#I have rarely felt so vindicated

[quinloki]

Me and my feelings about Wind Breaker are just going to sit here and exist, I guess.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part IV)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Angst begins, still lots of fluff, smut (of course), Aegon still being an ass

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

~~

The court was in a frenzy.

The news of their betrothal spread through King’s Landing like wildfire. It was all anyone could talk about for days on end. Some felt vindicated, that the rumors they had been spreading for months had finally come to fruition, while others were skeptical, unsure of what such a sweet young girl saw in the surly one-eyed Prince. 

The gossip was never ending, with many speculating the couple had been consorting inappropriately in private. While many knew of Ixtal’s customs, that they weren’t as strict about their Ladies maidenhood as they were in the rest of Westeros, it didn’t stop the looks of indignation she received from certain members of the court who turned their noses up at the mere possibility she had sullied herself before her marriage.

While Aemond hated the speculation and had to be held back more than once from storming over to a group of tittering Ladies and threatening to take their tongues for daring to speak ill of his betrothed, she found it laughable. She had to remind her betrothed they weren’t exactly wrong. 

Their nights of pleasure together were only all the more exciting and mind blowing knowing they would have each other forever, that they no longer needed to fear what the future held. 

They could finally relax, they would soon be each other’s in the eyes of the Gods and no one could take that away from them. 

Their wedding was spared no expense. Lords and Ladies of great houses from across the realm traveled to the Capitol to witness the union of a Targaryen Prince and the daughter of the most prosperous house in the realm. 

Aemond paid no mind to the fanfare. All he cared about was her. 

He barely got to see her in the weeks leading up to their wedding, with her swept up with the Ladies of the court in dress fittings and as her family arrived at King’s Landing, she was rarely seen without her dear younger sister or mother at her side. 

The King demanded a three day tourney be held to celebrate, with lavish hunts and feasts raving practically each night. Aemond had never seen his father so excited and he knew it had little to do with him and all to do with his dear friend, the Lord of Ixtal, that their families would officially be uniting. 

He rolled his eyes at the whole affair. He just wanted to marry his love. He didn’t want all this attention and unnecessary flourish. 

She would laugh softly everytime he slunk into her chambers at night, her bright eyes alight with mischief, a delighted smile on her face at the annoyance on his.

“Couldn’t stay away?”

“You know I couldn’t.” He crooned, inhaling her scent as he hugged her tightly from behind. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I am.” She answered with a blissful smile. “Are you?”

“I was ready to marry you years ago.” 

She practically swooned, leaning her head back onto his shoulder, her gaze filled with nothing but devotion. She never would have pictured this for herself. She never could have imagined she would be able to marry her best friend, that she would find a love so pure and so beautiful for herself. She didn’t think that kind of love even existed. 

“Everything seems so perfect.” She spoke softly, reveling in his embrace. 

He hummed in agreement, wishing they could go find a Maester now to perform a ceremony and bind themselves together. He didn’t want to wait another minute. He just wanted to be her husband. 

The next morning, the entire Keep was a flurry of activity. Maids scurried in and out of her chambers to prepare her, most desperate to catch a glimpse of the Island girl that would soon become a Targaryen princess. 

She sat nervously at her vanity, her hands fidgeting in her lap. 

Today was the day she would finally marry her best friend. It all seemed too good to be true, as though they had gotten away with some elaborate plan. 

“You look beautiful, my love.” Her mother spoke, her eyes already brimming my tears.

“I’m not even in my dress yet.” She laughed as her mother waved her off, wiping under her eyes as she had been doing all morning. 

To her left, Alicent stood, her demeanor much more reserved than that of her own mother and sister, who could barely contain their excitement. The Queen had yet to crack a smile since she had entered her chambers and had been silently picking out jewelry for her to wear, barely sparing a glance to her soon to be good daughter. 

A nervous lump grew in her throat. She didn’t have the best relationship with Aemond’s mother, even as children, the woman seemed disinterested in speaking more than a few words to her. She at least thought the day she wedded her son she’d try to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed she still had little interest. 

She didn’t seem all that thrilled her son was even getting married. 

The maids around her all gestured for her to stand and move towards the floor length mirror, their excited giggles growing in volume as her dress was brought forward. 

Her breath hitched. It was real. This was happening. 

Her heart was racing as the maids helped her dress, her eyes beginning to sting with the pressure to cry the happiest of tears. 

“I assume you know what is expected of you tonight.” Alicent’s voice broke through the throng of excited chattering, abruptly shattering the positive energy in the room. 

The way Alicent looked at her, so intently, almost judgmentally, made her want to shrink. She swallowed and nodded. 

She felt a hand at her shoulder, her mother’s presence steadily at her side.

“We have already discussed what her duty is tonight.” Her mother answered for her, her voice sounder stiffer than before. 

Her mother had been in King’s Landing barely a day before she figured out what her daughter and her betrothed had been up to for months. Aemond had been horrified when his future good mother blurted out their long held secret. 

She was sure he would be blushing for the rest of his life. Even after her mother laughed heartily and assured them she would never tell a soul, that she held no judgment for them, he still had trouble meeting her eye out of sheer embarrassment. 

With one look at Alicent, the Lady of Ixtal knew she would do whatever she needed to do, say whatever she needed to say, to not let the frigid woman before her try to sink her claws into her daughter. 

She would not ruin her daughter’s big day. 

 Alicent hummed, the sound neither that of satisfaction or disdain, and she remained quiet, though her critical eye never lessened. She had no compliments for the young girl who donned her beautiful, extravagant dress, she had no well wishes for the girl as her eyes brimmed with happy tears.

All Alicent could fixate on was how angry her father was at the turn of events. They had lost a monumental opportunity to gain allies due to the girl in front of her. She had bewitched her son, her uncivilized ways weakening Aemond’s sense of duty and proprietary. She never forgot how her son had stormed into her room, practically demanding a betrothal. It was so unlike him, not at all how he had been raised to act and she knew the Ixtal girl was to blame. 

All she could do was plaster on a fake smile and hope everything her father had worked on for years wasn’t all for naught. 

~~

She was a vision as she stepped out of the carriage, her pulse thrumming in her ears, her hands trembling in anticipation. 

In a matter of minutes, she was going to be married to the love of her life.

“Are you ready?” Her father asked, a soft smile on his face as he stared at his first daughter with barely contained emotion. She nodded eagerly, latching onto his arm, taking in a final deep breath before they stepped inside. 

The crowd of guests were in awe as she passed, though she could not spare a glance to any of the onlookers that seemed to swoon at the sight of her. Her gaze was locked onto the man at the front of the room, meeting his eye effortlessly.

Aemond had been watching the door and nothing else for the past few minutes, anxiously awaiting her arrival. The second she stepped inside, his breath had been stolen from him. 

He felt nervous flutters within him, as if he was once again that little boy who was in love with his best friend before he even knew what it meant to love someone. 

His vision blurred slightly as tears gathered in his eye at the sight of her, so beautiful, so perfect, his wife. 

They couldn’t take their eyes off each other as her father removed the cloak from her shoulders. Aemond felt his breath hitch at the sight of her in her dress, the shape of her body, the delicate silk outlining every curve he had spent many nights memorizing and worshiping. 

As he stood before her, placing the heavy Targaryen cloak over her shoulders, he breathed in her familiar scent, calming every one of his nerves. 

He took her hand, guiding her up the steps of the dais. No one said a word as he kept his hand in hers, the crowd was absolutely enraptured by the sight of them, the Ladies dramatically sharing looks of longing at the couple as neither one of them spared a glance to the Septon that began the service. 

They only had eyes for each other. 

No one could deny the love they shared. As they spoke the words that bound them together, their smiles dazzling, no one could deny this was a marriage of pure love. 

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

The words left him with ease. He used to dread this moment as a child, hating the idea of being bound to a woman he didn’t know and didn’t care for for the rest of his life, purely out of duty. 

Now, he couldn’t imagine saying the words to any other person but the woman in front of him. The thought of spending the rest of his days with her, his love, brought him nothing but relief and endless happiness, a feeling he never pictured for himself. 

Since he lost his eye, since a piece of him had literally been taken from him, he had always felt slighted, but now, as the Septon announced their union, as he kissed her for the first time as his wife, he felt whole again. 

He was no longer that overlooked second son, he was no longer that scarred and feared man who longed for revenge. 

He was a husband, he was her protector, her friend, her love. He felt he finally had a meaningful purpose, one that meant so much more than the duty his family expected from him. 

The crowd cheered voraciously. It wasn’t often they got to witness a union so blessed by affection. 

Aemond kept his awed gaze on her as they made their way down the aisle, his hand clasped tightly in hers, paying no mind to anyone else around him. 

They could scarcely keep their hands from each other. 

During the feast, Aemond kept his hand on her thigh, his touch thankfully hidden by the long train covering the table. As both of their fathers gave speeches, spouting lovely rhetorics of family and peace, he couldn’t bring himself to listen to a word of it. 

His attention was focused solely on the woman beside him. His wife. 

He felt himself smiling just at the thought of it, that he could finally say the word. 

When the music started and they made their way to the floor to share their first dance, a moment Aemond had been dreading for weeks, he found he couldn’t care less that everyone’s eyes were on him. 

He realized nothing else mattered. Everything he thought would make him feel insecure wasn’t even a thought in his mind. He held her closely, his heart racing as if they were dancing for the first time, as if he was touching her for the first time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.” She spoke with a laugh.

“I have a good reason to smile.” He responded with a smirk as he twirled her. 

The guests couldn’t take their eyes off the couple as they danced. Most felt they were intruding on an intimate moment with how intently they gazed at each other, their love radiating from each of them effortlessly. 

They noticed how the couple sparsely ceased their touch from each other. The Lords present couldn’t help but feel slighted there would be no bedding ceremony. They were sure it would be a spectacle with how the Prince eyed his new wife with a hunger most men couldn’t conceive for their own wives. 

Aemond’s pout as his new wife accepted Helaena’s offer to dance, leaving him to sit by himself, would be fodder for most of the gossip the next morning. 

He watched her with a small smile, looking more at ease than the court had ever seen him, content at the mere sight of her delight as she twirled around with Helaena, their shared laughter ringing out louder than the music playing. 

He took a small sip from his wine, content to not drink much more, knowing he’d rather have a clear head for what the rest of the night held. He would finally take her as his wife, he would lay with her, spill his seed inside her without consequence. 

After tonight, her stomach could swell with his child and no one could say a thing. 

The thought made him desperate to drag her to their new shared chambers. He would be eager to see the end of the feast and lay with her for the rest of the night, but with how happy she was, he wouldn’t do a thing to take her away from it. 

As she twirled with Helaena, her head back, eyes closed, a picture of pure happiness, she suddenly lost her footing. She stumbled slightly, her eyes widening, but sturdy hands on her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

She stiffened at the voice in her ear, turning to see Aegon’s smarmy smile. She wanted nothing more than to wrench his hands off her, but she couldn’t make a scene at her own wedding. If she displayed any ounce of discomfort by his hands, she was sure Aemond would forever be tainted as the man who killed his own brother on his wedding night.

“Aegon…” Helaena called out wearily, not wanting her dear friend to be subjected to her brother’s cruel games, though she didn’t have power in her own corner to derail him.

“It’s alright Helaena.” She assured her, giving her a weak smile to the Princess who eyed her worriedly for a moment before retreating back to the head table. 

She cleared her throat and stood stiffly, holding back a grimace as Aegon’s hand slipped around her waist, his other taking hers, his grip tight and domineering, as if he wanted to prove to her how much stronger he was than her.

“You were lucky my grandsire allowed this to happen so quickly.” He spoke blatantly as they began to dance. “I was hoping to expose your big secret to the court.”

She felt her insides twist. Knowing Aegon was aware of her and Aemond’s secret, of their sneaking around, had her wanting to retreat where no one would find her. Even now they were married, Aegon still had the power to destroy her reputation.

She just hoped he ruined his own before he had the chance to tear her down. 

“You think they would listen to the words of a drunken idiot?” 

His smile turned wicked, his disdain for her clear, though there was no denying the lust in his gaze as he looked at her. He didn’t have to like her to fuck her. 

“More than they would listen to a whore who spreads her legs for anyone.”

“You mean my husband?” She retaliated, her patience for him wearing thin. 

Aegon chuckled, though his bitterness was clear. He leaned in close, his nose almost brushing against hers. She jerked back, sending him a vicious scowl, all she could allow herself under the prying eyes that surrounded her. 

“You could have been mine.” He crooned, the wine on his breath making her feel nauseous. “Gods only know why you decided to settle for my twat of a brother. As if he could please you better than I could, as if he could fuck you the way I could. I bet you were the first woman he ever bedded.”

His words made her feel sick to her stomach as she staunchly looked past his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. She didn’t want him to know how much he could get under her skin. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I would rather let the entire brothel of whores you sully yourself with flay every layer of my skin off slowly until I beg for death than ever crawl into bed with you.”

Aegon only smirked joyously.

“The mouth on you.” He admired with a shake of his head. “Such a shame it’s wasted on my brother.”

“Aegon.”

The stern voice of his brother made his eyes widen for a fraction of a second and he quickly schooled his expression, quickly removing his hands from his new good sister, plastering on a smirk so his brother wouldn’t see how successfully he could intimidate him.

She turned, meeting the questioning gaze of her husband. She nodded subtly, silently assuring him she was ok. 

He’d been chatting with her brother but the moment he spotted her in Aegon’s arms, he had abruptly given his well wishes to his new family and was quickly making his way to rescue her from his lecherous brother’s grip.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded eagerly, linking her arm through his, more than eager to say goodbye to the feast and make her way to bed with her new husband. 

“What, no bedding ceremony?” Aegon called out, forcing Aemond to send him a wicked glare. 

“Not if you wish to live, brother.” He spat and turned on his heel, desperate to get his wife far away from his depravity. 

He was more than thankful his good father had appealed to his father about doing away with the bedding ceremony. The Lord of Ixtal cared about his daughter too much to put her through that embarrassment. 

“Did he do anything?” He asked under his breath as they walked away, ignoring the cheers of congratulations from the guests he cared little for.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched in anger, his instincts telling him to turn back and threaten his brother within an inch of his life for daring to speak to his wife in ways that were anything but cordial. 

The moment they stepped out of the grand hall, allowing them a brief moment of privacy in the empty hallway, she pulled her arm from his and took his hands in her own, turning to face him, a soft smile on her face.

“Don’t let him ruin our night. This isn’t about him or anyone else. It’s about us.” 

He let out a long breath and nodded, though it wasn’t an easy feat to let go of the anger that burned hotly at the mere mention of his debauched brother’s attention on his love. 

“Besides, I’m quite eager to get to bed and if my husband chooses to delay any longer, I might begin to rethink this union.” She teased, smiling victoriously as his eye darkened with desire.

Her laughter echoed in the halls as Aemond practically dragged her to their chambers, his quick pace signaling he was equally as eager as she was to lose themselves in bliss.

~~

She lay draped across his bare chest, the sheets pooled at their hips. She hummed in contentment, her limbs aching, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as Aemond gently ran his fingers up and down the length of her arm. 

Any other night, his touch would lull her into much needed sleep, but the excitement that continued to course through her veins stubbornly kept her eyes open. 

She turned her head, looking up at her husband.

Gods, she would never get over saying that.

He looked down, their shared smiles growing as their gazes met. 

Her hand that was placed on his strong chest cheekily began to move lower, making him laugh.

“You can’t possibly be needing more.” He spoke tiredly. They had already gone multiple rounds, he had already pulled a countless number of orgasms from her. 

“I thought I married a dragon.” She teased. “Are you saying you no longer have the stamina to please your wife?” 

Aemond’s gaze darkened, his exhaustion worn out by his desire she could so effortlessly spark. 

“You dare to doubt me, wife?” He crooned, knowing how deeply the word affected her, watching with satisfaction as she practically preened against him, a wickedly delightful thrill coursing through her at the mention of their newly married status. 

She laughed and pushed at his chest, forcing him to lay back onto the pillows below him. He eagerly expected her to crawl atop him and ride him in the deliriously, mind bending way she could, but he was left in a pleasured surprise as she began to press heated kisses across his abdomen, moving lower torturously slowly.

He let out a heavy breath, his body thrumming with anticipation. He hissed as she took him in her mouth, his head falling back, already feeling weak under her touch, sensitive from his previous leg-shaking peaks. 

Her wicked tongue knew exactly what to do to render him a useless fool who couldn’t remember his own name. His hand tangled in her hair that was already a mess from their previous passionate rounds. 

His breath left him in heavy pants as she worked him with her mouth at a quick pace. He knew her well, he knew the determined glint in her eye signaled trouble for him. She went further and further and took him deep in her mouth until the tip of him hit the back of her throat. 

He whined, writhing against the bed, his hand that wasn’t pulling at her hair pathetically fisting the sheets below him in an effort to keep himself tethered to some semblance of control that she was steadily shattering. 

“You are wicked.” He moaned, the delight in his voice causing her lips to curl around him in the guise of a victorious smile. 

His lips were parted with a litany of moans and whines as he watched her, eagerly taking in the sight of her, his cock in her mouth, her eyes alight with desire, greedily taking his pleasure. She sped up the pace of her mouth, delighted at the sound of his loud groan echoing throughout the room. 

His toes began to curl, his weak body, already spent from hours of ecstasy, leaving him powerless under her. 

He called out her name frantically, sounding more debauched than he ever would have imagined he could have. 

“Oh fuck, just like that, darling, don’t stop.” 

