#Mount Doom is born

[eye-of-mordor]

In one of the most ancient religious texts known to man, the Rig Veda, the fire-priest god Agni is described as having many different forms that consist of fire. One such form is the volcano, and is known as Vāḍavāgni वाडवाग्नि, which literally translates to 'mare-fire.' Many hymns to him in the Rig laud his great destructive power, such as the following that demonstrates ancient knowledge of water existing beneath volcanoes:

O Agni, thou of Godlike nature, sparest the stones, while carving up the brushwood. Then are they tracks like deserts in the corn-lands. Let us not stir to wrath thy mighty arrow. O’er hills through vales devouring as thou goest, thou partest like an army fain for booty as when a barber shaves a beard, thou shavest earth when the wind blows on thy flame and fans it. Apparent are his lines as he approaches the course is single, but the cars are many, when, Agni, thou, making thine arms resplendent, advances o’er the land spread out beneath thee. Now let thy strength, thy burning flames fly upward, thine energies, O Agni, as thou toilest. Gape widely, bend thee, waxing in thy vigour: let all the Vasus sit this day beside thee. This is the waters’ reservoir, the great abode of gathered streams. — Rig Veda 10.142.3-7

[yourstormthlaylirahh]

Regardless of whether you conceptualize them as platonic, romantic, familial, etc, Sam and Frodo are soulmates. Sam loved Rosie and had a family with her and they're lovely, but his bond with Frodo superseded all others because their connection was that strong, this is shown most clearly in how in his old age Sam followed Frodo into the west. In this essay I will-

[eosofspades]

my incredibly controversial fantasy genre take when it comes to writing is that you Do Not Actually Need to use high fantasy language and make up words for stuff, and sometimes it can be better if you don't

like. maybe it's just me but i find it a lot harder to get immersed in a story when the worldbuilding is SO intricate and detailed you need a glossary or have to pour over a thousand years of history in the span of a couple pages. i would MUCH rather read a high fantasy novel where the magic kingdom is just called The Garden or the deserted string of floating islands is just called The Wastelands or magic is just called magic instead of unpronounceable words and terms that have to be memorized.

especially for me, when it comes to writing, my stories are SO grounded in character relationships and dynamics, that trying to dig into the specific lore and structure of the world around just breaks the immersion and takes away from the characters themselves.

i know some writers are gonna insist this is just "being lazy" but i firmly believe that sometimes it is the best writing decision to allow simplicity and ease of understanding in your high fantasy setting, and that it can actually make the character complexities and relationships hit harder, because you're not distracted at all with remembering fantasy terminology.

[smallestapplin]

the heats of a Dhampir

for those unaware, in castlevania SOTN Alucard has a monster form, much like his father, so pair that with vampire's having heats every 4 years and this was born.

Warning! : reader is enby afab, womb fucking, heats, Alucard being a little feral, established relationship, and shifting mid fuck.

minors do not interact!

-

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Alucard's heat is worst than he thought, his mind cloudy, filling with more animalistic thoughts, his body reacting before he has a chance to process the situation. It made him want to avoid you, and trust he has tried, yet his feet move against him, taking him right back to you or to your home.

Your voice and presence like that of a siren calling to him, luring him in to his doom, your scent keeps him intoxicated and under your spell, though you know not of any of his struggles.

He's your loving and doting boyfriend, though you know something is up with his odd behaviors and getting fussy over your bed, filling your room with various food related items and drinks, while forming your blankets and pillows into a circle.

You awake surrounded, and with the blonde brining you yet another odd shiny item, and cuddling against you with low purrs. You jokingly tell him he must've been replace with a crow for a brain, but he doesn't seem to find it as assuming as you do.

You don't question it, just like you don't question him crawling into your now nest like bed, to leave kisses along your exposed neck. You don't question his needy whine as he slides a cold hand up your loose sleep shirt, cupping your tit in a loving squeeze, as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, licking up the collum of your throat.

Silently pleading for your approval.

He can smell your want before even touching your pussy, smell how you're soaking through your panties.

"Adrian...!!" You squeak, but he's moving so fast! It's like a switch flipped in his mind, and all he can think about is ravaging your body, marking you, scenting you, mounting you.

Your panties are gone in a flash with his head buried between your thighs. Your face goes bright red at the sound of him inhaling your heady scent, a smell mixed of your sweat and arousal, it leaves his mind spinning. You toss your head back with a whimper, feeling his inhumanly long tongue rubbing between your folds, licking your clit and then back down to your weeping hole.

It takes everything in him to eat you out first, a sane part of him wanting you at least prepped for the fucking he knows his going to give you. Your pussy twitches watching him hump the bed, just knowing he's so turned on from your own need gets your body hot, your eyes struggling to not roll back just to see how needy he is.

His tongue pushing into you, the pointed tip just brushing relentlessly against your cervix, easily filling you. You grab a hold of his long blonde hair, gripping onto him like a life line as you buck your hips up, trying to grind against his face. His nose pressing perfectly against your clit, letting him easily overwhelm your senses.

"Adrian, Adrian! M'gonna- gonna cum-!!"

You let out a pitiful cry as he rips himself away from you, denying you your orgasm. His face dripping slick and drool, yet he doesn't care, he doesn't even seem to notice. He tears his pants away, tossing the now scraped fabric aside, freeing his aching cock.

You don't get to admire the beautiful sight of him for long before hes already pushing himself into you.

He's usually so much slower, much more loving towards you, but you're excited to see this new feral side of him. It's like you're truly being taken by a monster, just what you've dreamed of.

Alucard's body shakes, his eyes rolling back as he bottoms out, fully sheathed into your warm wet cunt. He doesn't give you a moment to breathe, his hips seemingly having a mind of their own as he ruts into you. Your legs are over his shoulders, with him leaning over you, his hands on either side of your head letting his sharp claw like nails tear into your pillow.

You cling to his biceps, crying out about how good he's making you feel.

"Oohh fuck! Fuck fuck fuuuck! So good, mm, haa! God, you're...you're fucking me so good. Please more, more ruin me!"

The room echoes with the sound of his hips wetly slapping into yours. He can't bare it, you're pleading sends him spiraling, his head feels like it's filled with cotton, he doesn't feel his body twisting and shifting, his form growing larger and larger.

Leathery wings sprouting from his back, curling around you to hide you from the world, his form drawfs you in size. Hands turning more into scaly claws, ripping your pilllow and sheets beneath you. Your eyes widen as the monstrous sight before you as the horns twist on top his head.

But your attention mostly drawn to the pressure in your stomach, feeling his cock growing bigger inside you, matching the new size of him.

You squirm, but with how he has you pinned you can't move.

"Adrain, wait, h-hold on...hnnn! Fuck, t-too big, I can't take it, i-it's too much!"

He grumbles lowly, harshly slamming his cock further into you, his glowing eyes flickering between the new bulge in your stomach and watching how your pussy struggles to accept his new size.

His roar is deafening as you cum, your walls clenching around him desperate to milk him. Your eyes cross, tears streaming down your face. He's fucking your womb, he's so deep!

His long tongue falls frm his open maw, drool dripping onto your chest as he licks it and the sweat off your skin, purring deeply at the taste of you.

His heavy balls smack against your ass, the sheer weight fuck them telling your fucked out mind just how backed up he is, desperate to fill you to the brim.

Cum as many times as you want, he won't be stopping until you take every last drop of his spent.

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Nine

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Driftmark happens, Aegon takes a stance and the divide only grows bigger.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

minors mdni

118 AC Pentos

"Aunt y/n!" Baela and Rhaena ran towards you, wide smiles on their faces. You grinned seeing the twin girls and their parents.

"It is so good to see you sweet girls. How much you've grown! You'll be taller than your father soon." You jested ruffling the locks of their silver hair.

Laena and Daemon approached you arm in arm, their benefactor some Pentoshi lord greeted you as well offering you sanctuary in his home. 

"Laena my sweet cousin." You whispered kissing the cheek of the curly haired woman. "Brother."

"Sister." Daemon replied pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you against his chest. 

Laughs and jokes were shared during the dinner held by the prince of the city. You smiled as you joined your family after such a long time apart.

...

You and Aegon mounted your dragons and flew to Driftmark. Tears escaped your eyes, the wind blew them away. Your bonded dragon screeched sensing your pain.

"Dracarys Vermithor!" You shouted letting your emotions get the best of you. Your steed expelled a breath of gold fire flying right through it. The heat of his flames brought you necessary comfort. 

"Cousin." You whispered hugging Rhaenys, her black veil covered her tear stained cheeks. She has lost her only daughter after years of being apart. Her grandchildren Rhaena and Baela obediently stood behind her, you kneeled next to the two girls. 

"I'm so sorry." You whispered hugging the two of them, your fingers tangled in their silver hair. Rhaena sniffled as she hugged your body.

Laena's casket has been placed on the edge of a cliff overlooking the salty sea. The Velaryon soldiers tied the knots to ensure it's safe passing. 

"We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come." Vaemond recited the funeral speech. You watched Laena's casket with tears in your eyes. Baela hugged your side, your arm protectively wrapped around the young girl.

"As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughter on the shore." Your brows furrowed as Vaemond stared at Daemon who seemingly did not care that his wife has just passed. "Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will remain bound together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood." His gaze turned to Rhaenyra and her sons. "Our runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin." Daemon chuckled.

He chuckled

Anger coursed through your veins. The people present stared with disdain at him.

"My gentle niece. May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, as your nets be as full as your heart. From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return." Laenor's eyes were empty as he started as his sister's casket was lowered onto the depths of the sea. Dragons circled drift mark as a royal funeral was held. 

You sat next to Helaena as she played with a spider, her wavy silver locks blew freely in the wind.

"Hands turns loom, spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." She said those words as if in a trance, you smiled in sympathy. No one noticed her gift, the gift that saved house Targaryen from the doom. 

"You have a gift sweet girl." You whispered caressing her hair, her brother watched as you comforted their "lunatic" sister.

"Aemond." You said greeting your nephew. "You have grown." 

"Hello aunt." Aemond answered ever the proper boy.

"Are you excited for your engagement?" You asked curiously, remembering the news that Aemond and Helaena will marry once they turn sixteen.

