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nobodyfamousposts · 3 months ago

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Scarlet Lady Top 10 Favorite Characters: Number 9

for @zoe-oneesama

Number 10 Here

Now let’s be fair about this. This list is subjective and according to my own personal bias. It’s not about who is deserving or who is “Best Boy/Girl”. These are just the top ones I like and enjoy seeing in the comic. My favorites may not be your favorites and I quite frankly don’t expect them to be anyone else’s favorites in the same order or even on the same list at all. And just because someone is not on my list doesn’t mean I don’t like them or that I don’t find value in them.

This is just a list of the characters I like the most and my reasonings as to why. What makes me like them? What makes them stand out? Because Scarlet Lady has a LOT of really great characters who all deserve a shout out, so these are just ten of them that stuck out to me the most.

And while I am at least attempting to value them here on their own merit in the Scarlet Lady comic as opposed to Canon or its many MANY issues or the differences between the two, it stands to reason that at least SOME mention of Canon is going to be made. That said, I am trying very hard to not rate them based on my feelings from Canon but more on how I feel about them in this comic.

And because naturally I like my dramatic moments, I’m going to do the list in descending order from number 9 to number 1.

So without further ado…

…

Number 9: Alya

I love Alya in Scarlet Lady. So much so that I feel bad that she’s not higher on the list, but to be fair, she has some pretty tough competition. And it says something when that’s the case because it feels to me like everyone deserves a spot on this list…it’s just that some deserve it a little bit more.

Alya certainly warrants her spot on this list. She was one of the characters with the fewest changes from her setup in canon and yet ended up with such a major and lasting impact that her canon self can’t match.

But if I have to break down the reasons:

1. Alya is a good friend.

When mention is made of Alya being Marinette’s best friend, SL!Alya is the version that comes to mind for me. And honestly, she’s the image I long had and long wished for Alya of canon.

A friend who is supportive in all the right ways. A friend needing her own level of support. A friend who will disagree with you on points but still be your friend. A friend who can make mistakes and jump to conclusions but you can always forgive because you know she would do the same for you.

In Mr. Pigeon, Alya was willing to throw down with Chloe Bourgeois to defend Marinette’s honor and her hat design. And this was only two episodes after Lady Wifi, where Chloe had abused her power to get Alya suspended over a relatively minor infraction that had literally nothing to do with Chloe except that Chloe chose to be offended by Alya’s incorrect conclusion. Sure, it can arguably be for payback (given how keen Alya was to confront Chloe), but let’s be honest here: after being forced into a position where you are completely helpless at the hands of a bully and even authority figures are not willing or able to step in, most people would hesitate to confront the bully again regardless of whether they know they’re in the right. And Alya arguably didn’t have proof at the time that Marinette’s hat was actually her original creation.

And yet, Alya was going to act anyways. WANTED to act. For friendship. For vengeance. Not quite sure HOW she was intending to take down Chloe in this case, but I imagine it would have landed her in trouble again and she was fully willing to do so on behalf of her friend.

And speaking of her friend, remember Alya in Reflekta? She was excited of the idea of Marinette being a hero and part of me thinks she really pushed the “Marinette is Scarlet Lady” angle because she idolized Scar at the time and very much WANTED her to be Marinette—someone she also adores. Having two of her favorite people be one and the same would have been amazing for her! Sadly (or fortunately depending on your view) that was not the case, but Alya still got to have her moments of seeing her best friend as a hero, and her starry eyes sell it for me. As does Marinette later arranging an interview for her as Marigold—something especially important given in this version, one of the two primary heroes simply has no time for interviews while the other wouldn’t give a blog like Alya’s the time of day regardless of how much Alya did to help promote her.

Plus how in Troublemaker, she got the entire class to come to school dressed in Chat Noir gear to show support for the poor catboy and to help protect Marinette after the way her room and her multitude of pictures of Chat Noir were revealed on live television. Just to try and limit her friend’s embarrassment after her privacy was violated and her crush was outted.

See this? This is the friendship I wanted to see in canon. The ride or die. A counterweight. Supporting each other in reasonable and healthy ways. To be able to say with certainty that when the chips are down, they have each others’ backs. And Alya does.

Then there’s the Love Square—and if the change to the setup didn’t already improve how it went, then Alya’s involvement certainly did.

Part of the reason the Love Square struggled in Canon was because of how forcefully it was pushed with such shoddy foundation, and Alya was the biggest pusher. She forced so many situations out of some misguided attempt to “help” that only ended up creating stress for Marinette, cringe for the writing, and no actual momentum on the progress of the pairing. If you want a metaphor, then let’s describe it like this: If the Love Square is an actual ship and if Alya was a tug boat, she wouldn’t have been helping her ship “set sail” so much as dragging it underwater across the ocean and to its watery demise.

But in Scarlet Lady, Alya is supportive and encouraging—and not in the way where she blows off Marinette’s anxieties or Adrien’s obliviousness and forces them both into a position they’re clearly not ready for only to turn around and be annoyed that it didn’t work out.

No, she was aware of Marinette’s feelings and interests to the point she recognizes Marinette has a small crush on Adrien even before the girl herself did. She also seemed to be aware of Adrien’s crush on her. So knowing this, she tried to help nudge things along. Note I said “NUDGE”.

She knows a spark could be there. So when Alya had an opportunity, she helped to set things up in a way that would give Marinette and Adrien time together to explore that. Not to confess. Not to date. Just opportunities to be together, interact, and see what happens.

Heck, it feels at times like she’s more of Adrien’s wingman than Marinette’s. Especially given the whole bit in Stormy Weather, which remains to date one of my favorite strips of the entire series. Alya was the reason Marinette even made it there in the first place. And when she was picked for the modeling spot, she still tried to influence things to let Marinette take over. Similar to canon, yes, but a notably better feel to it. Better humor. Better outcome.

Which is ultimately what a friend should be trying for. For ALL of her friends.

And by the end of the comic, I can say that Alya is a friend to not just Marinette, but also Adrien and Alix and the other classmates. Yes, even Lila. Which says something given how much she initially despised Lila for the fake interview and how long she held that grudge against her. Going from outright dislike to grudgingly hanging out with to swallowing her pride and giving a real chance to actual collaboration on revealing a major truth.

Now that’s progress.

And speaking of progress…

2. Journalist Has A Point

Look, many a story will have THAT character. You know the one. Whether a detective, journalist, or conspiracy theorist, THAT character is devoted to uncovering the truth, whatever it may be—and usually in the form of plot-relevant secrets and useful information.

So one of the biggest disappointments you can create is having such a character

with all the drive and reasoning to investigate be in a prime position to uncover a major plot point, in which you give them all the resources and all the motivation to make the discovery…and yet have them do nothing.

Or worse, have the truth spoon fed to them instead when it’s convenient. No effort. No drama or antics. No surprise. No real reaction to the revelation. Just take away all the fun why don’t you?

Alya is a major fan of heroes and a journalist in the making. When these things mix, you have a ready-made source of humor and drama in a character with the dual position of he hero’s best friend who doesn’t know her secret and a wannabe investigator who risks discovering the hero’s secret. Normally, such a position would involve a number of antics over a multitude of episodes, with the friend being in a prime position to out the hero and the hero having to regularly come up with ways to distract and mislead the friend in question in order to protect the secret.

In canon, we get all of two episodes that even play with this setup. Two in the four seasons it takes for Marinette to just blurt it out to Alya. Lady Wifi and Pharaoh. That’s it. And of those two, Lady Wifi had Marinette completely unconcerned with Alya’s claim of knowing Ladybug’s identity. No drama. No conflict. No antics. No attempts at misdirection. No introspection or question if maybe revealing the city’s hero is even a good idea. No internal questioning if Alya should be told the secret—if she’s trustworthy or if she would be in danger. No continued attempts to uncover her identity as if Alya had just gotten bored with it. Nothing.

And if you know anything from my previous essays, you know that few things frustrate me more than having a great setup that practically writes itself and doing NOTHING WITH IT.

In Scarlet Lady, that setup is nixed from the start since Marinette didn’t start off as the hero. Instead, what we have is a situation where Alya idolizes the self-proclaimed hero of the city, completely ignorant to the truth that we as the audience were already immediately made aware of: that said hero is Chloe and she is ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE!

Marinette is aware of her being horrible. Adrien is FULLY aware of her being horrible. WE all know she is horrible. But Alya, like most of the city, is enthralled and supportive of her as the “Hero of the City”.

This change immediately created a whole new setup. Where Alya is a fan of a hero while being ignorant to that hero’s true nature. Where WE know and even other characters in the show know, but it’s impossible to convince anyone else of this truth. I’m sure you all know what it’s like watching any character in that sort of situation. It hurts. But not as much as it’s bound to hurt her by the end.

And indeed it does, as it kickstarts what initially starts off as a funny setup where Marinette and others stay quiet and try to be supportive while inwardly cringing as Alya creates and manages a blog dedicated to the worst person ever sans Hawk Moth and Gabriel Agreste.

Adding to this is that said person won’t give Alya or her blog the time of day. Chloe has no respect or appreciation for the level of commitment Alya has or how much Alya helped her to get her fame, and even calls Alya a “stalker” at one point. (Not that she’s technically wrong to be fair, but bear with me.) This is a testament to Chloe’s view of heroism as a whole and her expectations regarding the treatment she should receive. Nevermind that Chloe’s initial rise to the spotlight was in great part because Alya was the one to put said spotlight on her in the first place. Chloe doesn’t acknowledge favors, only what she is owed.

This puts Alya in a difficult position. Unlike Canon, she doesn’t have the support of a hero to promote her blog. She is a teenager with no preexisting status as a reporter and no real connections or backing for people to take her seriously. And in a world of already established media and tons of fans like herself no doubt also trying to make names for themselves in similar niche areas, she has nothing to really make herself stand out. What ends up working for her is the live footage she gets of the akumas and the battles, which is exceedingly dangerous and puts Alya in danger. But to her, it’s worth it to be able to enjoy her two passions.

It is painful. It HURTS me to see Alya so devoted to someone who I know full well doesn’t deserve it and it hurt even MORE to see how Alya was finally forced to face the truth. Her reaction was real. Her difficulty accepting the truth that we all knew from the start and that Alya could have (and probably should have) picked up on as a journalist if she only investigated everything outside of the “Heroes WOW” light.

But this doesn’t make me look badly upon Alya. It’s not entirely her fault. It’s reasonable that Alya wouldn’t have known. Given Scar’s refusal to work with anyone outside of publications that “meet her standards”, Alya hadn’t gotten to interact closely enough with Scar to really see her “in action” so to speak. Not for some time.

Alya does ultimately end up finding the truth, but it’s not the one she initially went searching for. What started out as a love for heroes mixed with her interest in journalism slowly turned into a realization of what heroism actually is and who the true heroes are…and aren’t.

And with this realization comes a new outlook, new alliances, new goals, and a new plan to reveal the truth about Scar and just who is really the hero or the “sidekick” in the heroes team.

This here? This gives Alya purpose. It also emphasizes her role in the story and the impact she has. Because over time, the thing that most showed her flaws and ignorance became a major strength—AND ended up benefiting the city as a whole.

She was the only person who actively tried to help Chat when he was on the run in Copycat and gave him the info to know what was going on and who the true culprit was (especially important because Adrien had NO way of knowing what was going on or why he was being framed and Scar certainly wasn’t going to help).

She gave Lila and others a chance to share their stories that otherwise never would have been told. Especially notable given Alya’s initial dislike of Lila for her lies, something she continued to hold a grudge over for a long time after.

And as a result, she is a major contributor to Scar’s declining popularity as she helps spread the truth. Which adds a nice bit of irony to the situation that the little blog that gave Chloe her start and that she ignored ended up becoming something so major that it destroyed her narrative.

Alya had been seeking the truth, been blinded to it, struggled to accept it, went out of her way to confirm it, and then shared it. Maybe it’s not as impressive as taking down the akumas directly, but it has a much greater overall impact on the story and helping get some of that sweet sweet karma we’d all been waiting for. And best of all, she does the one thing that many of us have also been wanting for Canon: to have SOMEONE investigate Hawk Moth and realize the puzzle pieces are pointing at Gabriel Agreste.

If only she could have confirmed it a little sooner…

3. Alya as a Person

Alya is a teenager. She is a teenage girl and that shines in Scarlet Lady.

We see her PUMPED at the discovery of heroes in Paris. We see her genuinely EXCITED over the prospect of being a hero. We see her flip her focus and be SERIOUS over serious and not so serious things. We see her unapologetically and hilariously reject Adrien’s pleas for a trade of jobs only to be a hypocrite and turn around and beg him for the same. We see her get terrifyingly ENRAGED at Nino for changing her script without discussing it with her. We see her be PETTY and RESENTFUL over falling for Lila’s lies. We see her be IN LOVE after Animan. Plus how could I not love her sheer GLEE over getting to face off with Nora?

But what really made me love this Alya and put her leagues above canon is her growth. Growth that she didn't really get in Canon. And a lot of that growth was evident through her discovery of the truth that was right in front of her and how she had gone so long without seeing it.

And when she is finally hit with the reality that her hero is no hero and that she was wrong? It’s hard. No kid wants to admit being wrong about anything, but especially not about a belief like that. Not the idea of heroes and not over your hero specifically. Especially when you realize you spent so LONG devoted to something only to find out you were wrong, other people knew, and you could have/SHOULD have known had you really tried to look.

And Alya….did NOT take it like a champ.

Denial was the name of the game. But her growth came in acknowledging that she was wrong, WHERE she went wrong, and taking steps to move forward with what she knew. Not by doubling down and demanding “evidence” that should have been easy to find if she just looked, but by investigating the truth even if it’s one she knew she wouldn’t like. And even if it involved things she didn’t want to do. To this end, she made up with Lila and the two actually ended up working together to change the tide of public opinion against her over time.

Let’s note that: She went back on her earlier promise to herself, forgave and worked with someone that she disliked, and let go of her own pride and resentment in order to get to the truth that she originally never wanted to acknowledge.

Alya in Scarlet Lady plays more of a role in the series than she did in Canon. She wasn’t just “Marinette’s best friend” and “Ladybug fangirl” or a tool or prop for setting up certain scenes where Marinette suffers or Adrinette is given a half hearted attempt.

Alya is her own person. She disliked someone the others like or come to like. She adored someone the others and even we as the audience couldn’t stand. She stood up to her sister for herself and with the backing of her friends. She was silly at times for all that she tried to be serious and mature. She was oblivious and opinionated. She was wrong about a core issue to the story.

And that was perfectly okay.

Not because the narrative said so. Not because anything she did was hand waved. Not because Marinette or anyone else was thrown in as a scapegoat to distract attention away from her.

But because Alya is a well-written character with a personality that makes her a PERSON rather than a prop. Which makes her development into a hero feel rewarding rather than an obligation.

4. Alya as a Hero

Okay, Sapotis in Canon wasn’t bad. It worked as a new hero episode. It worked as the FIRST new hero episode. It made sense for Alya to help corral her sisters. I loved Trixx and his subtle means of testing Alya. It also had Alya getting some personal development as she changes from her initial stance of wanting to reveal her identity as a hero to knowing when to keep some truths hidden.

The problem is that lesson didn’t really stick as Alya goes on to demand a truth from Marinette that isn’t her right to know, try to force Marinette to tell a truth when she isn’t ready to reveal it, and betray Marinette’s trust and reveal the secret just to make things easier for herself and her relationship with Nino.

Gotta say, not impressed with Alya as a hero in Canon. Especially given how much the narrative had gone out of its way to keep portraying Alya as being in the right in each instance she was involved in regardless of what she actually did.

Then there’s the matter of the issue of her getting the Fox Miraculous after everything that happened with Lila and the complete LACK of Fox Vs Fox/Alya VS Lila/Truth VS Lies setup that such a setup would have been primed for. And if they weren’t going to do that or even anything with Alya and Trixx, then what was the point of giving Alya the Fox? There was just really nothing else that came out of a truth-seeker like Alya getting a Miraculous specifically involved in setting illusions and how that could develop her character.

@punchlord has already done multiple evaluations of the characters and Miraculous and which ones would best/least fit and why, and has done so much more detailed and eloquently than I can really offer here. Instead, I want to focus on SL!Alya and the changes Zoe made.

Here’s the thing: we all knew going in that Zoe was going to follow Canon for the most part. She admitted as such. We also knew that some kwami-swapping was bound to happen as a result of the changes to the world. Chloe gets the Ladybug. Marinette gets the Bee. Sabrina was bound to get something at some point that wasn’t the Dog. And yes, Lila too.

But NONE of us were expecting that Alya and Nino would swap their Miraculous AND their hero episodes!

And it worked. It worked so well.

Koki Marina is an awesome hero with such a stand-out look. And the one image of her playing with her fluffy hair always makes me smile.

The changes Zoe made vastly improved the Anansi storyline. Nino deserved his own hero episode that wasn’t just focus on him secondary to an issue for Alya and ultimately accomplish nothing on his own while someone else solves the problem for him...twice. And Alya deserved to be the one to deal with Nora and take control of her life.

The thing is, this was an episode with a lesson that was misplaced. Misplaced andmishandled, much like many episodes in the original series.

