#I wish I had any idea where s2 was going to go

[trans-seraphim]

wonder egg priority is a miracle of anime storytelling that makes you remember just how good the genre can be and also makes you eternally mad that the best art is destroyed in production hell

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats Pt. 4

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, child birth, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra cannot imagine what might cause such commotion in the middle of the night.

“The dragon keepers have just calmed Sunfyre, who’s been having a fit for the better part of three hours.” Daemon informs her.

“Why is this news?” Rhaenyra wonders, “you needed only to wake Prince Aegon so that he might calm his own dragon.”

“That was my intention, your grace.” Daemon assures her, “until it was brought to my attention that Stormborn had been taken from the pit.”

“Where is she now?”

“Her grace’s dragon has since been returned to the pit.”

“Where is my daughter now?” Rhaenyra asks.

The room falls silent, everyone glancing toward one another.

“We believe the princess to be abed.”

“Not one of you thought to make certain?” The Queen all but shouts, panic coursing through her.

“We thought it best not to disturb the princess while she is abed, your grace.” Not without permission from the queen herself…certainly not after the last time.

Prince Aegon was in quite a state, threatening to castrate any member of the royal guard who happened upon his beloved wife in the throes of passion.

“Never you mind, I will see to her myself.” The Queen stalks down to her daughter’s room, pounding at the door.

It is Aegon who answers, “Rhaenyra?”

“I need to see her.”

Aegon hesitates, looking to his wife, who nods her approval. “She’s just there.” He takes a step back, allowing his half sister entry.

Y/N sits upon her bed in a pristine blush sleeping gown, hair still damp from the bath. “Mother.”

“Tell me the truth of it.” Rhaenyra approaches, hovering over her bedside. “Where were you this night?”

“With Aegon.”

Rhaenyra steals herself, “where were you whilst Sunfyre was howling in the pit? I know you took Stormborn, I have it on good authority. Tell me now, Y/N, where did you go?”

“To Harrenhal.”

Rhaenyra blanches, clutching her chest. “Why?” She sobs, “why would you do such a thing, knowing the risk?”

“Mother, I-”

“I have lost two of my children, I will not survive the loss of a third.”

“I have not done this to harm you, mother. But I am tired of being in pain. You’ve no idea how it feels to be tugged at by opposing sides, until you are torn down the middle.”

“Sweet girl,” Rhaenyra sighs.

“I understand why you needed Aegon and I to marry. I do not fault you for it, but times are different now. I love him, mother. Not for the crown, or the realm, or even peace. He is one half of me.”

“I wish you’d come to me, instead of facing all these troubles alone. I will always be your mother, no matter if you are a woman grown, you will not outgrow my love for you so long as I live.”

Y/N nods. “I love you dearly, mother. I want only to make you proud.”

“I am proud.” Rhaenyra assures her, “you needn’t prove yourself to me.”

“Then might I ask you to set a place for my husband at your table? Say it is not too late.”

“And what of Aemond?” Rhaenyra asks, mulling it over.

“He is gone.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes.” Y/N whispers.

“Show me.”

Y/N lifts her nightgown to reveal the charred skin of her wound.

“Alright,” Rhaenyra lowers the material once she’s gotten a good look. She kisses the top of her daughter’s head, “we will have the maester come with salve to dress it.”

Y/N nods.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?”

“Milk of the poppy.”

Rhaenyra’s hand is trembling as it passes over her daughter’s hair a second time. “Aegon, might you bring the maester?”

“Of course,” he nods. Stealing himself before wandering down the hall and away from his beloved wife. Returning with the maester, who begins tending the wound immediately.

“Is there anything else I might get you?” Rhaenyra asks, keeping hold of her daughter’s hand.

Y/N is mostly joking when she murmurs to her mother, “cake?”

Rhaenyra smiles, “I will see to it.”

Y/N relaxes as best she can to the poking and prodding.

“Aegon,” Rhaenyra nods toward the hall, “a word?”

“Of course,” Aegon follows her out.

“I owe you a debt, for taking care of my daughter. Y/N is the world to me, as she is to you.” Rhaenyra says. “Know that as I walk this path to reclaim the throne, we do so hand in hand. We are one house, as our father so willed it.”

Aegon nods, “thank you.”

————————————————————————

Years ago, after the council meeting where Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent agreed to the terms of their children’s betrothal; King Viserys himself called for Prince Aegon and Princess Y/N in his quarters.

It is put plainly before them, what is expected. What this union is meant to do; ease the strain between their two families.

“Stand together.” The king insists.

Y/N and Aegon inch toward each other.

“This will be expected of you from now on. You are betrothed, you will act as such.”

“Yes, father.”

“Yes, grandsire.”

At dinners they sit together, during shared lessons, anytime they are in the same room.

Stand together.

The princess continues her training alongside Helaena while her brothers and her betrothed argue regularly. The boys only find common ground when teasing Aemond for not having a dragon.

Queen Alicent appreciates these childish games least of all and raises her concerns with the King.

It is Y/N, having the least to do with any of it, who is summoned by her grandsire and his wife.

“Come sit, darling girl.” Viserys smiles, guiding Y/N over to his model of Old Valyria.

She nods, “thank you, your grace.”

“How are you enjoying your studies?”

“Very well,” Y/N tells him.

“I am glad to hear it. Even the septa has nothing but good things to say. You will make a fine queen, my girl.”

Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. “It pleases me to hear you say this, Grandsire. I wish only to make you proud.”

Viserys takes her hand, “surely you understand that you are a reflection of your mother and myself, in your actions and your words.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N squeezes his fingers.

“The time has come for you to consider those whose actions reflect on you.”

“I do not understand.”

“He is referring to your brothers, who wreak havoc on the whole of us.” Alicent chimes in.

“Oh, Alicent.” Viserys waves her away, “they are boys yet. I meant our Aegon.”

“Aegon?” Alicent scoffs, “those are the actions that trouble you?”

“He will soon be a man grown and future king consort. If he is to marry my granddaughter, he must act with dignity and grace.”

“Do you not see the true issue, your grace?” Alicent demands.

“You asked me to speak with Rhaenyra’s children,” Viserys reminds her, “is this not Rhaenyra’s child?”

Alicent locks eyes with Y/N, she is so young, so eager to please her family. “This child is not the issue.”

“You are correct, dear wife.” The king grins, “she is the solution. Y/N, you will go to Aegon, say what you must to light a fire beneath him. So that he too might behave in a manor befitting his station. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Good,” Viserys releases her, “go now.”

Y/N stands, making her way to the door.

“See how easy that was?” Viserys turns to his wife, now standing with her back to him.

Y/N has some trouble locating the Prince, eventually she happens upon him on the stairs. “Prince Aegon,” she calls his attention.

The boy rolls his eyes at her. “Yes, my betrothed.”

“Might you walk with me to the gardens?”

“Do I have any choice?”

Y/N smirks, with a shake of her head. “No.”

“By all means, lead the way.” Aegon waves a hand, following her like an animal on a chain.

“The king and I had a rather illuminating conversation earlier.”

“And what did you discuss? How elated he is to seat you, a bastard, on the iron throne over me, his first born son?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“No, though I am sure he will be ‘elated’ to hear that his first born son called me a bastard, in the middle of the garden, for everyone to hear.”

Aegon clears his throat, “I would not say it in front of anyone.”

"This place is crawling with vermin, their eyes and ears are upon us at all times."

"You mean to tell me we have rats?"

"Not everything can be taken so literally, my prince."

Aegon stares through her, every word going over his pretty blonde head.

"Look, there's your father now." Y/N points, "watching us from his balcony."

Aegon whips around, spotting the king.

"Smile and wave, let him believe we are having a grand time."

Aegon does as he's told, earning a nod from Viserys. "Are we not?"

True to his word, Aegon does not call her a bastard again, to her face or behind her back. When Aemond’s eye is lost, the truth of it comes out.

Y/N and Aegon begin moving closer, behind Aemond’s chair. Stand together. Perpetually closing the space between their two houses.

When Alicent scolds Aegon for not protecting his brother, Y/N is near enough to receive a second hand lashing by her tongue. And when his mother’s palm meets his cheek, in a stinging slap, his hair brushes Y/N’s skin.

“What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.”

“The legitimacy of my children’s births were called loudly to question.” Rhaenyra informs the king. “Vile insults were levied against them.”

“What insults?” Viserys sneers.

“He called us bastards.” Jacaerys says.

“Where did you hear such things, boy?” The king demands of the injured prince.

Aemond is quiet then, not willing to tell the truth. He first heard it from his mother, long before his brother. But Aegon has said it, many a time, before he abruptly stopped. “It was Aegon.”

Viserys rounds the chair, to confront his eldest son, with his eyes cast downward.

By the gods, let this humiliation end swiftly.

“Aegon!”

Stand together.

Y/N must not abandon her post.

“Yes, father.”

“Is this true?”

“It is.” Aegon admits, “and I am sorry for it. I am the elder, I should not have poisoned Aemond’s mind with such hatred. Especially as…these allegations are untrue. It was my mistake, forgive me.”

King Viserys takes a step back, “the next tongue to question the parentage of Princess Rhaenyra’s children will be removed.”

Y/N lets out a shuttering breath, catching her grandsire’s attention.

He offers her a reassuring smile, after threatening to cut out his children’s tongues. It feels wrong to be treated so differently, standing inches apart.

When the preceding is at an end, and Rhaenyra’s blood has been split, Y/N goes to find Aegon. He is tucked in against the grand archway, drowning in cups. "I brought you more wine."

Aegon eyes her warily, accepting the glass, “and what do you want?"

"May I sit with you?"

"If you wish."

Y/N takes a seat on the cool, stone floor beside him. "Thank you, for saying what you did.”

"My mother did not appreciate it."

Y/N hesitates, "I know it is not my place, but I do not like when she strikes you. Perhaps I could discuss it with your father?”

"My father? Who loves me least of all his children?" Aegon shakes his head. "A lot of good that would do.”

"They should not treat you that way."

“You care for me," he realizes. The thought alone makes his stomach turn.

"Should I not?”

"I would not know how to care for you in return."

"You defended me, in front of both our families.” Y/N challenges. “If that is not caring for me, I don't know what is."

Aegon feels the weight of her head resting against his shoulder, and he does not pull away.

"I am sorry for what happened to Aemond. I hope he finds peace and swift healing."

"If it were either of your brothers who’d been maimed, my father would pluck out Aemond’s eye himself and present it to Rhaenyra on a platter. There is no peace in that.”

Aegon becomes fiercely protective of his brother after that.

Y/N does not fault him for it.

The debacle of Driftmark sets their nuptials back several years. The blacks and greens remain in negotiation until Aegon is twenty and one and Y/N is ten and eight. At which point, Viserys proclaims they must either marry before the moon turns, or end the engagement to free both their hands for marriage.

Reluctantly, they are bound before the eyes of thousands.

Stand together.

They recite traditional Valyrian vows, sealing their covenant in blood. Sharing a dance or two before being whisked away to consummate said marriage, as other members of the wedding party drink merrily in the grand hall.

————————————————————————-

“Are they gone?” Y/N asks, toying anxiously with her wedding ring.

“They have strict orders,” Aegon sighs, “the appointed members of council cannot leave until they’ve heard a proper consummation.” He climbs into bed with her, both fully dressed in their marriage attire.

“We best get to it then.” Y/N begins plucking pins from her hair. The tapestry of braids falling free.

“Unless you’d rather have a bit of fun.”

“How do you mean?”

Aegon grins, “we could pretend.”

“Really?”

“This marriage is ours, no one else’s. When I bed you that will be ours and no one else’s.”

Stand together.

“How would we-”

Aegon rises up on his knees, gripping the headboard. “I will do the heavy lifting. Just lie back and think of the crown.”

Y/N covers her face with both hands as he begins thrusting at the air. The springs beneath them groan and crackle.

Aegon peeks down at her to find a smile painted across her lips, despite her shielded eyes. “Let them hear you, sweetheart. Make it believable.”

Y/N nods, releasing a sound she imagines a person might make while exchanging intimacies.

“Not like that.” Aegon chuckles, “they’ll think I’m murdering you.”

“I do not know how.”

“Have you never touched yourself?” He breathes.

“Never.”

Gods, he’s going to enjoy her. “That’s alright,” he continues his movements to jostle the mattress. “Just do as I do.” Aegon lets his mouth fall open, releasing a low moan.

The sound that escapes Y/N in return is not entirely forced. It makes her belly burn with desire.

They continue on like this for a while before Aegon murmurs, “big finish.”

“So quickly?” Y/N’s brow furrows.

Aegon’s eyes flicker about her, “I can’t imagine it will take long.”

As the grand finale comes to a close, Aegon makes for his dagger. Slicing his finger at the tip and allowing blood to pool before dragging the crimson stain across the bed sheet. He strips it from the bed, walking it to the door. “Deliver this to her majesty the Queen. I know she is impatiently waiting.”

Y/N begins pacing, beside the bed.

“They are gone. We are alone.”

She nods, “thank you, Aegon. For all of it.”

————————————————————————-

When Aegon does eventually bed her, it is well worth the wait.

“By the gods, that is not going to fit inside me.”

Aegon huffs a laugh, “I promise it will, darling girl. We must prepare you first.”

“How,” Y/N squeals.

He hushes her, lying open mouthed kisses across her collarbones.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not if I can help it.” He plans to burying his face between her thighs and bring her to the heavens. But the sweet little thing wants only to be held, kissed. Aegon lies beside her, one hand stroking her dark hair, the other moving down to her breasts, kneading them gently.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes.

“As are you.” She pants, moving her lips against his.

Aegon chuckles, “flattery will get you places.” He rolls her nipple between his fingers, flicking over it with the pad of his thumb.

Her hips rise of their own accord, grinding herself against his entwined leg.

“Slowly, my darling.”

Y/N nods, kissing him again to distract herself from the building ache between her legs.

Feather light caresses trail down to her sex, collecting a bit of wetness and slipping a finger into her heat. Pumping slowly, getting her used to the sensation.

“That feels nice.” She breathes, tugging at his hair.

Aegon smiles, “can you take another?”

“Yes.”

Aegon adds a second digit, working her open, pushing a bit deeper to her sweet spot. His fingers curl against it, relishing her little gasps. The princess is close now.

“Ahh,” she grasps his forearm.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

“I-”

“Don’t cry.” By the seven, she is gripping his fingers like a vise.

“I cannot help it.” Her thighs tremble in earnest now.

“That is your peak, darling girl. You’re alright, I promise.” He continues stroking, pressing the base of his hand flush with her swollen pearl, applying gentle pressure until she finds bliss. He pets at her hair as she cries out. “Good girl,” he coos, working her through the crest and bringing her back down.

“That was heavenly,” she sighs, steadying her breathing.

You are heavenly.

“Might we do it again?”

Aegon chuckles, “as many times as you’d like.”

————————————————————————

In the early days of their marriage, Aegon realizes that his wife has a nasty habit of bedding him and waiting until he finds sleep to sneak off. Holding after hours council with her mother.

The practice itself does not upset him, but this night, her absence is especially troubling, as they have been drinking since dinner. His sweet wife is not well versed in wine drinking. She laughed so hard she cried and then rode him to kingdom come.

Aegon tosses back the covers, pulling on his clothes and moving quickly through the halls of the keep. He rounds the nearest corridor, colliding with his wife, running at full speed. “Sweetheart?”

“I was looking for you,” Y/N smiles.

“Where have you been?”

“Well, I could not find sleep so I went to the maester to ask for a draft.”

“Then you’ve been to the maester?” Aegon holds her at arms length, searching for any sign of harm.

“I was on my way to the maester when I happened across one of the groundskeeper’s wives and we got to talking.” Y/N admits, with a hiccuping laugh.

“What could you possibly be talking about for over an hour?”

“Just about everything, she is a lovely woman.” Y/N tells him.

Aegon nods, with a patient smile.

“I might have stayed longer, but it came up in conversation…all the ways a woman might please her husband. And I could not wait to tell you.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

“The smallfolk share things in the marriage bed I’ve never even heard of.” Y/N muses. “She told me that, on occasion, she puts his cock between her breasts and he-”

“Who is this woman, my darling? Did you get a name?”

“I do not remember her name. I’ve been drinking.”

“I’m well aware,” Aegon’s face softens. “Next time you cannot find sleep, wake me instead.”

Y/N nods.

“In return, I will teach you all the things a husband and wife might do together. I will even demonstrate, should you find it necessary.”

“Oh, could you?” Y/N grabs for his hands, in excitement.

Aegon sighs, “you will be the death of me.”

She leaves him little notes each time after, when she must go to attend her family.

‘My dearest Aegon, I will return soon. I could not stand to wake you from such a peaceful slumber. Worry not, I will always return to you.’

And she does, after council meetings and late nights with her mother. She always returns.

————————————————————————

After a particularly long week, Aegon avoids Y/N purposely. Attempting to clear the room when he finds her there.

“Have I done something?” Y/N stops him.

Aegon shakes his head, “it has been a long day. I do not wish to burden you.”

“When you are upset you may come to me.”

Aegon fights the urge to pull away, to ignore her until she leaves.

“I will hold you.” It isn’t much, but it is all she knows. The way her mother comforts her.

Aegon says nothing, sitting down to bury his head in his hands.

Y/N sighs, winding her arms around his shoulders, feeling them begin to shake.