"I would rather have a dragon." He responded gruffly "Everyone else has one but I don't."

"Rhaena also doesn't have a dragon... Did you know that Gaemon the glorious didn't have a dragon until the age of two and twenty? So by my count you still have some time." You tried to console your nephew.

"You claimed a dragon at eight! One of the greatest beasts!" He raised his voice.

"Some things take time, Aemond. Dragons are not like horses, you cannot just jump onto it's back and ride. The bond we share with dragons is deep and magical, it's as if our souls are connected." You explained, trying to lit the teenagers sour mood.

"Does that mean I will be dragon less?" Aemond asked voice breaking slightly.

"You are a Targaryen, Aemond. It is your birthright to bond with a dragon, and you will do that. There are no dragons to be claimed but there are eggs."

"I don't want an egg! I want a dragon! A full grown dragon!." He shouted and stomped away.

Everything was tense and awkward, the little boy you one played with was gone. Viserys was under the influence of his wife and her father, he was restored as hand after Lords Lyonel tragic passing that you knew was no accident. 

"Sister" Daemon whispered approaching you as you stared at the endless salty sea stretching before you.

"Brother" You answered not looking at him, the stunt he pulled before still itched you. "Have you no shame?" You asked not bearing to look at the man.

"I have protected our niece's honour." He answered simply.

"You are impossible, your wife has just died." You accused.

"She has died along time ago, the moment I have taken her from Westeros." He whispered "I should have listened to her, returned to Drimftmark before it was too late." He said bitterly. You sighed deeply.

"It is painful, isn't it?." You whispered placing your palm on his his back. 

"I could never be in more pain then she was." Daemon muttered, taking your palm in his large hand. 

"The God's are cruel, even ours." Bitter truth left your lips "You should tend to your daughters." You said leaving Daemon alone. 

...

Your chambers were prepared by the maids of house Velaryon. Dried tears stained your cheeks. 

"Aunt y/n?" A small voice whispered from the other side of your chambers. 

"Yes?" You answered the door, Baela and Rhaena stood together. "What is it?" 

"We... Could we stay with you?" Baela the braver of the twins asked, you nodded silently and let them into your chambers. The girls climbed into your bed as you laid between them.

"Could you tell us stories of our mother?" Rhaena asked leaning on your lap. 

"Since the beginning your mother was a fiery young girl. She had inherited the beauty of your grandmother without the dark hair and the bold, adventurous spirit from your grandfather. She was brave and kind. I saw as she became one with her giant beast as if it were nothing, a true dragon rider. " You smiled at the memory of you two flying together over King's Landing. "One time, Lord Jason Lannister tried to 'impress' her by listing the amount of gold he could offer her as his wife. It was rather stupid since the Velaryon's were richer than the Lannisters, she said and I remember it clear as day. Are you willing to make the same bribe to Vhagar to reside on the giant rock you call home, Lord Jason? The man paled with fear and didn't bother your mother ever again."

The girls chuckled.

"Do you think that Vhagar will accept me?" Rhaena asked.

"Vhagar is old and tired, when Balerion was her age he laid in his cavern all day, eating what was given him. I do not think that Vhagar will be able to match your delicate nature." You mumbled a bit un-sure.

"Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I am excepted to claim her." Rhaena muttered leaning on your shoulder, Baela nodded.

"Who excepts that?" You questioned curious.

"Father." Baela answered for her sister, you chuckled at the irony.

"If your father followed this rule he would be the one to claim Vhagar or Meleys. They were his parent's dragons and yet he claimed Caraxes our uncles mount, your grandfathers."

"Really?" Baela and Rhaena exclaimed at the same time.

"I think that Silverwing would be better suited for you, Rhaena. If you wish I can take you back to Dorne with me so you can claim her."

The Velaryon girl visibly brightened up, she nodded furiously.

"Please, aunt y/n!" She exclaimed.

"If your father or grandmother agrees I see no reason not to."

"But what of Vhagar?" Baela murmured.

"She will spend the rest of her days, without bothersome humans." You jested and the twins lightly chuckled. "Now my little dragons go back to your chambers." 

The two girls scurried to their own chambers, you saw that their mood has been improved slightly. 

...

You were restless and could not sleep, you deciding that visiting Vermithor was the best course of action. Castle Driftmark was a dull thing, even more than Dragonstone.

The beach however was empty, only the sound of waves delicately crashing against the cliffs was heard. You wondered if Vermithor has ever been to Driftmark before. The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced in the direction of the noise, the familiar straight silver hair made you sigh.

"Aemond!" You called startling the boy, he slowly turned around, you beconed him over and he obliged. "You were sneaking off to claim Vhagar." You stated and he paled slightly. "No need to lie to me."

"Yes, aunt." He admitted and lowered his head "But I only did it because I have no other choice!"

"No choice? Do you know how dangerous it is to approach Vhagar?" You sighed deeply, not wishing to startle your nephew.

"I-..." He started but the words died down in his throat "Without a dragon I'm worthless."

"Aemond, you are not worthless." You kneeled infant of the boy, taking his face into your hands. "Who makes you think that?" You demanded.

"Father... He never pays attention to me, I doubt he even knows my name." Tears threatened to spill from his violet orbs. "And he only paid attention to Helaena after she claimed Dreamfyre. What kind of a Targaryen am I without a dragon?!"

"Your father should be the last person the speak of claiming dragons." You stated and Aemond looked up at you.

"He rode Balerion."

"Once." You added "He rode Balerion once, and then he died. He never formed a bond with him, he couldn't have. Therefore he has no right to talk."

A small smile made it's way onto Aemond's thin lips.

"I think that there is a dragon waiting for you." You mumbled caressing his straight silver hair.

"What dragon?"

"Perhaps you should go with Rhaenyra to dragonstone, there is Grey Ghost and Sheepstealer. But I think Grey Ghost is most like you."

"Most like me?"

"Timid, hidden in the shadows, observing from afar. You know I was a lot like you when I was your age... Nobody cared for me after Grandfather died, I had no parents and Rhaenyra was the only thing on Viserys's mind. When my brother was in King's Landing which was not often he made an effort to be there for me, but it is not the same as a parents love is suppose." You got carried away slightly, burdening a child with your problems. "I'm sorry Aemond, I shouldn't have said that."

"I- It is all right... thank you, aunt."

"Talk to Rhaenyra of returning with her to Dragonstone."

"Could you... Could you come with me? I know you are well aquainted with dragons, and perhaps if you wished, you could help me."

You smiled fondly at his unsure rambling.

"I would be delighted, Aemond. We can even go tomorrow." You offered and he nodded his head. "Now go back to your chambers, it is late and you need all the strength you can muster."

The thin boy nodded and ran off to the castle, you felt as if a great heaviness was lifted from your chest allowing you to breathe.

...

You missed your children. You thought while eating breakfast alone. Aegon was probably in his temporary chambers sleeping or reminiscing with his siblings.

"y/n" You heard your name, you raised your gaze from the mutton pie, and fruit that were placed on your plate.

"Daemon." You mumbled continuing eating, he took a seat in front of you and ordered a servant to bring him breakfast. They placed a steaming bowl of porridge with fruit, different hams and cheeses and a slice of the same pie you ate.

"You do not seem sad... Did you love her, or married her to spite our brother?" You asked glancing at the hardened features of your brother.

"...I did love her." He whispered avoiding your gaze and digging into the food on his plate. "Is this what you felt when you lost Qoren?" His question surprised you, not once has he addressed your husband by name.

"I was miserable when he died." You admitted "But I had to stay strong, for my children for the kingdom." Daemon hummed drinking the honey mead. "...I was happy with him, he loved me and our children with ever fibre of his being. How can a man seem so strong only to wither slowly at the hands of a disease?" You questioned rhetorically.

Tears began to form in your eyes as you remembered the years you spent with Qoren. The wet tears dropped on your dress, but you quickly wiped them and took a swing of the watered down wine.

"I'm sorry your happiness was taken from you." Your brother said tenderly, which was unlikely for him. "If I could give you the happiness you long for I would." Daemon muttered, placing his palm over yours.

"My children are the source of my happiness now." You declared "As should your daughters be, they are mourning the death of their mother, Daemon. You should be there for them, the other day they came crying to me, asking me to tell stories of their mother. Then Rhaena said that you told her to claim Vhagar, she is but a child!" You raised your voice "I offered to take her with me to Dorne so she could claim Silverwing."

"Silverwing, yes..." He questioned, passively accepting your anger.

"Yes, Daemon. With your permission of course." You added, the anger simmering in your insides.

"You took great care of them."

"Someone has to." You snipped, narrowing eyes at Daemon "I don't think that the good father characteristic passed onto you or Viserys."

Daemon chuckled and nodded.

"Im afraid not, no. But you dear sister... if I worshiped the seven I would say you are the embodiment of the mother." His backhanded flattery made the anger slowly die out. "Baela and Rhaena spoke of your talk, I already agreed. You helped them greatly... They need a mother."

"Daemon..." You sighed knowing where he was heading. "Laena's body is barely cold and you talk of marrying again?!"

"Not immediately!" He countered "I just... you lost your husband, I lost my wife and-"

"And what? You'll take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house?"

"If you'll agree." He stated.

You held affection for Daemon, despite the horrid things he did throughout his life. He was still the only person who saw you, for you. Actively trying throughout your upbringing, whenever he was present.

"I promise you will be happy. We will fly on dragon back like we used to so many years ago..." Your brother pleaded.

"If Viserys gives his blessings I will become your wife.." You answered, Daemon stared at your features. Silent agreement and happiness etched on his sharp features.

...

"Aemond?" You questioned entering his chambers, he sat by the window consumed by a book that rested atop his lap. He tore his gaze away from the pages and glanced in your direction. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and the two of you walked to where Vermithor was resting, you fixed the black leather gloves on your fingers. The bronze fury bellowed as he saw you approaching.

"This is my nephew, Aemond. We will help him claim a dragon." You said nuzzling your face in his warm scales. You helped Aemond climb onto the saddle, and then strapped him in. You patted Vermithor's scales and without a command he leaped into the air, his claws dipping into the salty water before climbing into the sky, high above the clouds.

"How does it feel?" You asked Aemond, that sat in front of you.