In Anansi, the biggest problem wasn’t that Nino couldn’t prove he could protect Alya, it was that Nora was overstepping on Alya’s life in the first place, especially when it wasn’t necessary. She didn’t consider that ANYONE ELSE could protect Alya—even the heroes when it is their job to fight the akumas.

But more specifically, she wasn’t willing to consider that Alya could protect HERSELF. Especially of note considering that by this point in both versions, Alya had been running around and getting involved in the fights with the heroes for blog views. And in Canon specifically, Alya had already been a temp hero—I was surprised and disappointed that Alya didn’t argue more and struggle with NOT revealing that fact in the episode. But I digress…

If Alya was to get a hero episode, this was the better setup for it. And Zoe saw that and provided us that sweet sweet payout, with Alya proving herself and helping to take down her older sister. And just the absolute GLEE she had in doing so. The sort of glee you’d see in any younger sibling getting a chance to take on and show up their older sibling. All the younger siblings out there should know it.

Plus her and Wayzz bonding, omg they are so cute.

While Canon Sapotis was decent (if not a bit frustrating with the lack of lessons for the twins after all their antics), in my view, SL Anansi actually HIT in all the right ways and felt more satisfying overall in comparison as Alya’s hero episode and ESPECIALLY in comparison to the Canon Anansi itself.

It’s a good episode with a stable episode-centric arc, where the conflict starts with Alya NOT really being able to face down Nora alone and only manages to overpower Nora in an arm wrestling contest because her friends back her and take on Nora in a 4 on 1 match and overpower her together. This is highlighted later in the episode when Alya faces Nora alone to buy Marigold time and is shown to struggle. Then gets the power boost through the Turtle Miraculous that lets her effectively take her down save her. Cough. Yes. Just save her.

It’s a very empowering story for Alya. But it plays a bigger role than that, too. It’s not just the start of Alya being a hero, it’s also the point where she really starts to turn things around in terms of the overarching story of the comic.

This episode is the follow up to Sapotis, where the other characters are having a sleepover partly to look after the younger kids but also specifically to try and support Alya as she comes to terms with the realization that her hero is a fraud. Yes, Alya already knew that Scar was horrible by the time Anansi happened, but actually being a hero and having to work with Scar gives her an up close and personal look at how Scar treats the other heroes and how much—or rather little she actually does in a crisis.

It’s also the point where Alya seems to gain more confidence and also direct her reporting to a better end. And by the end of the episode, we really see Alya starting to use her skills to this purpose. This is when we get to see Alya actually BE the journalist she wanted to claim she was.

This? Right here? This goes to show that not only does Alya herself make a great hero, but that becoming a hero helped Alya improve herself as well. Which is something we should be seeing more of in such stories with teenagers gaining superpowers.

So all that being said, SL Alya succeeds where her Canon counterpart fails. The narrative points out when she’s wrong. She learns lessons. She is silly at times and acknowledged to be silly. But through it all, she retains the heart that makes her a good friend and the passion that shows her to be not only a journalist, but a HERO in the making.

#ml analysis #scarlet lady #scarlet lady analysis #scarlet lady top 10 list #scarlet lady is better than canon #ml salt #alya cesaire #you go girl #for zoe

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adumbratrapedme · 4 months ago

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Denji x reader | silly first time kisses.

Takes place before you met aki and power but pochita is already part of your life.

Pairings: Denji x reader |genre. fluff !|cw/tags. fluff, first kiss! Slight nudity mention but nothing serious or nsfw rated!

You and Denji weren’t officially a couple—never had a conversation about it, no grand confessions or formalities. You didn’t even think about what it meant to be someone’s “boyfriend” or “girlfriend.” The two of you just were, surviving side by side in the same crumbling world.

It had been a long, exhausting day of devil hunting with Denji and Pochita. Your bodies ached, and your minds were clouded with fatigue as the three of you trudged back to the tiny shed you called home. Along the way, Denji stumbled across an old, beaten-up box tossed by the roadside.

“Jackpot!” he exclaimed, hauling the box into his arms. Pochita barked excitedly, though you were already suspicious. Denji always got overly excited about things like this—half the time, the “treasures” he found were just junk.

When you got back to the shed, Denji set the box down with a triumphant grin. “Let’s see what we scored today!”

He tore it open, only to freeze mid-motion, his face turning a deep shade of red. You frowned, leaning closer. “What’s in there?”

“N-Nothin’ important!” Denji yelped, slamming the box shut and scrambling to shield it with his body.

You raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, Denji. What is it? Another broken toaster? A pile of expired coupons?”

“No! Just—just don’t look!” he stammered, holding the box tightly.

That only made you more curious. You darted forward, grabbing one of the items sticking out of the side. Denji tried to stop you, but it was too late. You held up the glossy magazine in your hands, staring at the cover in confusion.

“…What is this?” you asked, tilting your head. The cover was covered in bold, colorful letters, but it was the half-naked woman posing suggestively that really caught your attention.

Denji practically lunged at you. “D-Don’t look at that, y/n! It’s not for you!”

“Why not?” you asked, dodging him easily. “What even is this? Is it, like… art?”

Denji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No, it’s not art! It’s… It’s adult stuff, okay? You’re not supposed to see it!”

That made you laugh. “Why not? You’re looking at it!”

“I’m a guy! It’s different!” Denji retorted, his face still beet red.

That only made you more determined to figure out what was so special about the magazine. You flipped it open, your curiosity outweighing any embarrassment you might’ve felt. The images inside made your eyes widen slightly, and you let out a small laugh. “Is this what you get all flustered about? It’s just pictures of people without clothes on!”

Denji groaned again, practically curling into himself. “Y-You don’t get it! This is… this is private stuff, okay? You shouldn’t be lookin’ at it!”

You couldn’t help but tease him. “Private, huh? You’re the one who brought it into our shed, genius.”

Denji opened his mouth to argue but froze when you held up one of the pages, pointing at a particularly ridiculous pose. “Do people really look like this when they’re… y’know?”

His blush deepened, and he avoided your gaze. “I mean… sometimes? I dunno! How should I know?”

You grinned, enjoying the rare sight of Denji being flustered. “Wait… Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“Wh-what kind of question is that?!” Denji yelped, practically choking on his words.

“I’m serious!” you said, leaning closer to him. “You’re always acting like you know everything, but I don’t think you’ve ever even kissed anyone, have you?”

Denji spluttered, his ears turning bright red. “O-Of course I have! I mean… probably. Maybe. Okay, no, I haven’t, but who cares?!”

You couldn’t stop laughing, the tension between you breaking in an instant. “You’re such a dork, Denji,” you said, setting the magazine aside.

He frowned, looking both embarrassed and a little offended. “Well, have you?”

That shut you up. You hesitated, suddenly feeling shy. “…No. But that’s different!”

“Oh, yeah? How’s it different?” Denji challenged, leaning closer.

“Because…” you trailed off, struggling to come up with a reason.

Denji smirked, clearly enjoying the rare moment of you being the flustered one. “See? You got nothin’.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could come up with a comeback, Denji did something that completely caught you off guard—he leaned in and kissed you.

It was quick and awkward, your noses bumping together and his lips slightly chapped, but it made your heart race all the same.

When he pulled back, his face was as red as yours felt. “There,” he mumbled. “Now neither of us can say we haven’t kissed anyone.”

You stared at him for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “That was… terrible.”

“Hey!” Denji protested, his voice cracking. “Gimme a break! It was my first time!”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him again—this time, slower, softer. It still wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.

When you finally pulled away, Denji was grinning like an idiot, his usual cocky attitude back. “Guess we’re even now, huh?”

“Guess so,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder as Pochita barked happily, wagging his tail.

And in that moment, with the magazines forgotten and the world outside your shed fading away, everything felt a little less broken.

#csm denji #denji #chainsaw man denji #denji x reader #denji x you #denji x y/n #chainsaw man #chainsaw man denji x reader #csm manga #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #fluff #denji fluff

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xxbrightshadowxx · 1 year ago

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I have finally finished Waverider and as I promised I’m , as the same as the other amulet book ratings, I am going to rate this one. And as always, this has spoilers so if you haven’t read it and want to read it, skip it. Also this just my opinion

Book 9:

And my rating is a 3/10. Same as the 8th book for many, many reasons.

This book isn’t as bad as Supernova, but it has as many problems as Supernova.

First off, Trellis, Riva, and Vigo’s storyline was a lie. They literally clear up the false king storyline so fast it gave me whiplash. Literally in the back of the book it says the main focus for the B storyline is going to the elf kingdom and that storyline just ends so fucking quickly. Also how the hell is Gablian alive?! He is not a stonekeepers and blew up at the bottom of the ocean! How did he survive?! Also, you’re telling me Trellis gave up being king that easily?!What?! One of the only things I liked about book 6 is the scene where Trellis tells his people that the false king, Max, was dead just like the elf king was and if they want to save their country and stay alive is to follow him, as the true and rightful king. Then fucking Waverider comes and I am just speechless.

And then they go to rebuild Ceileis(I can’t spell) and tell me if this is only me but, I don’t care for these new characters. Wes, Reieina, Lira, etc. I don’t. I miss the simplicity of Amulet and how none of the characters felt underutilized. Then Kazu Kibuishi decided to shove them in the closet and bring in characters I dont care for. Navin, Alyson, Leon, and Karen were there for only a small percent of the book and even that felt flat.

Also something that pisses me off is how Vigo died. The entire purpose of that little squad was they could break free and not lose control to the shadows. And yet, he loses control to the damn voice? Not to mention, that ceremony didn’t need to happen! They were just paying respects and he loses control so fucking easy! This was just an excuse to kill off Vigo and I hate it!!

Also fucking old Emily came back. I don’t know how but she was here and I’m so confused.

Do you wanna know what I’m confused about?! Everything with Ikol. Like I am so confused, is he dead or is he still there? What was that confrontation between him and Emily?! Like what was happening? It was just so much without any explain for what happened?!

Also when did Emily get so damn strong? Nothing to her seems like a struggle. She takes down those giant stone—thingys(forgot what they are called) So easily. This might just be me but characters who don’t use to have as much power before and suddenly becomes op as hell.

Overall, this book has so many problems. Maybe I’ll find more later or maybe I’ll burn the book in a dumpster. Verdict: this was not worth waiting years for it come out.

#kazu kibuishi #amulet #amulet books #emily hayes #prince trellis #emily #vigo light #waverider #book 9 #rant #book #i want my money back #I do not mean to offend anyone with this rating

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adimouze · 6 months ago

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post-las vegas WDC max/daniel, rated M. ~1300 words. @girlsdads mentioned something about a lil bit of LL hating in a fic so. I did a lil bit of LL hating too.

A face floats into Max’s field of vision probably three hours into the fifth different party Max had been shepherded to since the race ended. He’s about ninety-percent sure he’s still in Las Vegas. He blinks blearily at it, hoping at least it’s pretty enough to look at. It has been a while since. Since.

Liam Lawson blinks back. Not who he was expecting. Gross.

“Max,” he says, sounding too sober for whatever time it is. The club is loud but Max can still unfortunately hear him. “Are you okay?”

Max attempts a sweeping gesture, he’s carrying a glass of something and it hits someone’s back, making Max drop it with a smash. Liam cringes, looking like he’s about to complain. “This is my party, mate,” Max says, cutting off whatever Liam was going to say. “I’m fucking great.”

“Christian just left,” Liam says, and Max kind of hates how he talks but what can you do. Maybe he just doesn’t like Liam. “I think there’s another party happening a few blocks from now, do you want to join me?”

If Christian left that means Max can leave without theoretically offending anybody, even though it is his party. Half of the people around him don’t seem like people he knows anyway. “Nah man, you go on ahead, I’ll head back to the hotel –”

“Oh then I’ll head back with you,” Liam’s probably the most cheerful he’s been since Max met him. “Yuki scored and left me here.”

Pity isn’t something Max feels often, but he does feel a bit of pity now. In his first year he was never left alone in clubs, either Carlos or Daniel were always there making sure they were around to get him back to wherever before they took someone home or to their hotel rooms. More often it was Daniel, and more often Daniel didn’t take anyone home, because they were sharing a room and more often it was just fun to watch onboards together, side by side.

No one else but them.

Then again, Max was a teenager in his first year and Liam’s twenty-two. He wouldn’t need babysitting.

“Alright,” Max isn’t sure where he is. He doesn’t know how to ask Liam without sounding like an absolute idiot.

“I have a car waiting,” Liam adds, after Max stared off into the distance for a few seconds, willing someone to appear with a car. Maybe Max isn’t being as subtle as he thought he was.

_____

Red Bull and VCARB drivers are often put up in the same hotel, usually the standard room but Helmut had finangled him a penthouse upgrade on Thursday, telling Max that he deserved a proper room to party in, like Max was going to bring home an orgy.

He’s pretty sure Liam couldn’t possibly have gotten a penthouse upgrade too. He’s sure hotels only have one penthouse? He’s sure. If he was less drunk he would be surer. But Liam makes no move to push any buttons.

“Mind if I come up for a nightcap?” Liam asks, smiling. This is the most Max has seen him smile ever since he got Daniel…ever since Daniel left and he jumped in the car. Max does not want him to come up for a nightcap but Max is feeling generous tonight.

“Sure, why not.” Someone had spilled what seems like a bottle of champagne on him at some point in the night and his shirt is sticking to him. He’s too tired to shower. Meh. It’ll be a problem for hungover Max tomorrow.

The lift goes up insanely fast but still feels too slow for Max tonight. He’s WDC, four times WDC, he’s used to faster things, sue him. Liam is still staring at him.

“Good driving tonight,” Max says, for want of anything better to do or say. He has no idea where Liam finished to be honest.

“I finished 16,” Liam says flatly. Yikes. Well.

The door dings open onto Max’s floor. And.

Daniel’s sitting on the giant sectional of the penthouse living room.

He looks gorgeous. Max wants to stare forever. He looks broad and good and tanned, his beard has filled in a lot more than when Max last saw him in Monaco, his hair thicker. The sweatshirt he’s wearing looks less oversized than usual, fitting his shoulders instead of drooping over them, and his trousers make his thighs look great.

He’s smirking. He looks like a frat guy. He looks like one of those men from Victoria’s magazines that Max definitely didn’t jerk off over.

Max is probably drooling, and Liam runs into him as he’s stepping out of the lift.

“Oh sorry mate I – Daniel, hello.” Liam’s voice is a bit high. Confused. Probably scared. “Didn’t realize you were in Vegas. Red Bull didn’t…”

Daniel stands up and comes over. Max is still staring. Daniel moves like an apex predator and Liam’s just the runt of litter in this. “Hey Liam. Well. Red Bull doesn’t own me anymore mate, do they? I can be wherever I want.”

He claps Liam on the shoulder in greeting then grabs Max’s limp hand. “Came to see my boy be the World Champion again.”

Liam’s probably saying something but Max doesn’t care, because Daniel’s pulling him in, arms going around Max, sticky shirt and all, and Max is going to swoon because Daniel smells good, good, good, their lips meeting after ages, Daniel’s lips and tongue the best, most refreshing thing Max has tasted all night. Someone’s moaning.

It’s him.

“Um…”

Liam’s still there.

Max tries to pull back but Daniel’s got his hands on his ass, lifting, lifting, and Max’s legs going around him in response, and Daniel’s got them on the sofa in a second, Max perched on Daniel’s wide wide thighs without even separating their lips once. It’s the hottest thing Max has ever felt. He’s going to come just from the thought alone.

“Liam,” Daniel’s saying, pulling back a few centimeters to give Max some breathing space. “I’m going to fuck my husband on this sofa right now, and he’s going to be screaming loud enough to be heard from the moon. So like,” he pops the k, and Max’s dick twitches, precome dripping into his underwear, “unless you want a front row seat to that for some reason, shouldn’t you be heading to bed?”

“Husband?” Liam’s stuttering. “Excuse me? You can’t – Does Christian know? He’s going to be so mad at you, Max what the fuck –?”

“Get out,” Daniel says. Max has never heard him sound like that. “Now.”

“I’m calling Christian,” Liam says as a parting shot. “He won’t – he’s not going to allow this.”

“Yeah you do that, mate,” Daniel rolls his eyes then squeezes Max’s ass harder. God, he’s so hot. Max feels insane. Husband husband husband. “What’s he going to do, fire me again?”

The lift dings shut again. They’re blessedly alone.

“Husband?” Max snorts, shivering as Daniel’s fingers undo his pant buttons. “Bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“The ring’s in the suitcase, baby,” Daniel says, smiling like a wolf, fingers curling around Max’s dick. Max grinds into the feeling, needing Daniel inside him right now. This is the best day of his life. “Was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Let me think about it,” Max laughs, and Daniel bites his nipple through his shirt. “Liam’s probably told the Herald by now.”

“I’ll personally send him the wedding photos,” Daniel cackles, licking up Max’s neck, leaving wet trails in the cold air con of the room, “if he promises to send me photos of Christian when he tells him I was about to fuck him in front of you.”

“Stop talking about Christian and fuck the World Champion already, husband,” Max says, his laughter turning into moans when Daniel all too willingly complies.

