning, Iruma-sama!”

“Morning Iruma-chiiiii!”

“Azz-kun! Clara! Good morning!”　

Iruma decided he was going to set these thoughts aside and have a normal day at school with his best friends. Sounded easy enough. Except, that it proved to be much more difficult than he thought it would be. What was with this mood of his?! It was like tickling was all he could think of! He was starting to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with him. So, he decided it was time that he stopped waiting. He could invite Azz over today, tickle him, and the thoughts would go away, right? If he was lucky, it’d mean Azz would also decide to tickle him back sooner rather than later. Two birds, one scone, and all that jazz. It hadn’t been that long since they last hung out just the two of them. And Iruma decided he didn’t need to be worried about having one of his best friends over too often. Once he had come to that decision, he wasted no time springing into action.

“Um, Azz-kun! Would you like to come over today after school?”

All it took was one look at Azz’s face to realize the answer was yes. He was smiling so wide it looked like it might hurt and his eyes were shining.

“O-of course, Iruma-sama! Just one moment!” and with that, he sped off, likely to let David know that he would be home later than anticipated.

When they got home, Opera served them tea and snacks before ushering them up to Iruma’s room. They had a certain sparkle in their eye that said they were overjoyed that Iruma had brought a friend to hang out after school.

They made it just past the door, with Iruma trying to stay focused while Azz talked about their day, before Iruma finally lost his patience. He gathered his courage and reached out towards Azz, tweaking his sides gently.

“Eep!” said a startled Azz, who turned around and looked down at Iruma.

Before he could start to overthink things, Iruma spoke.

“A-Azz-kun! It’s time I made good on your promise! I-it’s my turn now!”

With that, Iruma continued wiggling his fingers into the aforementioned demon’s sides.

“Pffft - !” Asmodeus started squirming. It seemed like his body wanted nothing more than to wriggle out of reach, but he seemed to be doing his best to stop himself. After a few moments, Iruma became impatient. His fingers began poking and prodding harder than before; he had a determined look and was intently focused.

“Khhh -!” Asmodeus wiggled a little more than before, but still did not break.

“Now, let’s see, what spot could make you really laugh? Hmm..” Iruma pondered aloud.

Asmodeus’ only response was to blush furiously.

He tried Asmodeus’ belly, neck, and back. While the demon scrunched and shimmied away from his fingers, smiling the whole time, there still wasn’t any audible laughter.

“Azz-kun! Tickle tickle tickle!” Iruma said in a sing song voice, fingers never letting up. That seemed to get a rise out of Azz.

“Aha - ! P-plehehease Iruma-sahama! Anything but that!”

“Oh?? Have I finally found a spot?”

Iruma poked and prodded a few different spots, trying to recall where he’d been when Azz had reacted. But nowhere was getting any particularly strong reaction.

“Come on, let out that laugh for me! Don’t be shy.” Iruma prodded, in a very literal and figurative sense.

“Don’t! Yahaha plehehease!”

“Don’t? Don’t what?” Iruma asked.

“Tehease mehe!” Azz replied.

“Oh!! Ohhh.” Iruma said, a grin forming on his face. “Well, if you insist, Azz-kun! Coochie coo!” Iruma sang.

At this, a damn seemed to break within Asmodeus.

“Ihihihirumahaha-sahahahamahaha!”

“Awww, is someone ticklish?” Iruma cooed back in response.

“Yahahaha b-but plehehease! Nahaha stahahahp!!” Azz-kun pleaded.

“But I’ve been thinking about tickling you all day now!” Iruma said cheerfully.

Now Asmodeus’ face was certainly very red. He said that so calmly! He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

When all Iruma heard in response was giggles and frantic bits of laughter, he continued.

“I must say, you don’t disappoint! I think I understand now why you couldn’t stop tickling me! This is so much fun! And your laugh is so cute!”

“Y-you ahare gohohoing tohoho kihihihill mehehe!!”

“Hmm? Someone can’t take a few teases with their tickles??”

Asmodeus tried to cover his face with his hands.

“Don’t hide your face from me! I want to see that smile!”

Asmodeus’ blush spread from his face down to his neck and ears. A fact Iruma seemed suddenly very aware of, as he recalled what had started their first tickle fest.

“Oh! I wonder how sensitive your ears will be!”

“Eep - ! N-no, I-Irumaha-sahahama! Plehease, nohot thehere!”

Something about Azz’s panicked voice gave Iruma pause. Through all of Asmodeus’ pleadings, he hadn’t actually sounded that desperate yet. He also hadn’t asked Iruma to avoid a particular spot. Iruma decided he didn’t want to risk it.

“Oh, I see..” Iruma said a bit sadly, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Azz-kun. Don’t worry, I’ll go somewhere else.”

Asmodeus looked into Iruma’s eyes and his heart thumped wildly.

“Ah, w-well actually I um…”

“Yes, Azz-kun?”

Asmodeus melted.

“I would not mind so much Iruma-sama. It is just that I feel they will be quite sensitive and I could not help myself. Please forgive me, I did not truly mean it.”

“R-really?!” Iruma looked up with renewed hope. “I’m so glad you told me!” he beamed. “You must really want me to tickle you then,” he added with a wink.

“I-I uh w-well y-you seemed like you were having fun s-so I just… would n-not mind if you continued…” Asmodeus mumbled.

“Awww, that’s so sweet,” Iruma purred in response. “Could you bend down for me, then?”

Asmodeus’ face went impossibly red as Iruma reached up tentatively and fluttered his fingers over Asmodeus’ long, thin ears. He leaned down to give Iruma a better reach, his ears burning the same feverish red. Iruma slowed briefly to make sure Azz was alright, but then realized that if he actually wanted to escape, all he would need to do was stand up straighter. And seeing how he wasn’t made things easy. Whether it was because of his promise to Iruma or that he was enjoying himself, Iruma couldn’t tell. He supposed it didn’t matter at this moment, and refocused on his task. Starting at the base of Asmodeus’ ear, he gently reached back behind to flutter at where it connected to his head.

“Ehemph! I-Iruma-sama, i-it tickles so much already.. hehe!”

“Well, if your ears are anything like mine, then it’ll only get worse, Azz-kun!” Iruma chuckled in response.

As he moved his fingers back around, fluttering them briefly in the inside of his ear, the giggles picked up.

“I-Ihihihirumahaha-sahama! P-please!” he whined.

“Make sure you don’t move, Azz-kun! You’re being so good!”

A strangled moan of frustration, embarrassment, and pleasure wrenched itself from Asmodeus’ lips. He heard Iruma’s words echoing inside his brain: You’re being so good! You’re being so good! You’re being so good! Impossibly, it seemed to make everything tickle even more.

Almost shaking with the effort, Azz managed to hold himself in the same position while Iruma attacked his ears. He was doing fine, until -

“AH! N-NOHOHO PLEHEHEASE!” he cried, almost sounding genuinely distressed.

“Aha! We’ve found it, Azz-kun! The tips of your ears are your worst spot so far! By a long mile,” he said laughing along. “Aren’t you just the cutest! I could get used to this; I don’t get to see you laughing enough!”

That was it. He was done for. With a cry he straightened and ran for safety. He dove onto Iruma’s enormous bed, attempting to hide underneath all the pillows and blankets. Anywhere away from that infernal tickling and Iruma’s teasing. His thoughts raced. What had gotten into Iruma today?! One moment they’d been talking, and the next he was being attacked!! The ticking was one thing, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the teasing. Or his ears. Oh devils had his ears been sensitive. He almost felt bad for how much he’d messed with Iruma’s ears last time. Almost. He took a few breaths, but his heart still hadn’t slowed. The respite was short-lived though, because he heard something that sent shivers down to his toes.

“Not so fast, Mr. Giggles! You can’t get away from me that easily!”

With a cry, Iruma dove in after Azz. The demon tried to prepare himself for more teases. And was that a nickname?! This boy was going to be the death of him at this rate.

[khronosz]

I enjoy my slow regression to going back to my original work-flow. Need to get better at saving my colours, for future use! 😂 However, I've been making more liberal attempts at using the transform tool to readjust as I go. My most recent warm-up (the human) definitely shows a stronger improvement!

I think I'll one day return to using a G-Pen, but for now I'm happy to re-line using my sketch pencil and paint directly over them to give it a stylistic edge.

I can only speculate that my aversion comes from how 'precise' pens are, compared to my sketch pencil. Sketch lines can be used to define an entire piece, but pen lines should be used sparingly - with coloured pen lines supplementing black ones where possible. I've found that faces look particularly easier to look at when things inside the black lines are coloured, like the nose, or eyebrow arches, as it gives the face a softer depth to it, rather than a rigid expression.

[anbaisai]

Happy New Year!! 🎉🐍

It's the year of the snake, so who better to celebrate it with than our resident snake boy?