She doubled her efforts, eager to see him fall apart. She loved to hear his noises of pleasure, to see him so unrestrained as he let himself fall to the haze of bliss. His back arched, both of his hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair, as if to ensure she wouldn’t leave him wanting, that she stayed worshiping him as she was, as only she could.

“Love,” He warned, feeling his end nearing, feeling the familiar fire beginning to stir within him, one that came before a powerful release. With only a few more flicks of her tongue, he felt himself shatter. 

He cried out, a loud, desperate sound most wouldn’t believe to have come from the surly Prince, as he came. His vision was stolen from him as he had squeezed his eye shut in the moment of climax, though he wouldn’t have denied that she had just extricated his soul from his body, leaving him to lose what was left of his sight. He didn’t doubt she had the ability. 

His chest heaved, his jaw slack, small whines leaving him as she was slow to part from him, her mouth lazily working his spent cock that twitched in overstimulation at her touch. 

He reached for her blindly, his limbs weak as though he had just fought a grueling battle. She grabbed his hand, laughing softly at the sight of him thoroughly exhausted. 

She allowed him to pull her over him, his hands desperate to touch her, to feel her close to him, to prolong the pleasure running through him. 

He kissed her hand, his lips moving up the length of her arm until he reached her neck, smiling at the sound of the contented noise that left her lips as he found the spot that always made her giggle with ticklish delight. 

“One of these days you are going to stop my heart.” He told her, still working to catch breath. 

“I would never do such a thing.” 

He smiled and kissed her firmly, his mind a haze of delirium. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, for this seemed too perfect to be his life. He kissed her again, as if to confirm that this was real, that the woman that just brought him pleasure like no other was truly before him, that he was lucky enough to now call her his wife. 

“Give me five minutes and I will return the favor.”

~~

Their marriage was nothing short of blissful. Now there was no longer a need to hide, the public was shocked by how affectionate the dragon Prince acted towards his wife. One was seldom seen without the other. 

Maids constantly gossiped about the salacious noises heard from their shared chambers practically all hours of the day. With the noises the new Princess made nightly they couldn’t help but begin to lust over the elusive Prince, or at least wish he could give some tips to their own lovers. They almost fought over who got to service the Prince and his new wife to catch a glimpse of the lovesick expression on the feared one-eyed dragon’s face. 

It had to be seen to be believed. 

They knew it wouldn’t be long until the announcement of a new Targaryen babe was made. 

Aemond hated the attention. He wished he could take his wife across the sea and indulge in their newly wedded bliss in private. 

He had just sneered at yet another passing Lady who practically fawned at the sight of the two of them, when she laughed, tucking her arm tighter in his. 

They had simply been walking in the gardens together and still couldn’t escape the gossiping Ladies of the court who could talk of nothing else but their marriage and ponder about the feared one-eyed Prince’s new found prowess among the Ladies. 

“Do they have nothing better to do?” Aemond muttered in annoyance.

“Our novelty will wear off soon.” She assured him. “They are just not quite used to seeing you so… soft.”

“I am not soft.”

She laughed, the sound causing him to look over at his wife incredulously. The disbelieving look on his face only had her suppressing more laughter, 

“Tell me, dear husband, if I told you my legs were hurting and I couldn’t possibly make it to that bench over there, would you not carry me?”

Aemond regarded her for a moment, an almost imperceptible pout growing on his lips as he contemplated the situation. He knew there was no way he wouldn’t indulge her in anything she asked for. 

“That does not make me soft.” He answered defensively, though he knew he was a lost cause. 

She giggled at the obvious answer as they continued to walk. Aemond looked over at her, eyeing her carefully for a few moments, his brows furrowing.

“Your legs are not hurting are they?” 

Her laughter rang out in the gardens as she leaned in closer to his side. Aemond felt his own smile tugging at his lips and he placed a kiss to the top of her head.

He knew he would endure all of the petty gossip that came his way. He would endure a lot worse just to hear that laugh again. 

He almost couldn’t believe the bliss he was living in. He loved her more than he thought it was possible to love someone. Now that they no longer had to hide their true feelings for each other, now that they were married and could freely show affection without any repercussions, he found himself living in a dreamlike state. 

It felt too good to be true. 

Every day was spent showing the rest of the court just how much she meant to him, how he was hers and she was his and no one else mattered, while late nights were spent tangled in bed, their limbs weak with pleasure, a time just for them and no one else. 

As she got up to pour them another cup of wine they had been drinking before he had dragged her to their bed, she looked over her shoulder at her husband who was looking up at the ceiling tiredly, a content smile on his face.

“Have I finally worn you out?” She teased as she handed him his cup. 

He chuckled softly and took the cup, drinking down much needed swallows of the sweet wine. She crawled back into bed beside him, settling herself in his open arms once again. She pressed teasing kisses across his chest, feeling the hum of soft moans that escaped him. 

He cupped her face and kissed her firmly, the gesture lacking much heat as they were both thoroughly spent from the haze of pleasure they’d been tangled in for hours. 

He pulled away, letting his forehead rest against hers as he took her in, simply admiring his wife with an awe that was certainly not unfamiliar to either of them. 

She noticed a flicker of something she didn’t recognize flash across his face, his eye softening almost imperceptibly. 

“What’s on your mind, Love?” She asked, nuzzling in closer to him as she sensed his sudden anxious energy. 

He stayed quiet for a moment longer, carefully contemplating his next words and if he should divulge the sudden thought in his head to her. 

“What if…” He started softly, his teeth worrying his lip as he feared her reaction. “What if you didn’t drink any moon tea tomorrow?”

Her expression smoothed out in surprise at his request. She couldn’t deny that it was something she had thought of since their wedding, but she had never spoken of her fantasies of silver haired children with her husband. She knew he had complicated feelings for his own family, especially his father, and she never wanted to bring it up in fear of pushing him to something he feared.  

“Is that something you want?” 

“I want everything with you.” He told her sincerely. 

The beaming smile that grew on her lips soothed every ounce of anxiety he had and he breathed out deeply, leaning forward to kiss her once more. 

“You’re going to be a wonderful father.” 

Her whispered words made his insides twist and flutter in ways that left him holding back the flood of emotions he hadn’t expected, her words soothing the deep rooted anxiety he felt at the prospect of starting a family, no matter how badly he wanted it. He had no way to tell her how grateful he was for her, there were no words conceivable to tell her the depth of his love for her. 

So he settled for kissing her, silently thanking the Gods above for bringing him to the woman in his arms. 

~~

Aemond stepped into their shared chambers the same time he always did, his perfect hair slightly disheveled from his time spent training. He stopped in his tracks, the warmth in his expression gone in an instant as he eyed the Maester sitting before her with growing apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” 

She laughed at his blatant worry as he approached her quickly, reaching for her hand. 

“Everything’s fine, Darling.” 

“What happened?” He turned to ask the Maester, all care gone from his voice, leaving nothing but strict power as he demanded an answer. 

“The Princess wasn’t feeling well this morn-”

“Are you alright? Why didn’t you tell me?” He interrupted, turning his attention back to her, his concerned tone back in full force, all traces of the demanding Prince gone as he kneeled before her, his expression wracked with worry. 

She smiled again in amusement and looked to the Maester. 

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” 

The old man nodded respectfully, giving her a warm smile and hastily leaving the room, most likely relieved to gain some distance from the dragon Prince with the feared temper. 

She intertwined her fingers with Aemond’s, taking in a deep breath as she prepared herself to bring him the life changing news. 

“I have been feeling a little off the last few days and I called the Maester to confirm my suspicion.” She explained vaguely, her mischievous smirk remaining as she watched Aemond’s brow furrow deeper in concern. 

“And?”

Deciding to finally let her husband off the hook and spare him his heart that was no doubt racing in anticipation, his dramatic mind probably conjuring horrible conclusions, she guided his hand forward, letting his palm rest flatly on her stomach. 

She watched him carefully, noting the exact moment he realized what she was telling him. His lips parted and his gaze moved from his hand to her face abruptly, his eye shrouded in disbelief, looking at her pleadingly, as if needing confirmation that this was real. 

She let out a laugh and nodded, tears brimming in her eyes at the pure love she saw in Aemond’s. He let out a breathless laugh, the sound of delight one she had never remembered ever hearing from him before. He grabbed her hands, swiftly bringing her to her feet and barely a second later, he was hugging her tightly, his hands gripping onto her desperately.

Her delighted laughter filled the room as he twirled her around, the moment filled with nothing but elation. 

“Thank you.” He whispered from where his head rested in the crook of her neck. 

She smiled, her own emotions rising at the sound of him so touched, so loved. 

He pulled out of the embrace, his gaze immediately falling to her stomach that had yet to show any evidence of the life that grew there. He pictured it swelling, the bump that would grow with their child, the life they had created together and he was sure his heart was moment away from bursting out of sheer love. 

“I can’t believe it.” He breathed out in awe. It had only been about a month since they had made the decision to forgo moontea, he had no idea it would happen for them this quickly. 

“With how often you take me to bed, surely this isn’t a surprise.” 

He looked almost proud at her jest and she shook her head, pulling him in for another embrace that he gladly returned, his arms holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world and if anyone were to ask, Aemond would certainly agree. 

He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, taking her face in his hands as he looked down at her reverently.

“You have given me more than I ever could have imagined I would have.” He told her honestly. “You’ve made me the happiest man to ever live.” 

He kissed her with all the love he could, hoping it would be enough to convey every ounce of adoration he held for her. 

However, their peace didn’t last long. 

Rhaenyra and her sons would soon be arriving at King’s Landing to counter Vaemond Velaryon’s petition for the Driftmark throne.

The moment Aemond heard the news, he became reserved, building that familiar brooding wall around him, portraying that of the feared one-eyed prince the court loved to gossip about. 

The night before they were due to arrive, he had resided in their chambers, wishing to avoid the prying eyes of the court and their whispers about his bastard nephews and the likelihood of there being another duel between them that would result in bloodshed.

He heard the door of their shared chambers open and close, but his gaze remained on the flickering flames in the hearth in front of him. 

“There you are.” Her sweet voice called out, his wife taking her place at his side. “I’ve barely seen you all day.”

“I’ve been here.” He responded softly, his voice lacking its usual warmth that was always present with her. 

She watched him carefully, knowing exactly what was eating away at him, but hesitant to mention it, unsure of how he would react. The mere mention of his nephews was enough to incite his rage. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” She asked softly.

“No.”

His voice was curt, betraying just how tormented he felt. A flare of pain lashed his scar, the sapphire in place of his eye seemingly burning, as if the thought of that Strong bastard’s imminent arrival alone could cut him like the dagger he wielded that night. 

A tense silence lingered between them, one they both hated. 

With a pained hiss, he tore his eye path off, tossing it to the side carelessly, his sharp features contorted in pain. He leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands as the sapphire in his eye bloomed with pain. 

It wasn’t often the wound still caused him aggravation, but in the moments it did, he always felt like he was that young, helpless boy again. His hands shook slightly as the pain flared so deeply it was all he could do to breathe through it. 

Within seconds he felt gentle hands on his, carefully prying them from his face. He looked up to his wife sitting before him, the concern on her face stirring his emotions he tried desperately to hold back. 

He noticed the vial of ointment in her hands, the one the Maesters gave to him to use whenever his wound became unbearable. He was tense as she cradled his cheek, her thumb caressing the edge of his scar, her eyes taking in the angry looking wound. She had seen him do this for himself a few times but he had never let her do it before. 

She looked at him thoughtfully, posing a silent question to which he nodded slightly, still hesitant to let her touch what was his greatest shame, but the pain was becoming unbearable, he was left out of options. 

She dipped her finger into the ointment and carefully applied it to his eye, her own heart racing as she felt her husband was baring a piece of himself he had been adamant on hiding for so long. 

As her fingers brushed as gently as possible across his wounded eye, the cooling ointment bringing him relief immediately, he finally started to let himself relax, releasing a long breath. 

She reached out with her other hand, laying it over his own that was still clenched into a fist, beginning to trace meaningless shapes over his knuckles. Her touch soothed something in him he didn’t even know could be soothed, the simple gesture enough for him to feel comforted in a way only she could give him. He sighed loudly as he sank into his seat, the rigidity leaving him limb by limb. 

Smiling softly at the sight of him so much calmer than before, she moved to sit next to him once she was finished. Aemond was quick to close the distance between them, moving in closer to her side, taking her hand in his, eager for her touch. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, the look of reverence he sent her stirring her own emotions and she suddenly found herself on the verge of tears. She would never understand what he went through as a child, she would never understand what he felt for his nephews, but she was adamant she would be there for him in the moments he struggled. 

“You never need to thank me for this.” She assured him. 

Another heavy breath escaped him, as if his ire was leaving him with each exhale. His resentment was no match for the love his wife gave him. It would succumb to her each and every time. 

His hand roamed gently over her body, eventually finding its place on her stomach, where it stayed, pulling a small laugh from her.

“You do realize there’s no bump yet.”

Aemond just shrugged, the look of contentment on his face a far cry from the derision that had steadily remained all day. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s still in there.”

“He?”

He seemed bashful as he looked up at his wife, a slight blush on his cheeks, as if embarrassed to admit the many nights he spent thinking about their child, imagining their son as the perfect mix of them both, of how much he already loved their child. 

“It’s just a feeling.” 

She began to picture it, Aemond cradling their son, his eyes the same vibrant blue of his father’s, his smile wide, his cheeks chubby, every bit of him absolutely perfect. 

Her own smile grew, her vision growing blurry as tears gathered in her eyes at the thought, her hormones that were now on a hair trigger since her pregnancy, coming to a head. 

“Hey,” Aemond called out in concern, reaching up to caress her cheek and she shook her head, letting out a small laugh.

“They’re happy tears.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. It was easy to forget the turmoil he felt, that he was soon to face the object of his anger, when he was next to his wife, their child growing within her. 

That night, he was ravenous. He had taken her with a fervor he hadn’t felt in weeks. He had been insatiable when he knew of her pregnancy, but he seemed to treat her like glass, as if she were now delicate because of the precious life that grew within her. 

His touches had always been gentle, but urgent, hungry yet loving. 

Tonight, he was starved. He fucked her as if they were newlyweds again, every touch portraying just how desperate he felt for her. 

“Aemond!” She cried out, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard as he brought her to yet another blissful orgasm.

He growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck, the enticing nip at her neck making her moan. His steady pace never faltered, his powerful hips crashing against hers as he chased his own end. 

Her cries turned to laughs, delirious with pleasure. 

“I love you.” She breathed out and screamed as his pace became quicker, his thrusts becoming harsher, more frantic as he quickly approached his high. 

“Say it again.” He growled, now hovering over her as he gazed down at the beauty beneath him, his eye and the striking sapphire a sight that left her shivering under his tight grip.

“I love you.” She repeated, hoping he believed every word, hoping he knew just how much she cherished him, how much he meant to her. “You are the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I’ll ever love for the rest of my life.”

His jaw clenched, his eye squeezing shut as the sight of her below him, writhing in pleasure, was just too much to handle. He was powerless against her. 

His thrusts became relentless, the bed shaking beneath them with every one of his brutal strokes. 

He breathed harshly, feeling as though flames were alight in his veins. 

“Again.” He commanded roughly. 

She shivered at the commanding edge of his voice, her toes curling as she felt sparks ignite within her. 

“I love you, more than anything.” 

Her breathless words were his undoing. He shouted a curse and groaned loudly, his arms feeling weak as he practically fell over her, never stopping his movements, his cock thrusting into her almost violently as he came, his body shaking against hers. 

She gasped at the feeling of him spilling inside her, her arms wrapping tighter around him, her head thrown back as she cried out, his name falling from her lips in a chant, as if he were a deity she prayed to for salvation. 

“I love you.” She whispered breathlessly and began to laugh tiredly as he planted kisses over the expanse of her neck, making his way upwards until he met her lips, kissing her soundly, as if she were the very air he breathed. 

“I love you.” He panted in a blissful daze. 

By the next morning, every good feeling Aemond had coveted the night before had dissipated like smoke in the wind. 

He woke early and spared his sleeping wife a kiss to the forehead before heading to the training yard where he spent the rest of the morning, endlessly sparring with Ser Criston and any other worthy opponent available when the knight needed a break from his endless plights. 

Those that dared to step up were left bloody and bruised in a matter of minutes. 

Aemond was wound tightly, his entire being ready to snap as he laid his eye on his nephews for the first time in years. The fury that had been buried deeply within him for years bubbled to the surface with one look at the brown haired bastards. 

The sapphire in place of his eye burned as his glare remained steady on them. 

He preened inwardly as they cowered under his eye. To know they couldn’t meet his gaze brought him more satisfaction than he had expected. He grabbed his sword and gestured to Ser Criston to get into position.

He fought with determination as if he were in actual battle, as if his life was truly threatened and every movement dictated his survival. With every powerful strike of his sword against Criston’s shield, he felt vindicated, as though the years of shame that had come from the bullying he endured from his own brother and nephews stripped off layer by layer with each powerful swing of his weapon. 

His eye drifted to his nephews, a sickly satisfied smirk growing at the sight of their intimidation. 

They held no power over him now. He had made sure of it. 

“Husband.” 

Her voice cut through the haze of victory he had been lavishing in. He turned on his heel, confusion overtaking him as he saw his wife standing in the training yard. He dropped his sword and rushed over to her side. 

“What are you doing down here? Is everything alright?”