He reaches for her slowly, as if such comfort might burn him, or she would simply bat his hand away. She doesn’t of course, she allows him to bring her closer, now seated in his lap.

The princess says not a word as her husband works himself free of his breeches. Taking her small clothes and skirt aside.

“It helps,” he tells her. “You help.”

He goes to her then, when the day is long. When there is news to share, on occasion, just to say hello. He goes to her because he can.

————————————————————————-

During dinners at the Red Keep they whisper secrets and share hushed laughter. When he grows tired of that, Aegon’s fingers toy with her pretty little cunt beneath the table, to watch her squirm.

“I love you.” He confesses, meeting her gaze as she turns to him at the height of her pleasure.

Y/N bites down on the inside of her cheek, holding perfectly still as Aegon works her through her peak. Withdrawing his fingers and wiping them clean on the fabric of her skirts. “I love you.”

No one is the wiser. Save for Otto, who knows all; or rather likes to believe he does.

Gone is any hope that the blacks or greens might use their influence to sway the tides from one side to another. Y/N and Aegon belong to each other now, a danger in its own right.

News of the princess’s pregnancy sparks a joyous celebration throughout the realm, only to be outshone by news of the birth. Two perfect little girls. Twins, named Dahlia and Visera, respectively.

“They are perfect, my dearest love.” Aegon marvels when they are placed in his arms.

Y/N nods.

“Are you well?” He asks, swaying from side to side.

Whether from weariness or the question itself, Y/N bursts in to tears.

Aegon carefully gives his daughters over to the maids. Climbing onto the freshly dressed bed with Y/N to hold her, stroking dark locks. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“It was awful,” Y/N sobs, clutching at him.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Everyone was barking commands at me, trying to rush the babe out, even worse with the second and my mother was the one person speaking against it.”

“Oh, my darling girl.” He sighs.

“I was tired and frightened…and the pain is unimaginable. I do not wish to do it again.”

Aegon sways her gently, “I am so terribly sorry.”

“You are the only person I wanted and I could not h-have you.”

“We will deliver the next just the two of us, if it pleases you.” Aegon promises.

“Your mother will never allow that.”

“She will not know.” Aegon kisses her cheek.

Y/N pulls back just enough to see him. “If you’re certain.”

“I am. Calm yourself now, my only love. This is a day of happiness.” Aegon dries her tears, “I should like to soak up every moment here, with the three of you.”

Y/N nods, “I would like that very much.”

At the prince’s request, Visera and Dahlia are returned to them.

Aegon takes his second born, tracing the soft lines of her little face, committing them to memory. “Papa loves you.”

Y/N grins at the sight, her own finger clutched in her eldest daughter’s fist.

It comes as a shock to only Alicent when Dahlia Targaryen is named their heir; with her claim upheld by Viserys himself. Aegon does not need a son, his daughters are his legacy.

They attend small council meetings as they grow, with Dahlia seated on her grandsire’s lap.

“Mama,” Visera pounds at the table, drawing attention from the other seats.

“What is it, my darling girl?” Y/N hushes her, hoping to hear their current positions on livestock.

The little girl reaches for the ball again. “Please?”

“What is it she wants?” Aegon asks, from beside his wife, pecking kisses to his daughter’s outstretched hand.

“The ball.” Y/N whispers.

“Ahh,” Aegon smiles, taking his ball in hand and turning it over to Visera. “There we are.”

“You’ll spoil her rotten.”

“Just like her mother, hmm?” Aegon jests, “that is the goal.”

Y/N bites back a grin, passing a hand over her daughter’s light hair.

Their daughters celebrate their third name day before the princess is expecting again.

“There seems to be only one of you in there, I fear.” Aegon whispers to the child in Y/N’s belly, pressing kisses to her skin.

“You fear?” His wife smiles.

“You see, three is an odd number, this child will need a companion.” The prince reasons.

Y/N doesn’t argue, listening to Aegon speak with their unborn babe until she falls asleep.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s term is nearly complete when Aegon finds his wife, holding their wailing daughters in her arms. One on each side of her belly.

“What’s happened?” Aegon asks.

Y/N looks to him, “the girls were playing and Visera closed the door on Dahlia’s finger by mistake. Now they are both inconsolable.”

Aegon reaches for his eldest daughter, “let Papa see, which finger is hurt.”

“My little finger,” Dahlia cries, presenting the red, angry digit.

“That does look terrible painful, my dearest love.” Aegon says, after carefully examination.

“I must have the maester.”

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Aegon presses feather light kisses to her hand. “We need a cold compress is all.”

The maids rush out to fulfill his request.

Dahlia rests her head against her father’s shoulder as she waits, sniffling while he rubs circles into her back.

“See there, darling girl? Your sister is alright.” Y/N gentles Visera, who is feeling incredibly guilty.

“I did not mean to.”

“Of course not, my love.” Aegon says, “twas only an accident.”

The rest of their day is spent playing dolls and Aegon giving pony rides. Which, while ridiculous, does serve as a form of entertainment for Y/N who sits aside to watch.

She may give birth any day now and she feels every bit uncomfortable, still she welcomes Dahlia into her lap as she waits for her turn on Aegon, the noble steed.

“Trot,” Visera orders, with a smile across her face.

“Trot?” Aegon laughs, “shall I do tricks for you as well, your grace?”

Y/N shakes her head, locking eyes with her husband; she mouths a single word, “spoiled.” She kneads the ache in her lower back with her free hand. Ignoring it through supper and long after Dahlia and Visera are asleep.

Aegon notices the way she keeps clutching at it. “Perhaps a warm bath might help.”

“That would be nice,” she croaks out.

“Might it be your labors, darling girl?”

“It is all in my back,” she does not recall hardly any pain in her back, whilst laboring with the twins. “I must have pulled it.”

“The girls are getting bigger, perhaps it’s best if you do not lift them, in this condition.” Aegon kisses her cheek, dashing off to find a maid.

Y/N inhales, closing her eyes to the dull throbbing ache. Even the tub does not help, she climbs back into bed, hoping to sleep it off, but the pain only intensifies.

“This must be more than a muscle.” Aegon whispers, lying behind her. Continuing to knead her hips at her request.

“It is my labors.” My chokes out.

“You’re certain?”

Y/N nods, “my waters just broke.”

Aegon presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Is there anything I might do for you?”

She shakes her head. “Walking will help the babe come down, I must stand.”

Aegon springs from the bed, helping her upright.

“Fuck.” She hisses, beginning to pace their rooms.

Aegon follows, unsure what else to do.

She reaches out for him after a while, when the pain is so great all she wants is an ounce of comfort.

“I’m here.” Aegon murmurs, wrapping her in his arms as she sways gently from side to side.

Y/N clings to her husband, breathing him in. Focusing her attention on the sweetness of his words, to distract herself from her labors. “I’ll need to push soon.”

“Of course,” Aegon’s done his best to prepare himself. Studying whatever books he could manage, without drawing attention from prying eyes. Highborn ladies do not have children delivered by their husbands.

Queen Alicent will be livid when she finds out, but it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Y/N climbs atop the bed, remaining modestly covered.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, my darling. I’ve seen your cunt a hundred times.” Aegon flips her nightgown up, positioning her legs apart, bent at the knee. “There we are.”

“This is different, surely.” Y/N bares down as her belly contracts.

“Yes and no,” he pats her thigh.

She keeps a firm grip on his hand, crying out despite her best efforts.

“Alright, that’s alright.” Aegon scrambles for something to muffle it. “Might this work?” His belt.

“Yes.” Y/N takes it from him, stuffing the leather strap into her mouth. She is not entirely silent, little whimpers escape, though not enough to alert the guards.

Aegon is patient, kind, whispering words of encouragement. He never rushes her, brushing his hands across her skin. “There you go, my dearest love.” He can see the child’s head now.

Her eyes water, gritting her teeth so tightly they ache.

“Breathe.”

Y/N draws in a breath through her nose, releasing it in a strangled manner, akin to a dying animal.

“Good girl,” Aegon is prepared to catch the infant.

The princess’s head falls back as the child emerges, connected to her by only the afterbirth.

“Slippery little fellow, aren’t you?” Aegon coos, holding his son in his arms.

The infant begins to wail.

“A boy?” Y/N pants, tossing the belt away to catch her breath.

“Yes, my darling girl.” Aegon grins, “how are you?”

There is still pain, there will always be pain, but it is largely outweighed by the image of Aegon holding their son. She bursts into tears, “I am well.”

“Oh dear,” he frowns, carefully maneuvering his newborn son. He lies the infant against her chest, leaning down to comfort her as best he can. “Was it not what you wanted?”

“It was better, my love.” Y/N assures him, counting their babe’s tiny fingers. “I am overjoyed.”

“Overjoyed,” Aegon huffs, clunking his forehead against hers. “Of course that is why you’re crying.”

The maesters come after a while, to be sure that Y/N and the babe are well. After receiving the all clear, they are finally able to rest. Waking early in the morn to present the newest member of their family.

Y/N is tired and sore, even now, lying abed doesn’t suit her. She sits upon a cushion, in a loose fitting gown, tracing the slope of her new babe’s nose. “Are you nearly ready, my love?”

“Nearly,” Aegon remarks. While fastening his breeches he discovers the shapes notched into his belt. He lets out a laugh.

“What is it?” Y/N smiles.

“Look,” he rounds the stool, jutting out his hips.

“Your cock?” The princess arches a brow. “I have seen it.”

“Here, darling girl.” He grins, tracing the outline of her indentations. “From your teeth.”

Her cheeks heat up, “you must take it off.”

“Take it off?” Aegon frowns, “this is a badge of honor. I will wear it day in and day out.”

“You are insufferable,” Y/N sighs.

Aegon pecks a kiss to her parted lips, silencing any protest and setting off to gather the rest of their children.

Y/N dearly misses her mother and brothers in Dragonstone.

————————————————————————

In the months after Laenor’s birth Y/N begins searching for a teacher willing to help her learn a skill most princesses never acquire. Leading her to seekout a man she never has before.

“I want to train by the sword.”

Aemond pauses his sparring practice. “Surely I misunderstand you, dear niece.”

“You are the best, I require a tutor.” Y/N puts it plainly.

“I must be, if you are asking me, of all people.”

“I will admit, you were not my first choice. But Aegon refuses to so much as raise a sword against me and my brothers never cared for knocking me down; where as you will have no qualms about it.”

Aemond smirks, “this is true.”

“I also thought it might be a way for you and I to come together…as family.”

Aemond squares his shoulders, “very well then. Take up your sword.”

The two of them have something in common at long last, until Princess Y/N falls pregnant again, some months later.

Viserys’ condition continues to deteriorate, it is unclear if he will survive to see Y/N and Aegon’s fourth child. As luck would have it, he is lucid when the Prince and Princess present their second son, Prince Aegon, fourth of his name.

“Well done, my girl.” The king manages.

Y/N smiles, “Aegon helped.”

“I should expect so,” Viserys laughs.

“I meant only that he too deserves a job well done.”

Viserys looks to her, as if seeing her for the first time. Then turning to his son he whispers, “well done, my boy.”

Aegon is taken aback, “thank you, father.”

————————————————————————

News of Lord Corlys Velaryon’s injury in the Step Stones brings forth Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to be named his brother’s successor over Lucerys.

This business, however unpleasant, brings Rhaenyra and her children back to King’s Landing.

“We were planning to visit in a few months time, after the babe was born.” Rhaenyra tells her daughter. “But it is always a joy to see you, darling girl.”

Y/N hugs her mother, tightly, “I’ve missed you.”

Rhaenyra strokes a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I have missed you terribly.”

King Viserys musters his last bit of strength to affirm his position for Lucerys and make known that his daughter, Rhaenyra, will always be the true heir to the throne.

They break bread, the blacks and greens together, once the petition is settled. Getting along for a time, until the king is taken back to his chambers to rest. A fight breaks out between Jace, Luce and Aemond, causing Rhaenyra’s untimely departure. She intends to return alone, on dragon back, after the children are settled at home.

Y/N finds sleep that night with a renewed sense of peace, waking to anything but.

Aegon is in an odd state of dress, as if he’s thrown clothes on in the dark. Pacing at the foot of their bed; muttering to himself.

“Aegon?” The princess rubs at her eyes, hoping to make sense of it.

“My father is dead.”

Y/N sucks in a breath.

“My mother and grandsire are gathering the smallfolk for my coronation, in the dragon pit.”

“Why? Alicent herself said that my mother would make a fine Queen only hours ago.”

“In the end it was my name Viserys spoke,” Aegon whispers. “To my mother, on his deathbed.”

Oh no, gods no. Viserys wouldn’t. “What exactly did he say?”

“It matters not, my dearest love. I intend to uphold your mother’s claim.”

“How?” By taking her throne?

“I know you do not trust my family, as well you shouldn’t. You know my heart, you know what I want. They are rushing into this because they know it is wrong. I have pleaded with them, to no avail.” Aegon says. “If it is a performance they demand, so that we might seize the crown to later unfuck this line of succession, it is a performance they will have.”

Y/N nods, pressing a hand to her chest, in a desperate attempt to settle her breathing.

“We’re going to wash you up and dress you in the finest gown the realm has ever seen. Then you are going to stand at my side as they bend the knee, to try it on for size. Think of it as preparation for the day you are crowned our true queen, after your mother has ruled for a great many years.”

Again she nods.

“Are you calm enough now or do you still need me?” Aegon asks, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

“I need you.”

Stand together.

————————————————————————

In nearly two days time the realm is divided, half of them devoted to Rhaenyra’s claim, the other half to Aegon’s. After Aegon is crowned, Otto Hightower continues to play his hand.

“What are we to do?” Y/N wonders.

“My mother sent Aemond to Storm’s End. Lord Baratheon was easily swayed by the promise of Daeron’s hand for one of his daughters.”

“That is good, is it not? An ally of ours is an ally of my mother’s, in time.”

“There is more,” Aegon admits, wringing his hands.

Y/N laces their fingers together instead, “speak it.”

“I wish so badly that I did not have to tell you.”

“Please, Aegon.” She insists.

“There was an incident.”

Y/N nods, urging him to continue.

“Between Aemond…and your brother Lucerys.”

“What?” Her eyes brim with tears, as though her heart already knows.

“Lucerys was there, delivering a message from your mother. Aemond followed him, on dragon back. I do not think Aemond meant to truly harm him.” Aegon watches the lone drop of moisture cascade over her cheek. “Lucerys is dead.”

The princess’s knees buckle and she falls, with pain in her chest is so great, her lungs cannot expand.

Aegon gentles her to the floor, into his lap as she sobs so violently it shakes the pair of them. There is nothing he can say, and so he holds her, until she has no tears left.

The next weeks drag on quite the same, they pretend for their children, but Y/N struggles.

She sits the small council meeting, listening to news of Rhaenyra’s blockade and its effect on the kingdom.

The doors push open, revealing Aemond.

Y/N nearly churns. Balling her hands so tightly into fists the nails break skin.

“The key to victory is through the Riverlands.” Aemond narrates, “we need to establish a toehold there, at Harrenhal.”

Y/N pushes away from the table, trembling with the force of her rage.

Aegon reaches for her, feeling his heart sink as she backs away, with both arms wrapped around herself. Trapped beneath the watchful eyes of the council. “My darling, I did not invite him here.”

“Tis true,” Aemond confirms, “I am here of my own volition.”

There is that, at least.

“Do you have something to say, my queen?”

Y/N’s back remains to Aemond, and the strategy board, “Prince Aemond is a traitor and a murderer, who deserves to swing in the streets for what he has done. Instead he attends meetings of the small council. It is clear I hold little value to any member of this court. I will not sit here and listen to this depravity.”

“Y/N.” Aegon rises from his seat, shifting between feet, anxiously.

“I am through, my king.”

Aegon recoils as if she’s slapped him.

“Unless you are commanding me to stay,” she replies, with venom in her voice.

“Of course not, my dearest love.”

Y/N exits the double doors, moving down the hall at record speed.

Aegon twirls the council ball between his fingers to settle his racing heart. This was once his father’s seat, where his children would sit, back when all was as it should be. Now his children are not welcome and his wife would sooner abandon ship than remain at his side. “Get out.” He says to his brother.

Aemond sighs.

“Get out!” Aegon slams his fist against the table, “from now on, you will make yourself scarce amongst these halls. If you happen across my wife, you will make haste in the opposite direction, she will not be forced to look upon your face again. Do you understand?”

Aemond bows his head, “as you wish, your grace.”

Y/N retreats to her children’s rooms, finding them empty. They must be in with Helaena’s twins again. She finds the six of them in Jaehaera’s room, playing together while Helaena sews her tapestry.

“How is it coming along?” Y/N asks, taking a seat beside her.

“Quite well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Y/N taps at her wedding ring, “do you find it relaxing? Mayhaps I should take up sewing.”

“I’m afraid.” Helaena says, setting her work aside.

“Of what?” Y/N cocks her head to the side.

“The rats.”

Y/N nods, hoping to understand. “What is it about them that frightens you?”

Helaena falls silent, a far off look in her eyes.

“I could look into them.” Y/N offers, instead. “The rats.”

Helaena blinks at her. “Would you?”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps with proper knowledge of their ways you need not fear them.”

Helaena smiles, “that would be nice.”

“I will head down to the library then, once the children are abed.”