#max verstappen #maxiel #f1 #daniel ricciardo #dr3 #my fic

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edenesth · 1 year ago

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TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [Teaser]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: Special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for coming up with the title of our captain's spinoff.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 1

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The way Hongjoong's spinoff wasn't even meant to be next, but y'all were so hyped for his, I had to change up the sequence HAHA as always, I'd love to hear all your thoughts on the concept! <3

Tag list (1/4): @itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline @green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive @vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho @vic0921 @foxinnie8 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid @sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @pay13 @kpop17 @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings @chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories @anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @kamabokogonpachro @chngbnwf @dollce-exe @jan-l @lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim @scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa @ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 @naps-over-degree

#edenesth #the way to his heart #stitched hearts #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #historical au #joseon era #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #ateez fic

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louferrighojr · 1 month ago

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have I stopped thinking about the hook up scene since it aired? no. will I stop thinking about how lou and oliver gave it their absolute all? also no.

taking over me

louliver // 697 words // rated T // read on ao3

🎬

Oliver loses count of how many times they film the make out scene.

He knows they already have at least six usable takes but hey, he's not complaining when he gets to push and be pushed around by Lou and get paid for it.

The only struggle is trying not to get too carried away; they definitely miss cut at least twice, Aisha raising an eyebrow at them as they laugh a little sheepishly.

Well okay, maybe it's also a struggle to not get a boner in front of the whole crew but that had become something of an ongoing problem since he first met Lou, since he first saw that scrunchy smile paired with all those muscles and promptly lost his mind.

Oliver was no stranger to people throwing themselves at him; it was one of the things that came with the job, and had both its perks and its downsides.

What he wasn't used to was being on the other side of it.

Wasn't used to being the one wanting to throw himself at someone, to feeling like he might scream if he didn't get his hands on Lou immediately.

After wrapping on the hook up, there's no question that he's going to Lou's instead of home.

Lou raises an eyebrow as Oliver bids everyone goodbye, the tiniest of smirks on his unfairly chiselled features. Oliver nods, mouthing, "your place?"

Lou grins, that scrunchy smile that Oliver finds himself thinking about far more often than he'd like to admit.

It feels like the longest drive of his life, even though Lou's place is closer to the studio than Oliver's. He feels like his skin is itching with how turned on he is, his cock half hard in his pants just thinking about Lou shoving him into the wall the way Buck had shoved Tommy into it.

It's almost an exact recreation of the scene once he gets there, Lou just a minute ahead of him and digging his keys hurriedly from his pocket.

Oliver's lips are on his before he's even got the door fully open and they trip through the doorway, Lou pushing him up against the wall and pinning him there with his sizeable bulk as their tongues fight for dominance.

Oliver moans into his mouth, grinding his hips as Lou sucks on his lower lip before moving down to mouth at the bolt of his jaw, his throat, his clavicle, putting marks on his skin the way he'd clearly wanted to do while they were filming and couldn't.

"I think that might have been the hardest shoot I've had in a while," Lou murmurs against Oliver's skin and Oliver laughs, slipping a hand between them to cup Lou's cock where it's straining against his jeans.

"Yeah, I noticed," he says, smirking when Lou gasps against his skin.

"Do you think anyone else did?" he asks, looking slightly worried as he lifts his head to meet Oliver's gaze.

"I mean, you've got a big dick, it's kinda hard to hide it," Oliver smirks, palming at the dick in question as Lou's breath hitches, "but I guess we'll soon find out when they start editing."

Lou huffs a laugh.

"Oh god," he says, blushing so beautifully that Oliver just has to kiss him about it.

He barely gets his tongue past the seam of Lou's lips before Lou is pulling away, frowning.

"What if someone actually does notice?"

"Okay well firstly, you're kinda adorable when you're worried, and secondly-" He shrugs. "-so what if they do?"

Oliver doesn't miss the flicker of tentative hope that crosses his face.

"You don't mind?"

"No. Do you?"

Lou just looks at him for a moment, searching his face for something.

"No. No, I don't mind."

"Okay good," Oliver replies, smirking. "Now can we get back to what we were doing?"

Lou rolls his eyes fondly.

"Yes, your highness," he says in probably the worst English accent Oliver's ever heard.

It's so bad he should probably be offended but when Lou sinks to his knees in front of him, looking up at him through his eyelashes as he unzips his pants, he can't really bring himself to care.

#louliver #911 rpf #ferrigho writes

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witchygagirlwrites · 2 months ago

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Bandit-Part 2

Jay Halstead x Reader (nicknamed Bandit)

You’re getting used to Rixton as a partner, even if Jay still isn’t used to not having you at his side

“So, how are things going with Rixton?” Jay asked. You were curled up on one end of your couch while he was sitting on the other end. He’d come over to watch the Blackhawks game since Will was with Nat and the conversation had somehow circled around to the fact of your new partners.

“How are things with Upton?” you asked with a smirk and he rolled his eyes “She’s been with us a couple months. She’s already a part of the unit” you nodded “Kenny’s decent police I think. He seems like a pretty chill guy. He listens to my opinion on shit and doesn’t fly off the handle so I think it’s gonna work fine”

You turned your attention back to the screen then realized he was staring at you so you slowly turned to face him “What? He raised an eyebrow “Did you just call him Kenny?” you shrugged “That’s his name? I call Hailey, Hailey” “So you’re getting adjusted well to having a new partner” you grinned “Aww do you think I’m replacing you honey?” he scoffed “Like hell. I know you aren’t getting rid of me any time soon. Who else is gonna put up with you?

You shook your head “See? Why would I want anyone else when I have you? My loving partner” he grinned “True, I am pretty perfect” so you threw a handful of popcorn at him in turn.

“You little shit” he cursed and tried to grab you but you snatched out of his grip “Naw uh” he laughed when you slipped off the couch, grabbed a cushion and managed to smack him with him all in the course of a commercial. “Why am I pissed I don’t have you during the day?” he asked and you froze in front of the couch, the cushion still in hand and grinned “Because of my winning personality of course”

He sat his beer down on the coffee table and you started to put the cushion down but he moved a little too quickly and was up on his feet and had you in his arms and your feet dangling off the floor before you could react. “Put me down you asshole!” you grunted so he dropped you to the couch. “Jackass” you cursed and he winked at you “Miss me yet?” you flipped to look up at him and he gave you a grin. “Just a little” he shook his head “You’re so mean” so you pointed at the screen “Look, we’re winning” he cut his eyes up “Damn, we are”

“So, where did the nickname Bandit even come from?” Rixton asked you as he followed you up the stairs in intelligence. You looked back at him with a grin, “First undercover I did. Long story, Olinsky was my handler. It kind of stuck” he nodded slowly “Ok then” you shrugged “Any more I go by it more than my actual name”

You got to the palm scanner and laid your hand down then when it popped you opened it and held it out for him. He eyed you, a small smile working its way onto his face “I was thinking it was that raccoon tattoo you have on your shoulder” you shook your head “Nope, that came after the fact. My brother was going to the tattoo parlor, called me to meet him and it was a spur of the moment thing” he shook his head “Is all of intelligence half insane?”

You nearly got offended before you actually thought about it. “You know, you have a good point there Kenny but our rates speak for themselves. Just don’t look at any of our on duty injury records” he shrugged “Active cops bust their asses” “And everything else” you added with a laugh.

You would admit you were hesitant when Voight first told you that you had to work with Kenny but so far you and him were getting along pretty well. No, he wasn’t Jay but he wasn’t that bad either. Maybe Voight had been right about you and Jay needing to figure out how to work with others, because honestly? You and Jay were getting a little too close at times.

When you and Kenny made it to the top of the stairs to the bullpen you headed for your desk and he headed for his. Jay cut his eyes up when you walked past his desk and you smiled “Morning” “Morning” he greeted.

You sat down and put your stuff away. Ruzek was due back in a few days but you didn’t know when Voight was planning on doing a once over of partners again. You were all in the middle of a case so he may very well wait until it was wrapped.

_____________________

Jay could hear you and Rixton talking on the way up the stairs. How the hell did he even know you had a raccoon tattoo? You were getting mighty close with Rixton. Hell the last time you and him hung out was the blackhawks game and that was nearly a week before.

You were supposed to meet him for coffee this morning but rain checked to ride with Rixton to talk to one of his C.I.s He didn’t like it. He didn’t like you being partnered with Rixton, you getting close with him or how any of that made him feel.

He looked up to see you were laughing at something Rixton was showing you on his phone and had to fight the urge to break the guy’s jaw. It was harmless. You didn’t even date cops. You were one of the few out of the unit that had never once dated another cop. Firemen? Yes. Doctors? Yes. You had never once dated another cop. Then again you could have very well slept with another cop and not told him? That thought made him see red. Rixton’s hands on you, touching you.

No, it was innocent. It was just you playing nice like Voight had warned both of you to be so you could ride together again. That was it. He looked up again and you were shaking your head at Kenny. Maybe he could break his jaw just a little?

“Jay, you good?” Hailey asked, walking up beside him and he jolted “Yeah, I’m good” she nodded slowly “Ok, you seem a little out of it” he shook his head “I’m fine” she stared at him for a second then smiled “Ok. keep acting weird and I’ll sic Bandit on you”

That made him grin “God no, she bites” “She does not!” Hailey laughed and you leaned back in your chair “I do actually! I just only bite Jay and Adam once” Hailey raised an eyebrow “Ok then” and laughed when you shrugged “In my defense Adam deserved it and Kim told me I could”

“And Jay?” She asked, you looked at Jay so he explained “It was actually my fault. I dared her to” Hailey coughed out a laugh “Never dare Bandit to do anything, got it”

You winked at Hailey “For you? I’d be gentle” then turned your eyes to your computer. Hailey watched you for a second then cut her eyes at Jay “She’s something else” she spoke in a voice low enough only he could hear. “Yeah, she is” he replied and felt his heart flip. He wanted you in every way he could want a woman but he refused to cross any lines that could result in you walking out of his life.

He’d take you being in his life by whatever that meant. He just didn’t know if he could watch you and Rixton get any closer.

“We’ve got to get some sort of in on this guy” Kim muttered and you nodded, eyeing the board. You were after a guy with ties to two different cartels. He owned a club in town but he was only there a few nights a month. Voight had word out on the street, trying to get some sort of idea as to when that may be. If he could, that would result in an undercover assignment.

“When’s Ruz back?” you asked and she sighed "Tomorrow” you grinned “Bet you’re happy” she nodded “Very” undercovers where you had to do deep, moving into a u.c. apartment were a bitch to everyone involved. You knew that all too well yourself. “So what’s the plan if we do locate this guy?” you asked Voight and he nodded to you “You and Rixton will go in as a couple, Ruzek will be back by then so he’ll go in with Upton. Atwater will go in as backup. Halstead and Burgess will be on overwatch and we’ll have major crimes waiting in the wings”

“So our job will be to make positive ids so everyone can move in?” you guessed and he nodded. “Ok then. When’s your people supposed to call you back?” he shrugged “I should know something by the day after tomorrow. We’ll go from there” “Ok”

___________________

You were walking to your truck when you heard Kenny call your name so you stopped walking and turned to face him with a smile “What’s up Rixton?” he rubbed a hand across his neck “Us having to do under as a couple?” you nodded “Yeah?” he shifted his weight so you laughed lightly “Kenny?”

He sighed “I’m just gonna ask here, is Halstead gonna kick my ass for having to be up on you a bit while we’re under?” your eyes widened “What?” he nodded “You and him are together aren’t you?” you shook your head “No, we’re just friends”

He gave you a look that didn’t seem like he believed you “Are you sure? Cause there’s been a few times the last couple weeks I would’ve sworn he was gonna kill me” you laughed, your heart flipping but you shoved it down “He’s just a territorial little shit is all. It’s like taking the last of the coffee and not refilling. You’re good. I swear” “Ok” he replied and you held your fist up so he bumped it “See ya tomorrow partner” you told him and he nodded “See ya then”

When Jay’s phone rang and he saw your number he wasn’t sure if something was wrong, it wasn’t too late but you normally had a habit of texting “Hello?” he answered and your voice hit his ears “Hey, wanna hear something funny?” “Sure?” he replied and you laughed lightly “Kenny asked if you were gonna kick his ass for having to touch me while we were under because he thought we were together”

“What?” he asked with a laugh that he hoped you didn’t pick up was forced. “Yeah, swore he was gonna die by your hand” “Naw, I won’t kill him unless he crosses lines and you send up the help signal then I might” you laughed lightly “My hero. Want to get coffee in the morning since I rain checked you?” “Sure, meet you there?” he asked and you replied “You know it. See ya there” the two of you told each other goodnight and hung up. Jay stared at the phone and now had to remind himself that he was going to have to watch Rixton’s hands on you during that undercover, rather he liked it or not.

Part 3

@desimarie12

@allisonargent144

@nevaehstreater18

#jay halstead x you #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic #one chicago fanfic #jay halstead fanfiction

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novaursa · 5 months ago

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The Second Daughter (her favor)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: simple things

- Next part: hope

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

Two days had passed since Jason Lannister’s last encounter with you, and the absence was gnawing at him more than he cared to admit. The court had returned to its usual rhythm of intrigue and maneuvering, but for Jason, it felt hollow. His thoughts constantly drifted to you—to the sound of your voice, the serene way you carried yourself, and the way your presence seemed to command attention without effort.

He had asked subtly, of course. A quiet inquiry here, a casual mention there, but every response was the same: this was nothing unusual. The Princess, they said, often kept to herself, retreating from court life for days or even weeks at a time. It was a habit the court had grown accustomed to, though Jason found it difficult to reconcile with the connection he thought they had begun to build.

Now, he stood near the base of the grand staircase that led to the royal wing of the Red Keep. His gaze lingered on the steps, his mind torn between propriety and the nagging urge to seek you out directly. His time in the capital was running short, and he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without seeing you again.

“Thinking of taking a stroll, Lord Jason?”

The voice, smooth and unmistakably amused, cut through his thoughts like a blade. Jason turned sharply to find Prince Daemon standing beside him, his silver hair catching the torchlight and his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason said, inclining his head slightly. “I didn’t see you approach.”

“That’s the idea,” Daemon replied, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “You seemed… preoccupied.”

Jason straightened, his green eyes meeting Daemon’s with measured calm. “I was simply admiring the architecture,” he said smoothly. “The Red Keep is a marvel of construction.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and sardonic. “A marvel, indeed. But somehow I doubt the staircases are what hold your interest.”

Jason’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though he kept his smile intact. “And what, pray tell, do you think holds my interest, Your Grace?”

Daemon stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Oh, come now, Lord Jason. Do you think the court doesn’t notice where your gaze lingers? Or who it searches for?”

Jason hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, his tone carefully neutral. “Princess Y/N is a captivating presence. Surely I am not the only one who has taken note.”

“No,” Daemon said, his tone shifting to something quieter, sharper. “But you are the one who lingers.”

The words hung in the air, their weight unmistakable. Jason met Daemon’s gaze evenly, refusing to flinch beneath the prince’s scrutiny. “The Princess is a woman of grace and intellect,” he said finally. “If my attention offends, it is not my intent.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Offense isn’t the issue,” he said. “It’s intention. What is yours, Lannister?”

Jason hesitated, the question catching him off guard. “I mean no harm,” he said carefully. “I only wish to know her better. She is… unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

Daemon regarded him for a long moment, his violet eyes searching Jason’s face for any sign of deception. Finally, he stepped back, his smirk returning. “Good,” he said simply. “Because if your intentions were anything less than honorable, we’d be having a very different conversation.”

Jason inclined his head, his posture relaxing slightly. “I assure you, Your Grace, my respect for the Princess is sincere.”

“See that it stays that way,” Daemon said lightly, though the warning in his tone was clear. He turned to leave, but paused after a few steps, glancing back at Jason. “And a word of advice, lion—patience is a virtue. If she’s kept herself away, it’s because she chooses to. Don’t mistake her quiet for weakness.”

With that, Daemon disappeared down the corridor, his steps echoing faintly in the distance. Jason remained by the stairs, his thoughts churning. Though Daemon’s presence had been disruptive, his words lingered. Perhaps patience truly was the only path forward, but the thought of waiting—of leaving the capital without seeing you again—was a bitter one.

For now, all Jason could do was hope that your self-imposed solitude would end before his time in King’s Landing did.

You sat near the hearth, your embroidery hoop in hand, your fingers deftly working the needle through the delicate fabric. The rhythm of your movements was steady, almost meditative, as the design of a dragon began to take shape beneath your touch.

Across the room, your younger half-brothers, Aegon and Aemond, lounged on a cushioned bench. Aegon, ever restless, tossed an apple from hand to hand while Aemond, just five years old, sat with his legs swinging over the edge, as he watched you with wide, curious eyes.

“You’ve been quiet, sister,” Aegon remarked, his tone light but carrying a note of impatience. “Aren’t you going to scold us for something? That’s what everyone else does.”

You smiled faintly, not looking up from your work. “Perhaps I am saving my scolding for when it is most deserved.”

Aegon laughed, though the sound was more amused than genuine. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a reason soon enough. Everyone always does.”

“You provide plenty,” Aemond said with a child’s earnestness, his small feet swinging back and forth. “That’s what Mother says.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t falter. “And you, Aemond, are the picture of perfection, I suppose?”