She didn’t often make her way down into the training yards and with her current state, he couldn’t help but fret over her every minute of the day he was with her.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t killing yourself before the petition.”

He sighed heavily. He didn’t know if he loved or hated how easily his wife could read him. She took his hand and he let her guide him out of the yard. 

“You’ve been here for hours, I think you’ve earned yourself a break.” 

He opened his mouth to retort, but she stopped him with a knowing look. 

“Based on the looks on your nephews face’s I think you’ve proven everything you needed to prove.”

The smirk that grew on his lips should have worried her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any concern for the ire he felt for his nephews. It was more than justified, she just hoped it would be enough, that their visit to the Keep wouldn’t result in any more bloodshed. 

Aemond looked back into the training yard, as if hesitant to leave the glory he’d managed to carve out for himself, for the retribution he felt he had finally earned, no matter how slight it was, but her hand in his forced him back to her in an instant. 

“Don’t let them get to you. They hold no power over you.” She told him softly and he let out a long breath, allowing the hatred that had been clouding him all day roll over him like dark thunder clouds making way for the shining sun to warm up the earth after a vicious storm. 

His hand remained steadily in hers, as if needing her like a lifeline in tumultuous waves. She was the only thing that kept him tethered to himself, that kept him from spiraling into his anger. 

She could see how tense he was and if it were any other day, if they didn’t have royal duties to attend to, she would’ve been content to keep him in their chambers and let him use her to both of their delights until he was spent, too exhausted to feel any anger at all. 

She didn’t like to see him in this state. It was so unlike the sweet boy that had been by her side for years. She didn’t like what her nephews had created in him the night he claimed Vhagar. 

~~

The petition unfolded as she expected. While King Viserys’ presence had been a surprise, Vaemond’s demise certainly wasn’t, especially after the accusations he had spouted to Princess Rhaenyra and her sons. 

Aemond had tugged on her arm, instinctively pulling her behind him as Daemon brought his sword down upon the man. 

He had shielded her from the violent display, something she had been grateful for. With the pregnancy hormones swirling within her, she most often felt nauseous around anything that wasn’t plain bread. The sight of Vaemond’s severed head would’ve been enough to put her off eating for the rest of her life. 

As the court reacted in a frenzy to the brutal display, Aemond had placed his hand on her stomach, his eye looking her over carefully, ready to rush her out of the room at the slightest hint of nausea. 

She gripped his hand and nodded to his silent question, assuring him she was ok, that she wasn’t about to spill her guts in front of everyone, though the darkened look in his eye remained. Who it was targeted at, she wasn’t quite sure. 

Neither one of them had been looking forward to the family dinner Viserys was adamant on hosting. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the tension in the family as he forced them in proximity to each other. 

Aemond had barely spoken a word as they readied themselves for dinner. He was tense, his face drawn tightly, as if he expected the worst to unfold, as if he were facing enemies on a battlefield and not a simple dinner with his family. 

“We don’t have to attend.” She told him, wishing she could protect him from the torment he felt in the face of his nephews. 

He didn’t spare a look to her, every inch of him was shrouded in anger, barely contained fury that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t seem like the man she married at that moment. 

“Why wouldn’t I attend?” He asked, as if his torment wasn’t visible, as if she wasn’t aware of the burning anger he couldn’t shake, the vitriol he experienced as a child coming back to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of the slights that he had been faced with. 

“Aemond,” She started softly. “No one expects you to forgive them.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head, his expression filled with bitter irritation. 

“No one expects me to hold any anger at all.” 

She frowned deeply and approached him slowly, eyeing him carefully. She had never felt so out of depth when it came to her husband but she would be damned if she left him to suffer alone.

“We don’t have to go.”

He clenched his jaw, his eye holding a faraway look, signaling he was deep in thought. 

She reached out, cupping his face in his hands, startling him out of his reverie that was filled with nothing but hatred. 

“You just tell me and we’ll leave. I’ll make an excuse and we can go without any question.”

Her words, her ability to show him she was staunchly in his corner, a feeling no one else had ever assured him of, disarmed him completely. There was one thing his nephews would never take from him, the love he felt from his wife stood the test of time, standing strongly against any other force that dared to weaken him. His eye softened, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm, his fingers gently caressing her skin. 

“What have I done to deserve you?” He whispered, his voice cloaked with reverence, as if surprised by the love she held for him. 

She frowned, hating when he spoke as if he didn’t deserve the love she showed him, as if it was some kind of gift he wasn’t worthy of coveting. 

“You read to me my second day here.” She answered simply, reminding him of the beginning of it all, when they were nothing more than two wonderstruck children. 

He exhaled deeply, desperately wanting to hold onto that feeling that always surrounded him when he thought of their childhood together, like warmth embracing him soundly. 

It was a feeling he kept close to him as they walked to the dining hall, though he knew it was futile. The feeling would be gone, shielded in the depths of him in the face of his family.

As they stepped into the hall, Aemond left her side to grab her a drink from the servers, allowing her to step towards Rhaena and Baela, greeting them politely. Rhaena was quick to give her a smile, while Baela only had distrustful eyes to throw in her direction. 

Her name was called and she turned to see Rhaenyra approaching her with a warm smile. 

She smiled and embraced the Princess slightly awkwardly. She had fond memories of the woman growing up, especially in times when she was desperately missing her own mother, but it had been years since she had seen her and knowing her actions on the night Aemond’s eye had been taken had irrevocably changed her view of the woman since.

“It’s good to see you again, Dear.” Rhaenyra smiled warmly at her. “Where is your father, I was hoping to say hello.”

“He’s at Ixtal. He was missing my mother and decided to take a short visit.” 

“You didn’t join him?”

She felt her cheeks heat at the question and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“I would, but I wasn’t exactly in a good state to travel.” She explained and placed her hand on her stomach exaggeratedly. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and she beamed a smile, laughing happily. 

“That is wonderful news.” The Princess congratulated. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” 

A hand on the small of her back made her look up to see her husband now at her side, his steely eye locked onto his half-sister whose smile faltered at his sudden presence. She cleared her throat, her demeanor now tense as she nodded politely in greeting.

Rhaenyra left their side quickly, leaving her to wonder just how deeply one family could fracture. She couldn’t imagine ever greeting her brothers in that manner. She couldn’t imagine hating the ones she shared blood with. 

Letting out a long breath, knowing she was in for an eventful night, she turned to Aemond, placing her hand on his arm that was stiff, as if he wouldn't allow himself to relax or even take a breath in their presence. 

They all took their seats, the tension in the room strangling as King Viserys was carried in. 

She held back a grimace at the sight of the decrepit King. He was a far cry from the man she had met all those years ago, far from the man who was a dear friend to her father. 

The awkward aura in the room remained steadfast, with most avoiding eye contact with each other. Even Viserys’ heartened speech about family and the uniting of the house of the dragon did little to mend the obvious rift in the family.

Until Rhaenyra stood. She was shocked to hear her speak such lovely words about the Queen and for the Queen to return the sentiment. 

Their apparent truce for the time being broke the tension, though her husband at her side remained tense, his lone eye unflinchingly cold as he regarded his distant family. 

Her eyes kept circling back to him, as if waiting for the moment he would strike. She wondered when the wood of the chair under his white-knuckled grip would splinter. She wondered when the night would take an irredeemable turn.

She didn’t even get to enjoy Helaena’s thinly veiled jab towards Aegon in her toast, she was too worried about her husband to pay attention to the others around her. 

When the music began, signaling the end of the toasts, she leaned back in her seat, giving her husband a small encouraging smile, anticipating that they had made it through the worst the night had to offer. 

Aemond remained stiff as stone, his posture straight and rigid. She noticed his eye darken further, his gaze locked past her and she turned, her brows furrowing slightly as Jacaerys stepped towards her, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Would you care to dance, Princess?” He asked, offering her his hand. 

She stared at his hand for a long second, contemplating her choices. With the entirety of the table watching the exchange, she knew she had little choice but to accept his offer. 

She spared a brief glance to her husband beside her and the fury that blazed in his lone eye would have melted the wall in the great north. With a heavy breath, she gingerly took Jace’s hand and stood from her seat, allowing him to guide her away from the table.

Her husband’s gaze practically burned at her back. 

Aemond watched with barely contained rage as the bastard danced with his wife. His teeth grinded together so harshly it was a wonder they didn’t crack. He briefly contemplated what the repercussions would be if he murdered the Strong bastard where he stood. 

The fire within him was simmering, ready to unleash as he watched another man touch his wife. The smile on the bastard’s face left Aemond wondering whether he should slit his throat, dismember him, or let Vhagar turn him to ash. 

None of the choices seemed punishment enough. 

As Jace twirled her, her eyes briefly met Aemond’s and her stomach twisted at his expression. She knew tonight wouldn’t end peacefully. 

She flinched slightly as Jace quickly spun her back into his arms, causing her to almost crash into his chest, forcing her much closer to him than she felt was necessary. She leaned back to gain some distance, hoping it wasn’t noticeable, hoping her husband hadn’t been able to tell she had been uncomfortable for a mere second.

Jace would be dead and buried before the sun rose if that were the case. 

“I have to admit, I was quite shocked when I heard the news of your wedding.” Jace suddenly spoke, keeping his voice low so only she would hear. 

“What was so shocking?”

“I didn’t expect you to end up with someone like him.”

“Someone like him? You mean my oldest friend?” She questioned, disdain creeping through her tone, her defenses raised, which didn’t allow her the wherewithal to speak in a friendly manner. 

Jace sighed, as if wanting to dispute the simple fact that she and Aemond had been close for years before marriage was even a thought in either of their heads. 

“You two are very different.” He said with a slight shrug. “I pictured you with someone more… warm, romantic even.” 

“I assure you, my prince, my husband is plenty romantic. You do not need to worry yourself about my marriage.” She smiled stiffly. 

Jace, seeming to sense her attitude, remained silent for the remainder of the dance. As the song ended, she politely curtsied and was walking back to the table before he could rise from his bow. 

The tension didn’t dissipate as she took her seat at her husband’s side once more. If anything, the fury radiating from the man beside her only set her more on edge. Aemond leaned into her, making her shoulders tense both in apprehension and desire. 

“If he touches you again, I will break every bone in his body.” Aemond hissed in her ear, smirking delightedly at the shiver she repressed. 

She looked up at him, his fury now morphed into an insatiable hunger only she could tame. She knew she would be in for a long night. 

She was just thankful he seemed to be feeling anything other than murderous rage. 

But it did not last long. 

She had been speaking quietly to Helaena, Aemond’s hand in hers, his thumb caressing over her knuckles a steady comfort when he suddenly pulled away. 

She barely had time to look over at her husband before he was bolting out of his chair. His fist that slammed on the table made her flinch in surprise, her wide eyes looking up at him in confusion.

“Final tribute.” 

Her heart raced wildly in her chest, her gaze wandering around the table, wondering what could have possibly stoked his fury. It wasn’t until she saw the sheepish guilt that permeated with fear on Lucerys’ expression that she began to understand. 

“To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

She felt her breath hitch in her throat, her wide eyed gaze meeting Alicent’s for a brief moment, his mother looking equally as petrified for what was to unfold. 

“Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

She sent her husband a pleading look, but it was lost on him, his gaze, full of hatred, cemented on his nephews. 

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as Jace landed a punch to Aemond’s cheek. The room erupted in chaos. She could watch with disappointment as her husband pushed his nephew to the ground, as Aegon joined in and shoved Lucerys against the table. 

Helaena stood from her seat and rushed towards her, her face shrouded in fear. She sighed and stood from her seat, wrapping her arm around her friend who seemed disturbed by the rift tearing in her family before her. 

“It’s alright.” She assured her. 

Across the room, Rhaenyra’s eyes bored into hers, pleading, as if she had any control over her husband’s ire. She sent her an apologetic look and bowed her head, wishing Aemond had taken up her offer to avoid the dinner altogether. 

The room came to a standstill, the fighting men separated, a room divided by two factions. 

Aemond glared at his uncle who looked at him as if disappointed, as if he were out of line to enact revenge for the slight against him. 

He grit his teeth and in a quick motion, swallowed the wine left in his cup before turning back to the table. He avoided looking at his wife as he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him as he stormed out of the room.

Her feet moved quickly to keep up with his quick pace, her heart in her throat as he led them through the halls.

Once they were back in their chambers, her eyes seldom left him, watching every one of his movements carefully, noticing how highly strung he still was, how stiffly he moved as paced for a moment before he finally took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

His anger wouldn’t be leaving him easily. 

“Are you alright?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, gazing ahead blankly, the burning fury that simmered in his veins leaving him practically trembling, the desire to wreak havoc not yet dissipating. 

Every part of him was wrought with tension, his mind a mess of thoughts, though his anger was the easiest to make sense of. 

“Don’t try to convince me that what I did was wrong.” He spoke bitterly.

“I won’t.” 

His jaw clenched, the events of the last few minutes running through his head on a loop, keeping him in the state of rage that made him shake, that made his hands twitch, wishing he had done more, wishing he could hurt that bastard the way he had been hurt all those years ago.

The thought briefly startled him. It was a thought he used to have frequently, when the rage in his heart was so new he didn’t know what to do with it. It was a thought he hadn’t focused on since being with her. 

The revelation had an unfamiliar upset stirring within him.

“I should sleep in my old chambers tonight.” He muttered tersely. 

The bitter anger burned within him, he felt on the edge of cracking and he would hate himself if he ever took it out on her, his sweet wife. He felt he needed to be far away from her to avoid darkening her with his presence.

“What?”

The sadness in her voice almost broke him. He closed his eye and bowed his head, he couldn’t bear to see the look on her face. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

It was quiet for a long moment, his words lingering in the room like an ominous death rattle that signaled the bitter end after a long, torturous fight. 

But she refused to let him sink into his despair. 

He flinched as she stepped before him, catching his gaze. Her hands smoothed out the doublet he wore, roaming upwards to brush the hair off his shoulders and gently caressing his neck as she reached up to hold his jaw affectionately. 

He let out a deep breath, the tension slowly but surely easing from him in waves under her touch. 

“I am not letting you feel this alone.” She told him, her voice soft yet stern, letting him know there was no way he would change her mind about this, that nothing could force her to accept his absence from her side. 

“I don’t seem to recognize myself around them.”

His whispered confession hit her harder than she had expected and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, her own emotions rising to the surface at the sight of him so tormented. 

“You can never undo what they took from you.” She began slowly, her voice wavering slightly. “I’ll never understand what you’ve been through. I wish I could and I’m so sorry I don’t, but you cannot let this consume you.”

His face remained a mask of torment, his derision and anger battling against the exhaustion that permeated his bitterness, that left him feeling weak in the aftermath of his rage. 

She gently guided him to tilt his head upward so she could look at him, so he could see her and the resolution on her face and understand her honesty.

“You are more than your eye. You are more than the rage you feel when you look at them. You are more than them.”

He almost shuddered under her hands, the words striking him with force as though they were dealt with a physical hit. 

“I see you, the real you. The one I fell in love with, my sweet husband, the father of my child.” 

With that, she grabbed his hand to place it over her stomach and his expression changed in an instant, the anger gone as he caressed where his child grew. 

He leaned forward, his forehead falling to rest against her chest, his arms circling her waist. He spread his legs, allowing her to step closer to him, her own arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him tightly. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, the soft motions pulling a soft sound from deep within him, his rigid body falling lax against her. 

As she hugged him tightly she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. She wished she could pull the agony from him, untangle the strings of rage that wound him so tightly. 

She wished she could’ve gone back in time and held tighter to the wounded boy who hid his despair from her for so long. 

~~

The girls are fightinggg

And the angst is coming xx

~~

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[moodymisty]

Author's note: I love him

Relationships: Mortarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, A man jerkin it, Gross descriptors of Mortarion's body, Pervert Morty and his hot wife the prequel

The lights hit your skin so beautifully.

The dark purple fabric of your dress wrapped around you in an embrace, flowing onto the floor like water in a glittering stream. The color was a dusty, deep purple, much like his cape- But while yours was by design, his was ragged and washed out from years of overuse.

The way it wrapped around your shoulders, down your arms around your delicate wrists; how when you walk, it pulls away to reveal the ever so slight amount of skin just above your heel. Dresses were exceeding rare on Barbarus, and underneath were usually further layers to protect the skin. To see your naked body underneath such thin fabric had made his eyes widen- instinctually thinking that it was dangerous, he felt sickly and perverted to gaze so openly- as you casually walked around to chatter with other baselines.

When you'd turned away from him and revealed the open back of your dress, revealing your shoulderblades all the way down to the small of your back, he had just about choked.

If Mortarion had been a different primarch, you might as well have walked up to him and flashed your tits right at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth for good measure.

He left moments after that. You probably didn't even notice, which was for the best. He was better off slipping away unknown to take a moment for himself.

Funny- he hated the remembrancers at first. They seemed pointless at best and actively frustrating at worst, but the other primarchs had insisted he allow them aboard The Endurance. For documentstion, Fulgrim had said. To etch his legion's deeds into history.

Who cares. He and his legion do what needs to be done. History is unimportant.

One by one they slowly left the Death Guard, but you remained; With no signs of abandoning him departing.

Ever so diligent, quiet, and demure, you always did your work- sometimes even with a smile- watching his legion conduct their duties. Sometimes you would even indulge his lackluster and embarrasingyly necrosed conversational skills, showing no reaction other than interest and this odd, soft expression he had no word for.

You wouldn't want him.