After their baths, princess Y/N brushes through each of her children’s hair in turn. Her two year old son sits in her lap first. Laenor’s hair has wave to it, like Aegon’s. She twists a bit of it around her finger.

“Mama,” the little boy begins bouncing, impatiently.

“Yes, sweet boy?”

“All done,” he tells her.

Y/N huffs a laugh, squeezing him in a hug before releasing him, “off you go then.”

Laenor giggles, bounding away happily.

“Alright, my darling girls, who is next?”

Dahlia looks to Visera, who stares back at her, exclaiming in unison, “I am!” The pair comes charging at her, landing in the small space, side by side.

“My goodness, you have gotten so big.” Y/N groans as she repositions them. Taking turns swiping the bristles through their long, silver, hair before weaving in simple braids, one down each of their backs.

“Where is father?” Dahlia wonders.

Y/N swallows, “performing his duties.”

“What about us?” Visera asks.

“Your father loves you dearly,” Y/N kisses each of their heads. “He wants nothing more than to be with you. Sometimes there are things we must do, for the sake of the crown that require us to be parted from those we love, for a short while.”

The girls nod.

“One day, when you are grown, you will understand. In the meantime, please know that his heart is with you, always. He will never be far.”

Visera and Dahlia turn, holding their mother tight.

“I will see you on the morrow.” Y/N pats their backs, watching them take to their beds.

Her youngest child is brought to her last, wrapped in a silk blanket and wailing at the top of his lungs.

Y/N stands to collect him. “Now, now, my prince, what business do you have causing all that fuss?” Y/N coos at the babe in her arms.

Aegon the fourth quiets instantly, staring up at his mother while kicking his little legs.

“That’s what I thought.” Y/N remarks, sitting down in the arm chair to rock him to sleep. “You are so loved, my darling.” She strokes his dark hair and his tired eyes begin to close, “sweet dreams.”

With the prince safely abed, Y/N leaves the children in the care of their guards and maids, to see what books they might have about rats in the library. The selection is limited, of course, so she decides on a bound copy recounting the great plague. Its pages contain great detail about the little critters and their lives.

She finds herself more engrossed in it than she could have anticipated. The princess hardly hears her husband enter their rooms.

“What story is that now, my dearest love?” He asks, shucking off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.”

Part 5

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop....

...after this he drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[lis-likes-fics]

Shijetra Nyke, Mandia

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader Word Count: 5.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon bc coercion, fingering, implied age gap (she's laena's little sister), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, breeding kink, sort of cheating, mentions of death and war, swearing, technically reader is black but she can be read as any race, High Valyrian, Daemon is not a good person... A/N: Hey, everyone! Was trying to hold off on this one but I decided to just post it anyway. Super excited for HOTD S2 to come out in June. I promise there are ideas for Aemond but writing sucks so much ass so it's just taking a while to get to it. Thank you so much and happy reading!

The seas are steady tonight. As the moon glints off its gentle waves, the water seems to mourn as you do. It was hard to find sleep. You came all the way out here to watch the crashing waves, in hopes of finding some solace in the sea, but even it does not seem to have the strength to roar tonight.

Your nightgown blows in the soft winds of the night as you watch the ocean.

The rustling of sand pulls a sigh from you, and you grit your teeth as you turn away from the man coming to stand next to you. You don't have to look at him to know who it is. You could tell him anywhere.

“I wish to be alone,” you whisper.

Daemon clasps his hands in front of himself as he looks out at the sea. “That is understandable, my lady.”

“And, yet, you are still here.” You look up at him, your features hard as you glare.

His voice is soft. You're not quite sure it fits him. The non-confrontation in his voice feels strange.

“I thought you might need company,” he says, examining your face as he does. For a moment, you think he can see the ghosts of the dried tears you've shed. “It has been a tiring day, after all.”

You huff, turning away again. Looking at him for too long makes your skin crawl. “I have not want of company.”

He hums. “I said ‘need’, not want.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I have no need for your company.”

He seems unphased by your hostility. “Even so…” he looks down at you, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine, “you shall have it.” You stare at him, wanting to step back but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. He turns his body to face yours, craning his head down to watch you better.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, as if there were thousands of people here and the secret he is to bestow upon you is too dangerous to say aloud. “It is in times like these, I hear, times where we are most vulnerable, that a bit of presence does one good.”

Despite your urge to stay planted in your sandy spot, you take a small step back without breaking your feigned confidence. “Very well, then,” you say. “You may go and fetch someone else to give me presence. I do not need yours.”

He almost seems amused, though he dies it well. He leans his head back a slight. “You despise me so, yet I have done nothing.”

You let out a breathy scoff, turning away from him and toward your humorless response. “Well, that's the whole of it, isn't it?” You shake your head, your frustration piquing once more. “You've done nothing.”

He hums. “I don't think I understand.”

You look at him, and he can see the anger simmering in your gaze. “Don't you?” You step closer to him, invading his space as he does yours, daring to play his game. “Where were you when my sister left her birthing bed? Where were you when she left the walls of the castle to give herself to her dragon's breath?” Your voice broke as the pain threatened to tear apart your anger. “Where were you when she ordered Vaghar to take her life?”

He almost rolls his eyes at your accusations. “I tried to stop her.”

“But you didn't try hard enough,” you seethe. “Or she would be standing next to me.”

He steps closer, taking the control back. His voice is still quiet, though his level tone is twinged with annoyance. “Laena had her own spirit,” he insists. “She did as she liked well enough. I see not why I should have blame for her own decisions.” His near lack of regard fuels you. “And besides, she would have died anyway. The maesters told me so.”

You shove him back, and your rage is flared by the knowledge that he only moves because he allows you to move him.

“She was everything to me!” Your uneven breaths have your chest heaving as your voice echoes across the water. “Not only my sister, my blood—she was my protector.” You sigh shakily, angrily wiping away the tears welling in your eyes. Your voice softens, though not because you want it to. “Now she is gone.”

He remains silent for a moment, letting it sit until it's no longer comfortable. He tilts his head, still standing so close. “And yet, I am not to blame.”

You roll your eyes, unable to look him in the eyes anymore as you look past his head. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he insists. “She was my lady wife, after all.”

You raise a brow. “Yet you do not mourn.”

He shrugs a shoulder, entirely unconvincing. “Everyone mourns differently.”

You nod. “And you mourn by shedding no tears and strutting through the castle halls?”

Daemon hums. “You must forgive me if I have offended you, my lady.”

You stare up at him, unblinking as your rage and grief continues to give you the strength to look in his eyes and speak your truth. “You have, and I don't.”

A huge part of that strength crumbles when he steps so close to you that you're forced to step back. You falter, a momentarily fear in your eyes at the predatory gaze in his own. His eyes seem to examine you, taking in each and every little curve of your body every crease in your dress. You try not to shrink under his scrutinization.

His voice is so soft, and your flesh crawls with the sound of it. “What do you need from me?”

You have no choice but to break eye contact. It's too much, too close. You swallow thickly, your voice quieting to a low request, rather than the command you had wanted. “I need nothing from you but for you to remove yourself from my presence. Hastily.”

He stands completely still for a while, his eyes just as fixed on your face. When he moves, it almost startles you. His hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You're quick to swat him away with a harsh swipe of your hand, taking a step back. “Do not touch me.”

He says nothing, and the silence is unbearable. He just…watches you. His gaze is intense, focused, terrifying. He stands there, still as a statue for the longest time, before making another attempt for your face. You're just as quick as the first, if not quicker with your flickering frustrations.

“I said don't–”

He grabs your face, not caring this time for gentleness as his dull nails dig into the flesh of your jaw and hold you, pulling you close and keeping there, no matter how much you fight him. Your heart pounds against your ribs, beating so heavily that you think it'll stop any moment now. The fear that washes over you is both a searing chill and a molten burn. “Get off of me!”

Leaning in close, he shakes his head. “Shh, “ he bids. “Hush, little river.”

You hate that. Your family calls you that on occasion because you're the youngest of the Velaryon siblings, Laena especially. It's meant to be kind, for rivers are the waters that feed the sea, but when Daemon says it, you feel so small. You feel so insignificant. He taunts you with it.

“Don't call me that,” you hiss. “Get off of me!” You try to push him away, but as you suspect, he doesn't budge. But his next words make you freeze in your spot.

“You are just as beautiful as her,” he says, tilting his head as he stares. “Your sweet sister.”

You're stunned into silence, into stillness. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath as the sound of the waves slowly beginning to build and the sound of your own heart beating away in your chest fill your ears.

You blink, confusion and shock coloring your face. “What?”

He tilts his head. “I wanted you, you know,” he whispers, his words lingering in the tiny space between you. You can hardly breathe, but you can't look away with his iron grip on your face. “When I married your big sister, I wanted it to be you I would bed that night… I only settled for her.”

Your shaking breath became loud as you tried to remove his hand from you, grasping his wrist with all your strength in an effort to pull him away, to no avail. “Daemon. Don't do this–”

“Now that she has taken her leave of us, bless her…” the slightest smirk slips onto his lips, “I am free to pursue my true desires.”

You shake your head, “Daemon–”

You turn your head just in time to avoid his kiss as his lips press against your cheek. Your squirm, squeezing your eyes shut as frightened tears spring to your eyes. Daemon chuckles darkly, taking a slip of your flesh between his teeth in a nip.

You have no control when he turns your head for you. His lips press hungrily into yours, forcing his lust down your throat whether you want it or not. Your protest comes out as a whimper, and it fuels his fire as his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body.

You push against him, struggling to get any traction to shove him away. You reach around to grab his hand at your waist, pulling at his pinkie until you've bent it too far for him to continue holding you. He pulls away, pride shining in his face as he smirks. You push him, but this time he doesn't move.

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call for Arlaryx!” Your command is sharp, but he doesn't seem all that phased by it. You honestly hadn't expected him to be.

He inclines his head back, sneering. “And bring her against my war-grown beast?” He stalks forward, invading your space again, no matter how far you stumble back. “You know your dear thing would not stand a chance.”

The thought of your precious creature in the jaws of Daemon's monstrous demon makes your blood run cold. He's right. She would not be enough against Caraxes.

You shake your head. Your voice is weak. “Please.”

He sighs contently, his smile curling into something especially evil. “I like you begging,” he purrs. “So small and sweet you are, when you do not spit venom.”

A deep snarl just barely resounds over the waves picking up about the sea. As you look over your shoulder, you both take in the sight of Arlaryx, her scales almost as blue as sapphires, a color that blends with the deep seas.

Her towering figure stalks out onto the beach, smoke billowing from her nose as she watches the both of you. Another snarl rumbles in her chest.

The faint sound of another snarl, one much different from her own, is heard seemingly in the back of your mind. But you know you did not imagine it. By the smirk on Daemon's face, you know you have not imagined it.

He bends down, his lips by your ear as he whispers. “Do you want to do this, little river?”

You stare at her, your eyes watering at the haunting images of her torn apart on the sand. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you know she feels it because she begins to snarl again. Her claws dig into the sand, her long tail swishes the water when she takes another step forward.

You steady your breath, opening your mouth and hesitating for a moment. You clear your throat, speaking as level as you can manage.

“Dohaeris, Alarlyx,” you command, swallowing roughly. “Dohaeris. Nyke sȳz.”

The beast makes no move to leave, and you sigh heavily. Curse her and her loyalties. They will get her killed.

You steel your voice, trying to sound stronger than you feel. She will not listen to you if you sound weak. “Lyrkiri,” you insist. The smoke diminishes, becoming thinner and thinner until it has stopped. “Sōvēs, Arlaryx, sōvēs.”

She lifts a heavy claw, easing slightly like she'll actually listen.

Then Daemon wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your body against his as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You wince, squirming in his grasp.

Arlaryx’s mind seems to be made up. She crouches again, advancing slowly once more as her snarls become louder. Smoke arises once again from her nostrils as she opens her mouth, the burning heart of her rage billowing inside of her.

You both know it's just a threat. She would not put you in such danger, but Daemon's crimes against you have officially enraged her.

But Caraxes’ distant croaks and growls fill your head, and you can't stand it. You nearly shout, sounding almost as desperate as you feel as you drop your voice and command her.

“Dohaeris, Arlaryx,” you bellow. “Dohaeris se sōvēs.”

Her warning snarls are replaced with a sort of whining sound as she takes a hesitant step back. She grunts, and you watch the smoke dissipate. Unfurling her great wings, she takes flight as she disappears into the night.  Caraxes’ sounds have ceased. You sigh, almost relieved until Daemon's teeth nip at your ear. Anxiety fills you once more.

“That one is just as stubborn as you.” He kisses your cheek, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. He inhales your scent, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. “Just get this over with.”

Anticipation swirls in your belly, the prospect of his hands on you, his mouth, his…

But he just laughs at you, pulling away from your body and leaving you cold. You turn, surprise on your face as you try to figure out why he'd suddenly pulled away from you. Is he so fickle in his interests that he should let you go before having his way?

You have half a mind to run.

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona.” Don't do that. He remains close, his predatory gaze follows you. “Nyke gīmigon jaelā nyke, riña. Tepagon isse, byka qelbar.” I know you want me, girl. Give in, little river.

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists as you step closer. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao,” you spit. I don't want you.

He chuckles, leaning in until your faces are inches apart. “Pirtra.” Lies.

He takes a step forward, continuing this back and forth dance—you step, he steps, forward and back, left and right. Then he begins to circle you as you stand there, feeling as small as he probably views you.

“You think I don't notice when your eyes follow me down the hall?” he asks, and the question makes your blood run cold. “You think I don't see you peeking over your cup at dinner?” He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and whispering in your ear, his lips caressing the shell. “You crave my touch so deeply, it makes you look pathetic.”

His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you close. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand teasing you, reaching down, down, down.

“I hear you.” Your breath hitches. “At night when you touch yourself to my name.” The smallest breath slips from your lips when his hand cups your heat, his finger teasing your clit over your gown.

“Does it feel good?” His voice is a purr in your ear. “Imagining my fingers plunging inside of you? Wishing it was my teeth sunk into your flesh and not your own nails digging into your skin?”

Your legs tremble, his words resonating in your bones. You shake your head, taking a breath for courage as you object.

“You are not mine,” you whisper, your voice weak. You break out of his hold, turning to watch him as you try to recollect your wavering dignity. “Dead or alive, you are my sister's. I will not sully her memory this way.”

“Oh, come off it.” He comes closer. “Either way, your sister is dead. Why deny yourself pleasure for the memory of a dead sister?”

You slap him. His head whips to the side as your hand inspires a large red blush over his cheek. His fingers brush his skin, a large crooked grin taking his face as he slowly turns to look at you.

You take a small step back, anxiety creeping into you at the way he watches you, like prey being stalked by a cruel beast. He says nothing as he stands there. He begins to walk forward.

And you run.

Sand kicks into the air as you bolt away, your breath loud in your ears and your heart heavy in your chest. Tears spring to your ears as the exertion, the cold thrill of his hunt encourages your escape.

You don't get far. He's faster than you, and his strength is far superior to yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the ground. You kick your feet, trying to break free from his hold. But it's of no use. You shout over the crashing waves of the tides, waves that have picked up since Daemon arrived. Like they mourn with you, they fight for you, too.

He wrestles you to the ground, flipping you onto your back as he pins your arms down by your head. He looms over you, positioning himself between your legs and ignoring your fight like you're nothing against him. And perhaps you are.

“Go ahead,” he grins, spurred on by your struggle. “Pretend you despise me. Perhaps, now, you do.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear. “But we are all the way out here, with no one to hear your screams but the sea.”

Your fight diminishes, the reality of his words sinking in. You look at him, your eyes wide and struck with adrenaline-coated tears. His gaze is dark, his smile even darker. He shifts one of your arms to the other, grasping both your wrists in one of his big hands as the other strokes your side, dipping beneath your thin gown to touch your bare skin beneath. You shudder at the feeling, anxiety pooling in your belly at the knowledge that you can do nothing to fight him.

“Will you lose breath screaming or cumming?”

Your voice is weak and broken. It's barely a whisper when you speak. “Please.”

He shushes you, his lips so close to yours. You can almost feel it, the heat of his kiss as he would devour you.

And then he does. He presses his lips roughly against yours, his tongue slipping past them to taste you. He grips your side, his dull nail digging into your flesh. You can't help the whine you let out into his mouth, regretting the way you seek him out, especially after he pulls away. And he smiles triumphantly, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

“Don't worry, little river.” A quiet gasp erupts from your chest when his hand cups your bare cunt, his fingers rubbing against your folds before he parts them to plunge his finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open, sharp breaths teetering in and out at the way he touches you, at the way you clench around his finger like you'll die if he pulls away now.

“I'll give you what you've been craving all these years.”

He moves like fire. His hand is insistent as his finger plunges in and out of your wet heat, pulling more and more arousal from your already damp folds. You clench your jaw, stifling your moans as he forces the pleasure down your throat.

When he thrusts another finger inside of you, you moan at the stretch, your eyes rolling back at the way he curls them inside of you. You grab his arm, gripping it tight, though you're not sure if you're trying to stop him or not.

He moves quickly. You don't have time to catch up with the harsh thrusts of his fingers, so you lay back and take it as the pleasure explodes all over your body.

It feels so good. His fingers reach deeper, faster, too. The feeling of someone else's fingers inside of you instead of your own is so foreign. Your frantic breath makes you light-headed, and you can hardly keep your thoughts straight.