I may not be the best with words, but I really appreciate everyone that has showed me support in the past year. You guys have been amazing, and I hope to see you around in the new year too ❤

Thank you for an incredible 2024, and wishing everyone a wonderful 2025!

[giraffenamjoon]

handcuffed (wonwoo x f!reader)

summary: when your boyfriend is late for dinner, you come up with a plan to make him apologize. only you’re the one who ends up begging for forgiveness.

genre: smut, porn without plot

word count: 7,186

warnings: consensual rough sex, oral sex, mild argument (i don't even wanna call it angry sex, more like hurt feelings sex lol), makeup sex, handjob, established relationship, masturbation, dom/sub, hard dom jeon wonwoo, sub reader, endearments, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, spanking, dirty talk, aftercare!!!!, a sweet little epilogue

read on AO3: handcuffed (#2 in the Hands Trilogy)

this is the sequel to tied up. you don't have to read it first but it's recommended.

comments and reblogs are always cherished and appreciated! thank you so much for reading!

[emo-batboy]

A Wild Battinson (Social Media AU)

Part 37 (Masterlist)

(Part 38)

REMINDER: THERE WILL NO LONGER BE A TAG LIST SO PLEASE FOLLOW @emo-batboy OR #a wild battinson FOR UPDATES

@bruciemilf hey bestie I’m back :D

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Pictured: Loop being extremely normal as they lay in their shallow (homemade) grave as they meditate on existence and also if they have annoyed the Researcher enough THIS time for her to murder them and bury them alive.

(Spoilers - they did not annoy her even CLOSE to that much.)

And there is the required reverse image of Odile arriving - she's had a LONG day (i.e. previous loop), and due to this it will take ten minutes before she even acknowledges the shallow grave Loop is laying in, as she was distracted complaining about what Siffrin just did to annoy her.

----

I'd say there's context for all of that, because like...there IS context? Here's the link to the series of fics that HAS that context even! But also...even with context...can't say that it's going to make any of this less weird.

Mostly Odile is looping because due to Loop's wish the universe got rewritten to make Siffrin's repression and emotional issues (the ones bad enough to get him stuck in a time loop in the game) 'someone else's' problem...or at least that's Loop's best theory atm!

Regardless, context or not, I'm quite happy with how the pics came out, and figured I might as well post them here too.

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 9

Summary - When (Y/N) falls injured in a battle with the mountain clans of the Vale, Rhaenyra and Daemon must travel to Kingslanding to protect Luke's claim to Runestone.

Warnings - blood and injury, violence, character death, general HOTD warnings

“I still do not understand why you could not just fly in on Vermithor and burn them out.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, stepping carefully over a tree root, “And burn down the forest as well?” 

“It would’ve made this all go a lot faster.” 

Gerold chuckled next to him, “Osric, leave him alone.” 

“Both of you shut up.” (Y/N) snapped, and the two men beside him quieted. They continued to walk through the forest, careful to avoid any snapping twigs that would give their presence away to the mountain clans no doubt hiding somewhere in the trees. 

It had been four moons since he’d seen his family, the most time he’d been away in six years. They’d been fighting back the clans for six moons, (Y/N) only flying out to Runestone two moons into the skirmish at Gerold’s desperate plea. (Y/N) was getting increasingly frustrated with their lack of improvement in the fight against the clans, and if they did not root them out soon he may take Osric up on his idea and simply burn the forest down with Vermithor. Gods know the dragon needed it after four moons of little activity in the Vale. 

His thoughts fell back to Rhaenyra, she’d been in her sixth moon of pregnancy by now, and (Y/N) longed to be at her side on Dragonstone. She sent him letters with updates about their sons, and Daemon, but (Y/N) wished to hear her voice and witness their children's achievements with his eyes instead of reading them on a page. 

The sound of a twig snapping behind them jolted (Y/N) out of his thoughts. All three of the men tensed, pausing their steps. (Y/N)’s grip on his sword tightened, and he watched as the two men beside him eyed the trees, Osric drawing back his bow string and Gerold lifting his sword up in a defensive position. 

Before either of them could react an arrow whizzed through the air, catching Osric in the neck. (Y/N) watched in horror as blood pooled and leaked out of Osric’s throat, dripping down the front of his body, a shocked look crossed the man’s face before he hit the ground. (Y/N) turned to Gerold, opening his mouth but another arrow whizzed out from the trees striking his cousin in the collarbone before he could speak. 

(Y/N) turned quickly and ran as a second and third arrow struck Gerold, not turning back to watch as his cousin’s body no doubt hit the forest floor dead. (Y/N) continued running, praying to the old gods that he would manage to make it back to camp before whoever was in the trees caught up with him. He cursed himself silently for only taking Osric and Gerold out on the scouting party, he was confident they wouldn’t run into trouble, the mountain clans had not been sighted anywhere near where the three men were scouting camp. 

He heard the arrow before he felt it strike his shoulder, right in between the gap in his leather armor. Despite the flare of pain in his shoulder he kept running, even as a second and then third arrow hit his body, the third lodging itself in his leather armor instead of his skin; and he was grateful that he had brought some armor with him, even if it was leather. As he neared the camp, relief starting to flood his veins, a fourth arrow barely missed his calf as it whizzed by. But the shock of it caused him to stumble nonetheless. His stumble only caused him to pause for a second, but long enough for an arrow to actually lodge itself in his calf and he yelled as he tripped. 

He hit his head on a branch as he went down, no doubt once again breaking his nose and probably giving himself a concussion as well. He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing his sword from where he dropped it. He turned to face the direction the arrows were coming from, and he raised his sword up, cutting down a fifth, sixth, and seventh arrow as they flew at him from behind the trees. As he cut down the seventh arrow, an eighth one came at him from behind, striking him in his other shoulder, and as he turned to face that direction, two more arrows whizzed by, striking him in the stomach and the arm. 

The force of the arrow hitting him in the arm caused him to drop his sword, and the stomach wound caused him to double over in pain, knees hitting the ground. As he hit the forest floor the adrenaline started to leave his body, the pain of the multiple arrows littering his body and the head wound making his vision swim. He swayed, falling onto his side, his vision tunneled as men approached him. 

They stood over him, and one spoke. “Is he dead?” 

“He will be, leave him. I want it to be painful.” Another said, and (Y/N) only had enough time to realize they were speaking the common tongue before he lost consciousness.

The dirt and sweat covering his entire body was not enough to dampen the day's mood. Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs, three this time to Daemon’s delight. The more dragon eggs that came into their possession the better, especially with Rhaenyra and (Y/N) needing an egg to place in a cradle within the next few months. The Dragonkeepers were already waiting for the prince as he climbed the hill, and he passed the saddle bag carrying the eggs off to them. 

One of the Dragonkeepers passed him a piece of paper, the grim look on his face giving Daemon pause. He slowly took the parchment, looking down at the unbroken seal of House Royce. 

“It is from Maester Pate of Runestone.” The dragonkeeper spoke, and Daemon gently broke the seal reading the words of the letter carefully. 

To Prince Daemon and the Princess Rhaenyra, 

Prince (Y/N) Royce has fallen grievously injured. He and his scouting party were ambushed not half of a league away from their camp. In the fighting, he took many wounds, most caused by arrows, and was left for dead. The wounds were severe and much blood was lost. But my greater concern is the fever that has followed. He burns from within as if his blood has been replaced with dragon fire. The Prince is strong, but I have seen blood fever take men half his age. 

I fear to say this is not the only news that plagues House Royce. Lord Gunthor Royce, the Prince’s cousin, has ridden to Kingslanding, preparing to petition the court for the seat of Runestone if Prince (Y/N) is to succumb to his wounds. We must pray to the Gods that the Prince makes a full recovery, but if Lord Gunthor’s petition is accepted, the damage may be too deep to be undone. 

Maester Pate

He read the message three times before the message really sank in, “I must speak with the Princess.” 

He found Rhaenyra with Jace and Joffrey in the council room, she looked up as he walked in dismissing the boys and their maester. She was smiling as she took the letter Daemon held out for her, but his posture and expression seemed to give way to the grim news hidden in the parchment as her smile quickly fell upon seeing it. 

Daemon watched her carefully as she read the letter. Her eyes watered at the report of her husband’s fate, and Daemon remembered that Rhaenyra had urged him to fly to help with the fighting in the Vale after they had received Gerold’s letter. Her expression quickly turned into one of anger and disbelief as she finished reading the letter. 

“He means to call into question Luke’s legitimacy.” She scoffed, “And by extension, Jace, and by extension my own claim to the throne.” 

“Gunthor cares only about Runestone, and the Royce line. Not about our politics.” Daemon said, hoping the words would bring his niece comfort. He doubted it as the thought did little to comfort him. “Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?” 