He looks down at his body once in the safety of his Terran bedchambers- the way his skin is pallid and sickly, the scars. His nails are chipped, his hair is limp and grey. The clothes he wears are from Barbarus; Old, torn, stained and filthy. Dependable and still useful. But why now does he suddenly want to change them?

His bed groans under his weight as he sits on it, looking down at his thighs. He knows they're scarred underneath his trousers, a bit wider than they were when he was on Barbarus.

His nose curls, his breaths deepen. He's angry- but why?

He takes a deep breath filling his chest and rips off his respirator in one fell swoop, before letting out a sick cough that rips through his lungs like hellfire. He feels the palm covering his mouth get wet, groaning and tensing his neck to try and control the fit.

He then looks to the singular mirror- sees the way the skin around his mouth is dry and discolored, the dark circles under his eyes, before turning his entire back to it.

He throws the respirator to the floor and watches it roll across the marble before skidding to a stop. It feels satisfying, in a pointlessly vindicating way.

The next few breaths he takes are ragged and full of sticky phlem. It racks his body and when he can't stop another cough, he feels the painful jolt of a rib popping. Spittle strings from his mouth to his hand, it tinted blood red ever so slightly.

'Where did you get such attire.'

Mortarion watched confusion bloom across your face, your lips shifting in an erotic dance. They part with the softest little pop. The skin of your cheeks looks so smooth.

'Oh, when I was given as your remembrancer, I was assigned an appropriate wardrobe, formal attire included.'

He felt disgusting, looking down at your bare skin. Almost your entire collarbone was visible, your shoulders, your fingers, your ankles, your wrists, your back- by the throne your back, he felt like some sort of slathering beast barely holding himself together. You looked so soft and you displayed it so openly- so wantonly! On Barbarus, you were lucky to see another's eyes. To see this much was... A fantasy.

His respirator discarded on the floor like rubbish Mortarion moves to undo the fastenings of his trousers, feeling the heavy heat of his cock. The first touch of him pulling it out at attention has him hissing, it nearly painful. He has to start with gentle touches- he knows you would do that if you weren't revolted by him- to build himself up to wrapping his entire fist around his cock. Once he manages it, even the dry scarred skin of his palm still feels otherworldly compared to just rubbing himself through his clothes.

Would you kiss him? Would you risk the poison of his breath and the sickly pallor of his skin? Would you let him mouth at your bare skin, feeling the warmth of your body under his lips?

Probably not. But he abandons the self declaration of him being a disgusting, cowardly pervert to imagine you would.

His cockhead throbs and aches, leaking precum that slicks his hand and shaft as he fists his cock. He hasn't done this in years, touch himself. He never had the need to- the desire to. Until you. Now he feels like he's rubbing himself raw almost daily.

He lets out a louder groan, one that vibrates his throat and nearly sends him into another coughing fit as he strokes himself faster. His lower stomach tenses and his cock twitches in his tight grip, angry, ragged breaths coming out of his nose.

Would you let him show you what you do to him? Would you show him more skin that you do shockingly showed him already? If you were from Barbarus, showing that much of your body would be the absolute height of intimacy.

By the throne, would you do all of that he's imagined and tell him you wanted more? That you wanted him? Would your allow your body to get defiled ruined stained corrupted poisoned touched by him, wantonly begging for more underneath him laying there like a beautiful painting while he falls apart before you?

He's so enthralled by the idea of kissing you, touching you-

Watching you undress-

He barely has a hold over himself. He fists his cock rough feeling his finish coming closer and closer, teeth gnashing. His cock twitches against as his stomach gets tighter, whenever his fingers brush against his cockhead he lets out the most pathetic, overwhelmed groan.

The idea of you touching him has him leaking in his fist, of the hand wrapped around his cock being your smaller ones and not his own.

The thought of actually being able to sink his cock into the tight, wet heat between your legs, of you moaning for him to ruin you more, to make him the only one that could bring you pleasure, has his body tightening up and he lets out a shaky, pathetic cry, coming all over his hand and onto the floor. He hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he opened them, looking at his own mess.

His cock twitches in little aftershocks, and despite the feeling that he could possibly go again, he takes a few deep breaths and rises to his feet. He fixes his half soft cock back into his trousers and sullies himself as to clean up his mess on the floor- the embarrassment of having another do so would ruin him- before returning to the small formal event he left behind.

He finds you moments after entering, as if by fate. You're standing alone, outcast by the other remembrancers.

They all fail to compare to you anyhow. They pale in comparison to your smarts and your beauty, a jewel among a legion of rot.

You are his remembrancer.

When he walks up to you, your face changes in a way that confuses him. You smile, giving the tactful bow he expects of you, though it isn't needed.

"I see you've returned," You say, adjusting the front of your dress. "Do you need something of me, Lord Mortarion?"

Mortarion watches the way your lips curl around your teeth, the way on some letters your tongue moves barely visible behind your lips. The way his name leaves your mouth sends another jolt to his already abused cock; By the Throne, he should just force it down your throat for what you do to him.

He grunts, looking down at you. You're waiting expectantly.

You wouldn't want him.

"No."

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

~all creatures great and small~ (amazing illustration by the awesome @david-talks-sw)

“And just what exactly is it that you’ve been doing?”

Obi-Wan had to stop himself from giving his fellow Councillor—and friend—a rather pronounced eyeroll. 

“You tell me,” he said without taking his eyes off his clamoring little herd, feeling rather proud of himself. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Mace came up to his side and crossed his arms, looking decidedly unimpressed. He looked at Obi-Wan, then at his rambunctious little friends and their merrymaking, then back at Obi-Wan again. 

“It looks like you have been avoiding meetings all morning.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth. He carefully put his hands in his large sleeves.

“Have I?” He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop laughing if he saw Mace’s no doubt exasperated face, so he kept carefully looking onward. “You should have called me.”

“You know I did,” Mace griped, valiantly ignoring the racket and still boring holes in the side of Obi-Wan’s face.

If it came to a contest of wills, Obi-Wan knew he’d be hard pressed to match Mace’s stubbornness. He turned to face him, and inevitably let out a huffed chuckle. Mace looked annoyed alright, but he could do nothing about the twinkle in his deep eyes. 

“You,” Mace insisted, no doubt trying to maintain what he probably hoped to be a convincingly stern demeanor, “have spent all day corrupting our next generation instead of going over mission reports.”

“Really, Mace—”

A yellow blur careening between the two of them nearly knocked them off their feet. A beige, more bipedal one rushed right after it, bumping into them both with equal speed if not equal force. 

“Sorry Masters!” the youngling yelled over her shoulder without stopping. 

Obi-Wan had to cough into his fist to keep from cackling.

“Obi-Wan.” Mace said.

“She apologized,” Obi-Wan pointed out with a brilliant smile.

“You still haven’t.”

“What for?”

Mace’s control finally cracked, and he thrust an accusing finger at Obi-Wan’s innocent face, ready to give into a rare display of unrestrained aggravation. Obi-Wan quickly batted it away and beat him to the punch.

“It’s a perfectly good way of teaching the younglings patience and control!”

Mace blinked at him, his mouth left hanging open, his finger still up and now pointing somewhere over to the right. He turned slowly, and surveyed the bustling courtyard in bemusement. The half-dozen or so pufferpigs that Obi-Wan had let loose there were being corralled by three times as many eager younglings, clone cadets and Padawans, and the animals all felt entitled to express the full range of their feelings on the matter in a loud and enthusiastic fashion. Little Mari Amithest was still running after the particularly rowdy creature that had mistaken Obi-Wan and Mace for Rodian bowling pins. 

Mace’s eyebrows climbed to previously undiscovered heights. 

“What part of this,” he gestured incredulously, “is controlled?”

“None of the pigs have puffed yet,” Obi-Wan explained seriously. 

Mace’s eyebrows were now on their way into orbit. A moment passed. Then, his expression of astonishment seamlessly melted into curiosity.

“They haven’t?” he asked, considering the whole bunch with renewed interest. 

“I told you, it’s a proven method,” Obi-Wan insisted, vindicated. He pointed to the far corner of the courtyard, where Katooni was showing some of the younger children how to feed a happy looking unpuffed puffer. “My Padawan has taught that one to do tricks.”

The squealing puffer was hopping from one foot to the other before avidly sweeping treats from the children’s outstretched hands. 

Mace was now looking suitably impressed. More careful study of Mari’s chase was making it apparent that the animal she was after was not distressed in any way, but was—rather mischievously—trying to run off with her sash clutched in its stout trunk. 

“You shouldn’t let emotions cloud your perception,” Obi-Wan reminded him in a serious voice.

“Hm,” Mace conceded magnanimously, impervious to the teasing.

The twinkle of carefully contained amusement that had been present in his eyes from the start had won over all other sentiments. A wet snort had the two Masters look down at the adventurous pufferpig that had made its way over to them. The amicable beast was fixing them with soulful blue eyes, candidly inoffensive. Its stubby tail was wagging quite politely. Mace distractedly bent down to pet the expectant critter on its broad, squishy face.

“It wants to smell your lightsaber,” Obi-Wan warned. “They like crystals.”

Mace straightened and put a hand on his hilt.

“The Mining Guild didn’t pick them up yesterday?” he inquired. “That was on the agenda.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“They tried, but for some reason all the identity chips turned out to be unreadable. There’s no way to prove who these fellows belong to.”

Mace gave him a flat look. 

“Hondo stole them from a Republic transport.”

“There’s all sorts of things on Republic transports,” Obi-Wan reasonably pointed out.

“The transport was chartered by the Mining Guild.”

“Hondo wiped the manifest during his hijacking. There’s just no way to know.”

“Your Padawan was there to escort the Mining Guild representatives.”

“Some mysteries can never hope to be solved.”

The pufferpig had taken to bonking its head against their legs affectionately. Mace, bowing to the undeniable strength of Obi-Wan’s ironclad argumentation, very seriously gave the tenacious quadruped another pat.

“They’re not staying,” he reminded Obi-Wan firmly. 

“Obviously not,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “The Temple would be a terrible environment for them.”

His friend narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“And you’re not making me spend my time finding them a place.”

“Honestly, Mace.” Obi-Wan gave the affable puffer a gentle shove, and it obediently trotted away to a nearby group of younglings and clone cadets who were already entertaining one of its siblings. Obi-Wan wiped his hands on his pants. “Naboo has very responsible educational farms.”

“Does it,” Mace said mildly. 

“Including a recently opened one in the Lake District.” 

Unashamedly petty enjoyment rang in the Force.

“Don’t come to me when Skywalker tries to send them back.”

“Who says I’ll pick up when he does?”

Obi-Wan loved Anakin, dearly. Still, he hadn’t yet quite forgiven his old Padawan for retiring—running away—before they could make him shoulder his share of the sacred responsibility of wrangling the Temple’s significantly increased youngling population. It was Luke and Leia’s birthday soon anyway. 

“You’re stooping to deviousness,” Mace said, carefully neutral.

Obi-Wan gave him a wry look. 

“Never. Revenge is not the Jedi way,” he said just as calmly. 

“It’s them you’re supposed to be teaching,” Mace said with a short nod towards the unruly bunch. “He’s had his turn.”

Speaking of teaching…

“Oh my,” Obi-Wan said smugly, pointing to a boy who had taken to carefully levitating a surprisingly compliant—if a little alarmed—pufferpig, “that wouldn’t happen to be Caleb, would it?”

His fellow Council member was now pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand planted on his hip. 

“I must say, that young man is certainly very skilled at forming connections with animals. Depa must be very proud.”

“Just don’t,” Mace groaned. He whipped out his communicator. “He’s supposed to be meditating with Yoda right now.”

“That explains it,” Obi-Wan said. 

Master Yoda was slowly ambling into the courtyard, looking quite pleased with what he was seeing. He poked misbehaving younglings with his cane as he walked, chuckling to himself when they yelped and hastily reached with the Force to make sure the pufferpigs stayed relaxed. The pufferpigs themselves were only curious, and in a sufficiently playful mood that the younglings’ offended squeaking was not enough to agitate them. Caleb had set down his floating puffer with all possible speed—and great care—at the sight of the venerable elder, and made ample and readily accepted apologies to the perplexed animal in the form of scritches. 

Mace slowly put away his communicator. He pursed his lips. 

“Obi-Wan,” he said slowly, “next time, just have them practice making friends with the stray tookas.”

That’s how his master had done it, and Mace had never had any problems with connecting with animals, large and small. 

“Pufferpigs are much more even-tempered.”

It was all Mace could do not to facepalm. Giving up, he shot Obi-Wan one last dry look.

“Just do your damn paperwork.”

Obi-Wan watched him stride away, dignified and imposing. Of course, since he wasn’t exactly paying attention to his surroundings, with how focused he was on pretending he was above this whole situation, he didn’t notice Mari’s wayward puffer on a direct collision course with his legs. The poor creature, who hadn’t noticed Mace either, let out a terrified screech and promptly puffed. 

The entire courtyard froze, watching with fascination as the inflated pufferpig bounced twice and slowly rolled to a halt. It made a sorry little squeak.

Resignedly, Mace closed his eyes and set to work on gently calming down the pufferpig with the Force.

The children loudly cheered. 

[bunnwich]

Okay I’m assuming that the other long ass ask you mentioned was about the Halloween event too and your take on it so fair warning, this will also be about that and will also probably be long. I only play en and try to avoid spoilers but also I love the lion man so I got some of that anyway. But you really hit on a lot of points that I feel are important when people wanna flatten Leona’s character to 2D (even though he is literally 2D I guess), but what we’re seeing now in terms of “Leona chugs respect women juice and hates men” feels like just another iteration of “lazy lion man is lazy and doesn’t wanna do anything.”

And about Leona respecting a potential friend or partner regardless of gender, it’s like two weird sides of the same coin where people will say he hates men but it feels almost infantilizing toward women (Sally specifically in this case) about him being kind to her BECAUSE she is a woman. No! He likes her because she is smart and cunning and clever and will do whatever it takes to get what she wants (poisoning someone to get to freedom)- all things Leona values, and I think there’s probably a certain amount of “finally, my kind of person” with some of the closer analogues I feel being Leona mentoring Jamil and pushing him to go after what he wants as well as letting Yuu “bully” him into helping with Azul because dammit Yuu is using everything at their disposal and figured out the trick to Azul’s contracts, both of which are worthy of respect (and it lets him destroy his own contract). I’ve lost my train of thought a smidge but yes, it’s not about respecting women specifically or a matriarchal society, it’s about being around someone he actually vibes with and respect

Switching topics but yeah, he IS a hypocrite! He’s calling out Skully’s not seeking consent specifically because the behavior annoyed him as a whole, not just the consent part. And possibly Yuu’s or anyone else’s reaction of “oh how gentlemanly” too. I feel like that one goes back to his tendency to seek any and every advantage or whatever he can use to get the result he wants. In this case, he wants Yuu to not be overly impressed or even annoyed with Skully, and that’s the way to get the result.

Okay last one but yes it is so cute to get to see Leona a bit softer and kinder since it’s such a rare sight in twst. There’s this kind of vindication too, at least for me, to see what as so obviously there to me out in the open for once.

Leona has always been soft…but not a gentleman.

HI ANON!! Actually, the other ask was not about the event but honestly, I get why you would think that. (I get Leona asks a lot about different things :3c DFGHJ)

“Leona chugs respect women juice and hates men” feels like just another iteration of “lazy lion man is lazy and doesn’t wanna do anything.”

YEAH YEAH I think I see what you mean with this. I have a couple of thoughts on that tbh- 

Ppl get excited about a character they like and then they end up saying/joking about things without thinking about other ppl in the fandom who are different from them. Which…is fine to a degree but fandom is a community (or supposed to be) AND masc/nonbinary (and/or those with those types of OCs) often ALREADY get left out of fandom content and end up feeling like they aren’t “as valid” as femme folk and their OCs.

The other thing may be that some of these ppl feel in order to “justify” liking this “flawed character” that they MUST sanitize aspects of them. And turning Leona into a “squeaky clean feminist” suddenly and “consent” king is their way of flattening his character in order to make him safer to like?? Or like a vindication for him liking their femme OCs over a masc one?

Maybe I’m wrong, but those are my thoughts.

To your second point, YES EXACTLY!! I have always felt like Leona takes a soft spot for the MC in Chapter 3 and even somewhat for Jamil in Chapter 6 when he sees aspects of himself in him. And I feel like I never see ppl bringing that up about Chapter 3 especially. 

In the manga, you can see how delighted Leona is when Yuuta figures out the secret to Azul’s Unique Magic. He respects Yuuta's tenacity and even though he “says” he only helps because he wants his personal contact destroyed, I have always believed that that is just a part of it. I think he genuinely grows to like the MC more and actions speak louder than words. If he TRULY wanted to be rid of Yuuta or the MC in the game…he would have thrown them out like he threatened to do from the beginning. He’s a pushover…for certain ppl ofc.

You can even see this with Ruggie as well. Leona “says” it’s only for his benefit but we KNOW that he helps Ruggie behind the scenes with his homework “gives him extra money” and hand-me-downs. If it was truly only a business relationship he wouldn’t bother. And in one of his birthday vignettes, Cater goes on about how much he obviously cares for his underclassmen.

I guess what is truly interesting to me is that I’ve ALWAYS known Leona has the ability for softness and kindness. And bc Sally is a sweetie and so cool and YES a lady I think he was just more open about being nicer to her. 

Let’s remember that Leona doesn't have a lot of ppl he's close to at Night Raven College, therefore we don’t get to see that side of him often.