“I know it's exhausting,” he mumbles as his palm slaps against your clit, “fighting me.”

But you must fight. For your sister, who meant so much to you. You must fight against this man who let her die. Who would you be if you allowed yourself to succumb to your late sister's husband? She practically raised you, and this is how you repay her?

But here you are. She died hardly two days ago, and you were laying on the sand with Daemon's fingers in your cunt.

Being in this position is surreal. Because he was right, you had been craving this moment for years, wanting so deeply to feel Daemon's passion on your skin. His lips brush your cheek, and he murmurs into your ear. “You'll feel better when you let go.”

Your breath hitches. “Daemon.”

“That's it,” he smirks, feeling you leaning into him. “Close your eyes and give in to me, little river.”

Your eyes flutter shut. The pace of his hand, the feeling of his fingers thrusting so deeply, the pleasure scours your body until you feel yourself reaching your limit.

“Ȳdra daor keligon, Daemon,” you sigh, your voice high with bliss as you pull your hands away from his grasp. “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry.” Don't stop. I need it.

“Qilōni?” Who?

“Ao!” You! You moan, rolling your hips into his hand as he continues to coax your release from you. Your head is spinning, and you've long since left reason behind. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” you beg. I need you.

You turn your head to lay your eyes upon the sea, the pleasure within you swelling like the waves crashing against the shore. “Shijetra nyke, mandia.”

Forgive me, sister.

Your lips part and your back arches off the sand as you come undone. Your moans echo off the waters, becoming all the worse when Daemon's teeth nip the flesh of your neck.

It feels amazing, freeing almost. His hand continues to work out through your pleasure, even when it all fades into oversensitivity. He lets go of you, pulling away from your body and staring down at you. You watch through hooded eyes as he examines his hand, watching the way your arousal glistens off his fingers in the moonlight. He looks at you as he licks his fingers clean.

The scene is so erotic, the way he groans at the taste of you on his tongue. “Such a magnificent treat you are,” he hums. He bends down and takes your lips against his own, his tongue licking into your mouth as you taste yourself on him.

You watch as his hand reaches for his belt, and you can't help the way your legs close at the thought of him revealing himself to you. He reaches a hand out, gripping your knee and pushing your legs apart again. “Do not move.”

You do as you're told, waiting with bated breath as he unlatches his belt and sets himself free. You gasp silently at the sight of him, long and solid and flushed pink at the tip. When your eyes lock with his, he looks quite proud of himself.

Daemon turns you on your belly, positioning you as he wants you, with your face shoved into the sand and your hips in the air. His harsh hands grope your body, your ass, your waist, your thighs. You groan, your hips jerking when his thumbs spread your folds apart.

“You're fucking dripping,” he says, a dark smirk in his words as he runs a finger between them.

“Kostilus,” you whisper, taking handfuls of sand to try to control yourself. You were in too deep. Your desire for him has turned to a desperate need embedding itself in the pit of your stomach. Please.

He chuckles, “Say it again.”

You have no mind to refuse him. You've long since lost your dignity, and you've betrayed your sister like you never thought you would. It's too late for you. Why deny yourself pleasure over broken promises?

“Kostilus, Daemon,” you whine, shuddering at the way his hand strokes down your spine. “Nyke jaelagon ao.” I want you.

He puts you out of your misery with a harsh thrust into your needy cunt. You moan, your heavy breaths blowing sand into the air. “Ondoso se gods…” By the gods…

A long groan rumbles in his chest as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he curses as he bottoms out. “You are a virgin.” He grips your hips, burying himself so deep that you feel like you can't breathe. “With all your supposed virtue, I thought you were pretending you weren't a dirty whore.”

As he grips you tight, Daemon doesn't take you, he fucks you. He holds you, digs his nails in your flesh. He thrusts his cock in and out of your tight hole, fast and rough and with the recklessness of a starving man devouring his food. The ocean rages. You're not sure if it's a reflection of your betrayal or your need. The sea is strange in that way, it's versatility.

You wish you could disappear into the dark waters, break away from this beast of a man and let the sea consume you. At least then you'd be at peace with yours, part of the waters of your bloodline.

But here are you, consumed by fire as you ignore the burn of the sand scratching your skin. It's a molten kind of pleasure, the kind that oozes out of you in lingering bliss and deep desires. You're slick with arousal, which makes it easier for him to glide in and out of you. His relentless pace smacks against you, the sound of it echoes through the air with the heavy heat of his passion.

Your position is so compromising. Anyone could happen across you. Anyone could walk the shoreline and find you being fucked into the sand by your sister's husband.

Your rationale falls short because the fear of it is nowhere near as strong as it should be. If the lords of Pentos saw you, they would surely gossip. Word would spread through the city, and that word would spread all the way across the sea. Everyone would know, your nieces, your brother, your mother and father. They would reject, disown you. They would strip you of Velaryon, you would be just another Waters bastard of Driftmark.

You could say he made you. You could tell them he threw you to the sand and took you as he pleased, ravaged you as though you were nothing but meat. But Corlys would go to war over you. To have your honor destroyed in such a way, it would be a war of sea against fire, a war full of bloodshed and hatred.

The idea has you running cold, but the chill doesn't last long with the way Daemon's hips thrust into you, full of his own fire.

“What I wouldn't give to spend every moment snug in this virgin cunt,” he grunts, reaching forward as he flattens his hand against the back of your skull. He twists your hair around his fingers and pulls, keeping you secure in his grip. You go limp at the feeling, the weakness seeping into your bones.

“Perhaps I should breed you,” he sighs with a laugh. “I'll fill you full of my seed, maybe even keep you as my broodmare. I'll keep you round with my children, always ready for me to fuck as I please. Is that what you want, little river?”

So truly blinded by your pleasure, you have no choice but to agree. You lean into the way he makes you feel, letting your troubles melt away, your concerns and your hesitations a thing of the past. They will do you no good now.

“Yes,” you gasp, allowing yourself to be ravaged. “Yes, Daemon, I want that.”

The triumphant look in his eyes shines at the way you give in so completely. Empowered by your submission, his thrusts become more merciless. He grunts and groans behind you, tugging on your hair and holding you still as you return the passion.

All of the sudden, he pulls out of you, leaving you cold and shaking. A stray whine seeps off your tongue, but you have no time to let it linger before he’s flipping you onto your back. He throws your legs onto his shoulder and shoves himself back inside of you in just a couple fluid motions. His ruthless thrusts have you nearly crying for him. The blunt head of his cock reaches so deeply like this, punching against that spongy part inside of you as stars swirl in your vision.

“It feels so good,” you moan, though you’re sure your words are nearly incoherent. It feeds Daemon’s ego either way, encouraging a rougher fuck as he gives you what you want, gives himself what he’s been craving all along. He was right. You do feel as good as he thought, better even. You’re so tight, so inexperienced and untouched that all of his cruel pleasure wrecks your body in your sensitivity.

“You can get louder, can’t you?” he asks, bending down to fold you in half for a different angle.

Your head falls back against the sand. You must look a mess, covered in tiny grainy crystals, hair all over the place. But it doesn’t matter. That’s probably what he wants. Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him close as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are shorter, harder now. You’re running out of breath quickly, struggling to keep up.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” The breathy wail feels almost like it was forced from your lungs. As he reaches his hand down to touch your clit, you’re done for and you know it. “Oh, Daemon, please.”

He’s intent on making you cum, and with the skill he’s acquired throughout his years, you know he’ll be successful. He’s already got you crying his name.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, girl?” he questions, his breath heavy and his hair messy upon his head. “I know you want to, you’re squeezing me so tight.” You cant your hips up into his own, seeking out your sweet release as he hangs it over your head. “Tell me who you want.”

Your eyes, blurry with tears, watch him hazily. “You.”

He tuts. “You can do better than that. If you want to cum, you will tell me who you want to breed this tight little hole of yours.”

You have no mind to refuse him—you have no mind to do anything but follow where the pleasure takes you. With shallow breaths, you blink pleasure tears from your eyes. “I want you, Daemon. Please, I want you to cum in me and make me your whore.”

He doesn’t know if you could have said it any better. Making harsh circles over your clit, he fucks you with all the strength he’s got. You feel like he’ll bruise you with how brutal he’s being. You feel a tightening coil in your belly, one that just clenches and clenches and clenches with every circle on the sensitive pearl he attacks.

“Cum for me, little river,” he commands, leaving you and your body no room to refuse him as he pulls it out of you. “Cum all over my cock and scream my name like the perfect whore that you are.”

And you obey. It’s like a lever being pulled. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you're arching your back and feeling pleasure consuming your body in a fire that makes you shiver. He doesn’t stop fucking you. If anything, the way you tighten around him only makes his thrusts shorter and his grinding rougher. You’re dizzy and your moans are high and pathetic.

He doesn’t stop attacking your clit. You’re so sensitive, once the pleasure wanes and the movements sting, you squirm away from him, but he doesn’t care. He holds you in place and commands you as though you were one of the dragon beasts he meant to train. He wraps his free hand around your throat, leaning down to bite and suck at your neck. “Dohaeris,” he hisses, his tone sharp and quiet but full of so much of a threat that you bear through the discomfort until it twists in your gut into the dizzying sensation of overstimulated pleasure again.

His name falls from your lips like a chant. The sound of it continues to spur him on, his thumb becoming faster as he searches for that same release for himself. “Please, Daemon,” you whimper, “please cum inside of me. I need you to cum inside of me, please.”

You tip him over the edge. With a growl, he shoves his cock as far as he can go, far enough that it hurts when he buries himself so deep. Grinding into you, his hot release fills you to the brim. Encouraged by the adrenaline, his ruthless thumb carries on until you’re cumming with him.

Your sounds mix in the air, his grunts, your moans, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into your clenching cunt. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his voice rough with the effects of his release.

With two more thrusts, as rough as he can make them—just for the fun of it—he pulls out of you. You whine, laying limply on the sand. He watches you, smiling at the way you seem to struggle to stay conscious.

He considers just leaving you there to recuperate on your own.

Daemon adjusts himself, stuffing his cock back into his trousers and fixing his belt. He stares at your cunt all the while, using his fingers to shove his cum back inside of you every time it begins to leak out.

He sits you up, fixing your gown and pulling your face to sit inches from his own. “Iksā ñuhon,” he mutters into your ear, his words clear. “Daorys kostagon renigon ao sir.” You shudder at his claim, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispers to you. You are mine. No one can touch you now.

”Do you understand me?” he asks, and you know you cannot refuse.

Not that you ever want to.

You nod slowly, looking up at him as you accept your fate. “Kessa, Daemon.”

He hums. “Good.” Staring at your lips, he leans in and kisses you. He kisses you with force and power, using a kind of domination that was quite unnecessary—given the fact that he’d already taken your virginity and, quite possibly, bred you with his children. There’s a hint of something in the background, however, a hunger, a desperation that seeps into your skin and makes you feel warm.

Under the cruelty is a gentleness that is entirely foreign to you. You chalk it up to imagination as he pulls away, pinching your cheek. “Come with me,” he orders. “I am not done with you yet, my little river.”

Shijetra nyke, mandia.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

[interclair]

The principle of magic, which I will be discussing as you read further, is a recurring motif throughout Arcane.

First of all, thanks to her brilliant mind, I would like to credit my sister for coming up with 90% of these ideas and theories.

Now before going to the main point, let’s touch first on the history of runes.

Ryze, once a mage apprentice and later an adept sorcerer with immense arcane power, first learned about the ‘runes’ from his mentor, Tryus. These runes are a collection of shards that hold incredible power. Soon after their existence became known, power-hungry individuals sought to possess the runes for themselves, leading to the devastating ‘Rune Wars.’ When the conflict ended, Ryze took it upon himself to gather all the runes to prevent further abuse.

Moving on to the events of Arcane S1, I propose that the hooded figure who approached Jayce was Ryze. In an effort to save his mother, Ryze used the most stable form of ‘arcane’ magic to its fullest extent until its power diminished (as it no longer glowed) and then entrusted it to Jayce without educating him about its history—likely for safekeeping purposes. This way, Jayce could not use or abuse the stone as others had before him. The question, though, which I think is essential given the latest episodes of S2, remains: why did Ryze choose to give it to Jayce?

Years later, Jayce’s curiosity and admiration pushed him to create his own ‘arcane’ technology in collaboration with Viktor, which became known as Hextech. I believe that the creation of Hextech caused a thinning of the line between the physical and spiritual worlds, which means that magic was now easy to practice or perform.

The main point is that, in many fantasy narratives, the principle governing magic is that whatever you desire comes at a cost. With Hextech or Hexcore, when Viktor wished for a healed body—an intense desire—Sky was inadvertently consumed in the process, representing that necessary “sacrifice.” That’s when the Hextech technology started to devise its own capabilities (not to mention the fusion of Viktor’s blood and Shimmer with it too). This also aligns with Jayce’s analogy when discussing wild runes with Ekko (most notably his audible ‘sigh’ when passing a tome) where a second reaction (sacrifice) is needed to perform an action (magic). I think that was how the wild runes were made, in a sense.

As for Viktor himself, he’s become the medium for the physical and the spiritual world given that his body was nearly completely consumed, save for his face. Essentially, he embodies a sort of living martyr. The way he heals others seems to erase their ‘impurities’ through spiritual means; this creates a void that should have resulted in their death due to its physiological impossibility. However, because both realms must fulfill their part of the ‘deal,’ this physical void is filled with materials from the physical world represented by metallic enhancements. Later on, he’s nicknamed the ‘Herald.’

In the scenes where Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger enter the underground Hextech chamber, visible smoke comes out from their mouths as they speak. This suggests two possibilities: they are alive (which is obvious) and the chamber has a cold temperature. Salo, who was ‘healed’ by Viktor, also went into that chamber one episode later but did not produce any smoke when breathing. It could indicate that he may be lifeless to some extent—less alive than humans. This contrast is further emphasized by Jayce, who, having just returned from his journey, still exhales smoke.

Those ‘healed’ by Viktor appear to serve him as puppets. During the healing process, their souls seem to be extracted in exchange for a more functional body. This concept connects back to the principle of ‘magic,’ where a troubling trade-off occurs: the enhancement of their physical forms comes at the expense of their essence.

Lore-wise, this principle is also present among the Void creatures, known as the Watchers, with an intent to destroy the universe. Lissandra, the Ice Witch, struck a deal with them for immortality, dooming—or rather, sacrificing—her world in the process. As the Watchers prepared for destruction, Lissandra’s sisters opposed this threat which parallels the current situation of Hextech. In Arcane, the gradual corruption of Hextech under Viktor’s influence can be seen as a modern parallel to the Watchers’ creeping influence. Viktor, akin to the Watchers, represents a force of destruction masked by innovation, while Jayce, much like Lissandra’s sisters who resisted the Void, stands as a reluctant counterbalance to the looming threat.

I’m not very sure yet with the time-travel theories, particularly about Viktor and Jayce travelling and meeting in different timelines and portals, but they’re plausible all the same. I’m just incredibly fascinated with the recurring themes and parallels of betrayal and sacrifices made for power. Can’t wait what the last three episodes will give! :)

[invisiblerambler]

GO AHEAD AND CRUCIFY ME IN THE SQUARE

I think this season might be my favorite. Or favorite is the wrong word, it lives most closely to my heart. Before last week I would have said that about S2 and I LOVE season 2 it feels like a warm hug to me and I can rewatch almost any episodes any day of the week and it feels like a comfort.

Especially the back half of the season. The conversation Syd has with her dad about this being the thing and the conversation with Carmy under the table. Those represent a better part of my nature when I'm mostly concerned about the state of my career and what I hope to accomplish.

Season 3 though, and I acknowledge it could be biased towards where I am in my life right now, but season three hit me between the eyes. It's forced me to confront things frankly I didn't want to, but I think that's it's success.

The honesty with which it portrays someone so deep in grief and trauma and the ambition that intersects both of those things.

I cannot begrudge anyone who finds it tedious, but unfortunately healing from trauma is tedious and boring and just as awful as it looks from the outside sometimes.

Living through a period of time where the thoughts in your head are consuming and distorting reality to the point they are with Carmy this season, I have never had words to describe that experience.

That is a gift this show has given me, a way to communicate things that I always felt my words fell short of reaching.

I wouldn't wish the level of trauma Carmy has experienced on anyone, but I wish this season garnered more empathy and less contempt.

I have frequently been described as high-functioning, resilient, and well-adjusted, but like all three of these seasons of The Bear have portrayed in stark relief, no amount of achievement can undo what you do not want to confront.

It's a cliche possibly, but the ways in which Carmy is portrayed as having it all together while not at all... A fine dining restaurant is the perfect place to not have shit together while outwardly pretending.

The messiness and utter raw emotion of it was painfully endearing. I didn't watch this season and see a monster, I saw someone desperately trying to figure out how he can feel better, and everyone around him failing to realize the depth of his suffering.

This season is so human. I saw someone say that this was a cooking show about grief and now it's a grief show about cooking, and a part of me wants to yell THE COOKING WAS A TRICK SUCKERS. IT WAS ABOUT GRIEF THE WHOLE TIME which feels painfully obvious, but based on the reactions, I think a lot of people were not expecting such a grief forward season.

I understand this show was a big swing and was not giving you almost any of what most people wanted or expected, but for me my favorite art is when I get the thing I least expected. And that was painfully true of this season. I didn't want one of my favorite and most painfully tender shows to present me with a season that laid bare a lot of things I had intended to hide away from, but I am better for it.