“Hm this is what I fear.” Rhaenyra frowned, worrying the paper between her fingers as she thought. “I cannot rely on my father, the vipers rule in his name according to Rhaenys. I should write to her, if nothing else she may be able to provide some advice.” 

Daemon nodded, he had heard of Corlys injury and Laenor’s death leaving his daughter and Vaemond the only heirs to Driftmark should Corlys not recover from his injury. Last he heard Rhaenys was petitioning the throne pass to her and then to her granddaughters, Daemon’s daughters, upon her Lord husband's death. 

“You are going to Kingslanding then?” Daemon asked, and Rhaenyra gave him a questioning look. 

“Are you not?” She asked. 

“I am flying to Runestone. I will join you as soon as I can.” 

Rhaenyra shook her head, “No. I will accompany you.” 

Daemon smiled at her, placing a gentle hand on her stomach. Since she had fallen pregnant (Y/N) had been insisting the child would be a girl, and Daemon could only hope his son would live to see her born, and even longer after that. “No. The boys need you, you must go to Kingslanding and protect Luke’s claim.” 

“(Y/N) lays dying-” 

“He will understand.” Daemon said. “He does not need you, your sons do.” 

The look Rhaenyra gave him showed she did not like his words, but she conceded to them anyway, nodding silently. Daemon softly kissed his niece's forehead, “I will inform him of your desire to come, dear niece. Do not fret; (Y/N) is strong. You and your boys will see him again."

Daemon felt sick at the sight of his son’s bloodied body against pale sheets. He would’ve thought (Y/N) already dead if not for the wheezing of his breath and his chest moving painfully slowly. He carefully approached the bed, brushing his son’s (H/C) curls out of his face. He smoothed the sweaty and tangled mess back before pressing a soft kiss to his boy’s forehead. 

His eldest son, his only son. 

“Fever cannot take you,” Daemon whispered, taking a seat next to the bed. He clutched (Y/N)’s hand, cringing at the dried blood that littered his skin. There was still dirt and blood under his fingernails from the fight. “You are a dragon. This is not how you die.” 

There was no indication that (Y/N) heard him, the milk of the poppy keeping him unconscious. Daemon watched silently as his son breathed in and out, he had broken a rib when he hit the ground, Maester Pate informed him. His son was lucky that he was found by the scouts sent after him after he and his group did not return at the scheduled time. If he had been lying on the forest floor for any longer, he would’ve surely died of his wounds. 

Daemon cursed the Gods that let this happen to his son. It was bad enough he’d been dragged from his family to deal with a war that the Valemen should’ve been able to stop in less than a moon, but to try and take (Y/N) from him when he’d only truly had him for six years was something he could not forgive them for. 

“Kepa.”

Daemon jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of (Y/N)’s raspy voice. He gently shushed him when it looked like he was going to speak again. “You will be alright, just rest.” 

(Y/N) smiled, and Daemon’s heart ached. He rubbed his thumb across the top of his son’s hand in hopes of soothing him. He licked his lips, clearing his throat before speaking. “You were right, I should’ve never come back to the Vale.” 

“No.” Daemon shook his head. “These are your people and you were only doing what you thought was best. That is never wrong, zaldrītsos.” 

“I am not so little anymore.” (Y/N) laughed at the nickname before his face contorted in pain, and he started to cough. Daemon reached for the milk of the poppy the maester had left by his bedside, but (Y/N) stopped him. “No. No more.” 

“You are in pain.” 

“I am more useful when not addled by milk of the poppy.” 

Daemon took his son’s face gently in his hands, “You are most useful alive.” 

(Y/N) turned his head as Daemon tried to give him the milk of the poppy, and Daemon frowned at his son’s stubbornness. He placed the cup back on the table when it was clear nothing short of pouring it down (Y/N)’s throat would make him drink it. 

“Rhaenyra wished to see you.” Daemon said, trying to move the conversation onto lighter thoughts. “I feared she would take off after me on Syrax as soon as I left. But she’s on her way to Kingslanding with your boys.” 

At the mention of Kingslanding (Y/N) caught Daemon’s wrist, hand visibly shaking from the effort. “Gunthor-” 

Daemon gently grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, taking it off of his wrist. Daemon placed (Y/N)’s hand back on the bed, covering it with his own. “I know. Maester Pate warned us of his plans.” 

(Y/N) shook his head. “You must listen.” 

“I am listening.” Daemon assured him, “But you mustn’t worry about Gunthor, leave him to Rhaenyra and I.” 

(Y/N) ignored his father’s advice, continuing on as if he hadn’t heard him. “We cannot rely on Viserys for support. Gerold is dead, so if I die-” (Y/N) paused, swallowing before speaking again. “Gunthor is still unmarried and without an heir. Seek out Rhaenys, offer a marriage between my boys and your girls. If Luke is to be wed before Gunthor, he is a more attractive heir to the Lords of the realm.” 

“Have you spoken to Rhaenyra about this?” Daemon asked, gently massaging (Y/N)’s still shaking hand. 

(Y/N) nodded, “In passing. But we cannot afford to wait anymore.” 

“You will live.” Daemon insisted. “You just need rest.” 

(Y/N) gave him a sad smile, nodding softly but unconvincingly. His eyes started to droop, and Daemon once again reached for the milk of the poppy, holding it before his son. (Y/N) stopped him, “You must protect them. Do what you need to, just promise me you will protect them.” 

“Of course.” 

(Y/N)’s face hardened as best it could against the exhaustion plaguing his body. “You don’t understand. Do what you must to protect them.” 

Daemon froze, giving (Y/N) a curt nod. “Drink the milk of the poppy.” Satisfied with Daemon’s answer (Y/N) finally accepted the drink. Daemon placed the empty cup back in its place, gently cupping his son’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb against the bruise on his cheek gently. (Y/N)’s cheeks were sunken, and the dark circles under his eyes mingled with the other bruises on his face. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and Daemon kissed his cheek. 

Daemon stood, making to leave, but (Y/N)’s soft voice caught his attention before they could. 

“They were noblemen, father.” 

Daemon froze, preparing to ask what (Y/N)’s words meant. But when he turned to look at his son he had already fallen back asleep. Daemon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, already feeling the beginnings of a headache beginning to form. He left the room, walking in the opposite direction of where Caraxes was waiting for him and toward the Maester’s chambers for more answers.

The yard was practically empty as Daemon arrived. He stepped carefully out of the carriage, scoffing at the measly introduction given by a Kingsguard. 

“All hail Prince Daemon Targaryen.” 

He could only hope that Rhaenyra and his grandsons were shown more respect, but he doubted that if the Hightowers were in charge of their welcome. He doubted Viserys was even aware that they were arriving in Kingslanding. 

“Welcome, my Prince.” Lord Caswell greeted Daemon. The man was clearly nervous to speak with Daemon, if the mindless fidgeting was anything to go off of. 

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” 

“The Princess is in the King’s chambers.” 

Daemon gave him a curt nod in thanks before stalking off into the keep. He scarcely recognized the place he once called home, and the thought that the Hightower’s influence had started to bleed into the very foundations of the keep made him sneer. Almost all the emblems of House Targaryen had been removed from the walls of the keep, replaced instead with symbols of the faith. Daemon wanted to gauge his eyes out on one of the points of the seven-pointed star. 

He eventually found his way to his brother’s chambers, opening the door silently at the sound of soft voices within. He was not so quiet as to not alert his niece, who immediately looked up at him and smiled. 

“Father, Daemon is here.” 

“Daemon?” His brother said, and Daemon walked forward at the sound of his brother’s faint voice. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach and made him freeze. He had thought (Y/N)’s appearance was enough to give him nightmares for moons, but the sight of his brother was going to plague him till he died. 

“Daemon.” His brother called out again, and Daemon approached his side cautiously. “Daemon. Help me up.” He placed a pillow behind Viserys, guiding him into a sitting position. His brother gave him a pained smile. “It’s been so long.” 

“(Y/N) has taken a grave wound in battle in the Vale.” Daemon saw Rhaenyra cringe at his bluntness from the corner of his eye. He wished he could have eased into the news, but they were not here for reunions, and he’d made his son a promise. 

Viserys frowned, “There is no war in the Vale.” 

Daemon scowled at his brother’s words, just how far into the dark had the Hightower’s pushed him these past years? “No. The mountain clans have become restless, they have pushed in the boundaries of the Vale houses. There has been fighting for months, brother.” 

Viserys’ furrowed brows were the only indication he gave that he had heard Daemon’s words. 

“There is a petition to decide upon the succession of Runestone and the heir to the Runestone throne.” 

“Petition?” Viserys said, confused, “Alicent and Otto…they see to all that business now.” 

“No.” Daemon huffed in frustration, “Brother listen to me. You are to affirm your position for Lucerys to be my son’s successor.”  