Idk…I feel watering this all down to “Leona is just a feminist” and that is why he’s nice does as you say: infantilizes women AND waters down Leona’s capacity for said softness and kindness and just making it about “manners” he learned growing up, yk?

THANK YOU, HE IS A HYPOCRITE. Leona as much as I defend is…rude AF. He has touched people without consent in vignettes and in the past. So I agree with your interpretation. I think it could even be interpreted as jealousy if someone wants to go that route.  But is it bc he TRULY gaf about Scully's manners? idts

As we know, he’s blunt compared to many of the characters and according to Vil and others has terrible manners. In fact, this was brought up MANY times in the Tamashina Mina event and so I think more the scene with Sally was more to show that he CAN be kind and a gentleman…when he wants to. Rather than showing he’s a simp for women or w/e.

 I'm FINE with ppl saying he’s a feminist or respects women! I believe he does! That’s harmless but- 

I just wish that ppl wouldn’t use this as an excuse to put down others AND remember that Leona isn’t just kind to women. He may have been softer to Sally but he has always been a generous person to those he believes has potential and/or respect.

I agree, I loved seeing him in this! I hope to see more of this openness from him in the future. 

Like you, I feel like I always knew it was there and have been preaching it for years! I already knew he was capable of softness. I think we just got to see it so openly bc it was someone NOT from NRC. 

And IT IS a great vindication for me too! Leona was always big bro, soft for those he admires etc. And I think before it was hidden between the lines and now it’s just out in the open.

Thanks for this ask! I’m glad my yapping is understood and that you could relate to what I meant in my previous post about him.💚💚💚 TLDR;

[kanohivolitakk]

Ok let me explain why I reacted as I did in my last post, which was indeed regarding the scrapped Toa Inika concepts essentially vindicating why I'm one of the few people who believe love not being canon is a good thing.

Firstly, before anyone gets assumptions let me clarify something. I don't think having romance existing in Bionicle is inherently a bad idea in and of itself. Those who followed me in le olden days know I do ship characters from this stupid series. Romance existing in the world and characters having romantic relationships is something I don't inherently oppose.

That said

I've always believed that romance wouldn't work as a proper element of the story itself and would've made the series worse for a few factors.

For starters, I feel romance kinda, clashes with Bionicles core essence. Bionicle is fundamentally an action adventure story that focuses on mystery, intrigue and discovery in a fantastical setting, with heavy emphasis on worldbuilding and intrigue. Sure, there are other series with similar styles and goals that have romance. But usually they happen to only have part of those elements than all of them. Bionicle is already packed as is, so as such having romance would've just muddied the pack than made actual worthwhile addition to the story

Secondly...romance in these kinds of stories is rarely done well, unless it is one of the core components. In action and fantasy stories aimed at kids and teens romance is rarely (if ever) done well. Usually it's regulated to onedimensional love-interests, will they won't they plots or compelling characters being ruined by forced romance plots. While there are exceptions, most of the time romance in these stories feels forced rather than organic, and as such more of a detriment to the narrative than a benefit. Given how Bionicle was released during the heyday of mediocre forced romances and how the series already isn't that character centric to begin with, I absolutely believe the series would've stumbled with handling romance.

Thirdly, it's just nice to have a story that doesn't have romance at all and instead focuses on fun adventures and interesting mysteries. As I said, romance could've most likely been felt shoehorned or forced in, and thus its nice for Bionicle to exist as is without any unnecessary elements to drag it down. But in addition it's just...really refreshing and freeing. A lot of stories (especially of the time) feel very amatonormative where romance is expected as a natural part of live and thus exists in everything no matter what. As someone who both was annoyed by romance being everywhere no matter what (and is possibly onarospec on some degree) that kind of..refusal to amatonormativity is just...really nice.

Fourthly, it allows platonic relationships to shine. I feel that often (both in real life, fiction and fandom spaces) romantic relatinships are put bigger emphasis on than platonic relationships, whenplatonic relationships are just as valuable if not moreso. Platonic relationships are undervalued and certain traits are seen as inherently romantic. As such its just...nice to see characters have deep bonds and connections without being forced red string of fate either by the narrative, fandom or both.

And lastly...I just kinda prefer shipping in fandom over canonical relationships. Unless the story is focused on romance, has romantic relationship being important for the larger narrative/themes or there's a relationship that is geniunely compelling and fascinating I just prefer when audience can choose which characters they see being "together" rather than the writer "forcing" a relationship onto them. Like, I love Daggerspider but part of that is because I get to choose the ship myself rather than Greg (or anyone else) forcing me to accept it as canon.

So yeah that's why I always believed romance not being canon was ultimately a good thing and why I am somewhat against the fandoms desire to make it canon. If you want to meet me halfway I'm willing to accept romance as an element of the setting or have romantic relationships be subtext/canonicaal couples. But Bionicle should never be focused on romance because its lack of romance is ultimately for it's benefit I feel.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // TWELVE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: The Tales of Ba Sing Se: The Tale of Princess Y/N

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: going to say it right here right now…this chapter is 75% crack and goofy nonsense shenanigans LMAOAO. mostly because zuko and y/n’s relationship is so i see the light from tangled across the stars from star wars etc etc but the main man of this chapter & y/n are just the subway surfers theme song personified

“I’m very confused,” you said, sitting on Quynh’s front paw and gazing up at her beseechingly. “I need your help, Quynh.”

“I was questioning why you stayed here with me instead of running off to that tea shop you love so much,” she said, inclining her nose towards you. “What is the matter?”

“It’s about the tea shop,” you said. “Or, specifically, a certain employee.”

“That boy you met? Lee?” she said. Her muzzle wrinkled, though it was with concern, not anger. “Has he done something wrong to you?”

“No, not at all,” you said. “Well. Maybe a little bit, but he’s not quite aware that he’s done anything. And then there’s the whole problem with the Blue Spirit…”

“Your mysterious savior? What is his relation to the situation?” she said. “Dearest Y/N, you must explain at once before I am irreversibly angered.”

“Lee makes me feel bizarre!” you said, throwing your hands in the air. Quynh blinked at you.

“Makes you feel bizarre?” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “Incredibly so.”

There was really no other adjective for what it was. It was unprecedented, the kind of emotion you had never felt before, not for anyone – bar the Blue Spirit, but it was different even then. Of the same foundation, but taking a different form.

“You’ll have to explain a little more,” she said.

“It’s like my stomach is in knots,” you said. “And as if my heart has turned to a bird and is fluttering its wings about! What is this power that he has, that he can send my body into fits? But, for all that, I still want to be around him. It matters not what we are doing; as long as he is there, I am happy. Yet how can I be happy? He is driving me to failure! Why, for all I know, he really might bring about my death!”

For a moment, Quynh was silent, and then her body began to rumble. You were vindicated for a bit, thinking that she was growling with protective instinct, but your temporary satisfaction immediately vanished when you realized she was laughing.

“For a girl who spends so much time reading about so many different topics, you know so little of the world,” she said. “Though then again, this is the kind of thing that you have to experience to understand.”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“He doesn’t have any special powers, and you aren’t going to die,” she said. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you like him.”

Your mind blanked. The thought of you liking Lee was utterly preposterous. Lee, the snarky tea server? Lee, the passionate super-fan of The Mask of the Blue Spirit? Lee, who’d just as soon say something rude as he would something kind? If Quynh was to be believed, then that Lee was someone you liked, but that just wasn’t right.

“No way!” you said. “I can’t have feelings for Lee.”

“Why not?” Quynh said.

“He’s Lee!” you said helplessly. “It’s just — it’s just not how things are supposed to go.”

“Then how are things supposed to go?” she said. “Why is there a certain way that it must all happen? Things are rarely if ever set in stone, even in a kingdom made up of Earthbenders.”

“The Blue Spirit,” you said. “It’s supposed to be him. He’s the one who’s saved me, the one who knows the truth of my bending and my identity. He’s the one I’m meant to like.”

“You told him you’re a bender?” Quynh said. “That’s a new development. I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“It’s that there was no one I could trust to tell,” you said. “Until him. If a man has saved your life twice, then you can expect that he will do so a third time as well, right? So I did not feel afraid in revealing that part of me to him. I’d reveal anything to him if he asked.”

“Then there is a conundrum,” Quynh said.

“Exactly. That’s why I can’t like Lee,” you said. “It’s the Blue Spirit. There is no doubt in my mind that he is the person you foresaw me finding.”

“Hm,” Quynh said. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Lee reminds me that I am more than just a princess. I can live a different kind of life when I am with him — a happier kind. But the fact is that I am a princess, and the Blue Spirit shows me what that genuinely means. The reality of the world beyond the palace walls…if it were not for him, I’d still be blind to it all.”

Quynh sighed. “It’s not like you know who the Blue Spirit is.”

“No matter who he is underneath the mask, he’ll always be the Blue Spirit. He’ll always be the person who saved me,” you said, and then you slapped your hand over your mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Quynh parroted. “Why are you saying that?”

“I just — I just accidentally quoted Jin!” you said. Quynh, who, being a bear spirit, was not exactly well-read, huffed at you.

“Am I meant to know who Jin is?” she said.

“She’s a character in The Mask of the Blue Spirit,” you said.

“Okay,” she said.

“That line is a part of the ending I detest! Have I become such a shallow person that I bear a resemblance to her of all characters? What will Lee think? It’s our greatest point of contention, that we do not agree on the ending, but if I’ve gone and adopted her worldview, then that means I do subconsciously like it!” you wailed.

Once more, Quynh began to laugh, nudging you and knocking you over, though she caught you in her other paw before you could hit the ground. Putting you back in your comfortable spot nestled against her fur, she continued to chuckle as she spoke.

“Quoting a single line does not mean you agree with everything a character has done,” she said. “And what does it matter to you what Lee thinks?”

“It just does,” you said. “It really matters to me.”

“Princess, I think that your dilemma is not a dilemma at all,” she said.

“Huh? Yes, it is!” you said.

“It’s not,” she said. “If you search within yourself, you will know the truth. Even in just this conversation, even without seeking it out, I have found it. And no one can know your heart better than you, so there is no reason that you cannot do the same.”

“I’ve been searching! But no answer has made itself apparent,” you said.

“Keep looking,” she said. “One day, it will. Until then, you needn’t decide anything. No one is forcing your hand.”

That was true. It wasn’t as if you were being threatened into a decision, into an acknowledgment. If your feelings really were the kind that Quynh was suggesting, then things would be spoiled, so you vowed to push them aside for now and focus on other, more pressing matters.

“That’s not the only subject that I have been mulling over recently. Quynh, do you think I would have made a better queen than Kuei is king?” you said. Her ears pricked, and her voice took on an alarmed cast when she responded.

“I know you don’t mean to be seditious, but the implication is there,” she said.

“Maybe it is seditious, but I still want your answer. The Earth Kingdom was built on your back; you’ve witnessed every monarch’s reign, every king’s rise and fall, every war and each bloody moment in the land’s history. No one would know better than you if I made the right decision all of those years ago,” you said.

“It’s not so simple,” she said. “Every king has inherited a different world than their predecessors. Some anre easier times than others, but all have their variances. Kuei is not a bad king, believe it or not. He is an uneducated one, an ignorant one, perhaps even an inept one, but he is not a bad one. He was one born to rule over a world at peace, one born to mature slowly and reign in old age, and he was given none of those considerations.”

“What about me?” you said.

“You are a princess who wants to love her people very much,” she said. “There’s always a place for that kind of royalty. However, there’s no saying what kind of ruler you would’ve been; the likelihood is that you would’ve been the same as your brother. Children are not meant to rule, dear girl. Remember it well; a boy should not be king any more than a crook should.”

You swallowed. “If only our father were still here. Things would be better.”

The father who you had never met, yet whose absence you mourned daily anew. If he were still alive, then would Ba Sing Se be as troubled as it had become under your brother’s command? You tried to imagine what kind of a man he would be. The 51st Earth King…you had read the stories and the songs until you had memorized them, but they were flimsy replacements for knowing him, for loving him.

You envied Kuei in that sense. He had met your parents. He had loved your parents and been loved by them in return. Neither of them had even known you long enough to love you. Were it not for Quynh and Kuei, you wouldn’t have been loved by anyone at all.

“They would be,” Quynh said. “But your father is gone, Y/N, and you cannot change the past. For better or for worse, your brother is the king.”

“Ba Sing Se is falling apart,” you said. “The great capital that you and Shan built is crumbling under Kuei’s control. The worst part is that he does not even know it, and he would not believe me if I told him! Isn’t it a sad twist? That I am the one with the knowledge but not the power, and he is the one who knows nothing yet has everything!”

“You are still a princess,” Quynh said. “Not a king nor a queen, but you are still the second-most powerful person in this kingdom. You are not as helpless as you are determined to believe yourself.”

“What can I do?” you said.

She angled her paw so that you slid off of it and onto your feet, and then she curled back up in her usual position. A door opened, one that must’ve led to Ba Sing Se, and she let out a gravelly exhale.

“If there is a problem, then you must understand it,” she said. “Only then can you begin to fix it. Do you understand what is happening in the city at present? In your own palace?”

“Not really,” you said. “Do you?”

“I do, but I also do not,” she said. “It’s an internal knowledge that I cannot explain to anyone else, but I am aware of it. Like an itch on my back which I cannot reach.”

“Spirit nonsense,” you said. “No matter. You’re right; even if Lee cannot tell me, there must be some way I can suss things out.”

“It’s a large city,” Quynh agreed. “There will be someone willing to help you. You only need to find them. As you found the Blue Spirit. As you found Lee.”

“Do you think I can?” you said.

“I think you can do a lot more than you are aware of,” she said. “You remind me of someone else. Someone I knew a very long time ago.”

“One of my ancestors?” you said.

“My own brother,” she said. “It has been ages upon ages since I saw him last. I thought that I could not quite recall his face anymore, but then I saw yours, and I knew that it had to be the same. I knew that he had come to be at my side again, however briefly.”

Her brother — Shan. The founder of the Earth Kingdom, who had against all odds taken a continent at war and turned it into a single nation that was united and powerful beyond even the wildest dreams of his contemporaries. What kind of equivalency was that? Who would think to compare you with the legendary first king?

You thought that Quynh’s passageway would lead you to the tea shop, as it usually did, but instead it spit you out in front of a building far too elegant to be in the Lower Ring. That meant you must’ve been in the Upper Ring, where the wealthier residents of Ba Sing Se stayed.

“Why am I here?” you muttered. Reading the sign hung above the door, you saw that the building was a girls’ poetry house. When you strained your ears, you heard the dulcet tones of recited haikus being whispered back and forth, though an unexpected addition made you pause. “That’s an awfully masculine sounding girl…”

All of a sudden, the door slammed open, and a man in a security uniform tossed out a boy clad in blue. Your eyes widened as he came flying at you, knocking you to the floor beneath him with the force of the guard’s throw.

“Aw, man,” the boy groaned. “I was just trying to show my appreciation for poetry — woah! When did you get here?”

His eyes were a bright, clear blue, though it was not the dark shade of the Blue Spirit’s mask, but rather a luminous, glittering color that pierced straight through you. For a moment, you thought that he must’ve known your every secret and intimacy — such was the depth of his gaze. But it only lasted for a moment, after which you remembered that there was no way he could’ve come to know it all just by looking at you.

“I was just passing by, and then that boorish security threw you at me!” you said. The boy leapt to his feet and offered you his hand, pulling you up when you took it and giving you a wide grin in return.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking the hand he had already captured in his own vigorously. “I’m Sokka!”

“Y/N,” you said. He narrowed his eyes at you, leaning closer and scrutinizing you, an ordeal for which you stayed entirely still. Only when he was finally satisfied did he straighten, though he was still frowning slightly.

“That name is mighty familiar,” he said. “Have we met or something? I feel like I know you.”

“I…used to be in the circus?” you said, silently apologizing to Lee and Mushi for stealing their personal backgrounds for your cover story. “A very well-regarded one. I was, um, famous. For my acrobatics. That’s probably where you recognize me from.”

You hoped Mushi wouldn’t be upset that you had just appropriated his identity. It was the only one you could think of without the time to prepare in advance, and even then only because it was on your mind due to how absurd you had found it when Lee had mentioned it.

“We haven’t visited any circuses on our trip,” Sokka said. “So that can’t be it.”

“I’m a household name!” you said. “The main attractions tend to be, you know. Everyone across the Earth Kingdom knows who I am.”

This was actually not a lie. It would be difficult to find a single family who had not at least heard of you, but it wasn’t because of your nonexistent acrobatic prowess. Either way, it must have been convincing enough, as Sokka just shrugged it off.

“If you say so,” he said. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

“Not in a dress, I can’t,” you said. “Don’t be foolish. How would I possibly maneuver my limbs in that way with all of this fabric obstructing me?”

“Aw, I was really hoping you could show me how it’s done! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cartwheel,” Sokka said as the two of you began to walk away from the poetry house. He swung his arms by his sides as he walked, with a lackadaisical looseness you had never observed so closely before. Even Lee, Mushi, and the Blue Spirit had neat, contained manners to their gaits, each movement done with purpose, but Sokka was haphazard and almost unwieldy in his grace.

“If I were wearing pants, I might be able to demonstrate, but as it is, you’ll have to find another teacher,” you said.

“Wait! I have the best idea ever!” Sokka said. “You’re going to love this.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when he said that, but whatever it had been, it was not this. It did not come as a surprise that you did not love it; in fact, you were more befuddled than anything.