Even if you didn't like the season, I hope you came away with a sense of empathy for those who have experienced trauma as layered and ongoing as Carmy.

I have for a long time struggled with the idea that I was a perfect victim. I outwardly made the correct choices, and mostly acted in ways that turned my suffering inwards not outwards. I did not feel afforded the luxury in life of taking it out on other people.

Watching this season felt like a window into my id. The version of me that maintained a high level of function, but indulged in many of my worst impulses, not turning them inward and burying them down. The contrast of the way Syd reacts to the trauma of being left alone on friends and family and throughout the renovation vs Carmy feels like a near perfect study in the contrast of expectations for male and female trauma victims.

Syd keeps it all inside and punishes only herself, because to do anything else would sabotage the career she has worked so hard to build. It feels like an obvious statement to make, but feels so much less obvious when the only place it feels like the pain can go is inward.

The panic attack at the end of the season is the physical manifestation of her body no longer being able to contain all the pain she's turned inward. It has to go somewhere and there's no control over when that happens.

I'm not sure if I am simply drawing obvious conclusions everyone else has already come to, but I wanted to reflect on how human this show really is. It is beautiful and artistic and a work of art but it is also messy and human and realistic in ways that set my teeth on edge.

I understand if season 3 wasn't the full course meal you were expecting, but I hope you'll find compassion and empathy for those who felt it to be a slightly abrasive but ultimately satisfying Tuesday surprise.

[quitealotofsodapop]

So Mk gets surprise eggo because of paint and confined space and lack of food? Imagine that he has no idea what’s wrong with him, he goes to Lao Tzu, and when Lao Tzu goes “congrats on the baby” Everyone just kinda stops.

And Mk bursts into tears so loudly that all of heaven can hear. He’s all “I can’t have a baby, it’s too dangerous!” And “I’m not ready!” Pigsy and Wukong are trying to comfort him, and the poor boys is just a sobbing mess.

And Lao Tzu is just standing there like “?????”

Sorry MK XD You're getting Egged

Bonus Anon asks:

Referencing this post where someone pointed out that MK could theoretically create a Stone Egg + the sequel that pointed out that he'd most likely do it on accident.

I could see this most likely happening in the Canon! verse since I bet the other au MK's would be more wary of Stone Egg mishaps. But I could 100% see it happening in the SlowBoiled au since that causes more drama.

And as much as I love the idea of MK becoming *ahem* egg'd as the result of a bad guy's plans or a huge catarosphe, I think it would fit more if MK did it completely on accident.

So the idea:

Post S3 MK decides that he needs some "Me time" and takes a break from work and training after the whole "Saving the world from a bone demon"-thing. He just needs some time to shut off completely from his responsibilities in the city. His friends understand and wish him well, even though they're worried since MK won't tell him *Where* he's taking a break to.

"Where" turns out to be a cool cave-let MK found while exploring FFM during S2 with no Monkey King to hover over him. Its quiet, it's secluded, its completely off-grid... But MK just can't relax. His brain is all busy, and everytime he sleeps he sees Her.

So he starts painting. And drawing. And using charcoal. Maybe a little rough pottery with the muddy clay-like stuff in the water? And soon enough he's looking like his Artist Clone with how caked in material he is.

In liu of going to sleep and risking terrible bone demon nightmares, MK meditates like how he saw the Monkey King do. In these moments his thoughts wander into deep, dark teritory. Real "call of the void"-type of thoughts.... hey should he eat something? It's been... oh gosh Pigsy's gonna killl him if he doesn't at least text to tell him how his sabbatical is going.

After his inpromtu vacation is up, MK feels... really gross? Maybe thats cus he hasn't really washed or slept or ate, or spoken to anyone in all that time. Weird.

Pigsy asks him how long it's been since MK last ate a full meal, and huffs with disappointment at his nervous laugh before pouring his son a bowl of noodles.

Bouts of nausea and dizziness follow MK everywhere afterwards. He had no idea why - paint fumes maybe? Did some toxic chemical seep into his skin? Did he get sick somehow from isolating himself in that cave? Is that Jin and Yin trying to take over the city?

At somepoint in the utter chaos of S4 likely as the rest of the gang are recieving training from Subodhi; a certain alchemist meets MK to whisper a few questions into his ear.

Lao Tzu: "I was told that you've been experiencing extreme power fluctuations for the last few weeks. May I run a few test to rule out any abnormalities?" MK: "Oh cool, no probs! Just don't put me in that furnace thing-y." (*a few tests later*) Lao Tzu: "Ok great news, it's not a curse or medical problem." MK: "Phew! Then why is my body feels like its "glitching" all the time?" Lao Tzu: "Thats a decaying glamour spell. Its likely that you had one affixed to you shortly before you were given up by your creators." MK: "Glamour spell...? Wait, then what about my powers wigging out?" Lao Tzu: "Oh thats easy. You're just pregnant." MK (has not Done the Do): "What!?"

Mere seconds after Lao Tzu gives the diagnosis - MK just starts bawling.

He doesn't want this! Not now! He does want to have kid while all This is going on! The world might be ending for Buddha's sake!

MK is having a million panic attacks rn. He wants to have kids, so many, but only in the *Future*! When he's like semi-retired and has a protege of his own to take over the monkey business- HEY WAIT, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!?!

Subodhi has to drop the big lore that MK is a Stone Monkey - capable of reproducing asexually under extreme circumstances, in order to clear up the whole immaculate conception part.

Then Lao Tzu has to tell MK that the Stone Egg he carries will likely Kill him since he's (mostly) mortal.

MK starts crying before deciding to tackle the issue Later.

Ofc MK simply doesn't want his family to worry about him what with all this Brotherhood stuff going on... so he just keeps quiet for now.

His family are going to find out soon though. And by Guanyin, Pigsy is gonna freak.

Macaque (and later Wukong), just need to sniff MK once after they reunite to notice whats up.

Wukong offers to grab some No-Baby Spring Water immediately if MK doesnt want to keep the Egg. Macaque briefly panics thinking that the kid got knocked up the old-fashioned way... only to panic harder when he and Wukong determine it to be a Solo-Made Stone Egg(!!!). Cue two panicking fellow Stone Monkeys making MK feel even worse about his conflicted feelings on the matter.

Pls add on what you think so far! :3

[inawickedlittletown]

Just Let Me Adore You (BuckTommy) - 7/9

Summary: What if…instead of Chimney taking the role of interim Captain of the 118, Tommy is asked to take on the role.

Or, what happens when Buck meets Tommy in S2

Words: 3.6k

Notes: Title from Adore You by Harry Styles

Read on Ao3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

-

Part Seven

Tommy couldn’t be sure if Evan’s hand had been aiming for his. It bothered him that whatever had been happening between him and Evan, the moment was gone. At first, he’d been a little amused by the waitress and maybe a little bit hoping that Evan might react to her like he had that time with the guy at the call. He didn’t like the idea of making Evan jealous, but it was something of a tell and it might give Tommy the push to actually say something to Evan about his feelings. 

Evan seemed to find it funny too, at least until the interruption with the pepper flakes and Tommy didn’t blame him. Once she was gone, Evan cleared his throat. He looked away from Tommy and then back again. 

“Uh, did you know otter moms wrap their babies with seaweed?” 

Tommy shook his head. It was not what he was expecting Evan to say, but as he’d learned over the last few weeks, sometimes Evan’s research seemed to be one of his favorite ways to change the subject and it would just burst out of him. 

“How’d you end up on otters?” Tommy asked. 

“Insta reel,” Evan said and he pulled out his phone to show Tommy a mom otter with her baby. “They leave them floating like that while they go fetch them food.” 

The otters did look pretty cute, fluffy in a way that Tommy hadn’t expected. He listened to Evan as he told them about how otters held hands while they slept and how their little huddles of floating otter bodies was called a raft. 

The waitress returned several times, but Tommy had decided that he wasn’t giving her any more attention — not that he’d done more than be polite with her earlier. Evan was quick to dismiss her everytime and when she showed up when he was mid-sentence, he finished his whole thought before turning to her. Tommy tried not to laugh. When their food came, she tried to talk to Tommy again until Evan told her they didn’t need anything, least of all their food going cold. 

She didn’t seem to know how to reply before walking away, though Tommy did catch her trying to see if he would say anything. 

“Hmm, maybe I should bring you along everywhere I go so you can get rid of anyone that bothers me,” Tommy said. 

“So I was right,” Evan said. 

“What?” 

“That this happens to you a lot.”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t,” Tommy said. “But it kinda happens like this. Women I want nothing to do with and at work where I’m more concerned with keeping the helicopter in the air or busy getting someone to safety. I’m sure you know what it’s like.” 

“I guess so,” Evan said. 

Tommy gave him a look. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you look like, Evan.”

Evan blushed so pretty, his cheeks pinking up. 

“I — that is—”

The waitress returned again. She smiled at him. “Just checking in, how is everything?” 

“Food’s great,” Evan said, clearing his throat. “But it looks like that table needs you.” 

Tommy tried to keep in a laugh as Evan pointed behind her to a table where a middle-aged woman was actually holding her credit card in the air. She didn’t look happy. There might not be a tip coming fron that table.

“It’s rude enough as is,” Evan said, “but imagine if we were actually on a date.” 

Imagine. As if Tommy hadn’t been thinking about it. As if Tommy didn’t desperately wish that it was a date. As if Tommy hadn’t been feeling like he was younger than he actually was because at his age he shouldn’t be this nervous and unsure about the person he liked. When Melton had called him a baby gay when he first came out to him, this was what he meant, but Tommy had never experienced it like this. He blamed all of that on Evan. 

“If we were on a date,” Tommy said, and he knew his heart was beating way too hard in his chest, “we would have let her know that somehow.” 

“Oh?” Evan asked. “How’s that?” 

Tommy took a moment. He watched Evan, noticed the pinkness of the birthmark over his eyebrow, the way that his lips were almost the same color and how he was looking at Tommy like the next thing he said mattered a hell of a whole lot. 

“I would hold your hand and maybe I’d kiss you just to get the message across if that wasn’t enough and everytime she came over I’d use a different term of endearment. We would lay it on thick, Evan.”  

Evan laughed, but he looked a little flustered as he drank the rest of his beer. 

“Is that all?” 

“What, did you need to play footsie under the table too?” 

Tommy nudged Evan’s foot with his own gently. 

Evan laughed. 

When Tommy asked for the check, he should have known her number would be on the receipt. Evan noticed it as he tried to argue that they should split the bill. 

“Nope,” Tommy said. “Not when we’re here celebrating your cast coming off.” 

Evan didn’t fight him on it, but after Tommy’s credit card came back, Evan grabbed the paper with the number and the pen. 

“Evan, what are you doing?” 

Evan wrote something on the paper and then closed it before Tommy could look at it. 

“Evan, I still need to leave her a tip,” Tommy said. 

Despite it all, he’d feel bad if he didn’t leave her something. He opened the little black book and laughed the moment he saw what Evan had written. 

Next time, make sure he’s straight…and single : )

“But I am single,” Tommy said, looking up at Evan. 

“She doesn’t need to know that,” Evan said. “And besides, didn’t you say you had your eye on someone. That kinda makes you unavailable, don’t you think?” 

Tommy just wrote out the lowest tip amount suggested and signed it. “Is that how you feel? Unavailable because you have a crush?” 

Evan gave a short nod. He took a breath and then met Tommy’s eyes dead on. “Maybe because I think I have a chance. Do I, Tommy?”

“Do you…Evan, are you—”

Evan was biting his lower lip. He was looking at Tommy, though, eyes caught on him. 

“Of course. Of course you have a chance.” 

Tommy could hardly believe it. He stared at him, more than a little incredulous.

“See,” Evan said, “not a lie. And maybe you were on a date the whole time. And maybe wishes wished on eyelashes that aren’t your own do come true.” 

Tommy chuckled. “You are a bit of a menace, aren’t you.” 

“Can be. But you like it.” 

He did. He really really did. They stared at each other for a moment, smiling and lost in the moment. Tommy could have leaned over and kissed him, but that wasn’t how he wanted his first kiss to go. 

They didn’t talk about it while leaving the restaurant, or on the drive back to Evan’s. The silence that settled between them was comfortable. It meant that Tommy could actually think about all of it. Evan had wanted tonight to be a date almost as much Tommy had. He’d wished for it on Tommy’s own eyelash. 

When they got to Evan’s place, Evan unlocked the door and let himself in. Tommy followed and closed the door behind him, he didn’t expect for Evan to be on him. The crutches were propped up against the wall and Evan leaned into Tommy. Tommy wrapped an arm around his waist, conscious of Evan’s leg. 

“Evan,” he said and then anything else was swallowed between his lips and Evans. 

Evan kissed him with enthusiasm, his lips soft and insistent. Tommy lost himself to it, to the feel of his lips and the feel of his chest pressed up against his and to the touch of Evan’s hand on the side of his face. He groaned into the kiss and Evan deepened it, licking at the seam of Tommy’s lips and then meeting his tongue in something of a dance that made Tommy clutch Evan to him.  

“Wanted to do that for a while now,” Evan said in little more than a whisper when he pulled back for air. 

“Me too,” Tommy said back. “God, Evan, you don’t know what it’s been like.” 

“I think I do,” Evan said and then kissed him again. 

—

Kissing a man…no, kissing Tommy, it was everything and more than Buck could have imagined. Tommy’s stubble scratched against Buck’s skin in such a delicious way and the taste of his lips just left him wanting more. Knowing that Tommy wanted him back, that Buck hadn’t been the only one wanting more for their friendship made all of it even more important. He hadn’t made up all the times that Tommy’s touch had lingered, or the way that Tommy’s eyes would follow him. 

After Tommy left, Buck could hardly stop thinking about it. He and Tommy had kissed. They’d essentially gone on a date even if neither of them had called it that to start. Buck couldn’t wait to go on another. He couldn’t wait to have Tommy back at his apartment so that Buck could kiss him again and again. All night, he wished that he could have convinced Tommy to stay. Not that Buck even had much of an idea of what that would have entailed what with his leg, but also how he had never been with a guy before. 

He was eager for it, though. Eager to kiss and lick and touch Tommy in whatever way was possible. Buck hadn’t had sex in ages. Long before the break up with Ali, even. His hand…it was getting kinda tiring. Tommy hadn’t made it any easier. Okay, so his leg was also a factor, but it didn’t change that Buck was a guy and that having the object of his attraction — and lust — around all the time was having an effect. 

The next time he saw Tommy wasn’t until a week and a half later, but that week consisted of several texts back and forth. Flirty texts and checking in texts and texts about random things that Buck had learned from a documentary or wikipedia. None of it was enough. 

Tommy arrived to take him to PT with just enough time for Buck to gather his stuff so they could be on their way and Buck hated that he couldn’t just pull him into the apartment and kiss him silly. Tommy seemed to notice Buck’s dilemma, because his fingers tipped Buck’s chin and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Buck’s lips. 

“Hi,” Tommy said.

“Hi,” Buck repeated. 

“You ready to go?” 

“Can we skip it?” 

Tommy laughed. “I think you want to go. And, what if I say I can reward you after?” 

“Hmm, what kind of reward?” 

Tommy helped to grab Buck’s things. “That is for you to find out.”

His reward was going to a cafe after the appointment for what Buck decided was their second date. Tommy was sneaky about paying for both of their coffees and the pastries, doing it before Buck could even pull out his wallet. Buck just figured he’d have to make up for it by taking care of their next date. 

He was hyper aware, this time, about being on a date with a guy, not that anyone cared. The world was like that, people had very little time to focus on anyone but themselves. No one screamed or got upset or offended when Buck reached for Tommy’s hand across the table. And Tommy, Tommy smiled with his nose scrunched up and the skin around his eyes crinkling. That was all that mattered. 

“The PT looks like it’s going well,” Tommy said. 

“It’s been like three sessions. Leaves my leg aching, but they say that’s normal.” 

He had a prescription for muscle relaxants for any cramping that might happen. So far he hadn’t had to take any. His physical therapist had recommended a topical cream to massage into his leg too and Maddie had been sure to buy it for him. He’d been warned it was going to be hard work getting his leg back to full function, but the good news was that he would have full motion and that his leg would be strong enough for Buck to return to his job. 

Between that and Tommy…Buck felt happier than ever. 

When they got back to his apartment, Buck was starting to really feel the ache in his leg. It had been the same last time, but Buck had headed straight home and been off his feet all day. 

He tried not to show it, but Tommy must have realized it because he led Buck right to his bed. 

Buck didn’t even protest when Tommy took Buck’s shoes off for him. He was surprised when Tommy sat down near his legs. 

“Okay if I take a look?” 

Buck took an unsure and shaky breath. “Uh. Yeah. Okay.” 

Tommy pushed the leg of his sweatpants up to reveal his leg. It didn’t look great. His skin was an uneven color and that didn’t even account for the scarring. Buck still found it hard to look at and he worried Tommy would be disgusted or that it might do something to change his mind. He turned away, closing his eyes and felt the first touch of Tommy’s fingers. 

“You said you had a topical cream?” Tommy asked, gently. 

“Hmm. On the kitchen counter.” 

“Be right back,” Tommy said, but before he left he pressed a kiss to the crown of Buck’s head. 