Aemond puffed up slightly, as children often do when they feel righteous. “I try to be,” he said, his small voice filled with conviction.

You chuckled softly, your fingers pausing briefly over the fabric. “Perfection is an illusion, Aemond,” you said gently. “Even dragons have flaws.”

Aemond frowned slightly, considering your words, while Aegon leaned back against the cushions, tossing the apple higher. “And what about me, sister? Am I a flawed dragon or something else entirely?”

You hesitated, your needle hovering over the fabric as a strange heaviness settled over you. When you spoke, your voice was softer, almost distant. “You are not a dragon, Aegon,” you said quietly. “You are a storm. One that will break the realm.”

The apple fell from Aegon’s hand, thudding softly against the floor as he stared at you. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice tinged with unease.

You blinked, as though coming out of a trance, and turned your face toward him. “Nothing,” you said lightly, though the weight of your earlier words lingered in the air. “Only musings. Pay them no mind.”

Aegon’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he bent to retrieve the apple. Aemond, however, watched you closely, his small brow furrowing as though trying to understand something far beyond his years.

Before either could speak again, the door opened, and the familiar sound of your father’s steps filled the room. Viserys entered, his presence commanding but weary, as though the weight of the crown grew heavier with each passing day.

“Boys,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Leave us.”

Aegon and Aemond exchanged glances before rising. Aemond scurried to his feet with the awkward energy of a child, while Aegon inclined his head briefly toward you, his expression unreadable. “Sister,” he said simply, before guiding Aemond out the door.

The room fell silent as Viserys approached, his gaze settling on you as you returned to your embroidery. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow as he watched your fingers deftly work the needle.

“You’ve always been so skilled,” he said finally, his voice soft. “Your mother… she would have been proud.”

You paused, your fingers stilling as you turned your face toward him. “Thank you, Father,” you said quietly. “I like to think she watches over us still.”

Viserys sighed, lowering himself into a chair near you. He seemed to study you for a moment, his eyes heavy with emotion. “It saddens me, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “To see you here, so often alone. You have so much to offer the world, yet you keep yourself hidden away.”

“I am not hidden, Father,” you replied gently, your hands resuming their work. “I am simply… apart.”

“Is that not the same thing?” Viserys asked, his tone tinged with frustration. “The court whispers of your beauty, your grace, your wisdom. And yet you let them admire you from afar, never stepping into their light.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words. “Perhaps the light is not where I belong,” you said finally, your voice steady but soft. “Perhaps I see more clearly in the shadows.”

Viserys leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he studied your face. “You remind me so much of your mother,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Her gentleness, her strength… but also her quiet pain. I don’t want that for you.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing lightly over the fabric in your lap. “Pain is part of life, Father,” you said gently. “But so is joy. I find mine in the small things, and that is enough.”

Viserys sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the crown pressed harder on him now than ever. “I only wish I could do more for you, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve so much more.”

“You have done enough,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet conviction. “You have given me life, and a family to love. That is more than many can claim.”

Viserys said nothing, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he rose, his movements slow and heavy. “Rest well, daughter,” he said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. “You are… precious to me.”

“And you to me, Father,” you replied, inclining your head slightly.

As he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, you returned to your embroidery. The weight of his words lingered, mingling with your own thoughts as the delicate pattern of the dragon began to take shape beneath your hands.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was a grand, imposing space, its high vaulted ceilings illuminated by the flicker of countless torches. Viserys strode through its expanse, his expression pensive as his thoughts lingered on his earlier conversation with you. He moved with the weight of his crown and his emotions, his hand resting idly on the gilded hilt of the sword at his side.

“Your Grace,” a voice called, steady and polite.

Viserys turned, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on Jason Lannister. The Lord of Casterly Rock approached with the confidence of a lion, though there was a measured caution in his stride. The echo of his boots on the stone floor was deliberate, almost as though he were mindful not to overstep even in his approach.

“Lord Jason,” Viserys greeted, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. “To what do I owe this interruption?”

Jason inclined his head respectfully. “I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace. But I wished to speak with you, if I may.”

Viserys gestured for him to proceed, though his posture remained wary. Jason had been polite since his rejection, but the memory of that proposal—and its implications—still lingered.

“I’ll be brief,” Jason began, his voice measured, the confidence in his tone carefully tempered. “I understand that my previous proposal was… unwelcome. I assure you, Your Grace, I bear no ill will for your decision.”

“Do you?” Viserys asked, arching an eyebrow. His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a warning that Jason was treading on uncertain ground.

Jason nodded, his expression earnest. “Truly, Your Grace. I would not be so bold as to bring it up again. But I must confess…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “It saddens me to see the Princess Y/N absent from court.”

Viserys’s expression shifted slightly, his earlier caution giving way to curiosity. “Y/N often keeps to herself,” he said, his tone softening. “It is her way.”

“I understand that,” Jason said, his voice quieter now. “But I find her absence… troubling. Her grace, her insight—she brings something to the court that no one else can. And I—” He hesitated, glancing away briefly before returning his gaze to the King. “It would sadden me deeply to leave the capital without spending more time in her company.”

Viserys studied Jason closely, his sharp eyes searching the younger man’s face for any hint of insincerity. “You seem… taken with her,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

Jason didn’t shy away from the observation. “I would be lying if I said otherwise, Your Grace,” he admitted. “But my admiration is born of respect, not ambition. She is unlike anyone I have ever met.”

Viserys’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression thoughtful. “Respect is a rare thing at court,” he said after a moment. “But tell me, Lord Jason, what is it you seek here? Do you wish for my blessing to court her?”

Jason hesitated, his mind racing. He knew the wrong answer could undo everything, but honesty seemed his best course. “I seek only her time, Your Grace,” he said carefully. “To know her better, and for her to know me, if she wishes it.”

Viserys’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, the weight of the King’s scrutiny heavy. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Y/N is her own person, Lord Jason,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “She does not give her trust easily, nor should she. If you wish to know her better, that is her decision to make, not mine.”

Jason inclined his head, relief flickering briefly across his features. “I would not have it any other way, Your Grace.”

Viserys nodded, though his expression remained serious. “Do not mistake my permission for approval, Lord Jason,” he said. “Y/N has endured much, and I will not see her used as a pawn in anyone’s ambitions.”

“Nor would I, Your Grace,” Jason replied earnestly. “I mean her no harm.”

Viserys studied him for another long moment before finally stepping back. “See that you don’t,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of a warning. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lord Jason, I have other matters to attend to.”

Jason inclined his head deeply, stepping aside to allow the King to pass. As Viserys’s footsteps echoed down the hall, Jason remained where he was, his mind racing. He had taken a risk in approaching the King, but it seemed—for now—that the door to your company remained open.

The morning light filtered through the windows of the Red Keep, illuminating the quiet bustle of servants moving through its winding corridors. Jason Lannister stood near a table in his guest chamber, inspecting the small bundle of flowers he had carefully instructed a servant to gather. Lavender, daisies, and marigolds—the same blooms he had presented to you during your stroll in the gardens. Their scent was fresh and sweet, carrying with it the memory of your serene smile as you had accepted them.

Jason adjusted the bundle one last time, ensuring the flowers looked as vibrant and inviting as they had when he’d first handed them to you. He was not a man prone to such small gestures—his usual methods of courtship leaned toward grandiosity—but for you, this felt right. Something personal. Something thoughtful.

“Is it to your satisfaction, my lord?” asked the young servant standing beside him, her hands folded neatly before her.

“Yes, Alys, it is,” Jason replied, his tone thoughtful. “Deliver these to the Princess Y/N. Make sure they reach her without delay.”

Alys nodded, taking the carefully wrapped flowers into her hands. “Of course, my lord. Shall I convey a message as well?”

Jason hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “No message. If she remembers, the flowers will say enough.”

Alys bowed her head, the faintest hint of a smile crossing her lips before she left the room, the bouquet cradled in her arms. Jason watched her go, his eyes lingering on the door as it closed behind her.

He turned to the window, the faint hum of the city beyond the Red Keep barely audible over the whisper of the wind. His mind raced with possibilities. Would you recognize the gesture? Would you find it meaningful enough to reach out, to break the silence that had stretched between you since your last encounter?

Alys moved swiftly through the Keep, her steps light as she made her way toward your chambers. The flowers in her arms seemed to brighten the otherwise muted halls, their delicate fragrance leaving a trail in her wake. She reached your door and knocked gently, her tone respectful as she announced her presence.

“Your Grace, it is Alys,” she said. “I have something for you.”

Inside, you sat near the window, the embroidery hoop resting in your lap as you turned your head toward the sound of her voice. “Come in, Alys.”

The door opened, and Alys stepped inside, her expression warm as she approached you. “A delivery for you, Your Grace,” she said, carefully setting the flowers on the table beside you.

You tilted your head slightly, the faintest smile gracing your lips as the familiar scent reached you. “Lavender, daisies, and marigolds,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over the blooms. “These are the same flowers…”

Alys nodded, her voice quiet but knowing. “From Lord Jason, Your Grace. He sent them with no message, only these.”

You fell silent for a moment, your fingers tracing the soft petals. The memory of your stroll through the gardens with Jason surfaced unbidden, the warmth of his voice, the sincerity in his words. You tilted your head slightly, considering the gesture.

“Did he say anything else?” you asked finally, your voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

Alys shook her head. “No, Your Grace. Only that the flowers should be delivered without delay.”

You exhaled softly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “I see.”

Alys hesitated, her hands clasped in front of her. “Shall I deliver a reply, Your Grace? Or perhaps another message?”

You shook your head, lifting one of the sprigs of lavender from the bundle and holding it lightly between your fingers. “No reply is necessary,” you said gently. “But… thank you, Alys.”

The servant inclined her head, her expression respectful but curious. “As you wish, Your Grace.” With that, she stepped back, leaving you alone with the flowers.

For a long moment, you sat in quiet contemplation, the lavender in your hand resting lightly against your fingertips. The gesture was subtle, unspoken, yet it carried with it a sense of intention that you couldn’t ignore.

You set the lavender down, a quiet resolve settling over you. If Jason sought your favor, as his actions seemed to suggest, then perhaps it was time to address it. One way or another.

Jason Lannister’s boots clicked purposefully against the polished stone floor of the Red Keep as he made his way through the corridors, his thoughts firmly on you and the flowers he had sent. He was eager to see if his gesture would prompt a response—some indication that his subtle pursuit was not in vain. His strides were confident but measured, a reflection of the man himself: bold yet calculated.

As he turned a corner near the council chambers, he nearly collided with his twin brother, Tyland, who was just emerging from the doors. Tyland’s crimson-and-gold tunic was pristine as always, though his hair was slightly mussed—a sign that his meeting had likely been a contentious one.

“Jason,” Tyland greeted, raising an eyebrow as he stepped back to avoid the near collision. “That’s quite the determined stride you’ve got there. What are you up to?”

Jason smirked, folding his arms as he regarded his younger twin. “Perhaps I’m simply enjoying the wonders of court life,” he replied smoothly, though his tone carried a playful edge.

Tyland snorted, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ve never enjoyed court life a day in your life unless it involved an audience. No, this stride of yours is purposeful. So, I’ll ask again: What are you up to?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, his smirk softening into a faint smile. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

Tyland tilted his head, his curiosity clearly piqued. “An answer? From whom?”

Jason glanced down the corridor, his expression thoughtful before returning his gaze to his twin. “The Princess Y/N,” he admitted. “I sent her flowers, the same ones I gave her in the gardens. I’d like to spend more time in her company before I leave for Casterly Rock.”

Tyland blinked, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the admission. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” he said, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “Does the King know about this?”

Jason inclined his head slightly. “He doesn’t object. As he said, it’s her decision whether she wishes to entertain my company.”

Tyland sighed, shaking his head as his expression shifted to one of bemusement. “The King might not mind, Jason, but everyone else does. Have you heard the whispers?”

Jason frowned, his arms crossing over his chest. “Whispers? What whispers?”

Tyland smirked faintly, clearly enjoying his brother’s discomfort. “Oh, you know how the court is. They’re not exactly subtle when it comes to matters like these. They’re already saying you’re using her to regain favor after Rhaenyra’s rejection.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not true,” he said firmly. “My interest in Y/N has nothing to do with Rhaenyra—or favor.”

“Maybe not,” Tyland replied, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “But the court doesn’t care about your intentions. They care about appearances. And right now, you’re making waves.”

Jason exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “Let them talk,” he said finally. “I’ve never cared for their opinions, and I won’t start now.”

Tyland chuckled softly, though his expression carried a note of warning. “Careful, brother. The court may be full of vipers, but even lions can bleed if they’re careless.”

Jason’s smirk returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I appreciate the advice, Tyland. But I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Tyland asked, his tone both teasing and pointed. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re walking a very fine line.”

Jason said nothing, his gaze steady as he met his twin’s. Finally, Tyland sighed, shaking his head. “Just… don’t let your pride get the better of you,” he said. “Y/N deserves better than being caught in the middle of your ambitions.”

Jason’s expression softened, his tone quieter now. “It’s not about ambition,” he said. “Not this time.”

Tyland regarded him for a long moment before nodding. “Then I hope, for her sake and yours, that you’re right.”

With that, he clapped Jason on the shoulder and continued down the corridor, leaving his older twin to his thoughts. Jason watched him go, the weight of his words lingering as he turned back toward his chambers. Whatever the court whispered, whatever doubts Tyland might have, Jason’s resolve remained firm. He would wait for your answer—no matter how long it took.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #game of thrones #asoiaf #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #house lannister #x reader #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n #the second daughter

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spicy30 · 4 months ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 009

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Use of drugs)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 16k

1st day of the 6th moon of 129AC

Dear Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon,

It has been a week since my departure from DragonStone and I was not able to bid you farewell properly, but most importantly—I was not able to apologize. I am sorry. I shouldn’t should not have said that. It was in crude taste, but I understand you shoulder a great weight and for me to add to that, I am sorry. Since I have arrived here, you have been one of my only friends and I value your friendship more than anything I have here. You are the only person who knows who I am, and I mean who I truly am. Not someone from Essos or wherever else other people think I’m from. You have seen things that I doubt I will ever show anyone ever again because I trust you as a friend and I am sorry that I have offended you and I am sorry for even speaking such things in the first place. I do not wish to lose you as a friend.

(P.S. I would’ve rewrote the letter but I ran out of paper.)

…

Three weeks left, it’s all you have before you have to present your grand ideas of a capitalist economy and yet you were here slaving away in the kitchen because your cannabis plant finally dried properly.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounded behind you and you jumped.

“Wha-” You turned around to see Aegon. “What are you doing here? This is a kitchen. Only servants enter.”

“Exactly servants. Have you been demoted?” Aegon laughed looking at you. Your dress is covered in smeared handprints of flour.

“No. If you must know, I'm doing something your father asked of me.” You turned around going back to mixing your concoction. Aegon peeked over your shoulder with a grin. “That looks like—” He pointed and you slapped his hand away.

“Yes I know, shut up.” You went back to mixing the white sticky substance.

“What is it?” You didn’t respond so Aegon looked around the kitchen seeing your mess. There were white squares and he touched them. It was soft, fluffy. “Can I eat this?”

That seemed to catched your attention because you turned around as soon as he asked. Aegon picked up the soft white square smelling it. It smelled light and like an airy vanilla. “No. Put that down, it's for your children.” After hearing that he tossed it in his mouth. It was soft and chewy, sweet, but not too sweet. He shook his head looking at you. “You can’t feed these to my children.” He spoke with his mouth full going to go eat another.

“Stop, do you know how hard it was to make that!?” You came to Aegon trying to take away the sweets.

“You are going to make my children fat. My daughter—Jaehaera—cannot get fat. No lord will want to marry her. Neither can my son…” He popped another in his mouth watching you and your expressions. “And Helaena is still my wife. My mother still expects more children and if I must…” He swallowed the sweet treat. “Well it's already hard enough fucking my own sister, don’t make it any harder.”

You were left speechless…well…at least he didn’t take any pleasure in having children with his sister.

Aegon ignored your pointed look, his gaze fixed on the platter. “What’s that?”

“Something for the King,” you replied briskly, moving toward the oven to check on your latest ‘experiment.’

“Can I try it?” he asked, already reaching for the platter.

“You won’t like it,” you warned, not bothering to turn around.

A moment later, you heard the unmistakable sound of gagging. Your eye twitched as a wave of irritation swept over you.

“You’re right, that was nasty,” Aegon groaned, smacking his lips. “The aftertaste is horrid.” He sauntered over to join you, peering curiously into the oven.

“You only took one bite, right?” you asked, casting him a sidelong glance.

“Why?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Are you about to commit regicide?”

You blinked, calculating the possible outcomes of his impulsiveness. Then, with a sigh, you straightened up and met his gaze. “...You’ll be fine,” you said finally, though your tone wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Aegon rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grimacing. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel fine. I’m not floating in the clouds or anything, but I feel… funny.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you turned back to the oven. “Maybe next time, listen when I tell you something.”

That was weird though, even on your first time trying edibles, they didn’t affect you that fast. Did you make them too strong? Maybe it’s best to cut them into smaller pieces then.

Still a high for the first time Aegon is not something you want to be in trouble for. “Why don’t you meet me in the library? After I deliver these to your father.”