"It feels... like I belong." He answered.

Vermithor landed near the hills of dragonmont, startling the dragon keepers there. You slid off of his bronze wing and helped your nephew do the same.

"Can you smell any dragons, old boy?" You questioned placing your palm on his horns. He chirped and let out a screech, turning towards the misty mountains. You left your dragon and headed in the direction the bronze fury pointed in.

"It is very on brand for him to hide in the mist." You said to Aemond as he walked next to you. "Hiding from the small folk... or Cannibal."

He stayed silent as if deep in thought. You observed his reactions.

"Can you feel him Aemond?"

"Her." He stated and moved ahead, slowly disappearing into the mist. You stayed behind letting Aemond do what he thought was right, and by the looks of it he might claim a dragon today.

A chirp and then a screech, orange light spread among the mist. And yet you didn't feel worried. You could hear Aemond's faint voice, High Valyrian rolling off his tongue. At the speed of lightning, Grey Ghost flew right out of the mist, leaving a trail behind him. Aemond's green cloak flowing in the wind, as he soared in the sky.

...

Moons passed after Laena's death, Daemon stayed with his daughters at Driftmark. You on the other hand returned to Dorne with Aegon much earlier, you missed your children and longed to see them.

Daemon stood before the doors to his daughters room. Despite being dressed in leather armor, Dark Sister strapped at his side he felt nervous. Nervous to face his nine year old daughters. He knocked on the door and entered.

"Father." Baela noticed and bowed her head slightly, Rhaena ran and hug his legs.

"Father can I please go to aunt y/n?" She asked, her violet eyes brimming with tears.

"Soon Rhaena, I promise." He answered caressing her long silver hair. "I- I" He stuttered "What do you think of your aunt?"

"She is nice." Rhaena muttered.

"Aunt y/n gives the greatest gifts. The dresses she makes are beautiful." Baela added.

"She was great friends with your mother." The Targaryen Prince said. "Would you be opposed if you saw her more often?"

"No, I don't think so." Baela the braver of the twins answered for her sister.

"I know you are young, and there are thing you need to know. Despite being a princess your aunt has lost protection when her husband died. I offered that I would protect her from now on." He tried to explain.

"Protect how?" Rhaena meekly asked.

"...By marrying her." Baela answered for him, understanding the situation better.

"Yes." He confirmed. "You are young, you need a mother figure. And you would get to meet your cousins better."

"Whatever you wish father." The twins answered.

"I know this is difficult and I do not except you to understand, but just know I love you two deeply. And wish what is best for you."

They nodded and leaned into his touch when he wrapped his arms around them.

...

"Prince Daemon, Your Grace." Ser Harrold announced opening the doors to the king's chambers. Viserys laid in his bed covered in blankets.

"Brother." Daemon said bowing his head and approaching his grace.

"Daemon..." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "I am so glad too see you, it has been too long."

"We have seen each other a few moons back, is your memory so bad you do not remember?." Daemon jested. "Viserys I have a favour to ask of you."

"A favour?" Viserys asked curiously "Whatever do you need?"

"I wish to marry y/n." He admitted, a pregnant silence fell upon the room. Only the crackling of the fire was heard.

"And what does y/n say of this union?" The elder brother asked, thinking of the girl he though of as a daughter.

"She has agreed on the condition that you agree and bless our marriage." Daemon responded.

"She is too good for you, Daemon." Viserys wheezed staring at his brother. "But if it is her wish to marry you I shall give you my blessing."

"Thank you, your grace."

...

A raven arrived from King's Landing, the grand maester of Sunspear handed you the letter. You saw the royal seal of your brother and broke it curiously.

My dear sister,

Word has reached my ears that you wish to marry Daemon. I know how distraught you were when your first husband passed away, if you deem Daemon worthy of becoming your second husband I give you my blessing. I know you make no mistakes in your judgment so I trust your decision and hope that your marriage with our brother will be as happy as your first one.

In return for your endless support and upholding our traditions. I shall give Daemon and you land so your future children will have an inheritance. The Stepstones have been won by Daemon, and are now a part of the seven Kingdoms. But without a strong presence to command the island they have fallen into disarray. If you wish it the Stepstones will become your land you may do as you wish with them. Your children will inherit the seat after you pass and as a royal decree, they will be titled as princes and princesses of the realm. The sacrifices you have made helped the realm greatly, you have brought Dorne into the seven kingdoms, secured wards from the lords of Westeros and aided the royal coffers. I will be forever in debt to you my dear sister.

You read the letter, tears flowed from your green irises staining the parchment. It felt as if he was saying goodbye to you.

"Mother?" Nymor asked seeing the tears that flowed freely.

"Yes my sweet?" You asked

"Why are you sad?" He asked and you smiled, picking him up and placing him in your lap. He was now five and very bright.

"I am happy my dear child." Your sons silver hair shined in the sun.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Sometimes when we're happy we cry." You explained "Your uncle and I will marry."

"Uncle Daemon?" He asked curiously and you nodded.

"He will become my husband." You said caressing your sons silver locks.

"Like father was?"

"Just like father was..."

"Will I have more siblings? I do not want to be the youngest Darren, Ivor and Tyla treat me like a baby!" Nymor complained and you chuckled.

"You will always be my baby." You said kissing his chubby cheek, he giggled.

...

"Maron!" You stopped your brother in law as he strolled with his wife through the gardens your late husband built for you.

"y/n, what is it that you need?" He asked walking up to you with his wife the Lady Qyria.

"I will need your help governing Dorne in my son's steed." You announced.

"I am honoured y/n but what has happened?" He asked confused.

"Daemon and I will marry, His Grace the King gave us Stepstones to govern. I will not be able to be in two places at once, that is why I need your help." You explained

"Will you be leaving Dorne?" Qyria asked.

"I do not want to, but my attention will be divided between Dorne and the Stepstones. For the time being Daemon will stay on Driftmark." You answered strolling with the couple through the water gardens.

"Let us know if you ever need help taming the Stepstones, it is a disputed land. Keeping peace will be difficult." Maron offered, you thanked your brother in law.

"Bloodstone will become to heart of the islands. I believe it will be quite expensive to raise castles there but the payoff will be large. The islands are very strategically placed, any voyages will have to pass through the Stepstones." It was true, that is why your brother and the Velaryons fought in the Stepstones for so long. But now instead of war, the islands will be conquered through alliances.

"What of Darren and Nymor?" You brother in law asked.

"I will take them whenever it is possible, but Sunspear is their home. They will be raised here, as is befitting for Dornish Princes."

"As you wish princess." The slender man answered.

...

Dragonstone

Half of the court of KIng's Landing sailed for Dragonstone to witness the wedding of Prince Daemon and Princess y/n. You were happy to see your family during a happier occasion. Aegon was less thrilled to see his father and mother.

"Aegon." You approached your nephew as he sulked in his chambers.

"Oh, aunt." The boy muttered raising his thin eyebrows at you.

"Sunfyre has been snippy all week." You answered sitting next to Aegon on his bed. He shrugged his shoulders. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Oh sweet boy, you're not as good at hiding emotions as you think you are. What is bothering you?" The prince sighed and sit up on the bed leaning against your shoulder.

"Nothing escapes you does it?" He whispered, you caressed his long wavy hair.

"I have known you since you were born, Aegon. I have raised you for over eight years. I know when something is bothering you."

"Why is it so easy for you to act like my mother when Alicent can't be bothered?" You were surprised to hear Aegon call his mother by her name. Tears welled up in his violet eyes.

"I don't know sweet boy." You muttered.

"You are more of a mother to me than she could ever be." He cried clinging to you.

"Shh..." You comforted him.

"And father doesn't care for me! He only cares for Rhaenyra! She is his golden child while I am cast into the shadows!"

"My brother is not a good father, that is true." You muttered "It is not fair to you or your siblings."

"I only ever wished for him to be proud of me, but that will never happen will it?" He asked, his violet eyes reddened by tears.

"I will always be proud of you. I have seen you grow to a fine prince, a great dragon rider and cousin and I love you like I love my own children."

"I love you too, mom." Aegon whispered, you kissed the crown of his head.

...

"Blood of two, joined as one. Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time of darkness and light." Viserys recited as he stood at the foot of Dragonmont.

You stood in front of Daemon dressed in Valyrian robes, holding a dragon glass knife as did your brother. You pressed the blade against your palm, causing blood to trickle. You pressed your finger in the blood and drew the symbol of fire on your brothers forehead. He drew the symbol of blood on your own.

"In the eyes of fourteen flames we are now joined, one soul, one body one heart." You and Daemon recited, two goblets of heated wine mixed with blood were handed to you. You took a swing of the drink and passed the cup to the servants.

Daemon pressed his palm against your cheek and pressed his lips against yours, you leaned into him and deepened the kiss. Vermithor and Caraxes roared circling the ceremony and breathed dragon fire.

...

The maids helped you take off the heavy headpiece that rested atop your brow. Annora unlaced the beige and red robes sliding it off your body. Soon you were left only in your linen nightgown, you hair free of any braids.

Once the maids left your brother entered our chambers, his body covered by a dark red robe.

"y/n" He approached you.

"Daemon." You answered, leaning into his embrace. "It seems you have finally gotten what you wanted after all those years."

"It appears that the god's have blessed me in some sort of way." He answered running his fingers through your hair. "Tell me you did not wish for this."

"At some point where I was young, after grandsire told me of his and grandmothers love story."

Silence befallen the chamber, shallow breaths occasionally broke the silence. Daemon kissed your neck and slowly made it's way to your lips. A breathy moan escaped you as his hands trailed down your body.

"My sweet wife." He murmured untying the nightgown and letting it drop to the floor leaving you naked.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your lips against his silencing him. He groaned and let you guide him to the bed, you laid on the comfortable mattress and Daemon crawled atop you. You could feel his cock press against your leg, you moved your hand down to wrap your fingers around him. Squeezing and pumping a few times.

"Enough teasing." Daemon groaned throwing his head back, he pressed his warm palm over yours and moved his dick so the head pressed against your entrance.

"Daemon..." You moaned at the unfamiliar intrusion. His dick felt different than your husband's, maybe a bit shorter but thicker.