The door opened behind him as he awaited Viserys response, the soft babbling of his grandsons easing some of his tension. 

“Something happened to (Y/N)?” Viserys spoke, and Daemon shut his eyes tight. He shook his head, standing and walking away from his brother. 

Rhaenyra walked up to him, placing Aegon in his arms. She took Viserys from the wetnurse next, sitting on the bed in front of Daemon. Daemon pressed his cheek into Aegon’s silver locks, smiling at the sound of the babe’s attempts at words. 

“Father, there is someone we wish to introduce you to.” Rhaenyra said, and Viserys looked at Daemon confused. 

“Daemon.”

“Brother.” Daemon said, and Viserys looked down at the babe in his arms. 

“Who is that?” 

Daemon smiled, shifting his hold on Aegon so that he could show their grandson off to his brother. 

“Father. This is Aegon.” Rhaenyra smiled, and Daemon brushed his finger down the boy's cheek as he tried to wiggle out of his arms. 

“Aegon.” Viserys repeated, before looking at the second babe in the room. 

“And this is Viserys.” Rhaenyra bounced the younger child on her hip, and Viserys broke out into a grin. 

“Viserys. Now that is a name fit for a king.” Daemon chuckled softly, wondering what his brother would have said if Rhaenyra had conceded to (Y/N)’s choice of name for the babe. 

Viserys groaned in pain, and the sound seemed to upset the already fussy babes as they immediately started to break out into whines and cries. Daemon gently shushed Aegon, but the babe would not be comforted by his grandfather’s soft voice. He passed him off to the wet nurse, Rhaenyra, doing the same with a crying Viserys. 

“Oh, I'm sorry I-I’m sorry.” Viserys apologized mindlessly as the babes were taken out of the room. “Please. My tea. My tea.” 

“This?” Daemon approached the table next to the bed, grabbing the only cup he saw. 

Viserys nodded, desperately trying to reach for the cup as Daemon brought it to his lips to drink. “Yes. Yes.”

When he finished Daemon brought the cup up under his nose sniffing it carefully. He frowned at the familiar scent of milk of the poppy, it was clear as Viserys quickly fell asleep that the tea was not for pain but to keep him incapacitated. 

Rhaenyra walked away from the bed closer to the doors of the chambers. “How is (Y/N)?” 

Daemon sighed, running his hand down in face as he took a seat near Rhaenyra. “He is-” Daemon swallowed. “In pain, the fever has not yet broken.” 

“Did you speak with the maester?” Rhaenyra asked, and Daemon nodded. 

“Yes, when I got there and before I left.” Daemon took the piece of parchment Maester Pate had given him before he left out of his pocket. “(Y/N) had Pate write this when they discovered Gunthor’s plans.” 

He handed the parchment over to Rhaenyra who ran her fingers over the unbroken seal gingerly. “It’s his final decree.” Rhaenyra froze at his words, and Daemon watched as she turned from him to cover up the wetness of her eyes. “It declares Luke as his heir, among other things.” 

Daemon considered telling her what (Y/N) had told him as he left and what Maester Pate himself had confirmed before giving Daemon the parchment, but the look on his niece's face as she looked at the parchment in her hands made him keep his mouth shut. He would tell her later, she had too much to worry about already, and if Daemon had his way, Gunthor would be dealt with before Rhaenyra even had his to worry about retribution. 

“He does not think he will live?” Rhaenyra said and it was obviously supposed to be a question but the tone in her voice told Daemon she already knew the answer. Daemon did not respond, and Rhaenyra nodded, handing the parchment back to him silently. 

“(Y/N) wishes to betroth my daughters to your sons, to strengthen our alliance with the Velayrons.” 

Rhaenyra nodded, “I will speak with Rhaenys.” She sighed looking at where her father was laying, still asleep in his bed. “I will also speak with Maester Gerardys. Perhaps if he could see the King he’d suggest a different-” 

Rhaenyra paused as the door opened, and they both turned to look as Alicent walked into the room. Alicent gave them a smile, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Princess Rhaenyra. And Prince Daemon.” 

Daemon hummed, not even bothering to give her a smile back. 

“It has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence. Although I do wish it could be under happier circumstances.” Her eyes slid from Rhaenyra to Daemon as she spoke. 

“Indeed. Your Grace.” 

“Though not long enough to merit a greeting upon our arrivals.” Daemon said, and the way Rhaenyra smirked told him that she too had received a less than warm welcome back home. 

“I’m sure the Queen had pressing business, Uncle.” Rhaenyra said, taking a place next to where Daemon was sitting. “What can either of us know of ruling a kingdom?” 

“I do not rule as you well know.” Alicent said. “My father and I are mere stewards of the King’s will and wisdom.” 

“And how exactly is that wisdom expressed…hm?” Daemon asked, looking at Alicent properly for the first time since she entered the room. “In blinks and wheezes? I’d be surprised if he could remember his own name. Or if you could.” 

“King Viserys’ condition had worsened since you saw him last.” Daemon laughed, and Alicent glared. “It subjects him to considerable pain. On the advice of the maesters-”

“Ah, the maesters. Of course.” Rhaenyra barked out a fake laugh. “It is they who keep him addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne.” 

“Rhaenyra if you could see him without it, almost blind with suffering.” 

“Oh, Alicent, I have no doubt it was an act of the purest mercy.” Daemon said, voice hard. “But tell me, for the King’s suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?” 

“The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority.” 

“And on the morrow,” Rhaenyra walked toward Alicent, who to Daemon's chagrin stood her ground against his niece’s piercing gaze. “Which authority will sit in judgment of my son’s claim on his own inheritance?” 

“That would be mine.” She paused. “And the hand’s.” 

Daemon scoffed, bitterly chuckling. 

“But be assured the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today.” 

Alicent looked to the Prince and Princess, before giving another of her false smiles and walking out of the room.

Daemon watched as Otto Hightower stood in front of his brother’s throne. Rhaenyra stood beside him, eyes darting between her half-siblings and the Hightowers. Jace stood beside his mother, posture tense and mouth turned down into a frown. The boy was obviously anxious, understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, but his anxiety was nothing compared to his younger brother. Luke had been on edge since Daemon saw him last night, he cared less about the hearing of the petitions and more about his father’s health and it devastated Daemon to be unable to calm his grandson’s worries. 

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Prince (Y/N) Royce survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Runestone. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” Otto spoke, taking a seat on the Iron Throne, and Daemon frowned at how comfortable he looked there. “The crown will now hear the petitions. Lord Gunthor of House Royce.” 

Gunthor Royce stepped out from the crowd, not bothering to look at the boy who’s future he was trying to ruin. He turned to address Alicent and Otto instead. “My Queen. My Lord Hand. House Royce can date their lineage back ten thousand years to the Dawn Age, we were Kings while the Targaryens were still in Old Valyria. We are the blood of the first men, not the dragon, and our blood shall stay that way until the day our house disappears. 

“I have spent my entire life in the Vale defending the seat of House Royce, first at the gates of moon and then at Runestone. I am Prince (Y/N)’s closest Vale kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Royce runs through my veins.” 

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of (Y/N) Royce. The very spitting image of their Grandmother, Lady Rhea.” Rhaenyra spat, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Lord Gunthor, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

“You will have the chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Lord Gunthor the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Alicent focused her gaze toward Rhaenyra and her family, voice tight. Gunthor smirked, finally turning to face Rhaenyra and Daemon. 

“What do you know of Royce blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Daemon’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “My Queen, my Lord Hand, this is a matter of blood not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my cousin’s successor…the lord of Runestone.” 

“Thank you, Lord Gunthor.” Otto spoke. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son Lucerys Royce.” 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, taking a step toward the middle of the hall. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very-” 

She was cut off by the doors of the Great Hall opening. Everyone turned their attention toward the doors and Daemon’s breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. 

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” 

Everyone fell silent as they watched Viserys make his way down the hall. The layers of clothes did little to hide his frail figure, sitting loose on his body and making the drastic weight loss obvious to those in the room. He had a gold mask on one side of his face which hid the most gruesome of the damage from the crowd. 

His brother paused as he walked by Rhaenyra, he gave her a small nod before turning to address Otto. “I will sit the throne today.” 

“Your Grace.” 

Viserys made for the steps to the throne, pushing the Kingsgaurd’s accompanying him off to make the climb himself. He only made it two steps before he doubled over, crown falling to the ground with a sharp clatter. Daemon stepped out of the crowd walking past the guards and toward his brother. 

“I said I’m fine.” Viserys insisted as Daemon grabbed an arm to steady him. When he realized it was Daemon helping him he paused, face giving away his shock. 

“Come on.” Daemon said, under his breath so no one but his brother could hear him. “Steady.” 