Aegon flashed you a flirty smile. “Eager to see my dragon?”

“Begging your grace.” You spoke, rolling your eyes, turning away from him, making more of your make-shift rice-crispy edibles. Making marshmallows and cereal wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be.

Aegon let out a smile a little too loud than he normally would.

Seriously, it never acted this fast for you.

Hands wrapped around your waist as he murmured into your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” Before he kissed your cheek and left you. You were left standing there. It was clear his high was going to prompt a high sex drive. Wonderfull. As if you didn’t have enough with the younger brother.

A shame you did not see Aegon sneak another two or three as he left the room.

Finishing your last batch you turned to take out your homemade pizza out the oven. Pizza is as old as time. Italy isn’t the only place that's ever made it, but as far as this world is concerned, it’s going to come from you. Pizza is commoner food, easy to make with basic things anyone can get, bread, cheese, tomato, and other toppings if available. Your prediction is that it’s going to be a hit with the commoners. You’d just sell the ingredients or maybe just open the pizzeria. How hard could it be?

First however, you needed to be a charity project. Help out with the starving. Starving, unhygienic people. It made you shiver.

“Dyana!” You called and she came running. “Yes, take this to my ‘place of work,’ and have someone bring me my ‘refrigerator.’ That’s all, thank you.”

A while back you had come with the brilliant idea of how to store goods. Of course there was drying out the food using the sun or covering it in salt, but…a zeer pot works best for you. It's an ancient technique that relies on evaporative cooling to reduce the temperature inside the jar, making it suitable for storing perishables. Very simply actually, it was a wonder how they haven’t done this yet. (Well they still did believe in spontaneous generation) No matter, more money for you once you get this patent idea out.

Cutting your edibles into smaller pieces you plated them ready to take it to the King. It wasn’t long before another servant came with your jars. You smiled and opened your and carefully stored them.

Finally, plate in hand, you made your way to the King’s chambers. With any luck, Alicent wouldn’t be there. Ever since you’d ditched her at the sept... well, things hadn’t exactly been cordial. Otto was even worse. The man seemed determined to make you regret every breath you took. Helping them nearly commit treason probably didn’t win you any favors. Just wonderful.

You reached the grand oak door and knocked firmly. It opened moments later, and you stepped inside.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, offering a stiff curtsy. Even after all this time, the motion felt awkward, like your body resisted the formality. Maybe it was your knees, or your hips, or perhaps even your ribs—all of which never fully recovered from that accident. That car slamming into you had left its mark, both physically and mentally. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffered any internal bleeding or broken bones, though it sure had felt like it at the time.

The King looked up from his chair, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, there she is,” Viserys said warmly, gesturing for you to come closer. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

“Never, Your Grace,” you replied with a small smile, stepping forward to present the plate. “You asked for something to help you relax, and I’ve crafted just the thing. A treat that’s as delightful to the palate as it is to the mind.”

Viserys leaned forward, intrigued by the small, golden-edged squares. “What are these?”

“They’re called... crispy rice delights,” you said, deciding not to overcomplicate the name. “Sweetened with honey and bound together with butter. Light and chewy, and utterly harmless.” Your smile was sweet, almost innocent, though the last part was perhaps a touch generous.

Viserys picked one up, turning it over in his fingers with mild curiosity before taking a cautious bite. A soft crunch filled the room, followed by a quiet hum of approval.

“Remarkable,” he said after a moment, reaching for another piece. “And you’re certain this will help me unwind?”

“It should, Your Grace,” you assured him with an encouraging nod. “The ingredients are simple, but I’ve added a touch of my... expertise to make them particularly effective. A small indulgence to ease the mind.”

Viserys chuckled, his mood visibly lifting. “You always surprise me with your ingenuity. Perhaps I’ll save the rest for later tonight, after council business.”

You nodded, hiding the flicker of unease that stirred within you. “A wise choice, Your Grace. Though I might suggest savoring them slowly. Too much too quickly may result in… an unusually vivid state of relaxation.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean by vivid?”

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “the body may feel unusually light, as though untethered. Thoughts could take on a dreamlike quality, wandering freely, and the edges of the world may blur in a pleasant haze. It is soothing, but perhaps… a bit distracting if one isn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” Viserys said, clearly not discouraged. “Then it’s good I’m not on the council floor.” He popped another piece into his mouth.

You curtsied, preparing to take your leave. “If there’s nothing else you require, Your Grace, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

He waved you off, his attention already fixated on the plate. “Yes, yes, go. You’ve done well as always.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you said, retreating with measured steps. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled quietly, allowing the faint tension in your chest to ease.

If all went as planned, the King would find himself pleasantly unburdened by the time the effects set in. If not… well, the rest of your evening might prove unexpectedly eventful.

Now for the other part of your evening: Aegon.

He’d decided earlier to sneak a bite of one of your experiments, ignoring every warning you gave. And now, if the hurried whispering of the servants was to be believed, the prince was wandering around the library giggling like a fool and marveling at the candles. Typical.

Though he had only taken a bite, there was no way he should be feeling this high this hard. If anything a couple giggles and nothing more.

Making your way through the dimly lit halls, you kept your pace brisk but not rushed. You couldn’t exactly run—not with how stiff your body could get when you overdid it—but the urgency pressed on your shoulders nonetheless. If anyone important caught sight of Aegon in his current state, Otto would no doubt find a way to blame you for corrupting the prince. Again.

By the time you reached the library, it was quiet save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the occasional sound of rustling parchment. You scanned the aisles, listening for any telltale signs of chaos. A soft laugh, almost childlike, drifted from the far corner.

“Aegon,” you called softly, making your way toward the sound. Rounding the last row of shelves, you found him sprawled on the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And oh my goodness, his eyes were pink. With one bite? No, they couldn’t have been that strong. God, how would the King react!? He had eaten one whole. You should’ve told him only one.

You were so dead.

“This place is amazing,” he said dreamily, waving a hand at nothing in particular. “All these books… why are there so many? Who’s read them all? Do you think they’ve read all of them?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, sitting up slightly. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’ve never thought this much before. Did you know books smell different at night? Like... like they’re dreaming, too.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Listen to me Aegon, you’re high.”

“Noooo,” he drawled, grinning lazily. “I’m enlightened.”

“Right,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. “Come on, you need to get up before someone sees you like this.”

“But why?” he whined, flopping back against the floor dramatically. “The floor is so cool. And these lights—look at them! They flicker like tiny dragons. Do you think they know they’re dragons?”

You suppressed another sigh, wondering if maybe the library wasn’t the best place. Maybe it wasn’t too late to smuggle him back to his chambers unnoticed. Grabbing his arm, you hauled him up with surprising effort. “You’re lucky Aegon,” you muttered.

“I am lucky,” he said, leaning heavily on you as you guided him toward the exit. “You’re amazing. Like… the best. You’re like a book, but alive. A live book.”

“Just keep walking,” you said, resisting the urge to laugh. The sooner you got him out of here, the better. He kept leaning into you, his body a dead weight against your side as you struggled to keep your balance.

And then you saw it—a flash of movement as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You froze for half a second, horrified.

“Aegon!” you snapped, glaring at the suspiciously familiar square in his hand. “How many did you eat?”

He blinked at you, as though trying to remember. “Two?” he said after a beat, holding up three fingers.

“Stop! Aegon, no!” You grabbed for the edible, but he stumbled back, clutching it to his chest like it was some sort of sacred treasure.

“They’re mine!” he slurred, grinning mischievously. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am right now,” you hissed, lunging for him again. He dodged with surprising agility—or maybe it was just your body’s stiffness slowing you down. Either way, he darted behind a shelf, giggling like a madman.

“Aegon, I swear—,” you muttered, chasing after him.

“Calm down,” he said, popping the edible into his mouth with theatrical defiance. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just be… double enlightened!”

“You’re gonna green out Aegon! You’ve never done this before!” you shot back, your frustration mounting. “And then I’ll have to explain to the Queen why her son is drooling on himself in the middle of the library!”

He laughed, a sound that echoed far too loudly in the quiet space. “You worry too much,” he said, swaying as he tried to lean casually against the shelf. It didn’t work; he slid down to the floor in a heap, still grinning.

You crouched in front of him, your hands on your knees as you stared him down. “Alright, listen to me,” you said, your voice low and firm. “You cannot eat any more of these, understand? I don’t care if they taste like heaven itself—you’re done.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glassy but vaguely focused on you. “You’re so serious all the time,” he murmured, poking your arm with a lazy finger. “It’s cute.”

You groaned, standing back up and grabbing his arm. “Come on, Prince Enlightened. Let’s get you to bed before you start philosophizing about candle wax or something equally ridiculous.”

“Candle wax,” he mused as you hauled him to his feet. “Why does it melt? Is it sad? Do you think it misses being a candle when it’s just a puddle?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Let’s just focus on walking,” you said through gritted teeth, dragging him toward the exit. Aegon stumbled along beside you, still muttering half-formed thoughts about the existential plight of candles.

The library’s dim light and solemn silence made his absurdity even more unbearable as Aegon giggled uncontrollably.

“Quiet,” you hissed, glancing around. “Do you want people to see you like this?”

“See me?” he asked, slurring the words. “I’m a prince. They’re lucky to—hic—breathe the same air as me.”

“God help me,” you muttered under your breath. “Keep it together, Aegon. We’re almost there.”

As you rounded a corner, Aegon suddenly stopped, his arm jerking you to a halt. “Wait!” he said, his tone serious for the first time all evening.

“What now?” you asked, exasperated.

He squinted at a tapestry on the wall, his eyes wide with a kind of wonder you hadn’t expected. “Look at it,” he whispered, pointing dramatically.

You glanced at the tapestry—a perfectly ordinary depiction of dragons and knights. “It’s a tapestry,” you said flatly.

“No, it’s more than that,” he insisted, swaying as he stared at it. “The dragons… they’re like… us.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, we are not dragons.”

He turned to you, his expression solemn. “Not with that attitude.”

“Alright, that’s it.” You tightened your grip on his arm and started dragging him again. “We’re leaving before you start a lecture series.”

Aegon laughed as you pulled him along, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment. By the time you reached the hallway leading to his chambers, he was leaning on you entirely, his weight making your arms ache.

“Almost there,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Aegon sighed dramatically, his head lolling onto your shoulder. “You’re so nice,” he mumbled. “Why’re you so nice to me? Nobody else is this nice.”

You paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was soft, vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m not nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter. “I just…” I don’t want to be killed. Is what you wanted to say and what was true, but Aegon in this state…well why not humor him. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Still nice,” he murmured, his words slurring together.

You shook your head, hauling him the last few feet to his door. As you shoved open the door, you couldn’t help but think that this was the closest you’d ever seen to Aegon being truly at peace.

And it had only taken two edibles and a philosophical crisis about candle wax.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, nearly tripping over Aegon as he slumped heavily against you.

“Just sit down,” you muttered, dragging him toward the nearest chaise. He stumbled, flopping onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh, his limbs sprawled in every direction.

“This is great,” he mumbled, running his hands over the fabric. “So soft. Is this new? Feels new.”

“It’s not new, Aegon,” you replied, brushing your hair out of your face as you straightened up. “You’ve been sitting on this chaise for years. Now stay here and don’t—”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another edible with a sheepish grin.

“Aegon! How many of those do you have?” you snapped, snatching it out of his hand.

“Relax,” he drawled, waving you off. “It’s just one. Or maybe two? Wait… was it three?”

You stared at him, horrified. “Aegon, stop! No more! Do you have any idea what’s in these?”

“Deliciousness,” he replied, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Want one?”

“Yes Aegon, give me all the ones you have.” You watched him pat himself and a pout form on his lips.

“It’s gone.” He mumbled and you sighed. As long as he didn’t have anymore.

“Okay Aegon, go to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m…” He began giggling. “I swear, I don’t why” Aegon couldn’t finish his sentence as he began to laugh even more. You saw his legs go weak and he was on the floor laughing. You were left standing there in his chambers. “I don't know why I’m laughing. I’m okay!” You watched as Aegon kept trying to stand but he just couldn’t.

Ignoring his antics, you started pacing, glancing toward the door to make sure no one had followed you. “This is a disaster,” you muttered under your breath. “If anyone sees you like this…”

Finally after a while his laughter ceased and he crawled to his bed using it as a pillar to hold on to as he dragged himself up. “See me like what?” Aegon interrupted, throwing his arms wide. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. The picture of princely grace.”

You turned on your heel, fixing him with a glare. “You’re high as a kite and acting like an overgrown child. That’s not fine.”

He blinked at you, then grinned. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad. And in any case you came to the library to meet me and now we're in my room.” He began to unbuckle his pants. “My dragon is ready.”

“Aegon no.” You rushed to him holding his hands in place as you tried to keep his pants up. He bucked into your hands and tangled his hands in your hair pulling you closer to him.

“You always smell so good.” Aegon inhaled you as you tried to buckle his hands ignoring the obvious…issue he was having. “So good,” he mumbled into your neck, still smelling you. “I wanted to do this for so long, since the first night we danced. You smelled so good back then too. Sweetest thing I’ve ever smelt. You ruined whores f’me.” His words slurred together.

“Aegon, go to sleep.” You pushed him off of your and he landed on his bed.

“I like where this is going.” He smiled as he went to take off his shirt.

“Stay here.” You pointed at him raising a brow while walking away slowly. You can’t be caught in this man’s room while he’s trying to undress. It would be catastrophic for you.

Aegon propped himself up on his elbows, his half-lidded eyes watching you retreat. “You’ll come back?” he asked, his voice carrying a surprising hint of vulnerability.

“Yes, I will… later,” you assured him, forcing a smile. “Pretend to sleep. Count to two hundred, and then backward. That’s when I’ll come back, okay?”

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded lazily. “Two hundred… backwards. Got it.”

You pressed yourself against the cold stone of the secret door in his chamber, the familiar click sounding as it swung open. You slipped through, casting one last glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following.

The moment the door closed behind you, you exhaled a shaky breath. The dark corridors of Maegor’s secret passageways enveloped you in their eerie silence. No matter how many times you traversed these halls, they always felt like something out of a spy’s tale—clandestine and slightly dangerous.

Your steps echoed faintly as you navigated the maze-like tunnels. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dust and old stone, and your fingers grazed the rough walls to keep your bearings. The darkness didn’t faze you anymore; you’d memorized these paths well enough to find your way without hesitation.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted to Aegon’s words. “You’ll come back?” The way he had said it… it was almost childlike, a far cry from his usual bravado. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. There was no time to dwell on Aegon’s fleeting vulnerability when you had your own problems to worry about.

Finally, you reached the hidden entryway to your own chambers. Pressing your ear against the door to ensure no one was nearby, you slipped through the opening and into the safety of your room. With a sigh of relief, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

Tomorrow would be another day of maneuvering through the precarious web you’d woven for yourself, but for now, you were content to have avoided yet another disaster.

…

9th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Your apology is well received. I must admit my reaction was excessive. I apologize for my outburst. This subject is as if one is probing at an open wound. For most of my life I have dealt with such claims. I thank you for your honest thoughts and like you, I value our friendship very much. You have shown me things that never in my life I would ever see, and for that I am grateful. Our time spent together in the Red Keep was most amusing and if you had been in better condition, I would’ve given you a proper show around Dragonstone. I have been told you prefer it to the Red Keep. There are many secrets within Dragonstone, and Luke told me you found the architecture most appealing. I was not aware you found such interest in architecture. Perhaps one day in the future when you come visit Dragonstone, I can show you more on the basis that you show another movie. I hope to hear from you soon.

(P.S. I do not know what that means.)

—Jacaerys Velaryon

…

“How many children do you reckon are in that orphanage?” you asked, cracking your knuckles as you leaned back in your chair.

“It’s the smallest one, m’lady. About twenty. I counted myself,” came the reply from a boy no older than ten. He stepped closer as you set down your quill.

“Atta boy. I’m glad you’ve taken to numbers so well.” You reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile, earning a shy grin in return.

“Are you almost finished with the story, m’lady?” He tilted his head, glancing at the parchment on your desk.

“Yes, just now,” you replied with a nod. “Has everyone bathed? And did your sister finish counting the coins?” Turning fully to face him, you withdrew your hand and gestured toward the other side of the room.

“I believe so, m’lady. Will you read us the story?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, darting back to the writing. Recently, they’d all started learning to read, their progress slow but promising. Their handwriting was improving, too—a little shaky, but legible.

“I’ll read it to the orphans while you all distribute the food. You’ll hear it then,” you assured him before standing to let the ink dry. Your gaze shifted to a girl of about fifteen—the eldest of the group.

“How much?” you asked as you approached her.

“209 silver stags, 49 copper stars, and 56 copper pennies,” she replied promptly, holding out the coins in a small pouch.

“Good,” you said, inspecting the contents briefly. “Now, convert it into gold dragons for me.”

“1 gold dragon, 7 silver stags, and 0 copper pennies,” she calculated quickly.

You smiled, reaching into the pouch and pulling out a few coins. “Wonderful. Since you’re the eldest, here’s three silver stags. Use them to buy more sapwood smiles if needed and handle your groceries. Oh, and that old woman I pay rent to—I owe her one silver stag. Make sure she gets it.”