"Soon, sweet girl." He whispered above your ear pressing a kiss against your temple, and slowly pushed in. Inch by inch until his pelvis pressed against your clit.

"Ah..!" You moaned breathily as he bottomed out, he slowly pulled out and pressed himself in one go.

"Will you give me a child?" Daemonn groaned above you "You looked so alluring pregnant."

"Daemon..." You moaned in response "Please!"

Your body moved with his hard thrusts, his chest pressed against your breasts squeezing them with his weight.

"Yes? I'll breed you well, then." Your husband moaned, as you squeezed around him.

You squeezed Daemon's shoulder, bringing his attention to your face.

"Hmm?" He murmured

"I wanna... on top." Daemon smirked and obeyed, pulling out laying comfortably on the bed awaiting your next move.

You straddled his hips, his cock pressed between your thighs. You sheathed his cock in your warm walls.

"Move, please." The rogue prince moaned under you, pressing his hips upwards for some friction.

"I didn't take my husband for a beggar." You teased refusing to move your hips. "I quite like it."

"Careful, sister." He groaned menacingly, putting his hands on your waist.

"It's fun to see you like this, moaning under me."

Daemon muttered something under his breath, and jutted his hips upwards. You chuckled and began to move your hips, bringing the coil in your belly closer to snapping.

"Close!" You squeaked, pressing your palms against Daemon's toned abdomen.

After a few hard thrusts your husband spilled inside, his warm seed brought your over the edge. Panting you clutched onto his shoulder, collapsing on his chest. Daemon chuckled, and wrapped his arms around your naked back.

"You did good, my love." He whispered pressing a kiss to your silver hair.

The funureal of Laena Velaryon and the conflict that arose on Driftmark only separated the Greens and Blacks. After a year Princess y/n and Daemon married and begun construction of castle Blackfyre. During the builidng of the castle many villages arose on the shore of Bloodstone and Grey Gallows. Now that the island was free of pirates trade erupted. The Ports build there rivalled Oldtown and Lannisport. Princess y/n used dragonfire to make the fort impenetrable and quick to build. After three years most of the castle Blackfyre was build. At the foot of the Volcano Dragonbone a dragonpit was built. - From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[belladonnafeli]

List of Prophecies in ASOIAF and People wanting to take the magic out of the series

It’s my personal opinion that this fandom sometimes has a tendency to try to write off the magic in the series as not real. Or as unimportant, completely ignoring that this is still a fantasy series. An example of this are the prophecies that we get within the story. People in the fandom will write them off as being not true or untrustworthy and to a certain extent they are right but not in the way people believe. 

If visions and prophecies aren't true then what is the point of Bran being a greenseer? What is the purpose of Daenerys’ dragon dream that saves her from committing suicide in A Game Of Thrones? It’s Dany’s visions and dreams that help her birth the dragons. Dragons being one of the main sources of magic, hence the title A Song Of Ice and Fire.

The problem in my opinion is that people don’t know the literary device George is using to convey his messages. The way George uses the prophecies is through the literary device that is “dramatic irony”. Dramatic Irony is a type of irony where the reader knows something that the characters do not. 

Examples of Prophecies:

Daenys the dreamer seeing the doom of Valyria

Jojen's green dreams about Bran and about the iron born coming to winterfell.

 “I dreamed that the sea was lapping all around Winterfell. I saw black waves crashing against the gates and towers, and then the salt water came flowing over the walls and filled the castle. Drowned men were floating in the yard.

Bran and the people of Winterfell have no idea what this means, but us as readers have Theon’s chapters and know that the Iron men worship the drowned god, so we know that its them.

A good chunk of Dany's visions in the House of the undying.

She came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a scepter.

Maggy the Frog and her prophecy about Cersei.

"Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Will the king and I have children?" she asked. "Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you."

"Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

"Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

 Red wedding by Patchface 

We literally get like three prophecies about the Red Wedding well before it happens.

"Fool's blood, king's blood, blood on the maiden's thigh, but chains for the guests and chains for the bridegroom, aye aye aye."

All of these prophecies have come true or they will come true. And typically if you really look into the text you can infer how. What George shows us in the books is that yes, prophecy is true and real but trying to force it or stop it cannot change what the prophecy is meant to do. I’ll use an example to prove my point. First with Mirri Maz Durr, she believes that Daenerys’ child Rhaego will be the stallion who mounts the world. Mirri believes in killing Rhaego she has stopped this prophecy but what she fails to realize is that by doing this she’s only setting the prophecy in motion because Daenerys is the stallion who mounts the world.

“As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name. The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world.” “As swift as the wind he rides” “Tell Khal Drogo he has given me the wind” When Khal Drogo gives Dany her Silver. , “Fierce as a storm this prince will be” Daenerys Stormborn. In killing Rhaego she hasn't stopped anything, only further set things in motion. 

Not to mention the Ghost of High Hearts prophecies which all come true  

“The old gods stir and will not let me sleep. I dreamt I saw a shadow with a burning heart butchering a golden stag (Renly Baratheon), aye. I dreamt of a man without a face, waiting on a bridge that swayed and swung. On his shoulder perched a drowned crow with seaweed hanging from his wings (Euron Greyjoy). I dreamt of a roaring river and a woman that was a fish. Dead she drifted, with red tears on her cheeks, but when her eyes did open (Lady Stoneheart), oh, I woke from terror. All this I dreamt, and more. 

I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief. I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams (Red Wedding), but the saddest sound was the little bells. I dreamt of a maid (Sansa Stark) at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs (Purple Wedding). And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. 

We can assume that the last line is Sansa slaying Littlefinger based off of these quotes from the last Sansa chapter in ASOS “A giant” the boy whispered, weeping. “It wasn’t me, it was a giant hurt the castle. She killed him!” “A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll’s head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. “If tales be true, that’s not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell’s walls”. 

What I’m trying to say with all of this is that the fandom's dismissal of prophecy makes no sense to me. We as readers have more context than the characters in the story so of course we know what will and won’t happen. 

[scarlet--wiccan]

Scarlet Witch reading guide

This is not meant to be a comprehensive list of every appearance, but a walkthrough of what you need to read to understand Wanda's lore, history, and personal life events. I also have a breakdown of the Maximoff's powers and an explanation of their parentage and ethnic background. [This is an updated + condensed version of this post-- the formatting is messed up and I can't edit it, so I made a new one]

X-Men Vol 1 #4-11-- Wanda & Pietro's first appearance as teenage mutants & Brotherhood members.

Avengers Vol 1 #16-27-- The twins join the Avengers. Known as the "kooky quartet" era.

Avengers Vol 1 #128-- Wanda meets Agatha Harkness and begins studying witchcraft.

Giant-Size Avengers #1-4-- Wanda meets Robert Frank and believes he is her father; Wanda and Vision confess their feelings and are married.

Avengers Vol 1 #181-183-- introduces Django Maximoff.

Avengers Vol 1 #185-188-- also known as Nights of Wundagore, the twins return to Transia and learn about their birth on Mount Wundagore & the origin of Wanda's powers; Wanda is possessed by Chthon.

Vision & the Scarlet Witch Vol 1 & 2-- Wanda & Vision acclimate to married life. Pietro's daughter Luna is born; the twins learn that Magneto & Magda are their birth parents; Wanda becomes pregnant and gives birth to twin boys.

Avengers West Coast #42-62-- includes Vision Quest & Darker Than Scarlet storylines. Vision's memories and emotions are erased; the babies are destroyed by Pandemonium and Mephisto; Wanda learns that she is a Nexus Being while suffering the manipulations of Immortus.

Force Works (1994)-- Wanda acts as team leader and begins a relationship with Simon Williams.

Scarlet Witch (1994)-- a miniseries which introduces Lore and expands on the concept of Nexus Beings.

Avengers Vol 3 #1-3; 10-11-- Wanda learns more about chaos magic and resurrects Simon Williams.

Avengers Vol 1 #503-507-- a storyline titled Chaos, which kicks off the Avengers Disassembled crossover. Wanda suffers an apparent mental breakdown and causes a series of calamities as her powers escalate to uncontrollable reality-warping.

House of M-- a sprawling crossover event set within an alternate reality of Wanda's creation; concludes with Wanda inadvertently erasing a large percentage of the mutant population. This is referred to as the Decimation, or M-Day. Wanda disappears and remains missing for several years.

Young Avengers; Young Avengers Special; Young Avengers Presents: Wiccan & Speed-- introduces Billy Kaplan and Tommy Shepherd, who learn that they are Wanda's reincarnated sons and begin searching for her.

Avengers: Children's Crusade-- the Young Avengers, Magneto, and Quicksilver discover Wanda as an amnesiac living in the care of Doctor Doom. They help her recover her memories and her powers are returned to normal.

Avengers vs. X-Men-- Wanda rejoins the Avengers. Alongside Hope Summers, Wanda helps banish the Phoenix from Earth and causes a proliferation of new mutant to manifest, the first step in her redemption for M-Day.

AXIS-- Wanda & Pietro learn that Magneto is not their father after all, and they're not actually mutants.

Uncanny Avengers Vol 2 (miniseries)-- the twins learn that their powers are the result of the High Evolutionary's genetic experiments.

Scarlet Witch (2016)-- Wanda returns to her magical focus and has henceforth been written as an adept spellcaster. The series does a lot of worldbuilding around witches and witchcraft. The twins learn that their birth mother was actually Django's sister, Natalya Maximoff, and that they are descended from a long line of Scarlet Witches.

Doctor Strange (2016)-- Wanda is featured in the Last Days of Magic storyline.

Uncanny Avengers Vol 3 #26-30-- Wanda rejoins the Avengers Unity Division and begins a relationship with Doctor Voodoo.

Avengers Vol 1 #675-690-- a crossover event titled Avengers: No Surrender.

Quicksilver: No Surrender-- an excellent miniseries following the previous event. Wanda and Jericho use magic to aid Pietro.

Avengers: No Road Home-- a sequel to No Surrender.

Strange Academy-- Wanda becomes a faculty member at a school for young magic users.

Darkhold (2021)-- the original Darkhold is discovered; Wanda's prior experiences have made her strong enough to handle it without corruption; she merges the Darkhold with her own soul and uses it to bind Chthon.