He gingerly helped his brother up to sit on the throne. When Viserys was settled in his rightful seat Daemon turned, picking up the throne off the steps. Viserys bowed his head and Daemon placed the crown atop the head of his King. He gave his brother a nod, before making his way back to Rhaenyra’s side. 

“I must admit my confusion.” Viserys wheezed. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only ones present who might offer keener insight into Prince (Y/N)’s wishes are Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.” 

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra brushed Daemon’s arm in encouragement as he stepped toward the middle. “It was my son’s wish that Runestone pass to his second trueborn son Lucerys.” 

Daemon took the parchment out of his pocket, showing off the unbroken seal to the crowd. He paused as he made eye contact with Gunthor, unable to stop the smirk that graced his face at the anger in the Lord’s expression. “I have a decree, seal unbroken, stating that his mind never changed.” 

He took a deep breath before his next statement. Rhaenyra had talked to Rhaenys last night, and while the elder Princess had been less than happy with the suddenness of the proposal Rhaenyra had assured him that she’d agreed. Rhaenys held no love for Daemon, only fostering Baela out of her love for his late wife. He made eye contact with Rhaenys before speaking, silently asking her permission before making the official announcement. His cousin gave him a subtle nod, and he spoke. 

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed the Princess Rhaenys and I of her and my sons desire to marry their sons Jace and Luke to my daughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which we have heartily agreed.” 

“Well, the matter is settled. Again.” Viserys stated, wheezing. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Royce as heir to Runestone.”

Daemon could practically feel the relief radiating from his family behind him. He gave his brother a grateful nod and stepped back toward Rhaenyra and his grandsons. 

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Royce. No. I will not allow it.” Gunthor sneered at Viserys. 

“Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Gunthor.” 

“That is no true Royce! And certainly no cousin of mine.” At his words Daemon wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. 

“Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” Rhaenyra hissed at Gunthor. She took a step in front of her sons, allowing Daemon to step closer to Gunthor. 

“Lucerys is the true-born grandson of Prince Daemon and I. You’re no more than the second son of a second son of Runestone” Viserys said. 

“You may run your house as you see fit. But you will not decide the future of mine. House Royce is the blood of the First Men. We are ancient kings, and I will not allow our bloodline to end on account of these dragon-” He paused on his words, and Daemon remembered his son's warning. Gunthor does not care about the rumors spread by Alicent, his hatred for Daemon and (Y/N) drives him. 

“Say it like you believe it, Lord Gunthor.” Daemon challenged. 

“Her children are dragon bastards!” He yelled, words echoing through the now silent hall. Daemon slipped from his spot next to Rhaenyra unnoticed. “And she is a whore.” 

“I will have your tongue for that.” Daemon heard Viserys say as he raised his sword, still unnoticed by everyone in the room. 

Do what you must to protect them. 

Daemon brought his sword down as his son's plea echoed through his head, and in one clean slice, Gunthor’s head rolled off his body onto the floor, the rest of him hitting the floor with a thud seconds later. Daemon looked at the body, and the hall broke out into yells. The man who had plagued (Y/N) for nearly twenty years, who most likely ordered his death, fell with a single swing of the sword. It was almost laughable how easy it was. 

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, and Daemon held his hands up in surrender. 

“No need.” He wiped his sword with a piece of cloth before sheathing it. 

Before anyone could respond Viserys collapsed atop the throne. Raised panic voices echoed through the hall as both Rhaenyra and Alicent ran toward Viserys. Daemon turned toward his grandsons, motioning to Jace to leave the room. Jace nodded, taking Luke’s arm and dragging him out of the room. Daemon watched, frozen in place, as the Grand Maester and Alicent helped carry his brother out of the room.

Daemon could feel the absence of (Y/N) by his side like a burn. The empty seat between him and Rhaenyra drew his eye every time he turned his head. Jace and Luke refused to look at it, focusing directly on their newly betrothed. The people around the table sat deliberately in silence as they waited for Viserys to make his way to the dinner, Daemon nursing his cup of wine as Rhaenyra turned her attention to Alicent every so often.  

The door opened, and everyone stood as Viserys was carried into the room. He was placed between his daughter and his wife, and as soon as the guards took a step back to take their place by the door everyone took their seats. 

“How good it is to see you all tonight.” Daemon grimaced at the strain in his brother’s voice. “Together.” 

“Prayer before we begin?” Viserys nodded. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Gunthor Royce, may the gods give him rest.” 

Daemon gave a bitter chuckle, which drew an amused look from his niece. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” His brother smiled, “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their aunts, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.” 

“Hear, hear!” He called out, giving a smile to both his grandsons and his daughter as he raised his cup. He watched as Aegon whispered something to Jace, which caused the boy to frown. 

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of Runestone.” Everyone raised their cups again. 

Aegon once again turned to Jace to whisper something in his ear, this time Jace responded. His words were too low for Daemon to make out but his face gave away his anger. Viserys interrupted the two men before anyone else could respond. 

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in years past.” His brother stood, breath coming in short gasps as he struggled. He took the gold mask off his face, and Daemon winced at the sight of his rotted face. His right eye was completely gone, and his cheek was rotten and sunken. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” 

Viserys took a seat, body trembling with the effort of standing for so long. Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, before grabbing her cup and standing. She looked around before clearing her throat and beginning to speak, “I wish to raise my cup to her grace the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude and my apology.” 

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess. We are both mother’s, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent stood, cup in hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen.” 

Alicent took a seat, and Daemon picked his cup up to take a drink of the wine. He was interrupted by Jace standing quickly, giving Aegon a dirty look as he did. Aemond followed his league, gaze trained on Jace. Daemon watched the three men stare at each other, grip on his cup tightening. 

Finally Jace spoke, picking up his cup. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s health, dear uncles.” 

“To you as well.” Aegon said, clearly unhappy with the result of his relentless teasing. 

Haelena stood next, smiling as if the tensions of the evening were completely lost on her. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” 

He barked out a sudden laugh, covering it up with his hand. His brother asked for music, and the tensions dissipated from the room. Jace stood from his seat, offering his hand to his aunt Haelena and taking her to the middle of the room, where they began to dance. Daemon smiled softly at the sight, turning to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She, too, was staring at the sight, and Daemon could tell it reminded her of her own similar dance with (Y/N) nearly twenty years ago. 

Rhaenyra caught his eye and blushed. 

“You miss him.” Daemon stated, and Rhaenyra nodded. She ran her fingertips along the edge of her cup, smiling softly to herself as she did. Daemon reached across, pointedly ignoring the empty chair, to rest his hand on his niece’s arm. “A fever will not take him from you, he is too stubborn for that.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, “He is his father’s son.” 

She touched Daemon’s hand in gratitude, she looked to where Luke was speaking to Rhaena. Daemon followed her gaze, smiling fondly at the sight. “I fear I may be made a grandsire again soon.” 

Rhaenyra’s hand fell to her stomach, “Let us hope it will be a few years. There are too many babes in this family already.” 

Daemon chuckled, but his amusement quickly died as he watched the guards take his brother out of the room. Everyone paused their activities watching the King silently as he was carried out. Servants entered the room shortly after placing more food on the table, but the mood was too damaged to return to its previous lightness. Daemon startled slightly as Aemond stood, table clinking under the weight of his hands landing on top of it. 

“Final tribute.” He looked around the room, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong.” 

“Aemond.” Alicent warned, but Aemond ignored her. 

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.” 

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace challenged, and Rhaenyra tensed next to Daemon. 

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond approached Jace, who rounded quickly on his uncle throwing a punch. He missed as Aemond dodged the first and soon all the children were out of the seat. Aegon had Luke pinned to the table and Aemond had pushed Jace to the floor. The guards separated the boys as Daemon stood and watched the action. Alicent had grabbed Aemond, harshly whispering in his ear. 

Aemond spoke up halfway through his response to his mother. “-though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs, perhaps if they had their father’s eyes-” 

Jace tried to break the guards hold on him, but Daemon took a step between the families before he could. “Wait! Wait!” 

“Go to quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra ordered her sons. They mumbled under their breath, shooting glares at their uncles, but they turned and allowed themselves to be escorted out. Daemon leveled a glare at Aemond, raising an eyebrow in challenge at the young man. Aemond huffed, shaking his head as he followed his nephews out. 

“It’s best I think if we go back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra said, and Alicent took his hand in hers. Daemon raised an eyebrow at the sight. 

“You’ve only just arrived,” Alicent said, finger rubbing along the scar she herself gave to Rhaenyra as she spoke. 

“Let me see the children home, and I’ll return on dragon back.” Rhaenyra said softly, “I have to fly to Runestone anyway.” 

“The king and I would both like that.”