Buck took a glance at his leg. It had been strange to see the cast there for so long, but to uncover it and see the injury as well as all the things left over from the surgery was a different experience entirely. He shifted himself back in the bed so his back was propped up better. Tommy returned a moment later. He lifted Buck’s leg to sit and lay it over his lap. 

“Tell me I’m not crossing a line here? You look a little uncomfortable.” 

Buck reached for him, grasped his hand and brought it to his lips. “You’re kinda amazing, you know that?” 

“Oh?” 

“It’s weird,” Buck said. 

“Me touching your leg?” 

Buck shook his head. “My leg…seeing it like that.” 

It ached and seeing the way that his skin was twisted and raised and still pink in parts made it hurt more if possible. It was always going to be a reminder of what had happened to him. Buck had had his moments where he’d dwelled on the whole thing and yet because there was nothing he could do to change it, he just focused fully on what came next and getting back to his job. 

“If you don’t want me to—”

Tommy was looking at him, head tilted, a soft expression on his face. 

“No, go ahead. Thank you.” 

He didn’t begin with the cream. Instead, it was Tommy’s hands warm and lightly callused touching his leg gently. Tommy’s eyes flitted towards him to catch for any reaction as he increased the pressure of his fingers a little more in a massage that yes made him ache a little, but also helped too. Tommy’s fingers were careful over the scarring and Buck let out a moan when he hit on a spot that had been hurting him more than any other. Tommy’s hands froze there. 

“Alright?” 

“Yeah. You—you can keep going.”

The cream came next and Tommy made sure it went everywhere and that it was absorbed. The ache didn’t exactly go away, but it did feel more bearable. 

“Thank you,” he said as Tommy pulled down the leg of his sweatpants. 

He turned his face up and Tommy leaned towards him, meeting him in a soft gentle kiss. 

“Is that part of my reward?” Buck asked. 

Tommy kissed him again, keeping it chaste even when Buck tried to chase his lips to kiss him again. Tommy chuckled, but Buck grabbed his shoulders and Tommy went easily as they kissed again this time a little deeper and with the hunger that had been present in their first kiss. 

—

“You seem happier,” Maddie said one morning, when Buck climbed into her car to head to PT. 

Technically, he didn’t need to be driven anymore since he could drive himself, but Maddie had insisted since she already had the day off. 

His sessions had been going well. He’d been off the crutches for almost two weeks and the physical therapist was pleased with the way that Buck’s leg was holding up with the weight training. He still got pretty sore and his leg ached after a session, but he’d been told that was normal. Buck had also already started doing some exercise on his own. Nothing too strenuous on his leg, but something to keep the rest of him moving. 

“I’m back on my feet, Maddie, I’m getting closer and closer to getting back to work,” Buck said. 

“I think it’s more than that,” she said, peering at him.

He and Tommy hadn’t talked about telling anyone about whatever it was they had going between them. They also, clearly, hadn’t talked about labeling anything. Buck knew that Tommy didn’t really hide his sexuality as much as he didn’t advertise it. 

No one but Tommy knew about Buck. 

It didn’t feel like they were hiding anything, especially since they hadn’t even really put a label to what they were. Still, he could admit, if even just to himself, that part of his happiness was Tommy. 

They’d gone on another date just the day before. A picnic out at the park. Tommy had even brought a bag of peas for them to use to feed the ducks. The day had been nice and sunny and Tommy had actually let Buck pay for the sandwiches they picked up on the way there. 

They had watched clouds for a while, coming up with some ridiculous images out of them. One of the things that was entirely new for Buck — and there were a lot of new things — was the way that he found that there was nothing he could do that Tommy didn’t just go with, even being absolutely silly about clouds.

“Just a few more weeks and they think I can start training to recertify so I can get back to work,” Buck said. 

“Is that smart, to push yourself this quickly?” 

“I’m not pushing myself,” Buck said. They had talked this round and round too many times. 

Maddie hummed, but at least she dropped it. 

“And your date?” Maddie asked. 

“Date?” Buck asked, frowning at her.

“The night you made me come over to help you get dressed?” Maddie asked. “What happened with that? And don’t tell me it wasn’t a date.” 

Well, it hadn’t not been a date by the end of the night. Buck was still a little bit in disbelief that the night had gone that way. 

“I was hanging out with Tommy that night,” Buck said. Also not a lie. 

Buck could have told her. It was right there, ready for him to explain. He didn’t know what her reaction would be, but he knew that she would accept him and accept this new turning point in his life. There was really nothing for him to fear and yet he couldn’t get the words together. 

“He’s been spending a lot of time with you,” Maddie said. “You made a good friend there. Chim says some good things about him. I’ve hardly had to take you to your appointments with him around.” 

Buck took a breath. “Yeah. He’s pretty great.”

“He’s back at his station, now? The 217?” 

“Yeah,” Buck said. 

Buck couldn’t not tell her. It was Maddie and out of everyone in his life, she was one of the most important. 

“Hey, Maddie, what if…what if—”

“What, Evan?” 

This was way harder than it needed to be. Maddie was pulling into the parking lot. She turned to him as soon as she was parked. There was nothing to it. Buck had had plenty of time to really research it and decide what fit him best. That was one of the things that he and Tommy had talked about and while yes, bisexual described what fit best, it also had a good flag. He was never going to forget the way that Tommy looked at him when he said that. Buck had kissed him about it. 

“I think. No, I know. I’m bisexual, Maddie.”

Her eyes widened. She gasped. “I can’t say I saw that coming. Is this new or—”

As if Buck could have known that for any length of time and managed to keep it to himself. 

“It’s kinda new. I mean, I always checked out guys but I didn’t think it meant anything. I thought it was normal, but in my case it’s definitely more. Tommy…I guess he kind of turned my whole world around.”

“Oh,” Maddie said and she laughed. “Oh. That makes…wow. So it was a date! I just didn’t realize it was with Tommy.”

“It wasn’t…not until the end of it.” 

Maddie grinned at him. “Well, you have good taste,” she said, “and I should have known you’d be hopeless even with men” 

“Hey!” 

Buck knew he was blushing. Maddie hit his shoulder lightly. 

“Thanks for telling me.” 

“You’re the first one — well, other than Tommy.” 

“You really like him, don’t you?” 

“I — yeah, I really do. I think I might be falling for him.” 

[chronicsyd]

so I WAS going to post another long winded rant about Disney's Wish (I'll post that later) but Arcane decided to post another 30 second Teaser for us; and announcing the Trailer (yes, FULL Trailer AHHH! *ahem* sorry) is going to be releasing on September 5th! But let's get into what they showed us in this little teaser shall we? (go check out the teaser first it's only like 30 seconds and as usual, leaks will be blocked and deleted)

With this one frame they've already showed us several things. they've confirmed everything that was talked about Vi at the Annecy festival (some people were kinda skeptical if this was something that was legitimate for a while, myself included), and they've confirmed for me that Vi and Caitlyn are going their own ways at the beginning of the season (for a little while, at least). Vi tries to figure herself out in Zaun while Caitlyn's still an Enforcer up in Piltover. They also seem to be confirming the idea that there's some kind of time skip happening in s2 (not as large as s1 but there's something). And why I believe this is because Jinx is being painted in the same light as Vander, as someone that's respected in Zaun. People have already started rallying behind her at this point in the story.

Now, the bigger meat of the teaser:

I put Caitlyn and Jinx side by side for a couple reasons. Not only are these two taking on more of a leadership role this season, they're enforcing the idea that these two are the two sides of the same coin they hinted at in season 1 (they just both seem to be heading in the opposite direction the other was in season 1, if that makes sense), but they both have a figure explaining to them what they need to do for the better of Zaun/Piltover: Ambessa and Sevika. However, each of these characters are being told different things. Ambessa is a War general, she believes that in restoring peace Caitlyn needs to declare Martial Law aka military government and it seems that Caitlyn not only does this but she allies herself with Ambessa and Noxus in order to do this. On the other hand, Sevika's explaining to Jinx that she's the one that can rally Zaun together (and it seems that Ekko might actually be joining her on this). Because under both Vander and Silco there were still people opposed to how the Undercity was run (Under Vander, he was playing it safe with Piltover but Piltover was treating the Undercity badly but under Silco he was a kingpin and several people were still suffering under the effects of Shimmer and the only reason the Enforcers weren't as hostile because of Silco's allyship with Marcus, until Jinx steals the gemstone and Piltover retaliates). But with Zaun actually being at war with Piltover now, Jinx needs to be seen as a symbol for Zaun for people to rally behind, because to them Topside is the bigger enemy.

(I just had to add this pic of Sevika because like God Damn she looks so attractive here like step on me! *ahem* sorry, had a bit of gay panic there...moving on...)

Now, I'm going to hold off on giving my overall thoughts until the full trailer drops in a couple of days. just so that I can gather some more thoughts about where season 2 is going as a whole and when I'm given some more information to glean from, granted I'm SURE that the trailer won't give us any clear cut information because Arcane is great at that.

Oh one last thing:

Jinx's poster in for S2 has her being strangled by Vi's gauntlet, and Jinx is faced upsidown (with the caption "Time to turn things upsidedown") which i presume is just how different everyone/everything is going to be different compared to the last season. but i do wonder What Happens between Vi and Jinx that gets them like this? Because there Has to be a scene between the two that ends badly (probably before we see Vi with her black hair and leather, because in the earlier pic i showed Vi's already seeing Jinx pained alongside Vander)

ok NOW I'm done.

Anyways, I'll post again in the next couple of days when the trailer comes out. Bye!

[o-uncle-newt]

A guide to John Finnemore (in particular his Double Acts) for the Good Omens S2 lovers, haters, and everyone in between (I promise, there's something for all of you!)

Found this in my drafts recently and honestly, I feel this is evergreen, so here y'all go:

As I mentioned semi-facetiously in my previous post, I don't care whether you loved or hated Good Omens S2- you're probably sleeping on John Finnemore. He's a super talented writer and while he's collaborated with other writers like Mitchell and Webb and Armando Iannucci before, I still think his best stuff is his solo stuff.

But where to start? Behold! I shall now recommend a different Double Act (that is, a different episode of his radio series of excellent half-hour two-hander comedies) for every kind of person who has reacted in literally any kind of way to Good Omens.

If you love stories about two people working on opposite sides in a conflict who over time break down each other's defenses to become valued friends despite the continued conflict between their sides, with some queer undertones: Unquestionably you want S2 E4, Penguin Diplomacy

If you loved Good Omens S2 because it's quiet, gentle, and romantic: S1 E6, Hot Desk

If you like quiet, gentle and romantic in principle but wish there was a bit more plot structure: Still Hot Desk

If you like quiet, gentle and romantic but watched Good Omens S2 and were like "this is quiet, gentle and romantic?!?!": DEFINITELY still Hot Desk

If you hate quiet, gentle and romantic and want something darker and more cynical: S1 E3, Red Handed

If you were meh on S2 but did find yourself enjoying the Job minisode: FREE ROLL! You can choose any Double Act at random and will probably enjoy it.

If you loved Good Omens S2 because you love characters who give off vibes of being dim yet helpful: Well, really you want to meet Arthur in Cabin Pressure, but from Double Acts you'll do great with S2 E5, Here's What We Do, and in a very different way S2 E2, Mercy Dash

If you loved Good Omens S2 because lesbians: S2 E3, The Rebel Alliance

If you like lesbians in theory but wish that Good Omens S2 had maybe sketched out theirs a bit more: Still try Rebel Alliance

If you were annoyed by the minisodes because there wasn't enough old-timey dialogue in the olden-day bits: S1 E4, The Goliath Window

If you like the Victorian minisode because you like the era: check out S2 E1, The Queen's Speech, which literally has Queen Victoria in it

If you think that Crowley making gentle fun of Aziraphale's magic tricks is entertaining: try S2 E6, The Wroxton Box

If you like relationship dynamics where one half is trying/pretending to be cool and the other one has absolutely no interest in it and likes the first half just how they are: try Here's What We Do

If you enjoy the whole corporate-nonsense aspect of Good Omens: give S1 E2, WYSINNWYG a whirl

If you think that one of the main flaws of S2 was that it didn't have Mr Young in it anymore: S1 E1, A Flock of Tigers

If you like Good Omens because you like fandom and fanfic: S1 E5, English for Pony Lovers

And, if you love the idea of a cliffhanger but also want the satisfaction of knowing there's an amazing ending coming: Wait on Double Acts and just listen to Cabin Pressure. And when you get to the end of Yverdon-les-Bains, before you move on to Zurich just take a moment to remember all of us who nearly died for two years waiting for the finale.

Anyway, happy listening!

[stealerofthe2ndbraincell]

In9 rant incoming.

For some god forbid reason, the rats in my brain have connected my thoughts after watching Arcane S2 to one episode of IN9 that I recently rewatched, Tempting Fate, so I'm going to ramble a little.

I've seen differing interpretations of Nick's wish at the very end to help Keith's son.

Mainly about whether or not he had malicious intentions behind it.

Throughout the story, he remains the most vigilant in regards to not making silly wishes because, unlike Maz and especially Keith, he is aware of the massive negative repercussions. He's the first to connect what happened to Frank to the wishes and remains firm on not risking a wish at all. So he should know that wishing anything for Charlie would backfire and harm potentially him and Keith.

(Although, it is ironic that 2/3 of their wishes were made by him)

Not only that, but Nick doesn't have any reason to want to be nice to Keith at this point, with this line only muddling things further.

By this point he's seen Keith attempt to steal £93,000 that Nick knows (and keeps on trying to tell him) is cursed, witnesses him completely roll over and ignore his colleagues death, finds out he's a literal murderer who proceeded to attempt to kill him in a frankly cruel manner (using his alcoholism against him and pouring some into his unconscious mouth to frame Maz's and his own death as a drunken accident that leads to a gas leak (implying he was willing to blow him up in the process)).

At this point, Nick has been lied to and betrayed by a friend of 12 years in such a significant way that it seems wild for his wish to be made out of sincere care for Keith.

However, what I find most interesting about this scene is how clearly out of it Nick is when he breaks the news.

Granted I don't think the drink would have that much of an influence, but you know what would: being smashed directly on the head by a bloody rabbit statue a few minutes beforehand.

From the slurred speech, breaks in breath and general body language, Nick is concussed at the very least.

Now this isn't me siding as to whether or not he intended to hurt Keith and Charlie, the former making the act kind of cruel once again if on purpose, but I don't think it's out of the question that it was done with some semblance of hope.

Not only did he discover and witness all the awful things Keith was willing to do and had done, but he had also seen how all of it was focused on Charlie's recovery. He went to Frank so he could afford the treatment required, he stole the money later for the very same and he got over Maz's death so quickly because he had that money as his top priority. The problem was that Keith wouldn't listen when he told him that money was cursed.

He also doesn't have full faith that all wishes will screw you over as well.

Even back with Maz, he attempts to think of safe and harmless ways the wishes could be used when she wishes for "not too much, but enough to make a difference" amounts of money.

Although Nick states that every wish backfires, he hasn't lost all faith in the idea that they could do good and not cause immense levels of harm.

That still present faith, awareness of how far Keith was willing to go for his son, alongside how clearly not in a decision making state he was in at the end of the story, I think paints a different perspective. Specifically one where he could have genuinely and sincerely wished Charlie back to health potentially for Keith.

Whilst I still think, especially with the "it's what you deserve" line, that Nick could have definitely had cruel intentions wishing to help Charlie, I really like how ambiguous the episode leaves it.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Interlude 15.x Live Reactions

(This is going to be a very - no, insanely - long post)

As I noted, after this I'll be trying (ha!) to read faster, and on my phone more so I can just get this done.

This is gonna be an interesting read. Purportedly, after all, this is where we're supposed to get the idea that Amy raped Vicky. Though supposedly Wildbow had to do a line by line analysis to make that point on reddit (which I have not read) and I feel like if you have to do that for something like rape, you've kind of failed your task as a writer, at least in terms of conveying what you meant.

I wish, even more than usual, I could be coming into this fully blind but I'm not. I know the 'official' interpretation of this scene is rape, and that the text of the sequel makes it canonical that Amy raped Vicky here, but I also know large numbers of people never got that take, and Wildbow somehow spent years not noticing massive swaths of his readership didn't realize rape had happened... supposedly.

We'll see if I come away convinced that rape is the best reading that can be constructed from this scene, though from what I gather, it's more that a rape reading in this scene feels wildly out of place with all of Amy's other stuff.

It's certainly hard to reconcile the Amy we just saw in Arc 14 with Raping Vicky, though 14.10 makes it not impossible.

Of course, since I'm not coming in blind - I'm aware of the official version, and I've seen some people make the arguments in support of that reading and I've seen a bunch of arguments against that reading, etc - it's not like that all won't be hanging over all of this.

And the thing is, on a certain level, it doesn't actually matter. In the context of the universe itself, it certainly matters, but from the perspective of all these characters not actually existing in the real world, it doesn't really much matter to me.

On the level of Amy's actions: What she does do to Vicky that everyone agreed on (changing her brain, then mind controlling her in 14.6 and 14.10, not immediately removing the 'love me' change from Vicky's brain, wretching her - intentionally or accidentally or a mix or w/e - and not fixing her brain at any point there, and so on) is a gross and horrifying betrayal and a deep, deep violation of Vicky's mental and bodily autonomy. Making actual, real rape a thing that happened here as well is just icing on a cake, really, in a lot of ways, in the context of Worm. (Ward can and will be safely ignored for the rest of this post - in just a moment anyway)

For another, while it appears a lot of readers and fans did turn on Amy - her popularity in the fandom and in fics and stuff purportedly took a bit of a nosedive after the rape was made clear in Ward and in Wildbow's various WoG, though apparently there were still people who read Ward and missed that rape was made clear (Maybe use the word? Apparently Wildbow doesn't even use that word in Ward), it wouldn't actually change much for me.