Trial of Magneto (2021)-- Wanda stages her own death as part of an elaborate scheme to gain access to, and magically enhance, the Krakoan resurrection system, leading to her final redemption for M-Day.

Scarlet Witch (2023)-- Wanda opens a metaphysical shop in upstate New York and constructs a magical portal called the Last Door, which opens anywhere in the world for those in need.

Avengers (2023)-- Wanda joins a new iteration of the Avengers, led by Captain Marvel.

Contest of Chaos-- a crossover event. Agatha attempts to create a new Darkhold, much is revealed about the origin and nature of chaos magic.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver; Scarlet Witch (2024)-- a special anniversary miniseries which leads into the solo title relaunch. The twins are hounded by an abstract entity called the Griever and begin to expand their powers beyond their previous limitations; new context is given to Nexus beings; Chthon escapes containment.

[favefandomimagines]

Peter (a.b)

Summary: the past has a funny way of ruining the greatest things

AN: I really hope this made sense 😂 I was all over the place

Request: @talkativecarnation hi! omg i looove ur Anthony Bridgerton fics SO MUCH! can i request 10, 9, 13, 12 from your angst prompt list. preferably in that sequence in an arranged courtship/marriage scenario but it's all up to you if you have a better vision for it 🤍 can't wait for this!! TYSM!!!

The estate of Aubrey Hall shimmered in the soft light of dawn, the golden hues of sunrise spilling across the sprawling grounds. The chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze brought a sense of serenity to the outside world, but within the grand manor, an air of tension lingered.

Anthony Bridgerton sat at the edge of his massive mahogany desk, his head bowed and his hands gripping the edges as though they might anchor him. His study, a room that had always served as his sanctuary, now felt oppressive.

The neatly organized stacks of correspondence and ledgers stood as a testament to the responsibilities he carried as Viscount, yet today, those duties paled in comparison to the turmoil in his heart.

His gaze lingered on the letter before him, the ink slightly smudged from the number of times his fingers had traced its words. Y/N had written it weeks ago, with no intention of it seeing the light of day. A heartfelt plea for understanding, for connection, for something more than the strained coexistence they had settled into since their wedding.

Anthony found the letter in between two large books he had never opened until that day.

Her words were full of vulnerability, and that was what made them so unbearable. She deserved better than the coldness he had offered her.

A marriage born of duty was nothing unusual among the ton. Anthony had entered the arrangement with the pragmatic mindset he applied to all aspects of his life—an advantageous match, one that would bolster both families and secure his legacy.

Y/N was everything he could have hoped for in a wife: poised, intelligent, and well-matched to the demands of her new station. Yet for all her perfection, he felt the weight of failure pressing down on him, a failure to be the husband she deserved.

The truth gnawed at him, an ache he couldn’t ignore. His heart, traitorous and stubborn, remained tethered to a past he could not undo. A past named Siena Russo.

He had loved Siena with a passion he had not known he was capable of. The fiery opera singer had consumed his every thought, her voice and presence filling every corner of his being.

But their love, as wild and all-encompassing as it had been, was doomed from the start. Siena could never fit into his world, and Anthony’s duty to his family had forced him to end it.

Or so he told himself.

The reality was far less simple. The end of his relationship with Siena had not been entirely his decision, and the bitterness of that unresolved goodbye haunted him.

He told himself he had done the right thing, the only thing he could do, but the weight of her absence still lingered, like a ghost he could not exorcise. And now, it threatened to destroy the fragile bond he might have had with Y/N.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. How could he move forward with Y/N when Siena’s shadow still loomed so large? How could he pretend to be the devoted husband she longed for when his heart was so fractured?

Every time he thought he had steeled himself to let the past go, a memory of Siena would creep in—a laugh, a touch, the sound of her voice. It was as if she were etched into his soul, an indelible mark he could not erase.

The creak of the study door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it into the drawer as though hiding it could also conceal his guilt. Turning, he saw Benedict standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in hand and a knowing look in his eyes.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, brother,” Benedict said, stepping into the room and setting the cup down on the desk.

Anthony forced a tight smile. “Just tired. The estate requires more attention than usual this time of year.”

Benedict snorted, crossing his arms. “You might fool the rest of the family with that excuse, but not me. What’s troubling you?”

Anthony hesitated. He and Benedict had always shared an unspoken bond, a willingness to confide in one another when the burdens of their respective roles became too much. But this—this was a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he could voice.

“Nothing of importance,” Anthony said finally, turning away.

Benedict studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, Anthony, ignoring a problem doesn’t make it disappear. Whatever it is, you should deal with it before it festers. For your sake. And hers.”

Anthony stiffened at the mention of Y/N, but he said nothing. Benedict left without another word, his parting advice hanging in the air like a challenge Anthony wasn’t ready to face.

Alone again, Anthony let out a long sigh. His brother was right, of course. Avoidance would solve nothing. But how could he face Y/N when he couldn’t even face himself? How could he explain the tangled mess of emotions inside him when he barely understood them?

Anthony leaned back in his chair, staring up at the high ceiling of his study as if searching for answers in its ornate design. He had married Y/N with the intention of fulfilling his duty, of honoring his family’s expectations.

But somewhere along the way, he had begun to see her as more than just his wife in name. She was kind, perceptive, and endlessly patient with him—a patience he knew he had done nothing to deserve.

And that only made it worse.

Because the more he came to admire her, the more he realized how much he was failing her. And every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew. If she could sense the part of him that still belonged to someone else.

He clenched his fists, the guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t keep living like this, caught between the woman he had lost and the woman he was supposed to love. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself to move forward, Siena’s voice echoed in his mind, whispering reminders of what they had shared and what he had given up.

Anthony closed his eyes, a single thought running through his mind.

How can I give Y/N my heart when it still belongs to someone else?

And in that moment, he realized the answer was one he wasn’t ready to face.

||

The glow of twilight bathed the grounds of Aubrey Hall in hues of amber and rose, casting long, soft shadows across the manicured gardens. Inside the grand estate, Y/N stood by the window of the bedroom she and Anthony now shared, her hands loosely clasped before her.

Her gaze wandered over the sprawling fields and dense woods beyond, but her thoughts were far from the picturesque view.

She had spent much of the afternoon in quiet solitude, walking the gardens to clear her mind and steady her heart. The beauty of the estate, though breathtaking, did little to soothe the ache that had grown within her since her marriage to Anthony Bridgerton.

Theirs had been a union forged not by love, but by expectation. Duty. Obligation. At the time, she had told herself it would be enough. She would fulfill her role as Viscountess, and in time, affection would blossom between them, as it often did in such arrangements.

But now, months into their marriage, Y/N found herself yearning for more—more than the polite exchanges and careful civility that defined their interactions. She had entered this union willing to give her heart, yet Anthony seemed unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet her halfway.

The truth of it cut deeply. Anthony was a good man, of that she had no doubt. He was protective, devoted to his family, and carried the weight of his responsibilities with a strength that few could rival. But there was a distance in him, a wall he had built around himself that she couldn’t seem to breach. And worse still, she knew why.

Siena Russo.

The name was never spoken between them, but it lingered in the spaces where silence stretched too long. Y/N had heard whispers of Anthony’s past with the opera singer before their engagement, though she had dismissed them at the time. After all, many men of Anthony’s station had dalliances before settling into respectable marriages. It was a truth of their world, one she had prepared herself to accept.

But this was different. Siena wasn’t merely a part of Anthony’s past—she was still a part of his heart. Y/N could feel it in the way his gaze sometimes drifted when he thought she wasn’t watching, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes when they were alone. She could see it in the way his body tensed whenever a mention of the opera or a familiar tune from the stage drifted through a drawing room.

It wasn’t the existence of Siena that hurt Y/N; it was the hold the other woman still had over Anthony. A hold that no amount of duty or propriety could seem to sever.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door opening behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Anthony—she had memorized the rhythm of his footsteps, the sound of his breath when he was near. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping fully inside, the tension in his posture palpable.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tentative.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the effort of keeping her emotions at bay felt exhausting. “Anthony.”

He lingered by the door, as if debating whether to stay or retreat. Finally, he crossed the room, stopping a few paces away from her. His dark eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something vulnerable in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low. “For how I’ve been—how I’ve treated you.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, at the sincerity she could hear beneath the surface. But apologies, however genuine, wouldn’t erase the months of loneliness and doubt. “You’ve been distant,” she said quietly, her tone steady despite the emotions swirling inside her. “I’ve tried to understand, to give you time, but it feels as though no matter what I do, you keep me at arm’s length.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I wish I could be the person you want me to be. But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs. She had suspected as much, had felt it in the coldness of his touch and the distance in his eyes, but hearing him admit it was a pain she hadn’t prepared for.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me in?”

He hesitated, the battle within him playing out across his features. When he finally spoke, his words came in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see how much I’m hurting you by staying? But I don’t know how to let go.”

“Let go of what?” Y/N pressed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Your past? Siena?”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and the way Anthony flinched told her all she needed to know. She had tried to avoid speaking Siena’s name, tried to be patient and understanding, but she could no longer ignore the truth.

“You loved her,” Y/N said, her voice soft but steady. “I know you did. And I know that love doesn’t simply vanish. But Anthony, you’re married now. To me. I cannot be a shadow in my own marriage.”

Anthony’s shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “Every time I think I’ve moved on, you pull me back in,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But every time, you leave again. I can’t keep doing this.”

Y/N felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried enough in the solitude of her room, in the quiet hours of the night when Anthony lay beside her but felt a thousand miles away. Now, she needed answers.

“Do you think it’s fair to punish me for what you lost with her?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it every day, the way your heart isn’t truly here? The way it belongs to someone else?”

Anthony didn’t respond, his silence speaking volumes. And as Y/N stared at him, her heart breaking anew, she realized she was at a crossroads. She could continue to fight for a man who seemed determined to hold onto his past, or she could let him go and preserve what little of herself remained.

But deep down, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet..

||

The Bridgerton family was known for its lively breakfasts, a time when the entire household gathered to share stories, tease one another, and strategize for the day ahead. But this morning, Y/N had no desire to face the endless chatter of the Bridgerton siblings, nor the weight of Anthony’s brooding presence. She lingered in the garden instead, letting the cool morning air soothe her frayed nerves.