“My Prince you should not-” 

(Y/N) waved the maester off, continuing to limp slowly down the steps; cane held so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain. He had practically leaped, as much a man in his condition could, when he saw the ships approach the shore of Dragonstone, signaling the return of his family. 

Maester Pate had almost wrung his neck when (Y/N) informed him of his plans to return to Dragonstone on Vermithor when his fever finally broke. He probably would have if (Y/N) was not the Lord of Runestone, but he allowed the Prince to leave Runestone. (Y/N) had all but collapsed from the pain when he landed on Dragonstone, his last thought before he hit the ground was that Maester Pate would be laughing if he could see the Prince now. When he woke, the maesters of Dragonstone told him he was a fool for trying to fly while his injuries were still healing, but (Y/N) had just brushed them off and asked for something to alleviate the pain. 

He watched now as his family made their way up the beach. His sons caught sight of him first, the eldest three breaking into a run toward him. Jace grabbed Joffrey and lifted him into his arms before the young boy could run straight into his father. (Y/N) gave him a grateful nod, and Jace smiled. 

“Father,” Jace said. “Mother said you were at Runestone with a fever.” 

“I got better.” Luke leaned into his side, careful not to aggravate his father’s wounds. He did not speak, but (Y/N) could see the events of the past weeks were weighing heavily on the boy. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I will meet you inside after I speak with your mother.” 

His sons made their way inside, but not before (Y/N) pressed a kiss to Joffrey and Jace’s cheeks. The maids carrying his youngest sons were next, and the two babbled and grabbed at their father as they walked by. He pressed soft kisses into their soft white hair before allowing the maids to carry them inside as well. 

Daemon rushed him, bringing him in tight and (Y/N) grunted in pain as his wounds pressed into his father. At the sound of his son in pain his father released him, worrying painting his face. He grabbed (Y/N)’s face, “Are you alright?”

“I am better.” (Y/N) smiled, allowing his father to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I heard what you did, and I thank you. For protecting them, father.” 

“You do not need to thank me.” Daemon said into his hair. “I told you once I would provide you with anything you needed and I meant it.” 

Daemon pulled back, taking (Y/N)’s appearance in completely. “Did you fly here?” He sighed at (Y/N)’s guilty look, “Remember that you are not seven and ten anymore, my boy. You cannot afford to be so reckless with your life.” 

“Uncle.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat behind Daemon. “May I have a moment with my husband.” 

Daemon gave (Y/N) a smile, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before leaving. Rhaenyra looked downright murderous at the sight of her husband, and (Y/N) sighed. “I have been lectured enough these past days, Rhaenyra. I am aware I should not have flown so soon after-” 

(Y/N) was cut off by Rhaenyra grabbing him and crushing their lips together. She pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily when they broke apart. “I thought I would never see you again.” 

“It is not yet my time to join my ancestors.” Rhaenyra laughed wetly, running her thumbs across his cheeks. 

“We have much to talk about.” Rhaenyra said softly. “Your cousin is dead, and Luke’s position is secure.” 

(Y/N) nodded, ���I am glad.” 

“Daemon did not tell me much at Kingslanding. I think he feared whispers being heard by the wrong ears.” 

(Y/N) nodded, offering the hand not holding his cane to his wife. She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before taking his hand. “Come, I will tell you everything over dinner.”

---

Translations -

Kepa - Father

Zaldrītsos - Little Dragon

[marmastry]

A-Rank

[rookinthecrownest]

Bedtime Stories For a Demon, Night 3.5: The Wigmaker Job (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

** Major Veilguard Spoilers ahead (srsly don't read if you haven't finished the game)

There was something amiss with Madeleina Mercar, and he wasn’t going to pry.

But a small part of him wanted to. Almost ached to know what she was doing, locked in either her room or the occasional visit to the infirmary. The infirmary is what he’s more curious about. Within hours of arriving at the Lighthouse he had scoped the entire place out- learned all the entrances, choke points, best defensible positions, etcetera. Within a day he has a fully fleshed out mental map of the grounds. He had peeked in the infirmary so as take to stock of all the supplies there. As far as he can tell, only Rook has ever stayed in that room.

She only comes out for brief periods of time to take a small meal from the dining hall back to wherever she decides to isolate herself. He tries to make sure there’s always something on the table for her to grab, if she refuses to come to dinner.

After they returned from Treviso, Madeleina had gone to Minrathous to check on Neve and the Shadow Dragons. Neve, understandably, had elected to remain behind and assist with the Shadow’s effort to rebuild. Between the dragon, the blight, and the Venatori, they had been decimated. He shudders to think about what the damage to Treviso might have looked like if she had chosen differently.

But the fact is, Madeleina hasn’t been the same since her return. Was it seeing the blight devour Minrathous? The Venatori taking control of the city? All of the above, or something else?

She made a quick appearance to the group after speaking with Solas, to tell them they needed a Fade expert and a Dragon Hunter. Both Bellara and Harding had leads, but it would take time to organize a meeting with either specialist. After that, her appearances become increasingly rare.

There’s a sort of hollowness in her gaze, whenever he can catch a fleeting glimpse of her. She won’t make eye contact for long, with anyone. Dark circles begin to rim her lower eyelids, mirroring his own.

She’s not sleeping.

Lucanis is certain he’s not the only one that’s noticed or concerned.

Bellara, tries and fails, to bring her out of the cocoon by offering to read together. Harding checks in on her, only to be met with a few polite words and a dismissive hand wave. Neve isn’t around to strong-arm her into snapping out of it. Davrin is too new to the team to broach the delicate situation around their leader.

And here he is, in the pantry, sitting on his cot. Doing nothing to help.

But what can he do anyway?

He doesn’t feel like he is any more equipped to breach whatever wall she’s put up any more than the rest of the group. Perhaps even less so. A year in the Ossuary had not exactly done him any favours in learning to deal with the emotional needs of others. His own were in a constant state of turmoil he can barely parse out. Some nights it grew increasingly difficult to tell where he began, and Spite ended.

On the nights that Madeleina sits with him by the fire, telling him a story with her magic, the lines between them stay a little sharper.

The demon bristles behind his eyes. He ignores it.

Compelled to break this inertia, he stands from his cot and makes for the door.

There is one thing he’s curious about that he thinks he could find the answer to. Lucanis decides that’s as good a place to start as any.

~*~

He finds Lace Harding tending to her garden.

Spearmint, he notices, growing in a neat row at the edge of the plant bed. He remembers picking that up with Madeleina when he showed her around the Treviso market. Remembers the awe on her face, and the warmth that settled in his chest at seeing someone appreciate his home like he did. The way she curiously picked at everything the vendors were selling, pet the stray cats, and clapped for street performers before tossing them a sovereign.

Warm glow of lanterns like bolts of light in her hair, the redness on her cheeks, her smile and –

Lucanis clears his throat, “Harding”

Lace perks up at the sound of her name and turns to face him. She’s surprised at first, but her face settles into an uneasy smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Not like it does when Madeleina is around.

“Oh, Lucanis” She pushes up on her thigh to stand, before wiping her gloves on her shirt. “Hi!” Her tone is light, but he doesn’t miss the undercurrent of weariness in her voice.

“I hope I’m not interrupting – “

Harding cuts him off with a dismissive wave, “No, not at all, just doing a little gardening. How can I help?”

“I wanted to ask you something …” He quickly adds, “About Rook”

Harding frowns. She motions to the stool across from her bedroll. Lucanis hesitantly takes a seat, and Harding settles herself on the bedroll.

“Yeah… she hasn’t taken losing Minrathous well.” She starts, crossing her legs.

“It’s not about that, actually. Although I suppose it may be related”

Harding tilts her head, now more curious than uneasy. He takes it as an invitation to continue but fumbles on how to word his question.

“Back in Treviso” he begins, lacing his fingers together. ��Rook mentioned she had to check in with someone. Someone named Varric …”

At the mention of his name, Harding’s entire demeanour changes. Her spine straightens, and there is something flickering behind her eyes- an emotion or a memory he’s not privy to. Her mouth sets in a thin, hard line.

“Varric…” she repeats slowly. She sighs, her shoulders sinking with some invisible weight, “Right, you don’t know”

Lucanis gives her an expectant look.

Harding’s gaze drifts towards her lap. Her voice is low, and quiet.

“Varric…” She begins, then pauses. Like she’s not sure where to take her explanation next.

“Varric and I were in the Inquisition together. We’d been hunting Solas for the last ten years. We were the ones who recruited Rook out of the Shadow Dragons and started this whole…thing…” She gestures vaguely in the air, before continuing.

“You already know that we interrupted Solas’ ritual to tear down the Veil.” Harding’s hazel-green eyes meet his, and they’re glassy with tears just waiting to spring forth. “What you don’t know is that Varric was with us, and he died at the ritual. Stabbed by Solas’ Lyrium dagger.”