(Now ignoring Ward)

See, some of my favorite fictional characters have comitted rape.

Damon Salvatore? Mass murderer and... though the narrative doesn't really linger on it, he rapes Caroline Forbes in early Season 1, and his girlfriend that he gets at the end of S2 (I think) and is dating in early S3 is a relationship so full of Compulsion (mind control ability vampires have in TVD verse) that it's moved well past dubcon, I'd say. And there's probably other shit like that in the man's past. Again, the narrative doesn't linger, but it's fucking rape. Still love Damon, amazing character, my trash son, but yeah, committed rape. Absolute monster, by any reasonable standard.

Regina Mills - again, mass murderer, tyrant, and... at the very least, she raped the Huntsman for possibly up to 38 years. (Again, it's never clearly stated, but she ripped out his heart - which in OUAT verse is a thing dark magic allows that lets the holder of the hard dictate commands to the person and also just kill them if they crush it - and then commanded her guards to bring him to her chambers. Ten years later, she casts the dark curse, and the Huntsman's cursed persona is having sex with her about once a week, at least, for the next 28 years, though given the nature of the curse, only Regina and later her son Henry are aware of the passage of time.) Regina is my favorite OUAT character, has an amazing redemption arc, and is unquestionably a hero to the point where she's crowned the 'Good Queen' in the series finale by Snow White (i.e. the girl she became evil while chasing revenge on). The narrative doesn't really linger on it, I'm not even sure the writers quite realized that it was rape, but I never believed it anything else. Still love her, because she and the Huntsman are both entirely fictional. Not real people.

On BtVS, Faith attempts to rape Xander, and basically does rape Riley while in Buffy's body (Riley is Buffy's boyfriend and thinks it's Buffy he's having sex with. Also she also effectively rapes Buffy by having sex with Riley while in control of her body). I still love her, one of my favorite characters. Again, the narrative doesn't really linger on this (the show in general has a bad habit of not lingering on female-on-male sexual violence or sexual harrassment).

Also on BtVS, Willow wipes her girlfriend's (Tara) memory so she forgets a pretty serious argument they were having, and then they have sex the next day, which Tara would probably not have had if she was still angry with Willow. While the show never calls it rape, I and large parts of the fandom consider it as such. (Tara never calls it rape either, though she is incredibly furious with Willow when she finds out, and they break up - and then get back together 12 episodes later, buuut :shrug) Still big fan of Willow, Tara/Willow is still the biggest ship for willow and one of the largest ships in the fandom.

Now, it's true that in all four cases, the writers either didn't realize it was rape, or didn't care and never really address it, but the key point is that I am perfectly capable of being a huge fan of Amy and wanting to see her redeemed/get better/etc (which I am and do) and accepting that she committed rape. So it's not like I'm going to just insistently refuse to see rape

Now, apparently part of the argument against the 'rape happened' reading is also how 15.x fits into the rest of the work, both before, and after, with regards to the fact that (apparently) Amy doesn't really talk about Vicky with any sort of sexual element, just a worshipful adoration, etc, (and the fact that rape never comes up and so forth) which I won't know until I get that far. But again, it is worth noting that large numbers of people didn't get rape as the intended reading, which again, seems like a pretty big detail to fail to convey to the reader. It's worth nothing that the comments for 15.x on the actual worm website mention 'mindrape' and that it felt 'rapey' but not 'rape' full on.

Now, with a much larger preface than intended, let's actually read this godforesaken Interlude.

Actually, having done the live reaction below, I'm gonna put it all below a readmore

Some of that was fatigue, some of it was hunger, some was thirst.  She had no idea how much time had passed.  She might have been able to guess from her period, but her body had decided such would be a waste of precious resources.  It hadn’t come, and she had no idea how many weeks or months it had been.

You only keep a Kidnap victim for weeks or months if you think there's a chance of a ransom. The fact that Carol's parents refused to just fucking pay the goddamn ransom for that long says a lot about how shit they were. Carol absolutely sucks as a mother, but she did have a pretty shitty starting point (though, somehow, somehow, Sarah managed to be at least halfway decent, so Carol could have come out better, but now I'm trying to compare traumas here and that's pretty sucky, but remember this is a Carol Dallon Hate Blog)

“Amy has always insisted she couldn’t heal brain injuries.” Alan winced.  “I see.  The worst sort of luck.” Carol smiled, but it wasn’t a happy expression.  “So imagine my surprise when, after weeks of taking care of my husband, wiping food from his face, giving him baths, supporting him as he walked from the bedroom to the bathroom, Amy decides she’ll heal him after all.”

Love how she just glosses over the part where Bonesaw actively did even more, possibly eventually fatal, damage to Mark's brain. Even when she does Mention Bonesaw invading the house below, she doesn't mention that part.

I feel like Mark would be able to mention that, so I'm sure Carol is just conviently ignoring the part where Amy was faced with 'Mark fucking dies if I don't break my rule'

“Oh, I imagine she was.  Victoria went looking for her after she ran away, returned home empty-handed.  I think she was even more upset than I was, with Amy taking so long to heal Mark.  She was almost inarticulate, she was so angry.”

So that would suggest that at least at first Vicky doesn't tell Carol what Amy did to her. Which would fit with Vicky saying she hadn't told anyone back in the early parts of Arc 14 (don't remember which chapter she said it) but the context could have just meant 'didn't tell the Protectorate/PRT' Though, it does still leave the open question: Amy was running around the city for fucking DAYS, a week possibly? between Interlude 11h and when she shows up in Arc 14.2 or 14.3. Did Carol even look for her? Why isn't she looking fucking now? She's your daughter, right, and Slaughterhouse Nine is looking for her too?

Is Sarah looking? Mark? Crystal?

Even if you don't love her or care about her, you shouldn't want S9 to have ahold of her, so maybe look for her rather than FUCKING FILE PAPERWORK?!

Carol fidgeted.  “Oh, that wasn’t even the worst of it.  Victoria’s been flirting with the notion of joining the Wards, and she went out to fight the Nine just a few days ago.  Apparently she was critically injured.  She was carried off for medical care and nobody’s seen her since.”

Ah, so this is now happening post-S9 leaving the city (though there's still no mention of Carol looking for her) and she's... not even looking for Vicky?

Like, okay, big city, might not be able to find her, but I feel like if I had a kid that I purportedly loved (as Carol does supposedly at least love Vicky, in her own horrible abusive sort of way) and said kid was missing and I had superpowers making it safe to go looking, I would be looking, damn the goddamn paperwork.

This woman just can't actively not suck.

Also, of all the people to be talking about this to, why the fuck is it Alan Barnes. Just a weird character to use for this. Is it supposed to be a juxtaposition - Carol was a neglectful bitch and Alan a too supportive parent and both ended up screwing their kids up?

“Or dead,” Carol said.  She blinked a few times in rapid succession, fighting the need to cry.  “I don’t know.  I was patrolling, searching, and I felt my composure start to slip.  I feel like shit for doing it, but I came here, I thought maybe if I took fifteen minutes or half an hour to center myself, I could be ready to start searching again.”

Okay, so there's that, so she was looking and just (understandably) needed a moment, but again - did you look for Amy at all earlier? Did fucking anyone? Somehow no member of New Wave actually showed up anywhere during Arcs 12 or 13 or 14, apart from Amy and Vicky.

He’d tried to attack them?  Carol couldn’t understand it.  He was the one who’d taken care of them.  When he’d appeared, she’d been happy.  And now it felt like that had been ruined, spoiled. She felt betrayed and she couldn’t understand why.

Stockholm Syndrome is a hell of a drug. But trigger trauma isn't much of an excuse, Carol, really fucking isn't.

“We didn’t know where you were.  But let’s not fight again.  The important thing is that Tattletale pointed us in the right direction.  We think we know where your daughters are.” Daughters?  Plural? Carol couldn’t put a name to the feeling that had just sucker-punched her.

Right, because with what little you know about the situation, you shouldn't actually have much reason to be that worried.

Technically, you're right this time, which I really kind of hate on the 'Carol Sucks' level of my personality, but you have no valid basis, because your paranoia was not actually well-founded.

The Brockton Bay Brigade closed in on the man who stood by his leather armchair, wearing a black silk bathrobe.  He held his ground. “If you’ll allow me to finish my wine-” he started, bending down to reach for the wine glass that sat beside the armchair.

Marquis really is the textbook fucking definition of classy, isn't he? :rofl:

 It meant she didn’t fall on her rear end, and she could pick a more appropriate posture as she snapped back into her human shape.

I mean, falling on your ass in a fight is just bad from a tactical standpoint, but also, I mean, you can't go losing style points, right?

The needles retracted.  Marquis rolled his shoulders, as if loosening his muscles.  “Broke your foot?  How clumsy.”

If nothing else, he's fun.

Well, only in a sense.  They still hadn’t touched him, and two of their members were out of commission.  Three, if she counted Fleur being occupied with a wounded Lightstar in her arms.

And so let's use his child against him! Great move!

Let's invade someone's home without checking to see if there's any innocents around! GREAT PLAN!

Was he distracted?

Maybe ask yourself why.

Though, I will say - Marquis didn't have to play Coy. He quite literally could have just said 'my daughter's in that closet'. They might not have believed him, but it wouldn't have been hard to show them.

I'm not saying I don't get why he didn't, but technically Marquis didn't make the most optimal choice here.

But that... happens.

“Careful now,” Marquis chided her.  “Don’t want to get decapitated now, do we?”

*giggle*

Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-

I dunno. I know it's Amy - we all know it's Amy, at this point, even people reading Blind - and we're inclined to dislike Carol anyway at this point, again, even people reading Blind, I assume - but this just seems incredibly foolish.

Like, I guess maybe leaping straight to 'there's a kid there' might be a bitch much, and Carol in particular probably would have a hard time imagining Marquis as caring about another person because she's projected her issues with her kidnapper onto him for... reasons, but I mean, he could have a wife (or husband, I suppose) or girlfriend or all manner of things in there you may not want to hurt, and like... I dunno, I'd at least fucking open the closet before swinging in there? Maybe?

Fic idea - Marquis is a little too slow, but instead of killing her (I have read one fic where that happened. Marquis, understandably, kills Carol right after) he like, maims Amelia or something, cuts off her arm, or gives her a major scar or something.

That could be a really interesting story. Especially if Marquis still gets beaten, or Carol gets away and has to look at her daughter after having done that.

(I may hate Carol, but I can't imagine she'd be blithe about having maimed an innocent child, even Marquis kid, in the middle of a fight.)

*ads the fic idea to the list, which won't stop growing*

She stared down at him.  That long hair, it was such a minor thing, but there was something else about him that stirred that distant, dark memory of the lightless room and the failed attempt at ransom.  Her skin crawled, and she felt anger boiling in her gut.

This is so insane and then you take that projection and add a second layer onto Amy and like what the ABSOLUTE FUCK is wrong with you sick little woman?

“What were you so intent on protecting?” Manpower asked.  “This where you stash your illegitimate gains?”

Because Marquis didn't just say he didn't really care if they destroyed his expensive home a few minutes ago. Jesus Christ Manpower really is a dumb brute, isn't he?

“Her mother’s gone, I’m afraid.  The big C.  Amelia and I were introduced shortly after that.  About a year ago, now that I think on it.  I must admit, I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I’ve enjoyed all my crimes combined.  Quite surprising.”

Is that actually a thing anyone does? Or ever did? Is that a Canadian thing? Or a new england slang? 90s Lingo? I feel like no one has ever called Cancer 'The Big C' before.

That feels like something a writer - not necessarily Wildbow - invented and people just ran with even though it wasn't actually a thing people did.

If Marquis had realized how fucking terribly Carol would have raised Amy, I have to imagine he'd have settled for foster care instead. :rofl:

The idea disturbed her.

Why? Maybe get some fucking therapy for that, bitch? Seriously.

WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS DISTURB YOU?!

Maybe ask yourself that question?! But then, I suppose if you were capable of a single iota of self-examination, you would not have been such a shit mother and indeed, shit human.

That cultured act, the civility that was real.  Marquis was fair, he played by the rules.  His rules, but he stuck to them without fail.  It didn’t match her vision of what a criminal should be.  It was jarring, creating a kind of dissonance. That dissonance was redoubled as she looked at the forlorn little girl.  Layers upon layers, distilled in one expression.  Criminal, civilized man, child.

Right, and how dare something not line up with your view of the world? How DARE?! Surely the problem is with the thing, and not you?! SURELY!

“Then you take care of her,” Brandish replied, even as she mentally prayed her sister would refuse.  There was something about the idea of being around Marquis’ child, that uncanny resemblance, having those memories stirred even once in a while, even if it was just at family reunions… it made her feel uneasy.

*shakes head* jesus christ.

I wonder what Amy Pelham's relationship with Aunt Carol would have been like. A lot of 'why doesn't Aunt Carol like me?' I imagine. Which might have led to Sarah berating Carol into getting help sooner, because I can't imagine Sarah wouldn't have loved her daughter Amy as much as Eric and Crystal.

Though who knows. May just be grass is greener.

“You should.  Amelia’s Vicky’s age, I think they would be close.”

*nervous, awkward, darkly ironic laughter*

“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Brandish said. “But it’s relevant.  I decided I could have Vicky because I’d know her from day one.  She’d grow inside me, I’d nurture her from childhood… she’d be safe.”

And you did a bang up job with her! Two thumbs up! /s

“That child deserves better than I can offer.  I know I don’t have it in me to form any kind of bond with another child if there’s no blood relation.” Especially if she’s Marquis’. “She needs you.  You’re her only option.  I can’t, and Fleur and Lightstar aren’t old enough or in the right place in their lives for kids, and if she goes anywhere else, it’ll be disastrous.”

I can't believe I'm saying this, but: Sarah, Sarah, look at me.

Listen to Carol. For once in her life, she's actually right about something.

Look at me Sarah. Listen to your sister.

You could grow to love and trust that little girl, too.”

Truth is, she probably could have, but it would have required Carol getting over herself, and that, as it turns out, was borderline impossible.

I don't believe it would have been completely impossible - people always have a choice - and that's why, at the end of the day, I will never let sympathy for Carol rise beyond the barest of minimums, because she had a responsibility to be better, to get better, not just for Amy, but for Vicky, and she didn't, and so again, This Is A Carol Dallon Hate Blog.

Was the girl in shock?  Carol couldn’t muster any sympathy.  Amy was stopping her from getting to Victoria.  Victoria, who she’d almost believed was dead.

See, this is just...

I mean, I'm glad Carol didn't kill Amy here, but Carol has not even an iota of concern for Amy, and yet, once she sees the state of Victoria and supposedly finds out that Amy raped Victoria, she suddenly has enough sympathy for Amy to not kill her?

I -

Seriously. Absolute bizzaro world shit here, Wildbow.

“So I thought I’d put her in a trance, and make it so she’d forget everything that happened.  Everything that I did, and the things that the Slaughterhouse Nine said, and everything that I said to try to make them go away.  Empty promises and-“

Okay, so like, you can Amy's lying here, but all we have to go on is what she says, you know? If Wildbow wanted us to get the takeway that Amy's lying here, he kind of needs to make that more clear.

Like, far from done, and I am kind of biased against WB at this point, to say the least, but it's just really fucking hard for me to see this girl acting like this if she just raped her sister.

I mean, really, man, if that really was your intent, you did a REALLY bad job of conveying it, and when you fail as a writer you don't fucking take that out on the readers.

(Right, sorry, I said I was ignoring Ward. Back to doing that)

She could never be my daughter because she’d never stopped being his.

She doesn't even remember him, you crazy psycho!

Amy kept talking, her voice strangely monotone after her earlier emotion, as if she were a recording.  Maybe she was, after a fashion, all of the excuses and arguments she’d planned spilling from her mouth.  “I wanted her to be happy.  I could adjust.  Tweak, expand, change things to serve more than one purpose.  I had the extra material from the cocoon.  When I was done, I started undoing everything, all the mental and physical changes.  I got so tired, and so scared, so lonely, so I thought we’d take another break, before I was completely finished.  I changed more things.  More stuff I had to fix.  And days passed.  I-“

I'm having trouble seeing it. I really am.

I get that we're supposed to see 'break' as like... Amy raping her or something but -

But that -

no.

 It might even have been something objectively beautiful, had it not been warped by desperation and loneliness and panic.

Everything about this scene just paints Amy as pathetic and pitiable. She really is a sopping wet poor little meow meow here.

I'm not saying a rapist can't also be pitiable - someone can be victim and victimizer, of course they can - but if you want the pitiable character to be seen as a rapist, or, you know, hated, for what they did -

Especially when it's from fucking Carol's POV, and Wildbow just got done explaining how little regard Carol actually has for Amy, how she has no sympathy for the girl and everything.

If there's any POV that should not be painting Amy as pitiable, but as the rapist we're supposed to believe she is, it's Carol's right?

Then I’d go and spend the rest of my life healing people.  Sacrifice my life.  I don’t know.  As payment.”