“Yes, m’lady.” She accepted the coins with a small nod.

“Alright then,” you said, turning your attention to the room. “Is everything packed?”

“Yes,” came a quick chorus of voices from the ten or so children bustling about.

“Good. Let’s get moving. One of you will lead the way,” you instructed, glancing at the youngest—a five-year-old clutching a small bundle tightly to his chest. The sight made your chest ache, but you pushed the feeling aside.

There was work to be done.

With everyone ready, you gave the signal, and the children lined up at the door. The eldest girl, clutching her share of coins, stepped forward to lead the group. You hung back for a moment, ensuring nothing had been forgotten. A single misstep—leaving behind even the smallest item—could unravel everything.

“All right, keep close to each other,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “No wandering off.”

“Yes, m’lady,” they chorused, their voices a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The streets were quieter than usual, though the occasional drunkard or suspicious glance reminded you that it was always best to move quickly. The youngest ones clutched their bundles tightly, their wide eyes taking in the night’s shadows.

“Head down, keep moving,” you instructed softly as you walked behind them, your eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

The orphanage wasn’t far, but every step felt heavier under the weight of responsibility. The coins jingling softly in the pouch at your side reminded you of the risk you were taking. Feeding and sheltering this many children wasn’t just a kindness—it was a gamble. One wrong move, one sharp-eyed noble or greedy merchant, and you could lose everything.

As the group approached the orphanage, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows: the matron, a stout woman with a lined face and sharp eyes that softened only for the children.

“You’re late,” she grumbled, though her tone held no real bite.

“I had extra mouths to feed,” you replied, tilting your head toward the children behind you. “Everything’s ready.”

The matron nodded and waved the group inside. “Come on, then. Quickly now.”

You stepped aside, watching as the children filed in, their small forms disappearing into the dimly lit building. The eldest paused at the door, glancing back at you with a questioning look.

“Go on,” you said softly. “I’ll join you soon.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding and slipping inside.

Once the door closed, you exhaled, allowing yourself a brief moment to relax. This was your second time here in this orphanage. The last time you donated a silver moon, this time you would distribute food. The experiment you had done earlier this week. Pizza. An easy thing to make.

You walked into the large hall watching your own children distribute the pizza. There should be enough for everyone to get, caretakers included. One of your children offered and you shook your head. It was for them.

Finally you took your seat at the head of the hall.

The matron raised an eyebrow as you unrolled the parchment, settling onto the low wooden bench where the children had gathered. “What’s the story this time?”

You smiled faintly, glancing at the eager faces illuminated by the flickering firelight. “A tale of bravery,” you said. “A favorite tale of mine.”

The children murmured excitedly, scooting closer. Even the older ones who often acted aloof leaned in, their curiosity getting the better of them. “In a land far from here. On the greatest the old world had ever seen. On the Great Wall of China…”

…

18th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velaryon,

Thank you for accepting my apology, but I still find myself feeling very guilty, had I known more of your past I would’ve treated you more carefully, however it is still no excuse. In anycase, I am glad you value me as deeply as I value you. Maybe, one day in the future when my standing here in King’s Landing is solidified and I have a chance to simply enjoy life, I can go back to Dragonstone. Though I must say, I will not be going by boat, I get very sick while I’m on the boat. If I may be so bold, I would ask for another ride on Vermax. He was my first dragon riding experience after all. I enjoyed it, as I enjoy many things. My interest in the architecture of Dragonstone is rooted in the similarities that it shares with many old civilizations that I am currently trying to replicate, though no one knows that yet, but you are my friend and I hold no secrets from my friends. As for your request for another movie. I would be most happy to oblige. It has been quite some time since I have been able to just sit down and enjoy a movie like we did. I hope that peaceful times come soon for me. I hope to hear from you as well, I find this very fun. I have never sent any real letters before. I only played it when I was a child and I would ‘send’ them to my parents who lived in that house, so I do not think it really counts. I also like putting it on the bird. Really solidifies the feeling of being ‘old school.’

(P.S. In a letter, "P.S." is an abbreviation for "postscript" or in other words "PS" is used to add a comment, thought, or piece of information after the main message of a letter.)

…

You hummed softly listening to the music in your airpods, which you must say are pleasantly surprised they still work. In any case you had spent a good two hours sitting down revising your proposals, it it was good to stretch your legs. The place was mostly empty, save for the occasional assistant of the Grand Maester shuffling in to retrieve a book. You were tucked away on the second floor, near the window where the light spilled across your desk. It was quiet, and while you appreciated the peace, it left you alone with the nagging frustration simmering in your chest.

Two weeks. That’s all the time you had left before presenting your proposal to the council. It was… fine. Just fine. Average, really, and that wasn’t going to be enough. You had underestimated how much effort this would take—the endless revisions, the careful balancing act. The legal system you needed to make it work didn’t exist, and the proposal couldn’t take shape without it. A maddening little circle you had no way to break.

And then there was the second part of the plan. Bold. Revolutionary. Problematic. The council wouldn’t like it—it was too much, too fast. Change wasn’t something they handled well, not when it challenged their traditions. But you needed this to work. This proposal was your foothold, your insurance for when Rhaenyra took the throne.

Of course, with Rhaenyra came the biggest thorn in your side.

Daemon Targaryen.

The thought of him set your teeth on edge. His smug face, his mocking grin, that damned sword always resting on his side—it was enough to make your blood boil. You stopped pacing, gripping the windowsill as you stared out into the courtyard. Daemon wouldn’t just be an annoyance when Rhaenyra ruled; he’d be a threat. The first thing he’d probably do as King Consort would be to find some creative way to remove you from the picture.

The thought of it made your stomach churn. You could still see him, lounging in court like he had all the time in the world, Dark Sister resting beside him as though it was an extension of his hand. He could take you apart with a look if he wanted to, and he knew it.

“Arrogant bastard,” you muttered under your breath, your grip tightening on the windowsill.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over Daemon—not when you still hadn’t worked out the finer points of your plan. You pulled your chair closer to the table, shuffling through the stack of parchment filled with half-formed ideas and discarded revisions.

“Two weeks,” you murmured to yourself, like it was some sort of mantra. “Two weeks to figure it out.” You dipped your quill into the inkpot, trying to center your thoughts, but his shadow lingered in the back of your mind. Daemon was a storm waiting to strike, and you’d need more than a clever proposal to keep him at bay.

Your gaze drifted to the side, landing on the smoking pipe resting on the table. Redwood—sturdy and elegant, though a pain to carve. You still remembered the splinters, but it had been worth it. Naturally fire-resistant and perfect for the task. And, as luck would have it, you had some of your stash with you.

To be clear, you hadn’t planned on smoking today. Truly, you hadn’t. But Daemon Targaryen had a way of grating on your nerves like no one else. The man was a living, breathing annoyance, and right now, he was just too much to deal with.

So, like any rational person faced with such frustration, you reached for the pipe.

It had been months since you last indulged, but as the smoke hit the back of your throat, you felt a strange kind of relief. You held it there for a moment before crossing to the window, exhaling slowly into the cool air. The effects wouldn’t take long. They never did—especially not after this much time.

You leaned against the window frame, the redwood pipe resting loosely between your fingers. The breeze from outside carried the remnants of smoke away, dissipating into nothing. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth began to spread—a slow unraveling of tension, the sharp edges of your irritation softening.

Daemon’s smug face, his insufferable quips, his incessant need to loom over every room he entered—it all seemed… smaller now. Manageable. Almost amusing, if you thought about it the right way. You allowed yourself a small laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Imagine that,” you murmured to no one, “Daemon Targaryen, reduced to a passing annoyance.”

You took another hit as you were inhaling a voice sounded from behind you. “What are you doing?” You began coughing trying to blow away the smoke. It didn’t work. Aegon looked at you with a confused face. Why he was in here, you couldn’t say. Maybe he still had a little thorn on his side when you never returned last week to his chambers. Oh well.

“What was that?” He raised a brow looking at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head and shrugged playing dumb.

“I saw smoke come from your mouth.”

“No…” You looked around feigning innocence. “No I don’t think so.” You barely had time to compose yourself before Aegon stepped closer to you, his brow furrowed in confusion and mild amusement. His eyes darted between you and the faint wisp of smoke still lingering near the window.

“Definitely saw smoke,” he said, crossing his arms. “Are you… burning something?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “Why would I be burning something in a library?”

He squinted, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “You’re lying.”

You straightened, feigning indignation. “I am not lying, Aegon.”

“Then what’s in your hand?”

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the pipe, hidden just out of his view. “My hand is empty.”

“It’s definitely not.” He stepped closer, leaning in as if he could physically pry the truth from your demeanor. “And it doesn’t smell like nothing.”

You sighed, realizing you wouldn’t shake him off easily. “Fine. If you must know, I was testing… aromatics. For medicinal purposes.”

“Aromatics?” His grin spread wide now. “You mean you’re…. smoking something.”

“Not smoking,” you corrected with a pointed look. “Testing. Big difference.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning casually against the table as he tilted his head to scrutinize you. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you? What is it? Something strong? Do I get to try? Is it like whatever I ate last week? Also… you never came back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “Absolutely not. And for the record, I did come back. You just didn’t wake up.” You gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it wasn’t worth elaborating further.

“Well, first off, you tricked me,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes in mock accusation. “And second, why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you deadpanned, turning back toward the window, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “And I didn’t trick you. You just fell asleep like a babe.”

“Because you told me to count! Everyone knows counting puts people to sleep,” he argued, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “In any case, you should share with the First Prince. It’s only fair.”

“No. You’ll choke,” you said flatly, already regretting engaging with him.

“Then teach me,” he pressed, his voice edging on a whine as he reached toward your hand.

“You don’t even know what it does.”

“No, but I want to try it,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Okay… fine.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“No,” you said, voice dry as the desert.

Aegon blinked, realization dawning as he groaned. “You’re not funny.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I think I’m hilarious. But seriously, Aegon, this isn’t for you.”

“Why not? I’m practically an expert after last week,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the window and taking another drag. The smoke curled lazily in the air as you exhaled, letting the faint buzz settle in. “And you weren’t smoking. You ate an edible. Different effects. Besides, that edible should’ve taken time but you absorbed it like it was nothing and you were trippin’, I don’t think you can handle smoking it.”

Aegon wasn’t giving up. He stepped closer, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s it even like? Is it… calming? Does it make your thoughts clearer? Or fuzzier? I want to know. Also what is…tripping?”

You raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face him. “Smoking is faster, depending on the person. It takes the edge off, which, frankly, you don’t need. You’re already as sharp as a butter knife.” You giggled. “Trippin is the feeling you get when you’re high.” Your smile was ear to ear, like the way it always was when you were high.

He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “That is cruel, my lady.”

“Is it?” you teased, taking another hit and blowing the smoke lazily in his direction.

Aegon grinned, entirely undeterred. “It is. And who better to share your experiments with than me?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s not an experiment, Aegon. It’s just something I use when things get stressful. You don’t need this. You’ve got wine.”

He clapped his hands together, leaning forward eagerly. “One, please.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “One?”

“One,” he repeated, hands still clasped like a pleading child.

“Just one?”

“Just once,” he said with an exaggerated nod, already reaching for the pipe.

“Okay,” you relented, handing it over with a smirk. He took it, examining it like it was some foreign artifact before glancing back at you.

“What do I do?”

“You don’t know how to smoke?”

“No, we don’t smoke.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then how’d you know what it was called?”

“I saw it smoking, so I asked,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“So… what do I do?”

“Right. You inhale, hold it for a moment, then exhale. It’s something you’ll get the hang of.”

“Simple enough,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips. He took a deep inhale, his face immediately turning red as he began to cough violently.

“What the—” he choked out, trying desperately to expel the smoke from his lungs. “Oh, gods—what is this?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable as you leaned against a nearby table for support.

Aegon scowled through his coughing fit, shoving the pipe back into your hands. “This is vile,” he croaked, clearing his throat.

Still laughing, you waved him off, struggling to catch your breath. “You… you said you wanted to try it!”

“Not like that!” he snapped, shaking his head but unable to suppress a grin of his own.

You took the pipe back, wiping tears from your eyes. “Stick to wine, Aegon.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse as he flopped into a nearby chair. “That’s the last time I trust you with anything.”

“Good choice,” you quipped, smirking as you leaned back toward the window, savoring your small victory.

Eventually, you settled into the chair beside him, your eyes drifting to the scattered papers in front of you. Taking another long draw from the pipe, you exhaled a steady plume of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling.

“It seriously doesn’t burn for you?” he asked, rubbing at his throat.

“You probably did it wrong,” you said, shrugging. “It shouldn’t burn that bad. I messed it up my first time too. After a while, you either get used to it… or figure out a better way.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back and studying you skeptically. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a master of all things questionable.”

“Give it time,” you replied with a grin, tapping ash from the pipe. “You’ll be coughing less if you try again—maybe.”

“I’ll stick to wine,” he shot back, but the faintest trace of curiosity lingered in his voice. You shrugged before a silence overtook you both. You felt the effects coming in, your muscles relaxing and your eyes drooping slightly. The constant feel of gravity over your body. The music through your airpods felt magical. All you needed now was something to eat.

“So what is all this?” He gestured towards the table.

You gave a sigh putting down the pipe. “Just some proposal.” As you spoke, puffs of smoke left you.

“A proposal?” Aegon leaned forward, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his usual apathy. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he glanced over the scattered papers. “What kind of proposal needs that much writing?”

You glanced at Aegon out of the corner of your eye and reached up to pause your music. “Every proposal, Aegon,” you muttered, sinking further into your chair. “I don’t even want to do it. It’s too much work. And it’s due in, what, two weeks?” You let out a laugh, sharp and self-mocking. “Yeah, no. It’s not happening.”

With the music paused and anticipating that Aegon wasn’t going to let the conversation die, you pulled out your AirPods case, idly tucking the buds back inside.

“What are those? I saw them in your bag. They go in your ears?” Aegon asked, eyeing the small white case with curiosity.

“Oh, right. You don’t have these here.” You held up the case, turning it in your hands. “They’re called AirPods. Yeah, they go in your ears so you can listen to music.”

“Music?” he echoed, tilting his head. “How does music come out of that?”

“Well, it doesn’t come from these exactly—it comes from this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, waving it lightly.

“The box! I saw that too, but it looked different—the front wasn’t lighting up like that.” Aegon leaned closer, intrigued.

“It’s called a phone,” you corrected, smirking at his fascination. “Anyway, the music’s stored on here. It connects to the AirPods through Bluetooth, which basically lets devices communicate using short-range radio waves or... something like that.” You waved your hand vaguely, the effort to explain already feeling monumental in your current state. “It works. That’s all I care about.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, clearly lost. “Right... and you’re not mad I went through your stuff?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you cleaned your AirPods case. “Honestly? I don’t feel anything right now.” You chuckled lazily. “But even if I did, I don’t think I’d care. As long as you didn’t break anything, it’s whatever.”

“I think I like you better like this,” Aegon said, grinning. You laughed, handing him the phone.

“What do I do with this... phone?”

“Swipe to the right.”

“Woah, what’s this?” He turned the phone over in his hands, staring at the screen like it might come alive.

“Here, let me see.” Your movements were slow, almost exaggerated as you reached over and took the phone back. “Say ‘cheese.’”

“Cheese?” he echoed, confused, just as you snapped a photo. You turned the phone to show him the image.

“Woah! It’s like a portrait, but... with the eye!”

“Yeah, it’s called a picture,” you explained, amused.

“What else can it do?”

“Well, before I ended up here? A lot of things.” You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “You remember that night we danced, and I said I’d show you the music from where I’m from?”

Aegon nodded eagerly. “You did. You said you’d teach me how to dance, too.”

Aegon grinned, settling comfortably into his chair. “Play something, then. Let’s see what your box can do.”

“Bet.” You smirked, scrolling through your library. “There’s a lot more, but this is all I managed to save before I ended up here, so... we��re working with limited options.” You handed him the phone. “Just press anything that looks interesting.”

A few moments later, a beat filled the air: “Siento aquí tu presencia. La noche de anoche. Y nos ponemos a llorar…” The music was loud. “Kendrick?” You laughed. “On your first song? You chose Kendrick?” You smiled standing up tapping his shoulder while ‘wacced out murals’ played. “I always knew you were something special.” You leaned back against the table.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as the music unfolded. “This is music?”

You nodded, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. “This is a different genre. Hip-Hop. Rap, specifically. Kendrick’s a lyricist—his whole deal is using music to tell stories, share experiences, or make a point. It’s not just something you vibe to; you listen to it.” You smiled faintly, letting the song’s rhythm carry the conversation. “He’s got a lot to say, and he’s real good at saying it.”

Aegon studied you, his expression somewhere between amused and intrigued. “And this... this is what you listen to when you’re stressed?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, taking another draw from your pipe and exhaling slowly. “Depends on the vibe. But Kendrick? He’s a solid choice for any mood. Especially if you’re from California, his music just hits better.”

“California?” Aegon asked, listening to the beat.

You nodded. “He’s from the West Coast. It's the whole thing, East vs West. A whole story.” You took back your phone. “Y’know who else is from the West coast. This’ll give you a better idea of the rivalry.” You scrolled down smiling before pressing on it.