Harding takes a shaky breath and bites her bottom lip. He can see the gears turning behind her eyes as she tries to phrase the next piece of her sordid explanation.

“Harding …”

She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Neve and I thought … we thought Rook knew too. But when she woke up at the Lighthouse, she started talking about how happy she was to see Varric survived. How… how she’d need to debrief with him after missions…”

Her voice is shaking now, and he desperately wishes he had a more comforting presence. Or knew how to be comforting in general. All he can settle for is patient silence.

“We’d hear her talk to him in the infirmary – well, talk to herself really.”

That explains her trips there.

“So, all this time… Rook has been talking to a dead man?”

Harding nods slowly.

Lucanis doesn’t know what kind of explanation he was expecting, but this was much worse than anything he could have come up with on his own.

 “I think … it’s her way of coping with what happened … Neve and I have just sort of been going along with it”

“Mierda…”

He’s surprised when Harding speaks next.

“Have you tried talking to her?” she asks gently.

He leans back in his stool, careful not to fall over.

“Me? No”

The dwarf stands up and pats her leggings free of some settled dirt, before returning to her garden.

“I think you should try” she calls from over her shoulder, while patting some dirt “She … she might listen to you”

He doesn’t answer. Lucanis stands to his feet, taking that as his cue to leave.

“Thank you, Harding” He says, as he starts for the door.

Though he’s not yet sure what to do with the information learned from Harding, he feels the awkward edges of a plan start to take root in the back of his mind.

~*~

Madeleina Mercar sits in Solas’ music room, surrounded by wisps and instruments from current and bygone eras, and …. Cheese. A lot of cheese.

She has no idea why the God of Trickery and Lies needs twenty cheese wheels in his music room. Doesn’t care to know the answer, either.

The lyre she was practicing with lies discarded at her side. She tries and fails to tune it. Tries and fails to play a few runs from a lullaby she can barely remember. Then, she gives up and lets the poor thing rest against the wall.

She nibbles on a small wedge unceremoniously torn off the closest cheese wheel.

Tarquin’s harsh words, Viper’s affliction with the blight, and Neve’s hurt loop in her mind like a never-ending dream. An eternal nightmare.

This is all you. The risen gods. The blight. The dragon. Now the city’s lost to the Venatori –

And although Viper had cut him off, the reassurance felt hollow from someone who was lying on his death bed because of her actions. Because of her choice.

This is all you.

Even if Tarquin didn’t mean his words, they pressed against her heart like a brand. Even if he tried to take them back, they’d been spoken into existence and burned into her forever.

It was all me.

Minrathous is gone because of me.

She brings her knees closer to her chest.

Somewhere deep down, she wants to believe that’s not true. That her being in Minrathous might not have drastically changed the outcome. She was just one person after all. They had barely managed to wound the dragon in Treviso. Had Ghilan’nain not called it back, she doubted the merchant city would have fared any better than Minrathous. Maybe even worse.

But she can’t bring herself to accept it.

She’s the leader. The consequences fall on her head, and her head alone.

And she is utterly terrified for the choices to come.

Maker’s breath, she would kill for a glass of wine to go with this cheese. Something to take the edge off. But she can’t bring herself to walk into the dining hall or the pantry.

She knows this can only go on for so long. She’ll have to start showing her face to the rest of the team at some point. To Lucanis.

She’s already starting to miss the little ritual they’ve developed.

A warm fire, good company, good food, and a good story. Spite’s occasional interjection when the story doesn’t go the way he wants it to. Scolding him like a misbehaving puppy when he does.

She doesn’t know how much she’s missed it until she’s gone a few nights without it. Doesn’t realize just how much comfort he finds in his presence. His quiet, steady confidence off and on the battle field. The surety in his step and his voice. She feels like she can falter, and he’ll be there to catch the misstep. To catch her.

She wonders if he misses the stories as much as she does.

Madeleina wants to move, to seek him out, and ask him to share a story with her.

But her limbs are made of lead. Her breaking heart is a stone in her chest, keeping her rooted in place.

She debates having another go at the lyre, but her arm only moves to bring more cheese to her mouth. What a pathetic sight she must make for someone who is supposedly this world’s only hope against the Evanuris.

Maker, I hope no one sees me like this –

Before she can even fully finish the thought, the stone door to the music room slides open. In walks the one person she wants to see, is terrified to see, and the last person she expected to see.

Lucanis Dellamorte.

She straightens up against the wall and quickly swallows the cheese already in her mouth, not bothering to chew.

“Lucanis” She says, stupidly. She wipes her hands on her shirt and shakes them out. A smile tries to pry its way onto her features, but it doesn’t quite get there.

“Madeleina” He answers, taking a few steps closer towards her. She’s still getting used to hearing her name roll off his tongue. It sends her chest fluttering every time he does.

He’s standing over her now, with two cups in his hand. She recognizes the smell. Sweet and warm – cioccolata calda. Lucanis casts a sidelong glance to the partially eaten wheel of cheese by her side. His brow quirks.

“You’ve been busy” He remarks dryly.

Madeleina’s cheeks flush.

“I … was just trying to tune this stupid lyre …” She reaches for the instrument and holds it up for a brief moment. Doesn’t want to say the real reason she’s alone in the music room eating through an ancient Elven god’s cheese stores. “Got hungry”

“Mm” He makes a noncommittal noise and nods slowly. “I see”

She knows he doesn’t believe her and is thankful he chooses not to say anything.

When he sits down on the floor next to her, she reflexively shifts over a bit to keep more room between them. He hands her the cup in his left hand, and she takes it gratefully. Takes a brief smell of the sweet aroma before her sip. The warmth of it is a balm to her sour mood.

They sit in companionable silence and with anyone else Madeleina would feel the moments stretch into an eternity, but not with him. The silence, like his presence, is like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s day. The longer she is surrounded by it, the less she wants to disturb it. It takes her by surprise when he is the one to do so.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I got my nickname?”

The Demon of Vyrantium. The personal boogeyman of every crooked Magister and Blood mage in the imperium.

“No …” She starts, turning to face him. “I remember hearing about the incident…”

“But you don’t know the whole story”

She shakes her head.

“Would you like to?”

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. Everyone in the Shadow Dragons had heard the rumours when the news first started making its rounds a year ago. Over forty casualties, including Vyrantium’s premiere Wigmaker, and high-ranking member of the Venatori, Ambrose Forfex. But that’s about all anyone knows. For days his name was a silent cheer among their ranks. He had the Venatori on edge, and it made them sloppy – which made the Shadow Dragon’s jobs easier, and did wonders for their mission success rate.

She takes another sip.

As much as she wants to retreat further into herself, to cut herself off from everyone so they don’t notice how much of a failure she is, one look into his patient, kind, brown eyes destroys any resistance floundering in her chest.

“Yeah… I’d like that”

Lucanis flashes a lopsided smile, and she thinks she may unravel on the spot. She’s grateful for the large cup in her hands and uses it to partially shield her face from view. The flush she knows is creeping onto her cheeks, her neck, her ears.

He quickly launches into a tale that is a mix of a classic caper, a spy escapade, and a horror story. She rolls her eyes when Lucanis goes into Illario’s lines he uses to pick up the guard captain. Equally surprised as he was that it worked.

She visibly recoils as he describes the slaves hanging from Ambrose’s ceiling, and the wig-based abomination he becomes. But there as much hope in his tale as there is despair. She smiles as he talks of freeing the slaves in Ambrose’s estate and stopping a dangerous man from committing any more atrocities like the ones hanging in his dungeon.

At the conclusion of his tale, Madeleina finds the strength to stand up.

Lucanis throws a curious glance at her but stays seated on the floor.

“You know, I think Illario’s wrong about you” She begins, tightening her grip on her cup.

“Illario is wrong about a great many things, you’ll have to be more specific” He grins.

“That you’re all stomach and no heart” Madeleina smiles.

“You’re a lot more heart than you give yourself credit for”

She thanks him for the cioccolata, and with renewed strength and purpose, leaves the music room to check in on the friends she’s been neglecting for the last few days. The warmth that settles in her chest, that familiar, safe feeling, acts as a bulwark against the darkness of her thoughts. Her regrets.

Instead, she’s focusing on one question in her mind – a question that brings her great comfort amidst the chaos encircling her life.

What tale should I tell him next?

[introspectivememories]

timbern interconnected fates but not like by chance but like bernard wrestling with destiny to make sure he gets to have tim in his life

[laora-ryn]

Chester, [ERROR], and Jonathan Sims: The Anthill Theory

Hello Tumblr, may I present a follow up to my initial thesis that [ERROR] is Jon? As well as a rebuttal to the argument I've seen floating around:

"[ERROR] can't be Jon! Jon is in the computers!"