Sokka’s clothes did not by any means fit you properly, and the same could be said for your dress on his frame. He did not seem to mind, though, giving you a double-thumbs-up when he emerged from behind the wall where he had changed.

“You look great!” he said.

“I don’t know that I can say the same about you, but in the interest of being polite, I should like to tell you that you appear radiant at the moment,” you said.

“Why’re you speaking like you’re about to give a speech or something? Seriously, you Upper Ring folk are so weird,” he said.

“Aren’t you also one of the Upper Ring folk?” you said. “Considering I’ve met you here, you must be.”

“Nah, I’m just a visitor,” he said.

“But a very important one. Not everyone is lodged in the Upper Ring,” you said. Sokka blushed and waved you off.

“I know a guy or two,” he said. “No biggie, just another day in the life. But enough talking! Let’s get to cartwheeling. This is a moment I’ve dreamed of for a long time!”

“I hope you’ve been dreaming of being disappointed for equally as long,” you said.

“What’d you say?” he said.

“Nothing,” you said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said. “Show me how it’s done!”

There was a problem: you had no idea how to do a cartwheel. If only it were Mushi in your place! According to Lee, he was supremely flexible, and he had his circus training. As well, his patient and kind demeanor meant that he would be uniquely suited to being Sokka’s cartwheeling mentor. At any rate, he’d be better than you at the job, though that wasn’t really a high bar.

“Here goes nothing,” you said, taking a deep breath and raising your arms over your head. Trying to emulate what you had heard about the movement, you took a step forward and tried to push off with your back leg.

Somehow, it happened that your slipper came flying off, smacking Sokka in the face as you lost your balance and landed in a heap on the cobblestones of the street. Sokka shrieked as he, too, was knocked over, though through the dim awareness you had of the situation, you could not quite discern how a mere shoe had been enough to warrant that much of a reaction.

“I think you’re bad luck,” he said, rubbing his head. “No wonder you left the circus. I can’t believe they kept you around for as long as they did!”

“I’m out of practice,” you said, accepting the shoe he passed you and putting it back on. “Could I have my clothes back, perhaps? Or have you taken a liking to them? Because I do not think you wear green as well as I do.”

“Hey!”

Once you and he were back in your regular clothes, you readied yourself to wish Sokka farewell. You weren’t really sure what he was doing or why he was in the Upper Ring, but you thought it was safe to say that he was not the person Quynh was talking about, the one who would be willing to help you in solving the problems of your kingdom.

“I still can’t shake the feeling that you remind me of someone,” Sokka said.

“Do you have any siblings?” you said.

“A younger sister,” he said.

“It’s probably her. I’m a younger sister, too,” you said. “If you’re not an avid circus-goer, then that’s the only other option I can come up with.”

“That’s another thing! I’ve never heard of circus performers speaking so fancily,” he said.

“You said it yourself that you haven’t visited any circuses on your trip, so how would you know?” you said. “It’s a shame that you have these stereotypes in your head. You should do some introspection about where they originate from.”

“What — no, I’m not — that’s not what I meant! There’s just something about you that I’m this close to figuring out!” he said, holding up his thumb and pointer finger, pressing them together for effect.

“You’re not getting paid for it, so why waste the effort?” you said.

“I’m just a curious — duck!” he said.

“Duck? Do you mean a turtleduck? That’s an interesting way to describe yourself — oh!” you said as he pulled you to the ground and out of the way of an incoming boulder.

“Whose bad side did you get on, huh?” Sokka said, motioning for you to run along with him. It was nothing like when you and the Blue Spirit had fled from the assassin’s previous attack; you didn’t have that implicit trust in Sokka to protect you, and for his part, Sokka was just as panicked as you were, so all told it was a much less graceful exit as you charged through the streets of the Upper Ring.

“A bunch of assassins!” you said. “They’ve been chasing me on and off for weeks now.”

“Assassins?” Sokka wheezed out as you increased your pace. “Just what kind of acrobat were you?”

“One that made a lot of enemies — look out!” you said, jumping into the air to avoid the stone gloves that reached for your ankles. Missing their target, they slammed into the wall and burst into smithereens.

“We’re almost at our guest house!” Sokka said. “The others should be able to help us if we haven’t lost these freaks by then. We just have to reach there before getting, y’know, crushed!”

“That’d be ideal!” you said, covering your head with your hands as you rounded a corner. Sokka kicked the door to a luxurious villa down, shoving you in and then slamming it shut behind him, pressing his back to it as the three occupants of the home gave you both alarmed looks.

“Assassins — rocks — cartwheel instructor!” Sokka said, heaving for breath and pointing at you. You waved at the trio, who must’ve been the friends that Sokka was visiting Ba Sing Se with.

One was a beautiful girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sokka — indubitably, this was his sister, though unlike Sokka, her eyes swirled with something lively and unsettled, as if they were twin seas set in her sweet face. Beside her was another girl, this one with fine features like a lady but a rough aura like a wrestler, and on her right was a boy with the blue arrows of an Airbending master running along his body.

“You’re going to have to repeat that,” Sokka’s sister said. “What’s going on? Who is this?”

“My cartwheeling instructor,” Sokka said.

“In a manner of speaking,” you said. “I didn’t really teach him much.”

“You know how to cartwheel? I love cartwheeling!” the Airbender said.

“Why didn’t Sokka ask you to teach him, then?” you said. The boy shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said.

“We were in the middle of a lesson—” Sokka began.

“As I recall, we were about to part ways,” you interrupted. Sokka shushed you impatiently.

“Like I was saying, we were in the middle of a lesson when, out of nowhere, pow! There was a boulder flying at our heads, and then boom! We almost died from it!” he said. You decided to just be quiet and let him tell the story; he had a flair for dramatics that you could not hope to match.

“What? Why?” his sister said.

“No idea! She said that she’s been being chased by those assassins for a while now!” Sokka said.

“Did you bring a criminal into our house?” his sister said, arching a brow at you. “Are you a criminal?”

“Not as far as I know,” you said. “I suppose I’m not really meant to be out here, but it’s not against any significant law for me to be. It’s just a family rule I’ve broken.”

“You said that they’re assassins?” the younger of the two girls said. “There’s no way. I didn’t sense anyone coming near us except for you two and some of the Dai Li agents.”

“They must be super sneaky!” Sokka said. “Right, Y/N?”

“Hm, it might be,” you said, lost in thought at this suggestion. Though you had no idea what she meant when she said she had sensed the Dai Li’s presence, you also had no reason to think that the girl was lying. There were two things that that could mean if what she said was correct, and neither of them were options you wanted to be true.

“Sokka,” his sister said. It was then that you realized that she, the Airbender, and the other girl were staring at you. “What did you just call your new friend?”

“You’re right! I can’t believe I forgot to do introductions! Y/N, this is Aang, Toph, and my sister Katara. Everyone, this is Y/N,” Sokka said, pointing at everyone as he said their names.

“Hello,” you said. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”

“Sokka!” Katara said. “You dumb, idiotic genius! We’ve been trying to talk to the king for ages, and you just happened to meet his sister while out and about!”

“That’s where I knew your name from!” Sokka said. “Princess Y/N, duh. Wait! You’re Princess Y/N!”

“Um,” you said, swearing internally at the fact that you had not thought to come up with a new name to go along with your alter ego as an acrobat. “No, I’m not.”

“She’s lying,” Toph said. “I have seismic sense, so you can forget about trying to make things up, princess. I’ll be able to tell in an instant.”

“You don’t know how good it is to meet you!” Aang said. “We’ve been trying to talk to your brother for a while now, but it’s not been going well.”

“Why would you want to talk to Kuei?” you said before you could stop yourself, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of anyone actually desiring to speak with him. “He’s not the most stimulating conversationalist.”

“You’re Princess Y/N!” Sokka said again. “You’re the princess of the Earth Kingdom, and I made you wear my clothes and do cartwheels!”

“When you put it like that, it does sound like a grave offense,” you said. “Shall I have you executed for it?”

“No!” he said, falling to his knees and bowing. “Oh esteemed, valued, generous, kind, benevolent princess, please spare my life! Please please please please please please—”

“I was only joking,” you informed him.

“We have to speak to the Earth King,” Aang said. “Do you think you could get us an audience? It’s urgent. If it helps, tell him the Avatar is the one making the request.”

“You’re the Avatar?” you said. Aang nodded at you, his expression grave and at odds with his youthful countenance. “For some reason, I thought you’d be older.”

“He’s technically 112 years old,” Sokka piped up from where he was now supine on the floor by your feet. “So there’s that.”

“I see,” you said. “You look good for your age, then. My apologies for making assumptions.”

“It’s complicated,” Aang said. “Do you think you can help us, though?”

“We’re kind of at our wits’ ends,” Katara added.

“Those Earth Palace dolts are the next level of stupid,” Toph said. “It’s all a bunch of bureaucracy and rules. Blech.”

“I can’t guarantee it,” you said. “I’m sorry. I’m not even allowed to be here right now. You see, I’m forbidden to leave my chambers. It’s only through the power of a spirit named Quynh that I may enter and exit without detection — though, I’m beginning to doubt how true that part is, but that’s an issue for me to work through on my own time. I’ll do my best to help you all while I’m at it, but for the most part, my hands are tied.”

“Okay,” Katara said when it became obvious that the others were too disappointed to come up with a response. “There’s nothing more we can ask of you. Just — it’s really urgent. You have to mean it when you say you’ll do your best.”

“I do mean it,” you said. “But in case, is there any other message you’d like me to pass along?”

“There is a war,” Aang said. “He has to ignore everything that he’s been told and realize that. There’s a war going on, and without his support, we’re going to lose it.”

A war. Of course. It made so much sense. The refugees. The injuries. The state of Ba Sing Se. It all pointed towards a distant yet rapidly encroaching conflict. That was the problem. That was what you needed to understand, or at least begin with understanding — there were other things that the Avatar and his friends had accidentally or purposefully revealed, smaller details that you would pick at and dissect until their natural conclusions, but this was the main point.

Not yet, though. These were things best done in the harsh, inescapable brightness of day, and tonight’s twilight was already waning. Soon, it would be time for the daily lighting of the Firelight Fountain’s lanterns, and there was something else you wanted to do before that.

Blending into crowds when you could, creeping past checkpoints and keeping your head lowered to avoid detection, you snuck into the Lower Ring, making your way towards a certain place, Quynh’s words coming to mind all of a sudden.

He would be starting his evening shift soon. You could picture him putting his apron on, rolling up his sleeves and complaining to his uncle about how much he hated his job and how they deserved to be somewhere else — the circus, perhaps? You weren’t sure, for he never really elaborated, but that was because the alternative location was not as important as the dissatisfaction he felt.

Despite your best efforts to quash it for fear of looking like a fool — what normal person was so excited by the prospect of apologizing to the dourest boy born to humanity? — a smile formed on your face as you began to walk faster, towards the tea shop where you knew Lee would be waiting.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

[artiststarme]

Hey Brother Part 2

Here is the long-awaited Part 2 of Hey Brother! I don't know how many parts it will be but I will make sure to keep everything updated. I tried to tag everyone that asked but if I missed you, please let me know. I hope you guys like it!

~*~*~*~

They didn’t get to say goodbye. Even with Phil speeding down the expressway at 90 mph, it wasn’t enough to be able to see their grandma before she passed. With one look into the room, Steve knew it was too late. The rest of the family was already there, surrounding her sheet-covered body with tears in their eyes and damp Kleenex clutched in their fists. They’d just missed her. Steve took one look around the room before storming back outside. 

Why couldn’t he ever do anything right? Tonight was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night and ended up being nothing short of a horror show. His boyfriend thought he was bullshit, his grandma was dead, and his entire family now knew that he was a piece of shit that missed being able to say goodbye. Fuck, why couldn’t anything ever go well for him?!

Steve punched the brick wall next to him, not even noticing the pain, and slid down the wall to hug his knees. He sobbed as he thought about how he’d never hear his grandma’s voice again or feel her love through gentle touches that no one else ever quite managed to match. He hadn’t visited her as much as he’d wanted to recently due to the craziness of the last few months. Did she know he loved her? He wasn’t there with her in her last moments so how could she have known? The thought brought a new wave of tears into his eyes and his knees just barely muffled his sobs of pain. Oh god, his grandma was dead and he hadn’t said goodbye to her. 

Steve felt strong arms wrap around his shoulders and struggled slightly to escape the grasp before quickly succumbing. It was just Phil, his older brother who had also missed his chance to stay goodbye to her because of Steve. His older brother that had wanted to move closer to his grandma and aunt years ago but had stayed in Hawkins for Steve. He stayed so Steve wouldn’t be alone in the empty house that his parents rarely visited. The reminder only served to make Steve feel worse. 

“Phil, I’m so so-sorry! This-this is my f-fault. You didn’t get to say go-goodbye to her because of me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Phil just hugged him closer and shook his head into his hair. There were tears streaking down his face as well and the lenses of his glasses were fogged. He didn’t say anything in response, there was nothing that he could say to make the situation any better. Nothing was going to bring their grandma back or stop their hearts from hurting. But he could sit on the dirty floor of the hospital corridor and hug his brother with all of his might. That he could do and that he did. 

~*~*~*~

Phil watched Steve talk to his parents through the windowed walls of the waiting room. With every word his mom or Dick uttered, Steve seemed to shrink in on himself even more. They were obviously mad at him for not getting there in time to say goodbye to her and Phil wasn’t going to stand for that. So he made his way in to talk to his mom and stepdad for the first time since being kicked out ten years ago. 

“Hey, why are you screaming at him? Haven’t you done enough? Just let him grieve in peace, Jesus Christ.”

Martha spun around to look at him and gasped when she saw him. He was still in his police uniform having not had the chance to change yet in the fray. Knowing that that was the reason she disowned him made him feel all the more vindicated. 

Her face paled when she realized it was him and she muttered a quiet, “Phil?”

Dick stepped around Martha to point an accusing finger in his face. “What the hell are you doing here, Phil? You’re not family and you’re not supposed to be turning our son against us either!”

“Get your finger out my face, you dick. I’m here because my grandma was dying and my brother needed me. Now, step back or I’ll arrest you whether we’re in my jurisdiction or not,” Phil told him. He couldn’t actually arrest him or do anything more than annoy him outside of Hawkins but the threat did seem to land where he wanted it to. Dick ambled back a step and glared between him and Steve. As if it was their fault their parents sucked. 

Martha started hissing unintelligible nonsense to her husband so Phil focused back on Steve. His kid brother was still shaking as if the adrenaline of speeding all the way up here was still flooding his veins and his trademark hair was hanging against his forehead limply as if it too couldn’t handle the stress of dealing with the Harringtons. 

Phil couldn’t help him in the parent department but he could make sure he was looked after the best he could. 

“Come on Steve-o, I got us a motel room up the street. Let’s get some rest and handle things in the morning,” he picked up Steve’s jacket as he spoke and nudged his shoulder to get him moving. 

“What?” Steve asked him in confusion. “What about mom and dad?”

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out, they always do. But they’re not my concern right now, okay? You are. So right now, I’m going to take you to Denny’s for some food and then we’re going to get some sleep at the motel. We’ll figure everything else out later. Sound good, little bro?”

Steve just nodded at him with the ghost of a smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

~*~*~*~

Eddie knew he had fucked up. As soon as Steve walked through the door, he knew he’d messed everything up, just like he always did. He knew Steve was sensitive about high school happenings and people calling him bullshit but he’d still done it. What kind of boyfriend did that make him? Not a very good one, clearly.

He rehearsed apologies all night instead of sleeping, determined to fix things with Steve as soon as the sun rose. He couldn’t stand the idea of Steve being mad at him or upset for any longer than he had to be. It felt like it was a contest being in a relationship with Steve. He was the perfect boyfriend and made Eddie feel inferior in every aspect without even trying. Eddie felt like he was constantly playing catch-up and just as he started to get close to where he should be, he’d fuck everything up and go back to the starting point.

At half past three in the morning, Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. He wrote a barely legible note for Wayne and sped off towards Loch Nora. Knowing Steve, he wouldn’t be sleeping either. After the Upside Down, it was hard for them to sleep alone hence why they spent so many nights together. The image of Steve laying in bed alone with tears stained on his cheeks only made Eddie feel worse. Holy fuck, he had a lot to make up for. 

But when he pulled the van up to the Harrington house, all the lights were off. Even the porch light that Steve always kept on was dark and Eddie got a bad feeling. Something was off here, he could tell. Nausea swirled in his gut and his chest felt tight, something was wrong. 

Eddie parked his van in the driveway behind the Beemer and pulled out the key that Steve had given him to open the front door. Everything appeared to be fine as he walked through. The foyer was as spotless as it always was, the living room was clean, and the kitchen was untouched. But when Eddie walked into Steve’s empty bedroom, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Steve was missing, his clothes were scattered all over the floor, and his bed was made like it hadn’t been slept in. Jesus Christ, had Eddie run Steve out of town?! 

Eddie ran out of the Harrington house like a bat out of hell and sped all the way to the Hopper-Byers’ where he pounded on the door until Hopper answered it with threats of violence. He couldn’t focus on the horror dawning on Will’s face or El, the panicked glances between Jonathan and Joyce, or the aggrieved sigh that Hop let out. All Eddie could focus on was the fact that this was his fault. He was the one who yelled at Steve over some stupid game and caused him to leave. Now, Steve was missing. He was alone and Eddie couldn’t blame anyone but himself. 