Wildbow makes the most woobifiable character in the world, and then gets self-righteous when people woobify her.

News at 11.

And with everything laid bare, there was not a single resemblance to Marquis.  There was no faint reminder of Brandish’s time in the dark cell, nor of her captor.  If anything, Amy looked how Sarah had, as they’d stumbled from the house where they’d been kept, lost, helpless and scared. She looked like Carol had, all those years ago. The weapon dissipated, and Brandish’s arms dropped limp to her sides.

All this does is make Carol look narcissistic in the weirdest and worst way. She can only give a shit about someone who reminds her of... her?

But I mean, the whole reason she supposedly loved Vicky is because Vicky came from her, so she should have that take priority over...

I'm sorry. I'm just not seeing it. I'm not -

And Carol's actions here, even with the 'she looked like carol had' just...

No. This is weird. This is confusing. This is nonsensical. And I'm sure as shit not getting a 'Amy Raped Vicky' takeaway here.

Even allowing for Jack's comment about 'indulging' in 14.10. When Amy didn't agree or anything, and Jack would have no way to know what Amy did or didn't do when he wrote that letter we see in 14.11.

Like, if I squint and force myself to twist my brain into nots I can... pretend I can see it... but even then...

I mean, maybe Amy's lying, and characters lie and misrepresent and so on, true, but unless the text gives us a good reason to believe they are, which it hasn't yet...

I mean, it's the official version, the official narrative, that it's Rape. That's the WoG. And like...

Even if I didn't have my, admittedly largely unfounded, suspicions that Wildbow is just flat out lying about his original intent or meaning, I do believe that WoG should be an enhancement to and addition to the text, not a direct contradiction.

It really does seem like WB ended up falling into the trap of figuring he could just let his WoG paper over mistakes in his writing rather than getting it right the first time?

Carol stared as Amy shuffled forward.  The cuffs weren’t necessary, really.  A formality.  Amy wasn’t about to run.

I mean, this is another thing I don't get. Amy haters harp on Amy 'running away from responsibility/consequences' but I mean... quietly going to the Birdcage, an unaccountable black box of a prison where (IIRC from what I've heard) 2/3s of the prisoners ended up dying by the time of the breakout is sort of the opposite of running away?

I mean, Amy should have fixed Vicky before going, this is true, but it seems clear she wasn't sure she could, and would Carol and Sarah have even let her?

As if she could convey everything she wanted to say in a single gesture, she folded her daughter into the tightest of hugs.

I -

I mean, I suppose stranger things have happened, but of all the times to actually suddenly start giving a shit about Amy, it's here and now?

Yeah, I can't reconcile this with Wildbow's official narrative of things.

“Victoria is gone.  There’s nothing of her left but that mockery. 

Yeah, okay, back to Carol just sucking 100%. That's more familiar ground.

The day I cease seeing her as his daughter and see how she could be mine, he takes her back, she thought.

Well, no one to blame but yourself, Carol.

Yeah, my official verdict is: if this is supposed to be the scene that convinces the reader Amy raped Victoria, then...

Yeah, I'm not seeing it. I'm not seeing anything that makes that implied even with a tortured reading. Even with the most hostile reading, I don't -

I don't see it. I really don't. I'm trying to have as open a mind as possible, I tried to look for it -

This isn't me questioning a victim in the 'was it really rape' way or whatever, I'm questioning whether the writing of a scene conveys the idea that one character committed the physical/sexual act of rape on another, and this scene does not. Maybe there's another scene later on (In Worm) that will convince me, but...

This one sure doesn't.

[glitch-pep]

Under the cut is a massive ramble that I NEED to get out of my system, because a lot has changed in the last two months or so-

Also the oc stuff on my blog has been looking like this and it's been bugging me to no end so I wanna explain some stuff below- 💀

#1

After 4-5 years of drawing on my phone with my finger, I spent my savings on a drawing tablet. It's been a giant wish of mine to have one for ages, but I never really worked up the courage to do it since it's a big financial decision and I always feel guilty about spending money... but, after months of intense contemplating I did it!

Buuut I did have a few mental breakdowns once it arrived... long story short, turns out that you can't connect a HP PC with the tablet using the USB-c cable that you get with the tablet, because the USB-c port of the PC doesn't support an additional screen display.

I did look up if you can connect them beforehand, and the internet told me that the answer is yes. You can't trust anything these days bro- 💀💀💀

After A LOT of back and forth and me trying to return the tablet because I can't use it without it being connected to the PC, they told me that I can't return it. Than after EVEN MORE back and forth, we found out that it would work with a completely different cable that I had to order seperately. I had just about enough money left for it, so I ordered it, and then it was peace and love on planet earth because it finally works now.

#2

Also, I needed a free drawing programm I could use, but problem was that my old app, Sketch Draw And Paint, has the most simple layout and functions it can have, so I was used to simplicity.

When I tested out GIMP, Krita, Inkspace and FireAlpaca, I could not wrap my head around how they worked and my lazy ass didn't feel like watching a bunch of tutorials... I was like bro let's find one that I can figure out on my own, it can't be that complicated. 💀

Everyone thank MediBang Paint for being simple enough for me to understand... if MediBang Paint has 0 fans I'm dead fr. From now on, all of my art will be drawn in MediBang Paint and on the tablet.

Is my art any better? Idk but I'm having fun so far, experimenting with stuff, slowly getting towards actually getting some oc stuff done...

...and, speaking of oc stuff...

#3

...I'm going to explain what I plan to work on in the future for each of my oc's, so, let's get started.

Mina - I'm not going to be making any more main character eene oc's, I only gotta design Mina's aunt and a different side character and add them to the characters in her lore and that's it. Mina's story is by far the most simple out of everyone. She'll just get 1 or 2 fics. This doesn't mean that I don't love her, trust me I've had some crazy ideas for her lore, but I've decided to keep it simple, because it makes sense given who Mina is.

Milo and CJ - For the sake of telling you my versions of Seasons 3 and 4 of mf, I have to slightly redesign each canon character from the main cast, figure out how to draw them and write some new lore for them, while using any info I found to characterize them somewhat properly.

I watched and overanalyzed the entirety of the webisodes and the alternative versions of them, as well as the Nickelodeon show, and I looked through the website and the wiki, all for the sake of writing down ANY piece of information I can get about the lore of this show and the characters, because I really needed to have something to work with.

I rearranged S1 a bit and put together a S2 with the webisodes. I'll talk about this eventually.

I won't be making any new main character oc's for this one, only background characters. I'm planning to write S3 and S4 in the form of fics.

Sunny and Molly - For this one I have to add a bunch of secondary and background characters, but we don't need those to begin the story, they'll be relevant later. I'm currently trying to piece together episodes and which goes where so that I can start writing it. I also gotta analyze the website a bit more, to get a feel of how to somewhat properly write the canon characters. I also have a seperate wh oc story idea in mind that I wanna get to eventually as well.

Charlie - I have to remake Charlie's intro, slightly redesign her, add 4 additional main characters, also secondary and background characters but those will be relevant later... Charlie shares her story with a bunch of other oc's. This one will definitely take me the longest, and it's the last thing on my waiting list, because I wanna tackle the easier ideas first. I do also have a seperate sm oc story in mind that I wanna get to as well.

Piper - I don't exactly know what I'm gonna do yet. I wanna see how tadc plays out, and then I'll work on setting some stuff in stone. I do have some ideas and concepts in mind, but I'm not sure in what direction I should go with it, depends upon how the story in the show will play out. (I probably won't wait for the whole show to be done, but at least 1-2 more eps would kinda help me understand where it's going.) I will work on some of the ideas tho.

As of now, I don't plan to make any new oc's for any other fandoms, mostly because I haven't gotten a good enough idea for anything yet, but also because I really wanna work towards polishing the oc's I already have.

I am setting stuff up so that I can start writing the fics. I have no idea how long this will take me, given that I got irl responsibilities to take care of too, but I'll try my best to get it done eventually.

And that's it. I hope you'll have a nice day! 💕

[rockinhamburger]

What exactly is empathy?

Back with more Nate meta - shocker! At a basic level, empathy is about widening our perspective to understand where someone is coming from. It doesn’t mean actions taken are acceptable or justified, but it’s an exercise in looking for insight and extending compassion. One thing I’ve noticed can go missing in analysis of Nate’s choices is the limited POV he has throughout the show. People are quick to judge him for his reasoning in the latter half of S2 without recognizing that he’s missing crucial insights, often because he is not in the scene which would provide it. I want to highlight a few examples that I think show this limited POV and, hopefully, indicate where he deserves some grace.

Of course, a straightforward example of this is the picture Nate gave to Ted for Christmas. Nate couldn’t help but notice it’s not hanging in Ted’s office, and that became emblematic to Nate of the abandonment he was feeling. We the viewers know that Ted has the picture on his bedroom dresser next to his picture of Henry. Nate doesn’t know this; he has a limited POV, so in my view it’s a lot kinder and more empathetic to give him grace on that one. But what tends to happen is that a detail like that gets sublimated into justification to continue criticizing Nate. For instance, instead of feeling sorry for Nate, feeling compassion for his limited perspective in that moment, the thinking becomes judgemental and defensive: Why should Ted display it in his office? Ted doesn’t owe Nate that. Nate needs to get over himself.

People tend to be similarly hard on Nate for the moment in 2x11 when he says, “There we go. Give Ted another idea he’ll take all the credit for.” We have a wider perspective than Nate does. We know that Ted doesn’t take the credit; in fact, Ted credited Nate for his decoy play back in 1x03. It’s a great moment that shows us Ted’s integrity - he doesn’t take the credit for that, even when Trent Crimm is audibly horrified that Ted would entrust such a thing to the kit man. It adds to our growing love for Ted as a character.

But crucially, Nate doesn’t hear a lick of it. Nate is yards away kicking dog shit off the field. His POV is limited in the scene, so he entirely misses that lovely moment of Ted giving him the credit. We’re also privy to the article Trent writes at the end of the episode, and he doesn’t mention in there that Nate came up with the play. Why would Nate have any idea that Ted gives him the credit?

“That’s the job, son,” Roy says to Nate. Putting aside that they’re roughly the same age, so it’s more than a little condescending, this comment from Roy doesn’t address the void Nate’s feeling of validation and approval from Ted. In 2x12, Nate says, “And I... I worked my ass off, trying to get your attention back. To prove myself to you. To make you like me again.” I wish people would take these words at face value instead of using them to continue justifying uncharitable readings of Nate’s behaviour. I wish more people would put themselves in Nate’s shoes and imagine for a moment what it felt like to be in the sunlight of Ted’s kind, supportive attention in S1 only to feel like he’d done something to lose it. Imagine wondering what you did wrong to lose the attention and care of the kindest, sweetest man you’ve had the fortune of meeting. Nate is feeling Ted’s absence so keenly by the time he lets it all out in 2x12. He feels invisible and occasionally even outright replaced. Ted laughs at the idea of him being a big dog, and god, that has to sting so much, and then he brings Roy in as coach. People are quick to gloss over this moment, but it’s a crucial one for understanding how twisted up Nate is starting to feel. If he truly thinks Ted doesn’t like him anymore, then imagine what it felt like for him to be the subject of Ted’s laughter and for Ted to subsequently bring in someone he wouldn’t laugh at? And in the episodes following, Ted’s giving Roy the attention Nate craves as the wins pile up, and to top it off, those wins are largely attributed to the Roy Kent Effect.

Ted isn’t there for Nate’s big moment of glory in 2x06. We know why he wasn’t because we got a lot of Ted’s backstory. Nate didn’t. He has no idea what Ted’s going through. One big takeaway from the show is that we don’t know what the people in our lives are going through, and that’s another reason to be kind and empathetic to each other. So yes maybe Nate should have been able to connect some of the dots, particularly once Ted confessed he’d had a panic attack. Maybe he could have given Ted some grace, but clearly Nate was going through some of his own toxic stuff that made him miss a few things, just like Ted. And really, it’s not like people are giving Nate grace given what we know of his struggles. Nate doesn’t realize the extent of Ted’s mental health struggles because Ted doesn’t let him in on it, just like Ted doesn’t realized the extent of Nate’s feelings of abandonment.

One moment I find so brilliant for highlighting just how much Nate wanted specifically Ted’s validation and approval (to make you like me again) is the fact that Roy gives Nate credit and validation for his big win. He tells Rebecca the win was all Nate (but, crucially, Nate isn’t in the room for that) and then afterward he says, “Oy, Nate, great fucking work today.” I think to Nate it feels more like getting validation from a friend or brother. It’s the kind of thing we like to imagine will make a difference and build us up, but usually it doesn’t quite do the trick, not when it isn’t coming from the person we most want it from - in Nate’s case, Ted, and on a deeper level, his father.

In 1x07, when Ted is at one of his lowest points in the series, he lashes out at Nate. We know why he did. We understand that he has to sign his divorce papers, to essentially quit his marriage, which kicks up a bunch of his emotional triggers around quitting due to feeling like his father abandoned him. We also know he’d been drinking. So, we give Ted plenty of grace in that moment because we have the full picture. Nate doesn’t. Of course, Ted apologizes for treating Nate like that the next time he sees him and Nate forgives him instantly. It’s a lovely moment that again showcases what a thoughtful character Ted is, that he can earnestly apologize. But it’s also a lovely moment that shows Nate’s capacity for understanding and forgiveness when he’s been wronged.

As has been discussed a lot since the end of S2 aired, this conversation outside the locker room in 1x07 is the last time Ted and Nate have a one-on-one conversation before the scene in 2x12. I think it’s easy to overlook this turning point in their relationship and to think that everything’s been patched up in the apology, but the damage from that moment in front of Ted’s hotel room is substantial. I did everything I could to make you like me again. I can’t help feeling like Nate looks back on that night in Liverpool and feels that was the moment everything changed, the moment the attention started to shift, when Ted stopped liking him.

I wish more people would extend to Nate the same compassion we gave Ted following his angry outburst at Nate in 1x07. We all make meaning from the limited perspective we have. Nate was lacking important insight throughout much of S1 and S2, and that was compounded by feelings of inadequacy and abandonment. And I think when it comes down to it, Ted knows exactly how that feels. Empathy widens perspective. Ted’s not going to bask in schadenfreude; he’s going to extend empathy and compassion because he gets where Nate is coming from. He won’t take his pain out on Nate, even though Nate did that to him, and if we admire Ted’s capacity for forgiveness and understanding, this is the test of our own.

I hope fandom can rise to the occasion in S3.

[oodlyenough]

Re:DW, I liked the final well enough but I agree with you that the shorter series really hurt the development of team Tardis. I wish they kept Ruby as the companion for two series, would have solved a lot of issues I had.

I also have so many questions still? I absolutely don't understand why it keeps snowing around Ruby? That's just...a normal thing that happens?

Also did the grandma not mention to the Doctor that their neighbour was acting real weird?

I'm also very intrigued by Roger ap Gwillam returning - is that going to be an ongoing thing or just a nice throwback to 73 yards?

Anyway. I've enjoyed reading your commentary because we feel very similar about this show in that the way RTD writes just works for us.

Yeah, I know we're getting some Ruby in the next season, but she's at least sharing the screentime as companion, so it doesn't quite solve it. I don't mind a break over the holiday special I suppose, lmfao esp because it's Moffat writing it so whatever he can write some one-off idc... but with how little development the team TARDIS got in s1 I worry that the problem will be compounded when you've got three people in s2. I don't want Ruby to finish an arc at the expense of Varada getting one y'know.

I'm not entirely sure what the scifi answer about snow etc was meant to be. I think something about the communal belief that the woman MUST be mysterious (incl. Sutekh) infusing it with godlike power or something... I mean... it's all a bit conjecturey lol. I like the idea of "surprise, it was just a normal woman" but I think they could've offered more explanations around the supernatural stuff like the snow or the "shifting memories" the Doctor mentioned. I've seen a number of fan answers and even RTD joking in commentary "time shrouded her" (re: her cloak) like, just pick any one of those and give a couple lines to Ncuti.

(Somewhat related -- an explanation (of sorts) for the pointing, to me, was that she didn't point in the original timeline and did point when the Doctor was there, bc he was the only other person around, she's pointing for him. (Whether or not pointing at the sign makes any sense is a different issue to "but no one was around anyway".) So I thought that basic fact (didn't point in timeline A; did in timeline B) works. But it wasn't explained in the show, it's just how my brain connected the dots, so.... ?)

Not sure about Roger! I didn't expect we'd see him after 73 Yards, or for 73 Yards to be relevant in the finale at all, which was a really nice touch I thought. I liked that this episode explains what happens to Roger in the regular universe (the Doctor being part of the "overthrow") VS in Ruby's universe where she did it, since that was a question people had. I also loved the idea that the 73 yards is the perception filter distance... I don't need an explicit explanation, just that connection (and the camera with the mother) works once you add in fae magic imo.

Overall, as a big RTD fan, not my fave finale. His scifi nonsense and handwaves are always saved for me by the great character stuff, and the character stuff in this season was only so-so. Moments of brilliance (Ruby and Louise in the cafe!) and some great performances (Millie is SO good) but... in a way this season felt to me like he tried to get out of his regular wheelhouse (huge emphasis on the mystery box stuff) and then the finale was like, a return to his roots (who cares about the mystery! ordinary people 4 ever, etc), but the two don't quite jive. And an extra four episodes would've done wonders.