She hadn’t slept. The argument with Anthony had replayed in her mind endlessly, his words like daggers carving into her chest. The rawness of it left her feeling unsteady, as though the ground beneath her feet might crumble at any moment.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching until Eloise’s voice broke through the stillness.

“There you are. I was starting to think you’d run away.”

Y/N turned to find Eloise standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked in that familiar, no-nonsense way of hers. Dressed in a casual morning frock with her hair only half-pinned, Eloise looked as though she’d just rolled out of bed—but her sharp eyes and quick tongue betrayed that she was, as always, entirely alert.

“Good morning, Eloise,” Y/N said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside.

Eloise tilted her head, studying Y/N with a perceptiveness that was both comforting and unsettling. “Don’t ‘good morning’ me. You look as though you’ve been crying, which is entirely out of character for you. What’s he done this time?”

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, and Eloise smirked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I may not spend my days gossiping like the rest of the ton, but I have eyes. And I’ve known Anthony far too long to be fooled by his brooding act.”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. She and Eloise had grown close in the months since the wedding, their shared disdain for the more superficial aspects of high society fostering an easy camaraderie. But there were certain things Y/N had never discussed with her sister-in-law, and the state of her marriage was at the top of that list.

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said finally, attempting a weak smile. “Really.”

Eloise scoffed, stepping closer and plopping unceremoniously onto the stone bench beside her. “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard plenty. Come on, then. Out with it. I promise not to repeat a word, unless it’s to berate my dear brother for being an insufferable idiot.”

Despite herself, Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising her as much as it seemed to please Eloise.

“That’s better,” Eloise said, giving her a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but you do realize you’re allowed to be angry with him, don’t you? Anthony has a way of making everyone believe he knows best, but trust me—he’s as clueless as the rest of us, especially when it comes to feelings.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand over the folds of her skirt. “It’s not just that. I… I knew what I was getting into when I married him. Or at least I thought I did. But he’s so—he’s so closed off, Eloise. It’s like he’s locked himself away, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach him.”

Eloise frowned, her expression softening. “And let me guess—he’s too busy wallowing in his own guilt to notice how much it’s hurting you.”

Y/N looked at her, startled by the accuracy of the statement. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen him do it before,” Eloise said simply. “With our family, with himself, with anyone who gets too close. Anthony carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he refuses to ask for help because he thinks it’s his job to handle everything alone. It’s infuriating, really.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she looked down at her lap. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep trying, Eloise. I want to love him, but I don’t know if he’ll ever let me.”

Eloise was quiet for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then she reached over and placed a hand over Y/N’s. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. Loving someone like Anthony is exhausting—believe me, I’ve tried for years as his sister. But you’re not the only one who can knock some sense into him. If you need help, I’m more than happy to remind him that he’s being a complete fool.”

Y/N let out another laugh, this one tinged with relief. “Thank you, Eloise. Truly.”

“Of course,” Eloise said with a grin. “Now, let’s go inside before breakfast is over. If we’re lucky, we might catch Anthony before he disappears into his study to brood. And if he looks even slightly smug, I’ll spill tea on him.”

Y/N smiled, the tension in her chest easing slightly. For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope. Eloise was right—she didn’t have to face this alone. And perhaps, with a little help, she could find a way to reach Anthony after all.

||

The parlor was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension. Anthony sat on the edge of a high-backed chair, elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Across the room, Y/N stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if warding off a chill that wasn’t there.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant ticking of the clock. Y/N’s mind raced with fragments of their earlier argument, the pain of Anthony’s words still fresh and raw.

"I wish I could be the person you want me to be."

"But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be."

How was she supposed to move forward after hearing that? How was she supposed to reconcile the man she had vowed to love and honor with the man who now admitted he might never be able to give her his heart?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling but firm. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not.”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, his dark eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked almost startled, as though her declaration had caught him off guard. But then his expression softened, and he let out a long, weary sigh.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been selfish, Y/N. I’ve been holding onto something I shouldn’t, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her composure. “You say that, Anthony, but do you realize what it feels like? To share a life with someone who won’t share themselves in return? I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to understand. But every time I think we’re moving forward, you pull away again.”

Anthony rose from his chair, crossing the room in a few long strides. He stopped a few paces away from her, his hands hanging limply at his sides as if unsure whether he had the right to reach out. “It’s not because of you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s because of me. I don’t know how to let go of the past, Y/N. I don’t know how to let go of her.”

There it was. The truth they had danced around for months, laid bare in the dim light of the fire. Her name wasn’t spoken, but it didn’t need to be. Y/N had always known she was competing with a ghost, but hearing Anthony admit it aloud was a different kind of pain—a sharp, searing ache that stole her breath.

“Then why did you marry me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “If you’re still in love with her, why didn’t you fight to be with her?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. “Because I couldn’t,” he said after a long pause. “She made her choice, and I made mine. I thought… I thought I could move on. That I could be the man my family needed me to be. The man you deserved.”

“But you can’t,” Y/N said bitterly. “Can you?”

His silence was answer enough.

Y/N turned away, tears stinging her eyes as she stared into the fire. “Do you think I don’t see how much this is hurting me? How much it’s breaking me to stay in a marriage where I’ll never be enough for you?”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, and he took a step closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. “You are enough,” he said fiercely. “You’re more than enough, Y/N. This isn’t about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she demanded, turning to face him. “I’ve given you everything I have, Anthony. My love, my trust, my patience. And what have you given me in return? A shadow of a husband who’s still in love with someone else.”

His shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I need to fix this.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly wanted to make things work. But how could she, when he hadn’t yet let go of the woman who still held his heart?

“I don’t know if you can,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Not until you decide what you really want. Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?”

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. For the first time in his life, he was truly lost, torn between the ghost of what once was and the promise of what could be. And as Y/N turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the flickering light of the fire, he realized he might not have much time to decide

||

The door closed softly behind her, but to Anthony, the sound was deafening. It echoed in the empty room, a final punctuation to her words that left him rooted in place. His chest felt tight, constricted, as though the air had been sucked out of the room. For the first time in years, Anthony Bridgerton—the Viscount, the eldest son, the steadfast leader—felt utterly powerless.

He sank back into the chair by the fireplace, his head falling into his hands. The warmth of the embers did little to thaw the chill settling deep in his bones. Y/N’s words replayed in his mind, each one sharp and piercing, cutting deeper than any wound he had ever endured.

"Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?"

It was a question he didn’t know how to answer. He had spent so long building walls around himself, convincing everyone—including himself—that he was fine, that he had moved on from Siena, that his marriage to Y/N was enough. But tonight, those walls had come crashing down, and he was left exposed, vulnerable, and unmoored.

The truth was, Anthony didn’t know how to let go of Siena. He had loved her once with a reckless passion that consumed him entirely. But it wasn’t just the loss of Siena that haunted him—it was the idea of love itself. He had seen what it could do, how it could destroy a person. He had watched his mother fall apart after his father’s death, her grief so overwhelming it had nearly crushed her. Anthony had sworn he would never allow himself to feel that kind of pain.

And yet, here he was, on the brink of losing the one person who had dared to love him despite all his flaws, his scars, his mistakes. Y/N had given him her heart, and he had squandered it, too afraid to truly let her in.

His jaw clenched as he stared into the dying fire, frustration and guilt warring within him. He had married Y/N because it was the logical choice, the responsible choice. She was everything a viscountess should be—graceful, intelligent, kind. But somewhere along the way, she had become more than just his wife. She had become his anchor, his light in the darkness he had long resigned himself to. And he was losing her.

The sound of the clock striking midnight jolted him from his thoughts. He couldn’t sit here any longer, wallowing in self-pity and indecision. He had to do something, to find a way to fix the mess he had made. Rising to his feet, he left the parlor and made his way to Y/N’s room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls.

When he reached her door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What could he possibly say to her? How could he make her believe that she was enough, that she was everything, when he hadn’t even been able to admit it to himself until now?

Steeling himself, Anthony knocked softly. “Y/N,” he called, his voice low but steady. “It’s me.”

There was no response. For a moment, he considered walking away, giving her the space she clearly needed. But then the door creaked open, and Y/N stood before him, her expression guarded. She was still in the same dress she had worn earlier, though her hair was loose now, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, met his, and the sight of her broke something inside him.

“What do you want, Anthony?” she asked, her voice tired.

He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I can’t lose you. Please… tell me how to make it right.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that simple,” she said. “You can’t just say you don’t want to lose me and expect everything to change. You have to mean it, Anthony. You have to show me.”

“I do mean it,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ve been a coward, Y/N. I’ve been so afraid of opening myself up, of losing someone I care about, that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away. But I see it now. I see how much I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m begging you—give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

Her eyes searched his, as though trying to determine if his words were genuine. “And what about her?” she asked quietly. “What about Siena?”

Anthony’s heart clenched at the mention of her name. He had spent so long holding onto the memory of Siena, convincing himself that he could never feel that kind of love again. But standing here, looking at Y/N, he realized how wrong he had been. His feelings for Siena had been fleeting, intense but ultimately unsustainable. What he felt for Y/N was different—it was steady, grounding, and terrifying in its depth.

“Siena was my past,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re my future, Y/N. If you’ll let me, I want to build that future with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, Anthony feared he had said too little, too late. But then she stepped aside, opening the door wider, and he knew she was giving him a chance—a chance to prove that he could be the husband she needed, the man she deserved.

And Anthony vowed to himself that he would not squander it.