Why are you treating these like two distinct eventualities?

Jon died as an omniscient, omnipotent demi-god half a step down from The Eye itself. Jon died at the exact moment that he was pulled through a rift in space-time. If Jon survived that, I doubt he'd end up human on the other side. He'd probably end up as something else entirely.

Something none of us, and none of the Protocol-universe characters, have ever seen before.

"Imagine you are an ant, and you have never before seen a human - "

1. We have Chester, who has Jon's voice, and has shown signs of autonomy and a personality where Norris and Augustus have not.

I have another meta post picking apart the fr3-d1 stuff, but for the sake of staying on topic, I will show an abbreviated, summarized list from that post below:

Mystery emails sent to various OIAR employees:

Episode 4: Gwen receives an email from an unknown source showing Lena trying to kill Klaus

Episode 4: "the system" sends Alice a notification that Sam searched for "Magnus" and "protocol"

Episode 7: Sam receives an email from a "John" with an internal email address, with Gerry's name and address

Episode 20: Sam receives an email from a garbled email address, with documents from 1999 regarding Starkwall and TMI

Error messages:

Episode 3: Alice receives a jmj error that Colin troubleshoots. Freddy snarks back at both of them

Episode 17: Alice receives a jmj error that Gwen troubleshoots. There are plenty of error noises, but imo it comes across less snarky than it did in episode 3

Other miscellaneous interactions:

Episode 5: Alice: "what the hell is wrong with everyone today?" OIAR computer, not having been touched or interacted with: [error noise]

Episode 17: Chester reads a universe-hopping statement to Celia

Episode 19: Sam asks Alice to talk with him about the Magnus Institute. Immediately, Alice's computer throws an error, like it wants her to stop working and talk with Sam

Magnus Institute Statements read to Sam:

All of the below statements are read out by Chester, and are (meant to be, in 21) read out to Sam specifically:

Episode 1: RedCanary

Episode 9: the cursed dice Magnus statement. This one starts on its own, while Sam is doing the Response Dept paperwork

Episode 14: the snake emporium. I'd almost mark this one as too much of a stretch, but Sam himself caught the Institute mention and was bothered by it

Episode 19: the one with Newton's alchemical tree that talks about the Protocol

Episode 21: the one about the Dome construction in the 90s, which Alice intercepts on Sam's computer

As far as I can see, the only statement that mentions the Magnus Institute that isn't read by Chester to Sam is the one that is read by Chester to Celia, as mentioned above

In terms of Norris and Augustus:

Martin was pulled through the rift at the exact same time as Jon, except as someone mostly human. Relatively human.

Jonah was too, but Jonah was already a static dead body at the moment of the rift - it wasn't the released potential energy of his death that catalyzed and pulled everything through the rift.

It makes sense, to me, that if all three of them are here, Jon is in a uniquely powerful/sentient position in comparison to the other two. Which leads us to point 2:

2. We have [ERROR], exhibiting characteristics that are indicative of Jon and no one else

See my other meta post for more info, but in summary:

The tape recorders spawned specifically for Jon in TMA, via the Web

Did even Elias show abilities to compel people to give their statement? He could tell people their statement, and force images into their heads, but could he force it out of their mouths? I don't remember seeing that

Along with the other evidence that isn't Jon-specific but is indicative of a TMA character:

They were initially trapped underneath the Magnus Institute - which could also be Jonah, or Martin

Their apparent desire to protect Gwen and "all of them" - which could also be Martin, or some non-familiar benevolent being

Jon being Chester and Jon being [ERROR] are not mutually exclusive.

Who's to say Jon, the Archivist, or what's become of him, or what's left of him, isn't the fingernail, and the boot, and the eye? Maybe he's even something else we, the ant, never live to see, or don't have the senses to perceive at all!

Additionally!

I think this might even tentatively explain why [ERROR] is voiced by Beth Eyre instead of Jonny - beyond "it would be way too obvious if they want it to be a plot twist"

If Jon/the Archivist is split into multiple parts of the same whole, in this universe. If, in the chaos of interdimensional travel, traits/attributes/parts of Jon were not distributed equally or correctly. For our anthill example, perhaps the color of our gazing eye, or the rubber material of our stomping boot, was applied to our fingernail instead. Maybe [ERROR] should have Jon's voice, but they don't. Maybe they didn't have a voice at all. We didn't hear them say anything at all in episode 10, only take a deep breath

Maybe they had to take a voice from one of their victims. Do you think there was a reason that we heard the autopsy statement secondhand, after the doctor transcribed it, rather than the victim's voice herself?

(When, as far as I know, the common ways to record information during autopsies is either with a voice recorder, or dictating to a secondary person to write, who was demonstrably not present? When, by all rights, there should have been a voice recorder present?)

I'm currently working on a master TMAGP timeline (and a TMA one otl), but an extremely abbreviated, specific version of it is as follows:

9 March: Sam and Alice visit the Magnus Institute and release [ERROR]

20 March: the autopsy victim is found dead in a park

22 March: Alice encounters the drowning woman

12 April: [ERROR] appears during Ink5oul's attack on Gwen

How many victims do they have, since Sam let them loose? Is it just the ones we've already seen, or were there others too?

This could go off in about 5000 different directions so I'm going to cut it here, but what I'm getting at here is - it makes a LOT of sense to me that we might be looking at another "creatures far beyond our comprehension" here; it'd make a lot of sense thematically; and it's just really freaking cool, if I'm being honest!!

[lathrine]

i present, for your consideration: a series of veilguard screenshots that make me feel Insane (for various reasons) now that ive finished the game

[itsorikay]

ASK GAME VENGEANCE!!

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

Ooh I’m excited to answer this one!

Sephiroth may be my favourite character but I haven’t really seen many depictions of him that bugged me enough to stick in my head lmao, so I’ll talk about Cloud instead. Love that boy to bits, but he gets misinterpreted so much, in a lot of different ways :(

He’s sassy, even when his true self gets to shine past his facade, but that gets read as outright hostility somehow? I’ve read a handful of fanfictions, both AUs and post canon that make him such a dick, and not even in a fun, endearing way, he just insults everyone around him.

He’s not this cold, stonehearted guy. He’s been through a looooot (One of the saddest backstories I’ve seen in a game, god), and the cold exterior is a defence mechanism. Let him be a little silly!

I enjoyed Advent Children, but dear god, even the writers got it wrong. He’s grieving (arguably) his first ever real friend and Aerith’s death, on top of trying to figure out who he was after losing everything from his past. But he’s just kind of pushed to move past it and focus on his friends? Wild decision lmao

Omg and don’t get me started on his ships too lol. It might just be me projecting my aromantic ass onto him, but Cloud’s romantic feelings about Aerith and Tifa are the least interesting thing about him, if those feelings are even there at all. It’s wild to me that those are the first things that someone focus on with him.

Thank you so much for the ask! This was a fun little reflection to do!

[greenheartart]

I ran out of time to finish the header image for this one, but it's in progress and will be up sooner or later! (New art programs are hard to learn as it turns out!)

For now, I hope you all enjoy this new chapter and have a safe and fun New Year's!

Edit: I have figured out my new art program!

[tearsofthedrag0n]

This moment says more about Tony’s character than any other scene in NCIS. Argue with the wall.

[foxesandrabbits]

Not only Kevin's entire future with Exy, his one purpose, was crushed alongside his hand, but also, for a moment, his life was on the line too. And he was so scared, he spoke and plead in every language he knew, in hopes anyone would help him, and how soul crashing it must’ve been to know that no one would.

He asked Jean for help, not really understanding that he was damning them both by speaking french in front of Riko because that moment was it- he was going to die. But they both had their hands tied, not having full freedom to actually act the way they wanted. And how devastating is that? Asking for help, and not receiving it. Watching the person you love the most hurt, and not being able to help them. Both their lives at stake, both unable to do something about it.

At that moment, I think, was when Kevin fully recognized that no matter how Jean felt about him (even when Kevin made him break the rules, like teaching him french), there was always going to be a wall between them in the form of a raven. How he truly learned that Jean wouldn’t go with him that night even if he asked, why he used him, because he knew Jean couldn't allow himself to do it willingly, knowing he was betraying the Moriyamas, their cuts ran too deep for that to happen.

And oh, to see Jean for the first time since Renee rescued him must’ve been so excruciating, “bottomless guilt”, how easy was to be back in the nest tending each other's wounds, and how much he didn't want that to happen ever again.

Once Kevin learned how to trust himself, how to be a little less afraid, how to convince himself that there was more to life that what he had been taught, he truly saw Jean, this person that would have done anything for him, at one point.

Kevin couldn’t rescue Jean once, but he wasn’t going to let that happen again, so he made sure to give Jean the best chance he could find so he could have the same hope the foxes had given him. Even if it was without him.