“That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker. West side, Bad Boy killers.” You pointed at him as you spoke while Aegon’s eyes widened at the vulgar words. You let the song play as you took another hit from your pipe.“First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim. Westside when we ride, come equipped with game. You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife” You kept up with the lyrics while smiling watching Aegon’s face. You started laughing letting the song play.

Aegon leaned forward, his brows lifting in shock as the opening lyrics hit him like a slap. “What!?” he exclaimed, his expression teetering between horrified and amused. “They just... say that? Openly?”

You sat on the table moving your head to the beat. “Yup. It’s a diss track. Did numbers in the 90s.” You probably shouldn’t be telling him about all of these things, but at this point, you weren’t really thinking.

“Diss track? 90s?” he echoed, still staring at your phone like it was some kind of enchanted artifact.

“Yeah,” you said, amused by his wide-eyed curiosity. “Think of it like a verbal duel, but with rhythm and a beat. Tupac and Biggie—two legends, two coasts, locked in a rivalry that shook the world of music. This track? ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’ Was the best in my humble opinion.”

“And he fucked his wife?” Aegon smiled listening to the song.

“He fucked his wife.” You confirmed smiling. “Yeah so many things happened and then…well then he was killed.”

“For a song?” Aegon furrowed his brows.

You nodded. “There was more at play but the whole entertainment industry is dark. So many things happen behind the scenes and sometimes people get killed. Also they were involved with gangs and things like that, so…”

“Voilent place.”Aegon said leaning back as the diss track played.

“Real voilent.” You nodded to the beat.

“Fuck you and yo’ motherfucking mama!” Aegon looked over to the phone shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie. Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfuckin' crew. And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too. All you motherfuckers, fuck you too” You laughed as you followed the lyrics while Aegon shook his head as you spoke the lyrics. “My favorite part.”

“How vulgar. If only my mother heard you,” Aegon barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“God, can you imagine? I’d be dead by tomorrow or something.” You chuckled, taking another hit before pausing, realizing you should probably stop. It’d been a while since your last session, and you didn’t want to risk greening out.

Aegon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You want to hear something real vulgar?” you asked, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That was just talking shit. Female rappers these days? They go crazy. Sexxy Red, Ice Spice, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion. Though Nicki Minaj was the original—changed the whole game for female rappers back in the 2010s.”

Aegon squinted, incredulous. “What are these names? Ice Spice? What is that?” His laughter rang out, the disbelief plain on his face. “Sexxy Red? Seriously? Do people actually call themselves that?”

You nodded, grinning at his reaction. “Yup. Those are their stage names. It’s not their real names, obviously, but it’s what everyone knows them by. Think of it like... titles. Like how Aegon the Conqueror wasn’t really called that in day-to-day life—he was Aegon Targaryen. Same idea. It’s about building a persona, making a name that sticks.”

He tilted his head, considering it for a moment, a wry smile on his lips. “So you’re saying Ice Spice is their version of Aegon the Conqueror?”

You smirked. “Basically. You wanna hear one of her songs?”

Aegon glanced around, his eyes scanning the room before walking to the edge of the balcony, checking to make sure the door was closed. When he turned back to you, he gave a quick nod. You smiled, stood up, and made your way over to him. He peered over your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hmmm... Deli? Oh! Look.” You tapped the screen, revealing “Gang Baby” by NLE Choppa. “It’s not Ice Spice, but the women aren’t the only ones speaking here. So, NLE or Ice? Which one do you want?”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, eyeing you. “Which one’s better?”

You shrugged. “Both are good, but NLE is a bit more…explicit. Ice has better beats, in my opinion.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Go with the girl, then.”

You tapped on the song, and the familiar beat started to thump in the background. Aegon furrowed his brows, looking at your phone. “Is that what she looks like?” he asked, eyes glued to the preview of the video that Spotify provided. There she was—Ice Spice, rocking her signature orange wig, booty shorts, and a white tank top.

“Why is her hair like that? And...where are her clothes? She looks good. Nice arse. Bigger than yours.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “The stray!?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyways, that's a wig. And that’s what we wear—or what we can wear. Short shorts and wife beaters.”

“Wife beaters!?”

“Yeah. It’s just the name they have. It's because that’s what men wear when they beat their wives,” You purse your lips nodding.

Aegon stared at you, wide-eyed while giving a disbelieving laugh.“Beat their wives!?”

“Well obviously it’s not accepted, but it’s another name those shirts have, because it falls in line with the stereotype, but yeah. It’s not funny but…it’s just a name they have. Tank tops or sometimes just undershirts, but I grew up with people calling them wife beaters.” You explained when the song came to an end. “Gang baby?”

Aegon nodded and you pressed play. “Just listen.” As the lyrics began Aegon looked over with another disbelieving smile on his face.

He turned to you, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “You’re mad for liking this.”

“Mad in a good way, though.”

He didn’t answer, letting the beat take over, though his face said enough: curious, entertained, and undeniably hooked. “She told you she celibate, but she told me I can nail her shit.” You mumbled along with the song.

“You’re celibate?” Aegon asked as he continued to listen. You looked up at him before nodding. “Yeah.” Were you? Not with his brother you weren’t.

…

30th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

There is no reason to feel your guilt. I assure you, everything has been forgiven. I do find myself wondering about your statement, about your security in King’s Landing. I am aware that Prince Daemon does not hold favorable feelings towards you however to fear that you are not safe within the Red Keep is a different matter entirely. Are you well? I am more than happy to extend an invitation for your stay here in Dragonstone if you feel your life is in peril, regardless of Prince Daemon’s feelings on the matter. I’m sure my Grandsire will not object to me being your personal escort to Dragonstone on Vermax if you dislike traveling by ship. I also enjoyed the joy ride we took on Vermax and I am more than willing to oblige with your request. Your stay here in Dragonstone would allow your studies to progress and my Grandsire I’m sure approves of this as your knowledge has helped him like no other has been able to. Dragonstone’s architecture has much to offer and is only rivaled by the Wall in the North, and Winterfell both designed by the engineering genius Bran the Builder. There is also the Hightower in Old town or Casterly Rock which is a castle built into a cliff side. There are many places but if you have an interest in the old world more reminiscent of Essos and Valyria Strongholds, Dragonstone is best. I am glad you value me as a friend enough to inform me of your endeavors. If you wish to explore civilizations of old then Old Valyria is best. My grandsire has an intense intrigue with our Valyrian roots. As the name suggests it had been here for many millennia and more and at its peak had over a thousand dragons and held most of Essos and ruled as overlords.

I truly do hope to see you once more here in Dragonstone.

(P.S. For your first letters they are well written and I must say that you are the first person I have ever truly sent letters too. I enjoy watching the birds return knowing that I am receiving a letter from you.)

…

If someone were to ask Alicent what she thought of you, Alicent would say that you were a peculiar girl (prone to sin) and had much potential (Not totally doomed to the Seven hells). Queen Alicent Hightower does not know you. Queen Alicent Hightower sees a desperate girl. Queen Alicent Hightower is not completely opposed to helping you.

However, Queen Alicent Hightower loves her children. Despite her failure with Aegon, she prides herself in her daughter, Helaena Targeyen. Her only daughter. (Even if she too is peculiar, but not your peculiar. Helaena can do no wrong and if she does, Helaena is a mother, mothers are prone to do peculiar things for their children.)

So when Helaena came back muttering sayings with wide eyes after your trip, Queen Alicent Hightower saw you to be a bit more peculiar than she originally had thought.

“A savior, saint, prophet, messiah all names will bear no fruition.” Helaena muttered as she stitched. “History is set.” She continued as Alicent bounced Jaehaerys on her knee. Saints, prophets, saviors, and messiahs. Helaena had never spoken of religion before. For a brief moment it excited Alicent. Something to share with her daughter.

Her excitement would bear no fruition.

If someone asked Alicent Hightower what she thought about you, Alicent wouldn’t know what to say. You simply were, nothing really special, but now you feed the commons and frequent orphanages. She had first learned of this two weeks after you had delivered her the disappointing results that Rhaenrya’s plain featured children were indeed legitimate. (Alicent still had her doubts) Alicent does not know what you spend your time doing (Now she knows you spend your time doing charitable acts) In the first two months, there was never a word of what you did. You stay cooped up in your room working on what Alicent had told you to work on (Treason) and nothing else…or at least that's what you led Alicent to believe. You are a minx—that's what Alicent thinks of you. A minx who had corrupted her daughter and her son. (Maybe if you were around Aegon more, she’d be able to blame you for him too) Helaena seeks you out for ‘popped corn’ and ‘potatoes with salt.’ Her poor daughter had become slightly more plump since encountering you.

Her grandchildren (A part of Alicent mourns that she is a grandmother in her thirties) have also grown plumper and refuse to eat certain foods. All thanks to you of course. Your time in the kitchen has grown exponentially. Now her own husband consumes what you cook, with…well only the gods know the answer.

Lord Beesbury has reported that stops in King’s Landing have improved the local economy. You buy from small stores that seemingly arose from nothing and yet now produce a great amount of coin, as for where you got your coin, Alicent cannot say.

Alicent for the life of her, does not know how you do it, but you now stand in the small council. The very council she once controlled alongside her father before you came along. The very council she fought so hard (waited for so long) to be in, and only three months here, you now stand far too close to Alicent’s position. As a pretty mouth whispering in the King’s ear who now seems more receptive to you more than ever.

“First, I would like to thank each and every one of you for your time today and your willingness to listen to my propositions…”

Alicent’s teeth nearly ground together. The sound of your voice grated at her nerves. How sweetly you spoke, how poised you stood, and—most of all—the audacity of wearing that dress. The emerald green silk had once brought Alicent strength when she needed it most, a gift to herself in the early, lonely days of her queenship. She had offered it to you out of courtesy, a gesture of mentorship to a young woman finding her footing. Now, it felt like you had stolen a piece of her, standing there in her council chamber, in her dress, with her King leaning forward to listen to you.

“…These creators often face a grave injustice: their labor and ingenuity are stolen when others imitate their work without permission or recognition.”

Alicent wanted to scoff aloud. How innocent you made yourself appear. But Alicent knew better. The subtle glances exchanged with Aemond, the whispered laughter between you and Helaena—it wasn’t mere goodwill that brought you here. No, you were something sharper. Something more dangerous.

“To address this issue, I humbly propose the establishment of a patent system…”

Viserys leaned forward, his expression alight with curiosity, and Lord Beesbury murmured his agreement. Alicent gripped the armrest of her chair tightly. Of course they’re enraptured. How could they not be?

“My vision for the patents is a simple promise,” you continued, your voice steady, each word measured. “To the inventor, the patents offer protection for a limited time—during which no one may copy, use, or sell their creation without consent. To society, they offer a legacy. After this period, the invention becomes public knowledge, free for everyone to use and improve upon.”

Your gaze swept across the council, meeting the eyes of each member in turn. Lord Beesbury was nodding slowly, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Ser Otto Hightower, however, remained impassive, his calculating eyes fixed on you as if trying to pierce through to your true intentions.

“Thus, a patent ensures that inventors are rewarded for their efforts,” you pressed on, “while ultimately sharing their knowledge to benefit all.”

Grand Maester Orwyle shifted slightly in his seat, his expression neutral but not hostile—a promising sign, given the usual disdain the Citadel held for unconventional ideas. Across the table, Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. Whether his amusement stemmed from skepticism or intrigue, you couldn’t yet tell.

And then there was Rhaenyra. The princess leaned back in her chair, a spark of curiosity alight in her violet eyes. You met her gaze briefly, offering a slight, deliberate smile before continuing.

Alicent, however, did not return your glance. Instead, her knuckles whitened against the armrest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Imagine, if you will, a blacksmith who crafts an entirely new type of plow,” you continued, allowing a moment for the council to visualize. “This plow turns the earth more efficiently, saving farmers hours of labor. Under the current system, another blacksmith could simply copy the design and sell it as their own, reaping the rewards without any of the effort. Why, then, would the first blacksmith ever bother to innovate again?”

A few council members nodded, most notably Lord Beesbury, who leaned forward eagerly.

“With a patent system, however,” you explained, “the original blacksmith would register their invention. This registration would be overseen by a neutral party, perhaps a specialized office within the Citadel or under the King’s authority. Upon approval, the blacksmith would be granted exclusive rights to manufacture and sell their plow for a specified number of years—ten, perhaps, or twenty.”

Viserys stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And what happens after these years are over?”

“At the end of the patent term,” you said, your voice firm and clear, “the invention becomes public knowledge, available for anyone to replicate and build upon. By then, the original inventor would have had ample opportunity to profit from their creation, and society as a whole would benefit from its widespread use.”

“And the process of registering this…patent?” Ser Otto interjected, his tone carefully neutral but his sharp gaze unrelenting. “Would it not be ripe for corruption? Any system can be exploited.”

“Indeed, my lord,” you acknowledged with a slight nod. “That is why the process must be transparent. Inventors would submit detailed descriptions or schematics of their creations, which would be reviewed by a panel of experts—selected for their impartiality and knowledge. If the invention is deemed truly novel and beneficial, the patent would be granted.”

Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, crossing his arms. “And these experts—would they not demand their share of coin for their favorable decisions? Even the most noble men have a price.”

“A valid concern,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “This is why I propose strict penalties for corruption within the system. Any found guilty of such acts would face severe consequences—stripped of rank, fined heavily, or even imprisoned. Fear of reprisal is a potent deterrent.”

A murmur rippled through the council.

“And what of disputes?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked, his deep voice cutting through the room. “What if two inventors claim to have conceived the same idea?”

“A panel would also serve as arbiters in such cases,” you answered. “Evidence would be presented—designs, prototypes, or witnesses to the invention process—and the panel would rule in favor of the one who can most conclusively prove their claim.”

The King nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “A structured system, indeed. But this sounds…complicated. Would it not overwhelm our courts and treasury?”

“It would be an investment, Your Grace,” you said earnestly. “The initial costs of establishing the system would be repaid tenfold through the innovations it encourages. Trade would flourish, industries would thrive, and Westeros would become the envy of the world for its ingenuity.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. Whether it was mocking or not, you couldn’t say. “Ambitious,” she said, leaning forward. “You think the people would accept such a change?”

“I do, Princess,” you said confidently. “Because it benefits them directly. Farmers with better tools, seamstresses with finer needles, sailors with more durable ships—all of this would improve lives. Once they see the results, they will embrace the system.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think not only of the present but of the future. I find your ideas…intriguing. I would like a detailed proposal drawn up for the council’s further consideration.”

You inclined your head deeply. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s nails dug into the armrest, her expression inscrutable. Too close. You are far too close.

“And you have a second proposal, yes?” Viserys offered. You nodded and stood straighter, puffing out your chest ever so slightly. You needed to radiate confidence.

“Yes your grace,” you said with a gracious smile before continuing. “My proposal is cut from the same cloth—one that builds upon the foundation of innovation and rewards hard work but seeks to invigorate our economy more broadly.”

The council members exchanged curious glances.

“In Westeros, we have lands rich with resources, craftsmen skilled in their trades, and people eager for opportunities. Yet much of this potential lies dormant, untapped,” you began. “Imagine a system where individuals, no matter their birth, could invest in ventures—merchants funding ships, farmers pooling resources to build mills, or craftsmen working together to establish workshops. With structured investments and shared profits, we could ignite a flame of enterprise that benefits all.”

Lord Beesbury raised a brow. “Shared profits? Are you suggesting some form of communal ventures?”

“Not precisely,” you clarified. “Rather, I propose we encourage what I would call ‘partnership economies.’ Merchants or lords with coin to spare could invest in promising ventures run by skilled individuals who lack the resources to begin on their own. These investors would receive a portion of the profits, but the ventures themselves would remain under the control of the original creators or craftsmen.”

“And how would this differ from a lord simply collecting his taxes or rents?” Ser Tyland Lannister asked, his voice edged with skepticism.

“It differs, my lord, because it incentivizes collaboration,” you said. “Instead of taking from the people what is already theirs, this system allows lords and merchants to grow wealth alongside those they invest in. A baker with better ovens produces more bread; a blacksmith with finer tools forges better weapons. Everyone benefits—not just the few.”

Viserys nodded, his interest clearly piqued. “You mean to say that wealth could be multiplied, rather than merely redistributed?”

“Precisely, Your Grace,” you affirmed. “This approach would encourage cooperation between the classes, foster innovation, and create a thriving middle class—artisans, merchants, and skilled workers who could contribute even more to the kingdom's prosperity.”

“Would this not disrupt the established order?” Ser Otto interjected, his voice sharp. “If smallfolk begin amassing wealth and influence, what need would they have of their lords? Such a system could lead to rebellion, not progress.”

“I understand your concern, Lord Hand,” you replied evenly. “But this system does not undermine the authority of lords; it enhances it. By investing in their people, lords would see greater returns from their lands and more loyal subjects. A smith who prospers thanks to his lord’s patronage will be far more devoted than one who sees his talents squandered.”

Queen Alicent’s lips pursed, her knuckles whitening against the armrest.

“And what would regulate such investments?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked. “To prevent fraud or disputes?”