[kingcunny]

thank you sm!! <3

ive made a couple posts about balerion and viserys before, and i got another one in the works in my drafts. like im obviously biased but theyre one of my favorite dragon-rider bonds, even though they were only together for a year.

jorah in the main series says at one point that targaryen dragons were bred for war, and in war they died. balerion being the last of the valyria-born dragons probably has this instinct better than most. he takes aegon i as his rider because aegon is a conqueror, and is going to use him for the purpose he was born for.

the aegon i -> maegor line i think is pretty easy to understand. just like aegon i, maegor is also a conqueror. balerion sees in him that same war-instinct that he saw in aegon i, that he himself has.

maegor -> aerea is where things start to shift. balerion is an old war machine, but his last two riders died outside of war and away from him. aegon i from a stroke, maegor was eaten by the iron throne. hes made his lair on his not-quite-home dragonstone, when this upset little girl who misses the excitement of her life at court climbs on his back and tells him to take her home. i think balerion was fairly homesick at this point and thought “*i* want to go home too.” so he takes them home. back to his home. except balerion doesnt know that his home as been destroyed while he was gone. he spends those years with aerea *searching* for anything, any sign that the valyria that he remembers is still there. but theres nothing. its doomed and filled with monsters now. aerea spends the whole time begging him to take her back home, back to her mother. its only after hes injured and aerea is deathly ill that hes forced to accept that this is no longer their home. theres nothing here for them anymore, they dont belong here anymore than he belongs in westeros. so balerion reluctantly takes aerea back. maybe theres something they can do to save her, or failing that, at least shell be able to die in her home even if he cant die in his. after this balerion becomes the first dragon chained in the dragonpit.

finally, aerea -> viserys. i think viserys felt fairly alienated from the rest of his family, as he was so different from any of the other men he was related to. but he was raised to idolize old valyria (or at least the targaryens version of it) and feels that if he can claim balerion, if the last living aspect of valyria accepted him, well that means theres *something* targaryen in him. balerion was the living god of the thing he was raised to worship. when alyssa wanted to claim balerion, the dragonkeepers dissuaded her by telling her hes old and slow now, and wouldnt she rather a younger more energetic mount? i wonder if they tried the same thing with viserys, but viserys wouldnt care about that. thats not why viserys wanted balerion. all viserys wanted was balerions acceptance. balerion is very old now, old and tired and in pain. hes a war machine that can no longer fight, a dragon that can barely fly. but hes still holding on. he cant die yet. viserys is very different from balerions other riders, and i think that was the point. balerion could tell viserys didnt want anything from him, other than *him*. so balerion accepted viserys as he was, and viserys accepts balerion as he is. balerion gives viserys his final flight and thats enough for him. more than that even, after their first and last flight viserys tells baelon he wanted to fly to dragonstone but was worried that balerion wouldnt survive the flight. he was *worried for balerion*, worried about *his* health and safety and comfort. when has he had another rider care about him like that? (when has any dragon tbh...) viserys doesnt want to put more on balerion than he can handle. whatever balerion can offer him is enough. all viserys wanted was his love, and he got that. so he loves and comforts balerion in his final days. balerion doesnt have a home anymore, but viserys gives him one inside himself. he loves balerion enough to let him go. to let balerion finally lay down and rest.

(sorry for the screenshot answer i accidentally posted it before i was done <3)

[mariacallous]

For American companies grousing about new cybersecurity rules, spyware firms eager to expand their global business, and hackers trying to break AI systems, Donald Trump’s second term as president will be a breath of fresh air.

For nearly four years, president Joe Biden’s administration has tried to make powerful US tech firms and infrastructure operators more responsible for the nation’s cybersecurity posture, as well as restrict the spread of spyware, apply guardrails to AI, and combat online misinformation. But when Trump takes office in January, he will almost certainly eliminate or significantly curtail those programs in favor of cyber strategies that benefit business interests, downplay human-rights concerns, and emphasize aggressive offense against the cyber armies of Russia, China, Iran, and North Korea.

“There will be a national security focus, with a strong emphasis on protecting critical infrastructure, government networks, and key industries from cyber threats,” says Brian Harrell, who served as the Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency’s assistant director for infrastructure security during Trump’s first term.

From projects whose days are numbered to areas where Trump will go further than Biden, here is what a second Trump administration will likely mean for US cybersecurity policy.

Full Reversal

The incoming Trump administration is likely to scrap Biden’s ambitious effort to impose cyber regulations on sectors of US infrastructure that currently lack meaningful digital-security safeguards. That effort has borne fruit with railroads, pipelines, and aviation but has hit hurdles in sectors like water and health care.

Despite mounting cyberattacks targeting vital systems—and despite this year’s Republican Party platform promising to “raise the security standards for our critical systems and networks”—conservatives are unlikely to support new regulatory mandates on infrastructure operators.

There will be “no more regulation without explicit congressional authorization,” says James Lewis, senior vice president and director of the Strategic Technologies Program at the Center for Strategic and International Studies.

Harrell says “more regulation will be dismantled than introduced.” Biden’s presidency was “riddled with new cyber regulation” that sometimes confused and overburdened industry, he adds. “The new White House will be looking to reduce regulatory burdens while streamlining smart compliance.”

This approach may not last, according to a US cyber official who requested anonymity to discuss politically sensitive issues. “I think they’ll eventually recognize that the efforts focused on regulation in cyber are needed to ensure the security of our critical infrastructure.”

“Regulation is the only tool that works,” Lewis says.

Some Biden cyber rules might be overturned in court, now that the Supreme Court has eliminated the deference that judges previously gave to agencies in disputes over their regulations. John Miller, senior vice president of policy at the Information Technology Industry Council, a major tech trade group, says it’s also possible that Trump officials “might not wait for the courts” to void those rules.

Mark Montgomery, senior director of the Center on Cyber and Technology Innovation at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies, predicts that the Trump administration will emphasize cooperation and incentives in its efforts to protect vulnerable industries. He points to a House GOP plan for water cybersecurity standards as an example.

Trump’s election also likely spells doom for CISA’s work to counter mis- and disinformation, especially around elections. After Trump lost the 2020 election, he fired CISA’s first director for debunking right-wing election conspiracy theories, and the conservative backlash to anti-misinformation work has only grown since then.

In 2022, Trump outlined a “free speech policy initiative” to “break up the entire toxic censorship industry that has arisen under the false guise of tackling so-called ‘mis-’ and ‘dis-information.’” Elon Musk, the billionaire owner of Tesla, SpaceX, and X whom Trump has tapped to colead a “government efficiency” initiative, enthusiastically shared the plan last week.

CISA has already dramatically scaled back its efforts to combat online falsehoods following a right-wing pressure campaign, but Trump appointees are almost certain to smother what remains of that mission. “Disinformation efforts will be eliminated,” Montgomery predicts.

Harrell agrees that Trump would “refocus” CISA on core cyber initiatives, saying the agency’s “priorities have mistakenly bordered on social issues lately.”

Also likely on the chopping block: elements of Biden’s artificial intelligence safety agenda that focus on AI’s social harms, like bias and discrimination, as well as Biden’s requirement for large AI developers to report to the government about their model training.

“I expect the repeal of Biden’s executive order on AI, specifically because of its references to AI regulation,” says Nick Reese, a director of emerging technology policy at the Department of Homeland Security under Trump and Biden. “We should expect a change in direction toward less regulation, which would mean less compulsory AI safety measures.”

Trump is also unlikely to continue the Biden administration’s campaign to limit the proliferation of commercial spyware technologies, which authoritarian governments have used to harass journalists, civil-rights protesters, and opposition politicians. Trump and his allies maintain close political and financial ties with two of the most prolific users of commercial spyware tools, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, and he showed little concern about those governments’ human-rights abuses in his first term.

“There’s a high probability that we see big rollbacks on spyware policy,” says Steven Feldstein, a senior fellow in the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace’s Democracy, Conflict, and Governance Program. Trump officials are likely to care more about spyware makers’ counterterrorism arguments than about digital-rights advocates’ criticisms of those tools.

Spyware companies “will undoubtedly receive a more favorable audience under Trump,” Feldstein says—especially market leader NSO Group, which is closely affiliated with the Trump-aligned Israeli government.

Dubious Prospects

Other Biden cyber initiatives are also in jeopardy, even if their fates are not as clear.

Biden’s National Cybersecurity Strategy emphasized the need for greater corporate responsibility, arguing that well-resourced tech firms must do more to prevent hackers from abusing their products in devastating cyberattacks. Over the past few years, CISA launched a messaging campaign to encourage companies to make their products “secure by design,” the Justice Department created a Civil Cyber-Fraud Initiative to prosecute contractors that mislead the government about their security practices, and White House officials began considering proposals to make software vendors liable for damaging vulnerabilities.

That corporate-accountability push is unlikely to receive strong support from the incoming Trump administration, which is almost certain to be stocked with former business leaders hostile to government pressure.

Henry Young, senior director of policy at the software trade group BSA, predicts that the secure-by-design campaign will “evolve to more realistically balance the responsibilities of governments, businesses, and customers, and hopefully eschew finger pointing in favor of collaborative efforts to continue to improve security and resilience.”

A Democratic administration might have used the secure-by-design push as a springboard to new corporate regulations. Under Trump, secure-by-design will remain at most a rhetorical slogan. “Turning it into something more tangible will be the challenge,” the US cyber official says.

Chipping Away at the Edges

One landmark cyber program can’t easily be scrapped under a second Trump administration but could still be dramatically transformed.

In 2022, Congress passed a law requiring CISA to create cyber incident reporting regulations for critical infrastructure operators. CISA released the text of the proposed regulations in April, sparking an immediate backlash from industry groups that said it went too far. Corporate America warned that CISA was asking too many companies for too much information about too many incidents.

Trump’s election could throw a wrench in CISA’s ambitious incident-reporting plans. New appointees at the White House, DHS, and CISA itself could force agency staff to rewrite the rules to be more industry-friendly, exempting entire swaths of critical infrastructure or eliminating requirements for companies to report certain data. Trump’s team has months to revise the final rule before its required publication in late 2025.

BSA’s Young expects Trump’s team to scale back the regulations, which he says “take a very broad view of the authority CISA believes Congress granted it.”

The current rule is “particularly vulnerable to a court challenge” because it exceeds Congress’s intent, ITI’s Miller warns, and Trump’s team “may direct CISA to scale it back” if the agency doesn’t “proceed cautiously” on its own.

New Urgency

One area where Trump might pick up the baton from the Biden administration is the government’s use of military hacking operations and its response to foreign adversaries’ cyberattacks.

Under Biden, the military’s US Cyber Command has scaled up its overseas hacker-hunting engagements with allies. But Republicans have pressed Biden to respond more muscularly to Chinese, Russian, and Iranian hacks, and Trump is likely to embrace that approach—particularly after picking representative Mike Waltz, an advocate for cyberattacks on Russia, North Korea, and Mexican cartels, as his national security adviser.