Hopper promised to look for him right away even though Steve was probably just off sulking somewhere. He even called in Officer Powell early and tried to call Officer Callahan too but he didn’t answer. He left with his gun, an extra large thermos of coffee, and a promise to Eddie that he would find Steve. Then, Eddie was left with the Byers to try and explain the stupid argument he’d started that caused this entire mess in the first place. 

He just hoped that Hopper could find Steve soon because he didn’t think he could function anymore without Steve by his side.

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[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸. 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, allusions to and depictions of mental/emotional/financial abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 3.3k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: When your friend shares some exciting news, you fear this is yet again someone in your life who will move on and leave you behind. Joel reflects on how far he's come in life after running into an old family friend.

“Here’s a nice tip for you, sweetie,” Mrs. Baker chirped with a bright smile. You watched her wrinkly, dry finger scoot a shiny half dollar across the counter towards you. You fixed your expression into a million kilowatt smile of gratitude. “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mrs. Baker, but we can’t accept tips.” You’d told her this every week for the past several months – every time she came into the grocery store where you worked.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she giggled with a conspiratorial wink. You felt rather certain of that, if your growing suspicions about the state of her memory and mental clarity was anything to go off of. The fact that she was still making these weekly trips by herself was enough to make you uneasy, and the fact that she was the one driving herself here presented an entirely new level of concern.

It was one of the few reasons you’d managed to compile when you were looking for ways to cheer yourself up over having nothing but your old cruiser bike for transportation. You were nowhere near what you needed in savings to even begin thinking about affording a car and all the expenses that came with it. All the progress you’d made previously had been wrenched from you when your dad had found the jar hidden in your closet. It had made him feel vindicated in his “random searches” he liked to conduct on everyone’s rooms. It gave him some sense of justification whenever something cropped up, no matter how rare it was.

But, hey, at least your door hadn’t been beat off its hinges like Calum’s had. And, hey, maybe by the time you can finally afford a car, insurance, gas money, license and registration fees ….. well, maybe you won’t have to worry about encountering Mrs. Baker on the road. You feel a little guilty the moment you think it and feel even more guilty as you shrug and take the half dollar from her. “Thanks, Mrs. Baker,” you say quietly.

You tuck the coin into your jean pocket that doesn’t have the hole at the bottom and finish loading her groceries into her cart. You laugh to yourself when she just starts walking off - you assume the direction of her car. You hope she can remember where she parked it. Your coworkers and boss Jeremy were never as patient with old, confused ladies offering you insulting bits of change in exchange for bagging up all their groceries just the way they like, loading them up into the cart, following them to their car, and offloading everything into their trunk. You always pointed out that it didn’t really take that much time away from your duties and probably made a big difference for someone like Mrs. Baker to have that sort of help. Jeremy would always roll his eyes and mutter something about “not my circus, not my monkeys.” You were just glad Mrs. Baker always came when it wasn’t very busy. 

The 17 minute bike ride to and from work was shaved down to a clean 14 with a bit of encouragement from the gloomy clouds rolling in behind you. It’d been a wetter than usual summer according to the weatherman, and it was expected to continue into the fall and maybe even winter. Combined with the fast approaching daylight savings, you’d be in for a wetter, darker commute. Bad news for someone who relied on a bike for transport, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d just have to divert some of your secret savings and buy a heavier coat, one close to the color of the lightweight one you already had so hopefully your dad wouldn’t notice a new purchase and demand an explanation.

“Dad, I’m home!” you call out. No answer, but that was typical. After all, it wasn’t him who was required to announce every movement in the house. You walked into the kitchen to find him hunched over the table with the paper. You carefully place the six pack on the middle of the counter, casual and unassuming as though it hadn’t become a learned habit after too many times of you having to deal with him running out. His eyes drift up from his work and land on the offering.

“What’s that?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. You aren’t sure what the trap is or what you’ve done wrong, but you also know there’s no other option than to find out what grievance you’ve committed.

“Just saw it on my way after clocking out,” you lie. You had to double back across the store to pick it out. “Couldn’t remember if there was still some in the garage or not,” you lie again. There was plenty in the garage, but “plenty” in your terms and “plenty” in your father’s terms didn’t always align. Better to play it safe than have to bike in the rain to replenish his stock.

He leans back in his chair now, having decided what exactly he’s going to take issue with. Because it’s always something. “You got a real talent for just throwin’ money away,” he sneers.

You steady yourself as you wash your hands at the sink. Slow movements. Nothing challenging in your response. He loved to lob these decentering comments at you, a sort of puzzle you weren’t really intended to be able to solve. The takeaway was always meant to be that “the obvious” was right there and shouldn’t have to be spelled out for you, but you were just too dense to figure it out. His statement was vague enough that it could be taken multiple ways, all of which inevitably pointed to some failure on your part. At least you always knew that was going to be factored into the answer somewhere.

Was he saying you weren’t good with money because you’d bought more beer when there was already some in the garage? Was he saying that spending money on full priced beer was like throwing your money away? Was he saying that spending money on something frivolous like alcohol was a waste in and of itself in the grand scheme of things? You decide to go with your first interpretation. It felt safest.

“I guess there’s some out there then? I couldn’t remember, sorry.” Accepting some of the imminent blame was sometimes enough to soften the edges of whatever was going to be launched at you. Sometimes it backfired and just added to the fire: you can already see how you deserve this censure, so at least you understand your shortcomings are why this conversation is having to happen in the first place.

“Ever heard of buying in bulk?” he huffs. As if he didn’t stock up every other week at the wholesale store regardless of if it was on sale or not. “Price per unit?”

“Oh, yeah,” you respond in feigned recognition of your so-called error. “Sorry, dad. I guess the 24 pack is just sort of hard to balance on the bike. I’m always nervous it’s going to fall off the handlebars when I get the bigger sizes.”

As if your difficulties getting to and from work were of any concern to him.

“So you acknowledge that you were paying the unspoken price of convenience,” he drawls. Ah, of course. The two birds one stone approach of insulting your efforts and inflating his authority as economic manager. The idea that you would pay a few more cents per unit to make things easier on yourself, to not have to worry about dropping and busting all the cans of beer because you couldn’t balance them. “At least you can admit it.”

He drifts forward again to his work, numbers and charts and graphs that you don’t understand and wouldn’t be explained to you even if you asked. The reprimand had been the short, simple kind. You quietly walk from the kitchen, place the beers in the garage fridge, and head down the hallway to your room. You lighten the load of your backpack and work shoes. The rain pelts gently against the window and is a full on staccato against the pane by the time you get out of your uniform and into your sweats. Getting ahead of the situation – making the call to get more beer without being asked or ordered to do so – had been worth it. You sigh and stare out the window. Thank goodness it was going to be a day where you’d played your cards well enough to come out mostly unscathed. Thank goodness today had been worth it.

The only upside to sweltering August days in the middle of Texas was that contracting jobs slowed a little bit. Sure, interior renovations were still in full swing, but it gave that tiniest bit of reprieve for all the decking, roofing, and sweat-dripping-off-your-balls-it-was-so-hot sort of work that he only ever scheduled for in the “cooler months.” It was the closest thing to downtime he had all year round, even though it was mostly spent on office housekeeping. Catching up on clients and completed jobs. Fostering those relationships so they’d sign Miller Contracting on for another project. Building enough good will and enough happy clients that word of mouth could not only sustain business but had helped it grow steadily over the past decade.

Joel hadn’t ever been much into religion except for Easter Sunday growing up when his mom would give him and Tommy so much chocolate they had barfed it all over the backyard more than once. Yet, he couldn’t help but think about how blessed he felt. He and his kid brother were doing well for themselves. He just wished his parents were around to see it. It would make him happy to show them all their love and hard work had eventually paid off. All those tumultuous teenage years of Tommy getting into all sorts of trouble and Joel winding up a young father without much of a plan on how to support his sudden family. They’d only been witness to the very beginning of their comeback kid storylines, and he’d kill for 5 minutes to show them he’d managed to make something of himself and made sure Tommy was okay, too.

The icy wall of air conditioning smacked Joel right in the face the moment the grocery store doors opened. As nice as it felt to be out of the heat, the jarring change of temperature was something he’d never gotten used to in all his years in the South. He made his way to the convenience section and nabbed a lemonade. He plucked another from the spring-loaded tray just before heading towards the checkout. He wasn’t sure what Jordan liked to drink since he never seemed to have anything except water to offer anybody. At least this way it wouldn’t be so obvious if Joel showed up with a lemonade for both of them.

The wall of heat smacks him in the face this time, along with the blaring sun. He squints and holds a hand to the sky to block some of the blinding rays. He hears the rattle of a cart coming his way and glances over. There’s that cute neighborhood girl he’d see every now and again if he was lucky. He doesn’t remember much about you from when he first moved in – other than that whole strange thing with your mom. He tries to remember your dad’s face in his mind’s eye. Something sort of stony and serious conjures into view. He wonders if he’s just imagining it wrong because your face is never like that. He must be thinking of someone else.

Regardless, he couldn’t remember any of your names. He used to be better at stuff like that. When you smiled at him, he returned it with one of his own and headed towards his car. Yeah, definitely couldn’t have been imagining your dad’s face correctly. No way the snobby frown of a man that came into his head was possibly related to you with your shy but deliberate smile. How on earth someone so insanely gorgeous could only find work at a grocery store was beyond Joel. He wonders if you were even aware of how much money you could probably rake in as a bartender around these parts.

“Is that Joel Miller?” a frail voice calls out.

Joel looks over to see none other than Mrs. Baker. “Well howdy there, Mrs. Baker,” he calls back. He walks over to her four door and wonders how on earth she’s still a licensed driver. She’d been friendly in the church with his mom especially, and even as a kid he was never too impressed with her driving skills. He dreads to think what they are now, multiple decades later.

“How are you, sweet boy?” she asks, all warm and bubbly. He grins back and shrugs.

“Just keepin’ busy. You know how it goes, Mrs. Baker.”

“Well that’s better than the alternative, I guess. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Joel chuckles. He glances over to your retreating back as you push the noisy cart back into the store. “You got these folks so wrapped around your finger they deliver your groceries straight to your car, huh? You always were a charmer.”

Mrs. Baker joins him in a light giggle and taps his forearm. “Now now, Joel, I think we both know who the real charmer is between the two of us.”

“Hey, gotta pay the bills somehow,” he laughs in an echo of her words. Her smile widens at his teasing banter. “And, uh, your kitchen still workin’ good for ya?”

She nods and squeezes his hand. “Oh yes, it’s just as lovely as the day you finished it. You boys always do such good work.”

“Thank you, ma’am. M’glad to hear it.”

He edges around to open the door for her, partly to play his role as Southern Gentleman but mostly to get out of this conversation quicker so he wouldn’t be late for his next appointment with Jordan. She thanks him for his gesture and gives a little wave and brief goodbye as he heads to his work truck. If he made all the lights, he wouldn’t be late. 

“But there’s something else, and, I’ll be honest, it’s sort of a big deal.” Kenzie was practically vibrating in place. Her high energy was the fun, infectious kind more often than the grating, off-putting kind. You weren’t sure how she maintained such enthusiasm when all she ever seemed to have was good things to share. Wouldn’t you get tired being so happy and excited constantly? It sounded exhausting in a different sort of way, but maybe it was a good thing.

She had a perpetually sunny outlook thanks to her perpetually privileged life, but you didn’t want to rain on her parade by saying things like that. After all, who were you to take away from someone else’s joy? Not to mention she was probably the only actual friend you had these days after all your high school friends had gone off to college or took up actual jobs and move out and got roommates or got married.

Kenzie was just busy and self-centered enough to not really pry too much into your life. It was a dynamic that worked for both of you: her with a constant audience for all her triumphs and growing life experiences, and you with the comfort of never having to say much about yourself or your home life.

“Well are you gonna tell me or are you gonna make me guess?” you tease.

“Uh, definitely not gonna make you guess because you seriously aren’t even gonna believe this,” she whisper squeals.

You have no doubt whatever wonderful thing she’s about to share is very much believable. Good things happened to people like Kenzie. It was never much of a shock when another ray of sunshine came bursting through the clouds of her life. You only wish that some of that “luck” could rub off on our own life. You raise an expectant eyebrow when she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so–” she peeks over her shoulders from where you’re both knelt on the ground stocking canned goods “–I’m applying for this paid internship thing my professor recommended me for.”

Your brow scrunches. You thought paid internships were something that existed in the old days when you could still smoke on airplanes and down a vodka martini 5 months pregnant without anyone batting an eye.

“I know, I know, internships are sometimes blegh, but it’s like a legit office and nice company and everything” she explains, wholly misunderstanding your expression. “It’s not like those old offices off the Milton exit.”

You don’t even know what she’s talking about, but you take her word for it. “Oh okay, cool.”

“Yeah, so I’m basically, like, a shoe in for the job since my professor wrote my recommendation. It’s not a full-time thing yet since I still have another two semesters, but over winter break I should have some opportunities to have something more like a real job.” She cringes at her choice of wording. “Sorry, not that the grocery store isn’t a real–”

“–I know what you meant,” you interrupt. “Keep going.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and launches back into her tittering announcement. “So anyway, yeah, if this all goes alright then I basically already have a full-time job set up once I graduate. Can you believe that?”

Yes, you can believe that. “That’s so crazy!” You shake your head and give her a big grin. “I’m sure that has to feel amazing, Kenzie. That’s so awesome, seriously.”

She was a few months out from graduating with her degree in marketing. Or was it communications? You can never seem to remember, and you’re too far into the friendship to keep asking clarifying questions like that. Anyway, it didn’t matter much which one it was since she had pretty much already landed herself a “big girl job” with matching “big girl pay.” The ever present and nagging voice in your head reminds you that she is younger than you and already so much more successful than you’ll probably ever be.

“Hey, y’all both don’t need to be in canned goods. One of you go see what Erin needs help with, huh?” Jeremy scolds from the end of the aisle.

Kenzie rolls her eyes at you with her back to Jeremy. “Alright. You got it, Jeremy,” she replies in a chipper voice. He stomps off as she promises to text you later with the rest of the details. You give her a quick side hug from the ground and tell her again how great the news is.

You stew in it for the rest of your shift. It turns and spoils in your mind no matter how much you tell yourself you should be happy for her and not so focused on yourself all the time. By the time you make it home, it was impossible to ignore the reminders that this was yet another person in your life that you were bound to grieve once they moved on from their station in life and did better for themselves than what they had here. First your mom. Then your brother. Now one of the few people who you’d managed to befriend since graduating high school.

You were left behind. Again.

You were never going to make anything of yourself like everyone else seemed to do.

You were going to be stuck in this place for the rest of your life.

You do your best to control the hectic breaths that start squeezing your chest, but you’re well into a full blown panic attack before you can even pinpoint when it started.

This was going to be the rest of your life, and there was nothing you could do about it.

[thefruitbin]

something i like about the blue eye samurai is that they let mizu be a woman. And i know thats ironic since shes had to instead be a man, or let ppl assume shes a man so she could be safe or taken seriously. If anything they dont let her actually choose. idk if that makes any sense, but when i didnt know anything about this show i immediately expected the protagonist to be a man. Usually men play those roles, or whatever. So when i heard her voice in the trailer, i got excited! I hoped that she would be a woman, bcuz i rarely see women who dont look perfect, who arent wearing like skin tight suits or whatever portrayed this way. For me personally i always end up wanting a woman to be in the “mans shoes” or whagever the fuck. I wish i could articulate myself better. Like fuck they actually let a woman look badass as fuck, shes treated with respect in portraying her skills (by the story), and she isnt like the epitome of beauty (for social standards or whatever, to me she’s absolutely frickin gorgeous)

They actually let her exist outside of this lens of what woman should look like or act like. I know its been done before or whatever, but fuck it i barely see woman depicted in this same lens as a man and not make some joke about it. Shes not degraded to a sex object, her appearance isnt perfect or the beauty standard, she gets to be a killer and skilled swordsman in the same light as taigen. It felt rlly great.

I personally struggle with my gender identity, i feel somehow someway im not woman enough. So seeing mizu sort of go through not fitting this sort of standard, having this idea of being a man forced upon her, its all so complicated and interesting and relatable. Maybe that says something about me, maybe it doesnt. But im so excited to see where they take mizu and her gender. Akemi feels like such a foil against mizu. She fits the beauty standard, shes observed as a woman and has her own power. She’s unfortunately the luckiest a woman could be in the story, her being married and such was better than being sold. But still powerless at the same time. It makes sense why mizu was dismissive of akemi at the beginning, to her it looked like akemi was just a brat, but even akemi struggles with not being taken seriously. Mizu on the other hand doesnt fit the standard, being mixed, seen less than human for not fitting the standard, not being “woman” enough (the whole husband thing where her actually being better than him immediately made her husband like dismissing of her and possibly ratting on her as well) the whole constant thing of her “mom” telling her she doesnt have good looks, it often felt like mizu was fighting against not only being mixed and “not pure”, but also fighting against what a woman could exist as..”not pure”. She could not just plainly exist.

Gender stuff is so damn complicated and its something ive struggled with. Ive tried exploring the idea that maybe im trans, maybe im a man or nonbinary. But it felt so relieving to see mizu as a character. Something that stuck out to me was when she was talking to her ex husband. He asked “u wanted to be a man?” And she said something along the lines of “i had to be one” and it felt sort of vindicating in the sense that damn idk.. like me and my siblings have struggled with our genders and whats expected of us, especially within our culture. Ive had conversations with my sister like about how sometimes we do wish we were men. To be taken seriously, to easily do things without feeling so judged. Maybe cis people dont do that, maybe they do, its okay.