“Contracts, my lord,” you said. “Binding agreements overseen by the crown or local magistrates. These contracts would clearly define terms—how much is invested, how profits are shared, and for how long the agreement stands. Any disputes would be resolved through the courts, ensuring fairness and transparency.”

Ser Harrold Westerling, who had remained silent thus far, tilted his head. “And what of those who cannot repay their debts? Would this not lead to a rise in indentures or worse?”

“A valid concern, Ser Harrold,” you acknowledged. “This is why investments must be made with care. Only those ventures deemed viable by an impartial body—perhaps a council of merchants or scholars—would qualify. And as for those who fail, there would be no punitive measures that strip them of their dignity. Instead, they might work to repay their debts over time through service or labor.”

“You prepose slavery?” Otto spoke and your confidence cracked and Alicent was there to see it form. “Slavery is a thing of Essos, The Targaryens left their costumes in Essos, are you attempting to bring back such horrid acts?”

You took a deep breath. “No. Slavery is a thing of the past. A flawed system. It breeds resentment, resentment breeds revolts. I have seen first hand the after effects of slavery. I have lived through the after effects of slavery. It takes decades, a century even yet those who originated from slaves are never seen as truly human…there would obviously be a judicial system specifically allocated to deal with such issues.”

“To create these things, these systems…it would take years, decades even.” You knew Otto held back. To say that the realm will go through a big change soon. The death of the King and a possible war for the throne. But he was right, this would take decades to properly input. There are things one simply cannot account for. A trial and error system.

But Rome was not built in a day.

“Great empires were not built in a day.” You turned your attention to King Viserys. “Old Valyria was not built in a day.”

You scanned the council members, gauging their reactions. The room was not as receptive as it had been moments ago.

Lord Beesbury shifted in his seat, his expression troubled. “This… ‘partnership economy,’ as you call it, sounds dangerously unorthodox. Encouraging smallfolk to amass wealth and enter ventures—would this not blur the lines of station? The order of society has always rested on clear boundaries.”

“Indeed,” Lord Jasper Wylde added, his tone stiff. “Such a proposal risks emboldening the commons, giving them ideas above their station. If a blacksmith or merchant prospers too greatly, what stops them from questioning why they bow to their lords at all?”

Ser Tyland Lannister scoffed lightly, crossing his arms. “It seems to me that such a system would only create chaos. Smallfolk lack the discipline and foresight for enterprise. They would squander their investments or worse—turn to deceit to enrich themselves.”

You held your ground, your voice steady. “My lords, I hear your concerns, but this proposal does not seek to abolish the natural order. On the contrary, it strengthens it. A prosperous people serve their lords better, pay their taxes more readily, and maintain peace in the realm. Would you not prefer subjects who thrive under your guidance rather than languish in resentment?”

Ser Otto Hightower, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his words cutting and precise. “A fair argument, but you ask us to overturn centuries of tradition, all based on theories from lands far removed from our own. This is Westeros, not Essos, or wherever it is you come from. Such radical ideas could unsettle the foundations of our society. If smallfolk become too powerful, where does it end? Will they sit among us at this table one day, as you do now?”

The jab was not subtle, and the room bristled with tension. Even Viserys, who had shown enthusiasm moments ago, looked uncertain.

You chose your words carefully, keeping your tone respectful yet firm. “I understand the weight of tradition, Lord Hand, but traditions must evolve to ensure the survival of the realm. This proposal does not hand power to the commons—it channels their efforts into something productive, something that benefits us all. Lords would remain the cornerstone of this system, guiding and overseeing its growth.”

Queen Alicent’s lips tightened, but she did not speak. Her silence felt heavier than any words.

Lord Beesbury frowned deeply. “But how do we ensure control? If these partnerships are mismanaged, or if the commons grow restless, it could lead to unrest. You speak of contracts and fairness, but who enforces this? Who ensures that the lords are not taken advantage of?”

“Precisely!” Lord Wylde snapped. “Who is to say these agreements will not be exploited to undermine noble authority? Contracts are words on parchment, easily manipulated by clever tongues.”

Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the murmurs, calm but commanding. “Is that not the purpose of law? To prevent manipulation and ensure fairness? Or are you suggesting that Westeros lacks the capacity for justice?”

The room stilled, and you glanced at her, grateful for the unexpected support.

“The Princess is correct,” you said, seizing the moment. “This system would be governed by the crown, with contracts overseen by magistrates or councils appointed by the King. Any disputes would be resolved under royal authority, ensuring fairness for all parties. This would not weaken noble power; it would enhance it, showing that lord's care for their people’s welfare and prosperity.”

Ser Tyland narrowed his eyes. “And what of women? Would this system encourage them to step beyond their roles as well? If you aim to give them the same opportunities as men, you will only invite more chaos.”

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to waver. “Women have always contributed to the prosperity of their families and lands, my lord, though their efforts are often overlooked. This system would allow their talents to flourish alongside men’s, to the benefit of all. Prosperity knows no gender.”

Alicent’s voice finally broke the silence. “And yet it is a woman who stands before us, proposing a system that upends the very order of Westeros. Forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder if this is truly for the good of the realm, or for your own ambitions.”

Her words stung, but you inclined your head gracefully. “I seek no personal gain, Your Grace. Only the betterment of this realm I now call home.”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing further objections. His voice was measured, though doubt lingered in his tone. “The proposal is bold, perhaps too bold for many to accept, but it is not without merit. I will consider it further, though I urge caution. Change, if it must come, should come slowly.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am grateful for your consideration.”

As you stepped back, the tension in the room was palpable. The lords remained skeptical, their unease plain, but you could see the seeds of curiosity planted in a few of their minds. The road ahead would not be easy, but you had taken the first step. And that, you knew, was how all great changes began.

…

6th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velyarion

I must thank you for your kindness, truly. You need not worry yourself too much, for now at least. I am glad I have the King’s favor or my head would most likely be on spike. You see, other than serving the King, I have no purpose and because I am quite literally ahead of my time, I do not conform with such expectations of women today. Queen Alicent and Lord Otto don’t particularly seem to like that about me, and Prince Daemon doesn’t like me at all, I am unsure where your mother stands on an opinion of me. The only one I have who does favor me is the King and is the sole reason why my head is still atop my shoulders. You must forgive me and I know you are not a personal book of mine to write, but I find it easy to speak to you. It is easy to explain myself to you and my feelings about being here. I am scared. I don’t want to die again. It is a horrible feeling. There's nothing like fighting for something as simple as human breath. I don’t want to know how it feels to have my head cut off or burned alive or something like that.

That was grim. Sorry. In anycase, the King will not live forever and your mother will be Queen. I need to make myself valuable enough for her to decide she does want me around or at the very least not dead. I am very glad for your letters. I have been the library recently searching about the Hightower, Casterly Rock, The Wall, Dragonstone, Old ruins like Summerhall, High Heart (reminds me of Stonehenge), the Isle of Faces (This one is more so because of plain old curiosity and learning about these ‘Old Gods.’) But I think the one that captures my attention the most is Winterfell. Bran the Builder was some Builder. The concept of being built atop a spring is genius. I read that hot water travels through the walls. I want to know how that was done. I want to go to Winterfell. I will go to Winterfell once I get this patent thing off the ground and then I can go ahead with the water system.

(P.S. Thank you so much for the little tip that your Grandsire is obsessed with Old Valyria. Really helped me sell my idea. Also yes, I find it very exciting to wait for your letters. I check consistently, only because no one knows I’m sending letters to you, but if it wasn’t for that, I too would be very excited for your letter—I still am excited for them)

…

“Thank you, Disney,” you muttered, finishing yet another story—this time, Cinderella. It was always a good choice for the orphanages. The kids adored it, and when you ventured out into the city, some people even began to recognize you. Things were going smoothly. Gaining the love of the smallfolk turned out to be surprisingly easy. All it took was treating them like actual people. With your growing reputation, you were starting to build an impressive résumé—one that might even help you gain a foothold in the Faith.

But the Faith alone wasn’t enough. The Citadel had become a necessary stop in your plan. You’d thought it through: there was no way you could overhaul the water system by yourself. You lacked the technical knowledge and the support. You needed scholars—real scholars (hopefully not just philosophers). And you needed them now.

There was no ignoring the challenges ahead. The water system required precise engineering: the slope had to cut through a hill—a massive one. How to achieve a perfect straight line? You had no idea. As for the sewer system? That would practically require dismantling half of King’s Landing. The city’s urban planning—or lack thereof—was abysmal. Chaotic streets, haphazard layouts... Aegon the Conqueror clearly hadn’t been thinking about infrastructure.

You let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in your chair. “Dyana!” you called, and moments later, she appeared.

“Here,” you handed her your finished story. “Take this to my workplace and have someone bring me fruit or food. I’m starving.”

As Dyana left, you turned back to your desk. The parchment before you read: Patent Act of 129 AC. It wasn’t just a set of rules; it was a strategy. This act would require a new position on the Small Council—a role you hoped to fill with someone you trusted, someone who would favor you. Preferably an older person who might conveniently vacate the seat by the time you were of age and had the accomplishments to take it yourself. Longevity—that was the goal. Not just surviving but truly living. Living a fulfilling life, as you would have in your own world.

The only downside? You had to live in King’s Landing. Hot, humid, sticky King’s Landing. You sighed again. Dry heat would’ve been better, or even better still—the North. Somewhere cool, where the air was crisp, and the summers didn’t feel like an oven.

Before you could indulge in your northern fantasies, a knock sounded at the door. A maid entered, carrying a tray with what looked like a meat pie, wine, and a small bowl of grapes. You offered a polite smile as she approached but quickly stopped her as she moved toward your papers.

“Not on top of the documents,” you said sharply, gesturing to the side. She corrected the course and placed the tray on an empty part of the table.

“That’ll be all. Thank you,” you added curtly.

Once the maid had left, you stared at the meat pie with open disgust. You’d managed to avoid eating meat for the past four months, but it was starting to take a toll. The weight loss was noticeable—too noticeable. Energy levels were plummeting, and without proper nutrition, you knew you’d face bigger problems down the line. If you wanted to strengthen your immune system and maintain your health, you couldn’t rely on simple carbs alone. You’d have to face facts: meat might be a necessary evil in this world, and your survival hinged on staying strong.

Grabbing a fork, you poked at the meat pie. The wafting scent of roasted meat invaded your senses, making your stomach churn. You closed your eyes, exhaled sharply, and dropped the fork with a dramatic sigh. For good measure, you mimed choking yourself. God, why? You weren’t even vegetarian, but the lack of cleanliness in this world was unsettling. The mere thought of consuming it made you reconsider your timeline for selling the idea of refrigeration—a plan you’d initially intended to push after passing the Patent Act for maximum profit.

It sucked, truly. You’d hoped to tie it all together: disproving spontaneous generation, advancing sanitation, and introducing better food storage. But if you wanted to maintain a healthy diet in the meantime, you might have to accelerate your plans.

Flexing your hands in irritation, you reluctantly picked up the fork again and sliced off a small piece. “Okay, okay, okay,” you murmured, trying to psych yourself up. On the bright side, if this went terribly and left you with another crippling migraine, at least you’d have an excuse to retreat to Dragonstone for a while.

Lifting the bite to your mouth, a voice cut through the room, stopping you.

“I would not recommend eating that.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered, dropping the fork as your eyes darted to the doorway. There, standing in the shadows, was Aemond. He had apparently figured out how to reach your chambers through Maegor’s secret passageways.

“My grandsire and mother were... displeased with your proposal,” he said, his tone measured, though his eye gleamed with curiosity. “And your growing favor with my father—the King—does not sit well with them. I would refrain from eating anything you did not prepare or see prepared yourself.”

His words hung in the air, cold and heavy.

You sighed, pushing the plate away and opting for the grapes instead. “You can’t do that,” you said, popping one into your mouth.

“Do what?” Aemond asked, settling into a nearby chair with the ease of someone who clearly didn’t care to be chastised.

“Just come in whenever you want. What if I was changing?” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward yourself.

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Right...” you drawled, rolling your eyes. “And what if I was plotting or something?”

“I have the right to be informed,” he replied evenly, his tone suggesting he genuinely believed this.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. “I like my privacy. And my private plans, thank you very much.”

Aemond studied you, his sharp eye taking in every detail of your face and posture, as if trying to decode a cipher. “You’ve been amassing influence,” he said finally. “Among the smallfolk. Writing laws. Offering ideas that challenge long-held beliefs. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” you countered, flicking a grape into the air and catching it in your mouth. “I don’t care if people notice. In fact, I’d prefer it—they should see what I’m trying to do. But that doesn’t mean I want you barging in uninvited like you own the place.”

“First, I do own the place. The Red Keep is my home.” Aemond leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Secondly, you’re ambitious. Too ambitious for someone with no name and no family ties.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. “What do you suggest I do? Sit here looking pretty until some lord with decent standing finds me attractive enough to overlook my lack of name and origins? Marry him, then wait for years before I can even think about making my moves? Too much time wasted. Unless it’s some Northern lord or someone willing to give me Dragonstone, it’s not happening.”

Aemond’s lips twitched with faint amusement as he leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving you. “When did you start fantasizing about Northern brutes?”

“First, that’s rude,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Second, I prefer the cold. Ergo, a Northern lord. Though a friend of mine told me there’s more to the North than just freezing winters. Winterfell has caught my attention. I want to go there.”

“For?”

You shrugged, popping another grape into your mouth. “It doesn’t hurt to look at men I might potentially want to marry. As for Winterfell itself… Bran the Builder was an interesting man, intelligent beyond his time. I want to study the blueprints of their stronghold, maybe glean something from their methods. The wall alone is a feat that deserves more attention than it gets.”

Aemond studied you with that familiar intensity, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling back your layers, searching for secrets you hadn’t even admitted to yourself. “You’re bold. But you’d need more than boldness to survive the North. They respect tradition above all else, and you, well…” He let his words trail off, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“And I?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“You would disrupt their traditions just as easily as you disrupt the quiet here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” you replied smoothly. “Times change. You can either let go of the past or be dragged. However, me personally…” You smile at him leaning back in your chair tossing him a grape which he caught. “I’d rather be the one steering the change than a passenger caught in the chaos.”

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, popping the grape in his mouth, his gaze piercing and calculating. Then, he gave a slow nod, as though acknowledging some unspoken truth. “You’re a risk-taker. That much is clear. But risks in this world come with consequences—more often fatal than not.”

“And yet,” you said with a faint smile, “here I am, very much alive.”

“For now,” Aemond countered, standing. He adjusted his tunic, his sharp features set in a contemplative expression. “If you do decide to go to Winterfell, let me know. I’d be curious to see how they handle someone like you.”

You smirked. “What, worried they’ll like me more than you?”

Aemond’s eye glittered with something between amusement and warning. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply curious to see if you’re as unshakable as you pretend to be. The North has a way of testing people, you know.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “I like a challenge.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smirk on his lips lingered as he turned and left the room. You watched him go, your mind already spinning with plans and possibilities. If Winterfell truly held the knowledge and opportunities you sought, then perhaps the cold North was exactly where you needed to be.

…

14th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

I was not aware of the dangers you faced in the Red Keep. Had I known I would’ve stressed to my mother to let me stay in King’s Landing. However, now that I am here, more now than ever I can offer you a place of solitude. Here I can assure you that your head will not be on a spike and you could simply live life as you deserve. We could watch movies or I can show you more of this world, as strange as it is to say. I’m sure my younger brothers would enjoy watching the movies you once showed me if it would please you. I do not mind if you express your thoughts to me, no matter how grim, I would much rather share your burdens than rather have you face them alone. You are in a strange land vastly different from what you are accustomed to, I would not blame you if you had such thoughts and do not oblige by traditions. Even so I do not doubt that my mother will resonate with you should you have the chance to speak to her.

To continue with your interest in the world of old, had I known you would’ve taken interest in Winterfell rather than Dragonstone, I would not have mentioned it. Of course that is only a jest. I am more than willing to help you in anything you should require. I am glad that my Grandsire has taken your side rather than the Queen. If you would not mind, I would much like to know what Stonehenge is. I have never heard of it. As for the Isle of Faces, it is a sacred island in the middle of the lake called the God's Eye, located in the southeastern riverlands. It is one of the few known locations of weirwoods in the south of Westeros, with most others having been cut down and burned. I do not know much of the religion, Prince Daemon favors the gods of Old Valyria and I know more about them than the Seven or the Old Gods. However, in my youth when I lived in the Red Keep there was a Weirwood tree in the Godswood. I remember the leaves being five-pointed and the sap of weirwoods are blood-red, while the smooth bark on their wide trunks and wood are bone white. They say most weirwoods have faces carved into their trunks and that it was done by the children of the forest in ancient days, and is now done by the free folk as well as other descendants of the First Men, such as followers of the old gods in the Seven Kingdoms praying to heart trees in godswoods. The one in the Red Keep has sap that has collected in the crevices of the carved faces, giving the trees red eyes which have been known to drip sap as if the trees were weeping. A weirwood will live forever if undisturbed—or so it is said.

(P.S. Northerns are very set in their ways. If you go, I would like to accompany you. I have never left the South and I long to explore Westeros. If I am to be King, a King must know his people.)

Note: How do we feel? Anyway after for like ever we have our first mention of Winterfell. Speical thanks to my Beta reader ❤️

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