I just love mizu, and im so excited to explore this story.

[chained-to-the-mirror]

Back from my portrait hiatus, I drew my darling babygirl.

I have been trying to go through my thoughts about what OFMD has meant (and means) to me. It’s been some days now since we heard from David Jenkins that it is officially over… In my heart I was expecting it, but it was still a blow. Still, during the time between the initial cancellation and right now, I have been slowly coming to terms with the fact that we have two wonderful, wonderful seasons of TV and they are forever. I know for a fact that even if Max deleted the show and it was never again seen anywhere (legally), it would be forever burned into my brain. I can recite it in my sleep at this point, yet I still keep re-watching. Why? Because this show is like no other, to me.

When S1 first came out, I was not the person I am now. Nothing much has changed externally, but in my mind, things have shifted. The character of Ed triggered my the journey of figuring out that much of my personality and behaviours have very likely been shaped by trauma. Now, I have been in therapy, have been hospitalised multiple times, have been seeing a psychiatric nurse for years - I know I have issues, some of them even have names. But not until I saw Ed did I realise that trauma may be at the core of it all. 

It’s funny, because I’m not like Ed. I am very introverted, very insecure, not particularly skilled, not popular. But I relate to him so much it’s not even funny. What happens to him means the world to me. So what a gift it is that we got to end at Ed being happy, and on his way to recovering from all the traumatic experiences of his past. He got his happy ending! That is a rare thing indeed. I felt vindicated in some way, like I was cheering on a dear friend and they triumphed. 

So, in some ways, I can’t be too upset that we don’t ever get more of all their stories. Of course I AM upset, but not necessarily so much for myself - more for the creators, and the fandom as a whole. Most of my friends have not even seen S2, and none of them is obsessed with this show like I am. It gets lonely sometimes, but when I come on Tumblr and scroll through my dash, I see all these people who ARE obsessed, and who really live and breathe the show. I am an outsider looking in, but it’s still a bit less lonely.

My contribution to the fandom is an occasional art, and reblogging All The Things to by sideblog @dearpirates - it hasn’t got that many followers, but really I am using it as my teenage bedroom wall where I plaster all the shiny and lovely and maddening things for myself to see. There are so many wonderful things and people in this fandom.

I really hope the fandom survives, and thrives. I would miss it dearly if it ever went away. Many of the people I follow feel like friends to me, even though we’ve never spoken. That said… if you ever want to talk to someone about anything OFMD related, my inbox is there for you. Ask box too. I would love to actually talk to people, but I am very shy so I can’t really take the first step usually 😅

This got long. Thank you if you read to the end and didn’t just look at the art above and scroll past the wall of text.

Patreon / Ko-fi / Society6 / Redbubble / Commissions / Colouring book

[rainbow-femme]

I was thinking about Shakespeare the other day and realized so many of the stories include an element of a young person being unfairly treated by society or authority figures and ultimately being fully vindicated in their feelings and having those people in some way apologize or acknowledge how wrong they were, something that’s rare now much less in the 1500s

Romeo and Juliet literally ends with the parents saying “Wow we were so wrong to treat them like that, we should build a giant statue to commemorate just how wrong we were to treat them how we did and how right they were to be upset about it.”

It’s revealed at the end of Hamlet that he was right about being upset about his mother marrying his uncle and he gets to kill his uncle and he makes up with Laertes and Fortinbras comes in to say how great Hamlet probably was and he should get a great military funeral to commemorate him

King Lear shuns his good daughter and punishes her for not flattering him and then ends with a whole monologue about how much of a bad father he was and he should have seen that she was the best daughter and now she’s dead and he’s so sad because it’s his fault for being such a bad father

As You Like It ends with the father/uncle the girls ran away from deciding to unusurp the throne from the main girls father so the exiled duke gets to be duke again, and Orlando’s brother also apologizes for being a bad brother to him and I think he even becomes heir to the duke

I feel like Shakespeare either had some stuff he was working through or he was aware that his plays were popular with people who felt powerless and controlled by family and society and really wanted stories that said “Hey you’re not stupid or overreacting and it’s ok to be mad about this stuff, look here are all the people you don’t like metaphorically telling you they’re sorry and that you’re so right”

[ternasyl]

Just a few quick thoughts on TMAGP

Magnus Protocol is easily the podcast I've been most excited for, and it DOES mostly deliver, making me feel vindicated in my excitement. I look forward to each new episode in a way I rarely do with any ongoing series, be it a podcast or something, and that is really nice. That being said...

I do have a few grievances with it as a whole, honestly. The statements are probably the elephant in the room - I feel like we haven't gotten a single properly scary statement such as the ones from early-to-mid TMA. Not only that, but most statements don't get nearly as intricate and complex as the TMA ones - the ones in TMAGP very much feel just like reports of isolated odd incidents, while TMA felt more like an actual horror anthology where the individual stories eventually start coming together into a coherent larger framework. I think I wouldn't mind either of these things separately, but as things currently stand, I do feel like there hasn't really been anything as memorable as the statements from early TMA yet. I *do* like Bonzo and I also thought the scary movie episode was fun, but... I dunno. I can't help but feel like the statements lack bite overall.

I do actually like the bigger focus on the main cast and their interactions with TMAGP's world, though. I suppose that the weaker statements are partly due to the fact we're getting more screentime for everything else.

I've also been feeling a bit underwhelmed by the post-hiatus episodes' contents - pre-hiatus TMAGP absolutely had a lot of bombshells per episode, so it's quite weird following that up with several episodes where barely anything happens. I do feel like we're kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it's still odd. Maybe I'm just a cranky bitch who doesn't care terribly much about Sam's romantic troubles, who knows? Wish the episodes were juuust a bit longer, honestly.

I think it's very very funny how you can simply tell I'm writing this moments after finishing episode 14 - it really does feel like the current culmination of my issues with the podcast.

All of this in mind, though, I do have to say that I'm still very much hooked and am not likely to fall off anytime soon. The production is insane, the creepy old computer aesthetic rules, and I'm VERY curious to see how this new setting differs from TMA's and what they could even do with a story like this which they didn't already do in TMA. Protocol has so so much promise and I really hope it won't only live up to it, but exceed it. Erm. What else can I say. Alice is endearingly annoying and I like her a lot more than I expected. Gwen is my oomfie. Colin may have not appeared at all within the past few episodes but that is because he is currently very busy with being my boyfriend. Gootbye.

[stupidrant]

Speaking from my (admittedly vast) experience with fandoms (sweeps some dust off of myself). I'm fairly confident that the reason more people have been speaking out lately about their appreciation for Atreus and Angrboda's natural and healthy relationship development (which is vanishingly rare in popular media as far as romantic arcs go) or their enjoyment of Angrboda individually (recently stumbled across a YT comment which echoed almost everything I said before about how refreshing it is to see a female character with self expression, who isn't afraid to be vulnerable and caring in front of a male lead and let him know she wants and needs him around instead of being a yet another girlboss stereotype or a hardened woman with Walls TM; the comment was posted about half a year before I joined the fandom so neither of us inspired the other) - is because people are seeing a support system for this ship and character building up in the fandom. They're witnessing others coming up with their open and confident analysis of how outstanding and unique a character Angrboda is and how well written and meaningful her interactions with Atreus are.

Reading those, more people are gaining courage to join those discussions. And voice a similar viewpoint which they hesitated to express before, out of fear they'll have to deal with a vocal minority of trolls. Because trolls always operate using the method of wearing down the opponent. They *know* they're a minority so they are creating an illusion of importance and prevalence of their opinion by suppressing another viewpoint (which often dominates among the audience/consumers but because of trolls' well organized harassment many people withdraw from discussion boards and comment sections altogether; because one only has so much time and energy and cannot go up against consistent group attacks).

But once people see the vector changing, analytical approach becoming more mainstream and their response to a character and storyline being reflected in other posters' comments they resume - or start - expressing a similar view more confidently, knowing that trolls no longer dominate the spaces. Not to brag, but to illustrate how it works in practice: in my other fandom several people told me they didn't have the guts to speak out before they read my posts and before other people left me positive feedback and started breaking down storylines and characters from various angles (not necessarily matching mine but still important to be talked about). Fandom environment thus changed from trolls having a presumed "exclusive right to speak out" to a space where a massive number of people felt comfortable talking about the story and characters, not being afraid it would inevitably end in harassment and verbal abuse on part of self appointed wardens. This way trolls lost the ability to execute their "wear down the opponent" tactic.

Similar thing that currently happens to Angrboda and Atreboda happened in the fandom earlier, when GowR had just been released, only it was in regards to Freya. Back when Gow18 came out, every first post in YT comment section and on various discussion boards was how Freya is "a biatch who nEedz to DYI!!11!!" Once in the blue moon there could be found a logical comment pointing out that Freya can still work though the Baldur issue&heal from it. That if Kratos, a ruthless killed, was able to overcome his past and move towards a healthier existence so could Freya (especially since even at her worst she never reached old Kratos's level). But those rare displays of intelligent thought were immediately and brutally silenced by dog piling trolls. Then GowR came out and the narrative itself vindicated the aforementioned, logical point of view which naturally gave Freya fans a safe space to speak out and have discussions. That didn't mean creating an echo chamber but providing people with an opportunity to talk about complex characters at length instead of bending to trolls pressure.

Thus, the more we openly talk about Atreboda/Angrboda, the more we let the developers know how many of us enjoys this storyline and the deviation from pseudo-"feminist" (actually utterly misogynistic) mainstream cliches in GowR, the more we point out that Angrboda's arc has to be the first in over 10 years that allowed a female character a full measure of self expression, the more people are going to join in.

YESSS i have noticed this in the recent months and truthfully, you are one of the reasons for this newer confidence in them! youve helped reassure me and realize that its really just a vocal minority that acts like this 😭i knew before i came here that it was gonna pass but ofc things happen and i get bummed out. but im glad im getting over that 😭 Im really happy more people are coming out of the shell even after the initial hype has died down (which is where the ‘true’ fans shine) and im glad its been getting so much better🥹 Im not shocked abt the freya one unfortunately. Theres too many people that want to stay in that negative state just because and after a while, you have to ignore it alot of times. Freya hate makes no sense alongside angrboda/atreus and anyone else from this game. No, the game isnt perfect and has its flaws and i understand critiques and whatnot but i will never understand the hate LOL

[goldlightsaber]

the manic look in kendall’s eyes when he argues there’s a chance to save vaulter and then logan blowing that light out by deciding that they'll gut vaulter. that they'll destroy kendall’s baby. twisting the knife with the suggestion that even THAT was a massive failure. then roman is ruthless and mean about this fact to kendall, and shiv tries to restore balance by showing kendall some empathy, saying she thought vaulter was a good idea…one of the rare moments where shiv sides with kendall and feels bad for him. and they’re both the siblings that have come closest to tasting it. she understands the pain of being kicked down by dad for an ambitious idea. maybe she even senses that dad’s CEO promise to her isn’t going to last, and kendall’s pain is her pain. the irony of all this, when you know the way the show ends. kendall and shiv have both felt the same pain, but in the end, she says, “you don’t get to be absolved of it. you don’t get to have resolution, to be vindicated, while i don’t. you’ll think it’s because you’re better, that it was meant for you, but you’re not. and it’s not.” so they remain in pain together, forever. you're the real me, i'm the real you

[weirdestbooks]

British Michigan Oneshot

Anger At The Sight of You (Wattpad | Ao3)

America could feel nothing but anger. It burned through his body, hotter than the flames that had consumed his capital. It burned and consumed every part of him.

The anger was choking, and it was sorrowful. Under the haze of red that consumed his mind, it was hard to feel anything.

The anger was directed at many people and things, most of which America could do nothing about, not anymore. The war had ended, and America could no longer fight Britain or Canada, hurt them, and make them bleed and pay for what they did.

America couldn’t get his son back. Michigan was gone. 

It was hell.

And America was angry.

There was only one thing he could do to satisfy the anger, one thing he could do to get some sense of justice for his son.

And that was to execute William Hull for surrendering Michigan to their enemies without so much of a fight.

The others had been arguing about it for days since America gave the order. James thought it went too far, that they shouldn’t—couldn’t execute Hull for it. Rebecca, who rarely agreed with James on anything, thought the same: Hull didn’t deserve the punishment he earned. She believed that Michigan was better off in the hands of Britain, and America hated her for it.

If America could have her executed as well, he would have.

The territories were more divided and didn’t voice their opinions on it as much. They had become quieter since losing Michigan, especially Indiana and Illinois.

There were a few other voices offering opinions, voices America didn’t have names for. He ignored them, and he ignored anyone who said that executing Hull was a bad idea.

Because Hull’s death would bring justice, and for now, this was all America could do to get that.

America watched as the godforsaken man hung, hoping the retribution would do something to satisfy the anger clawing at his chest, allow him to feel something other than rage. But he just felt empty, like the anger had burned away every emotion he had, leaving him numb and hollow.

The target of all his anger was gone, and now he was empty. He stared blankly at the swinging body, a void in his chest.

“I told you it wasn’t going to help. Killing William Hull was never going to bring him back.” James muttered. America scowled.

“He deserved it.” He muttered back quietly, trying to muster the same anger he had been feeling for months. But he couldn’t summon much emotion in his voice, which was as hollow and empty as his chest. James scoffed and became quiet.

America swallowed thickly, a lump building in his throat. How could one feel so empty in a moment that was supposed to be so vindicating? How could he feel so numb? He should still be angry, still full of hate, of all those emotions that he would direct towards Britain in order to make him pay for what he had done.

How could he get justice when it was impossible to feel anything? America needed that anger. He needed it so he could get justice for Michigan.

“Michigan wouldn’t want you to kill people for him,” Illinois murmured. Shooting one last look at Hull, a confirmation that the man was really dead, America returned to his home.

“I’m not just killing him for Michigan, but for the safety of all my children. We’ve been over this. Hull was a threat to our safety because he had no sense of loyalty and was willing to sacrifice children because he cares more about personal safety than his country and the people under his protection,” America said, sitting down at his desk and taking off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with two fingers.

“Hull…was far more complicated than that,” Rebecca said, “And we both know it.”

“What’s done is done. We can’t change it,” America said, tears welling up behind his eyes. “We can’t change anything. Now we have to move forward and hope…”

America cut himself off with a sob before breaking down into tears. Now that the anger was gone, and…and the numbness seemed to be fading, America was hit with an all-consuming choking sorrow.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” America yelled, grabbing the inkwell of his desk and throwing it at the wall before slumping down to the ground, “It’s not fair. He was innocent. He…he doesn't…” 

America was cut off by another sob, louder and roughly, stealing away his break for a moment as the tears raced down his cheeks, coating his tongue with their salty taste.

“Britain’s never dealt in fairness. Only power. If he can take something, he will, and since he can’t get you back under his thumb…” James cut himself off, probably realizing that his words were not going down a helpful road.

“I know that James. I know…I just…I wish there were a way for it to have been me instead of him. A way for me to become Michigan, so I could make sure he stays with his family,” America said, wiping at his face.

“Then we wouldn’t have had you. Ideally, we’d all be here. In a perfect world, we would have gotten Michigan back,” America heard Ohio’s voice say. 

“But in a better one, you’d still have your brother either way,” America said.

“Just because Britain never saw you as anyone important doesn’t mean your children do,” James said kindly, his voice painfully understanding.

“Cut this out, America. You’re falling back into bad habits, and unless you want to be returned to our Father, you’ll do better. Father needs a colony that can function properly, not one that wants to kill himself because he doesn’t want to accept the order of things,” Rebecca snapped, jarring America back into reality as he sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“That’s enough!” James snapped, sending the two into a heated argument as America covered his ears, trying to block out their voices.

“There’s no winning with that either. I don’t want to lose either of you, Dad. Not Michigan. Not you.” Ohio said, another voice to the cacophony of noise he was experiencing. America let out a little whimper, headache growing as he fought back the urge to retreat inside of their mind.

It was all too much.

“Can you all please…please be quiet,” America whispered, eyes squeezed shut. The noise quieted, and America could feel Rebecca move back further into their head.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Ohio said, pulling America into a side hug, one that America leaned into, “But you’ve been…different since the war ended. No one can talk to you anymore. We all miss Michigan, and I know it’s harder for you 'cause he’s a part of you…but…you’re still here, and it still feels like we lost you too.”

America opened his eyes, staring up at Ohio’s blurry face.

“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t…everything feels wrong and messed up in here, and we’re all…not coping well. We’ve been fighting a lot. It makes it hard to think.” America said, unsure how to convey to Ohio how terrible things have been for them.

“We’ve all been having a rough time. But…we’d have less of a rough time if we all got through it together,” Ohio said. America cracked a small grin.

“When did you get so wise?” he asked. Ohio shrugged, and through his blurry vision, America thought he saw a faint trace of a grin. 

“I picked up a few things here and there. Now, you wanna join the rest of us? Penny’s making pannhaas for dinner, and I don’t think I’ve seen you eat in a while,” Ohio said. America sighed, looking down at his hands, hating how useless he felt. But he nodded and stood up, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on.

“Okay. I’ll get something to eat, and then I’ll check on everyone else. Thank you, Ohio,” America said. Ohio gave a crooked grin before walking over to lean against America’s side. America threw an arm over his son’s shoulder, leaving his room.

America felt guilty about eating instead of spending every waking moment trying to get justice for Michigan, not trying to do something to ease his suffering. 

But Ohio was right.

America had other kids that needed him.

And he refused to fail the rest of his children.