“A much more aggressive stance will be taken against China, which is sorely needed,” Harrell says, predicting that Chinese hackers penetrating US critical infrastructure “will be held to account.”

Montgomery agrees that Trump may “adopt a more aggressive approach” to national cyber defense, including giving the National Guard “a more significant role” in protecting domestic infrastructure.

Montgomery also says he expects more frequent and more muscular offensive operations by Cyber Command, which Trump elevated to a full combatant command during his first term. He predicts the Trump administration will “look more favorably” on creating a separate military cyber service, which the Biden administration opposed, and “take a more skeptical view” of the joint leadership of Cyber Command and the National Security Agency, which the Biden administration supported.

Trump could also harness other tools to constrain China, including authorities he created during his first term to block the use of risky technology in the US. “The Trump administration will look at the full set of policy levers when deciding how to push back on China in cyberspace,” says Kevin Allison, a consultant on geopolitics and technology.

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: Still kind of an introductory/background chapter. But Austin does get introduced in this one :)

Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor

One particularly bleak morning brought more than typical London drizzle; it brought Mr. Henry Cartwright—or 'Rat,' as he was aptly nicknamed—slinking through the narrow, cobbled streets towards their humble abode. His arrival was never without dread; his shadow seemed to cast a pall over whatever it touched, and today, its reach felt more chilling than usual. Violet watched from behind the partially closed door as this man who held her fate in his greasy palms approached. She could see the false smile plastered on his face, a grimace disguised as a greeting.

“Miss Everly,” Henry Cartwright began, his voice smooth like oil, but with an edge that hinted at the impatience beneath. “Your father has failed to meet his obligations again. And here I find myself, contemplating what measures to take to assure his... cooperation.”

Violet’s heart sank. She knew too well what this meant: further debts, more threats, or worse—actualization of those threats. The room felt colder as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud.

“I have no money to give you, Mr. Cartwright,” Violet said quietly, her gaze steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. Her voice carried a defiance born not of hope but of resignation to whatever might come next.

Cartwright chuckled darkly, pacing slowly around the sparse room as if appraising it for valuables that did not exist. "Ah, but my dear," he sneered, eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as he stopped to face her, "it's not your money I'm after. You must understand, the debts of your father have grown too substantial to be ignored any longer."

Violet felt the walls close in, the weight of her impending doom pressing down on her shoulders. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of a horse-drawn cart rattling over cobblestones outside. Henry Cartwright's gaze was like a vise, tightening with every second she remained silent.

"You see, Miss Everly," Rat continued, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper as he leaned closer, "your father's ineptitude has forced my hand. There's a certain... clientele at my club who would pay handsomely for the company of someone as rare and beautiful as you. It would certainly settle his accounts... and maybe even leave some over for your own keep."

Violet recoiled as if struck. The very air around her seemed to thicken with revulsion. Her mind raced, desperate for an escape from this nightmare, but her body felt frozen, ensnared by the horrifying reality of Rat's proposition. Rat's smirk widened as he observed her horror, taking perverse pleasure in the power he wielded over her. Violet's heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage, each beat a drum of panic. Yet, amidst the terror, a spark of her indomitable spirit flickered to life.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible yet loaded with all the conviction she could muster. Rat paused, his expression shifting to one of surprise and then quickly to anger.

"What did you say?" he hissed, stepping closer.

Violet straightened up, her gray eyes hardening like flint. "I said no." Her voice gained strength from somewhere deep within her, a place untouched by fear or despair. "I am not a coin to be traded at your whim."

Rat laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "You might think you have a choice in this matter, Miss Everly, but let me assure you — you do not. This is not just your fate but also a solution to your father’s incompetence."

"I would rather die than live at the mercy of your vile desires," Violet retorted, her defiance lighting up her gaunt features.

The amusement on Rat’s face vanished, replaced by a menacing scowl. "Be careful, young lady. You are in no position to issue threats. Remember, I can make your life exceedingly difficult."

Violet's resolve did not falter, though her heart trembled within her chest. She knew the danger of antagonizing a man like Rat, but the thought of subjugation under his control was more terrifying than any threat he could utter.

"Then you shall have to do what you must," Violet said, her voice steady, though inside she felt like a fragile bird in a storm.

Rat's eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a cruel sneer. "Very well, Miss Everly. Since you choose defiance, expect no mercy from me." With those chilling words, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, each step heavy with menace.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Violet slumped against the wall, her legs weak with relief and fear. Tears threatened to spill over — not merely from fright but also from a deep-seated rage against the injustice of her plight and the depravity of men like Rat. In the silence that followed Rat's departure, the small, dimly lit room felt both sanctuary and prison. Violet's breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the despair that threatened to engulf her. Her father, who had been silent during the entire confrontation, now looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and indifference. His gaze was glazed, numbed by alcohol and years of moral decay.

"Violet, you shouldn't have spoken to him like that," he slurred, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "You've just made things worse for us."

Violet turned to face her father, her expression wrought with a mixture of pain and defiance. "Made things worse? How, Father? By refusing to be sold like property?" Her voice trembled from the intense emotion that churned within her, but her stance was resolute. "No, Father, it is you who have made things worse with your recklessness."

Edward Everly shuffled uncomfortably, his bloodshot eyes avoiding her piercing gaze. "You don't understand, Violet.”

"That does not excuse you from your vices!" Violet's words cut through the dim room like a blade. The very air seemed charged with her fury, an electric tension that made even Edward shift uneasily on his feet.

Edward's gaze shifted again, landing on the grimy window pane as if seeking an escape from Violet’s searing condemnation. “You think it’s easy? Surviving in this godforsaken place?” His voice cracked, an unusual display of emotion from a man she knew more as a figure of stubborn indifference and cruelty.

“Survival does not necessitate the selling of one’s soul,” Violet retorted sharply, her eyes never leaving his face despite the sting of tears that blurred her vision.

A shadow passed over Edward’s face—a flicker of guilt, perhaps, or merely resentment at being challenged. “You don’t know the burdens I carry,” he muttered, turning away from her piercing eyes.

Violet felt a momentary pang of pity for the man who had once been her protector, before quickly steeling her heart against it. "And you, Father, have never understood the burden of your actions on others," she replied softly, yet with a steeliness that surprised even her.

The tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring. Edward stood, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck bulging with suppressed rage. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, making him look more monster than man. Abruptly, he grabbed his coat from the hook by the door and yanked it on with jerky movements.

"Where are you going?" Violet asked, her voice steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"To settle things with Rat," Edward growled, his words slurring together as he struggled to maintain control over his enflamed emotions.

Without waiting for a response, Edward stumbled out of the room, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. Violet watched him go, a whirlwind of emotions churning within her. Fear for what her father might do in his drunken state mixed with fury at his betrayal and sadness for the broken shell of a man he had become.

Left alone, Violet’s thoughts raced as she pondered her next move. The walls of the dank room felt like they were closing in on her, each shadow playing tricks on her eyes as if mocking her plight. She knew that standing up to Rat had probably only bought her a brief reprieve. Men like him did not take defiance lightly, and she had no illusions about the lengths to which he would go to assert his control.

The sound of raucous laughter and clinking glasses from down below reminded her of where she was — in the bowels of a club. Rising to her feet, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, refusing to allow them any further claim on her spirit. With quiet steps, she went down the stairs and approached the door that led into the club.

********************

The dimly lit back room of the club was thick with the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke, a miasma that clung to every surface as obstinately as the patrons clung to their vices. Violet's heart hammered in her chest, each beat a loud echo in her ears that seemed to drown out the low murmur of conversation around her. She stood stiffly beside her father, her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of her worn skirt. Rat sat behind a cluttered desk covered in papers and empty glasses, his beady eyes appraising Violet like a merchant assessing a piece of merchandise. Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his gaze avoiding hers.

"Ah, the gem of the night," Rat exclaimed with a greasy smile, his voice dripping with feigned delight.

Violet felt a shiver course through her spine at his words, her skin crawling under the weight of his gaze. She remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, as Rat stood and circled around the desk with the predatory grace of a vulture swooping down on its prey. He stopped inches from her, his fetid breath brushing against her face as he leaned in close.

"You'll do nicely," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with unwholesome anticipation. Violet recoiled instinctively, but Rat's hand shot out, gripping her chin with a firmness that made escape impossible.

“Get your hands off of me,” Violet spat struggling to keep her eyes locked on his. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Rat snickered roughly letting go of her chin. “You’ve got fire. I’ll be sure to do something about that quickly.”

“What are you talking about?” Violet raised a brow.

Edward's laugh, a hollow sound devoid of any paternal warmth, grated on her nerves. "Now, now, Violet, be good," he chided, his words slurred slightly as he took another swig from the bottle he had managed to procure upon their arrival.

Rat's chuckle was low and menacing as he turned his attention back to Violet's father. "Edward, you've truly outdone yourself this time," he sneered, eyeing Violet like a hawk regarding its next meal. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for Violet to overhear. "Remember our agreement. She's mine until the debts are squared away."

Violet felt her blood run cold at his words, the finality of her situation crashing down around her like the walls of a decrepit house succumbing to its own decay. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm her, but she quashed it quickly, her instinct for survival sharpening her focus. She needed to think, to plan, not simply react.

"Never," she breathed, her voice trembling not from fear, but from a fierce resolve that took even her by surprise. Violet turned sharply to face her father, stepping forward so that they were eye-to-eye, forcing him to confront the reality of what he had done. "How could you?" The accusation was more than a question; it was a denouncement of every moment of neglect and abuse she had suffered under his care.

Edward, his face a mixture of inebriated confusion and dim irritation, tried to formulate a response, a pathetic attempt at justification hanging limply between them. "It's all for the best," he stuttered, his eyes not meeting hers. "You'll have food and—a roof."

Violet's laugh was bitter, laced with incredulity and contempt. "A roof? A cage, more like," she retorted sharply, her anger giving her voice a steely edge. "You barter away your flesh and blood for a few coins to squander on your vices. You are less than a man."

Edward's face reddened, his eyes briefly flashing with something that might have been shame, but it was quickly drowned out by a resurgence of his habitual defiance. "You don't understand the pressures I'm under!" he shouted back, his voice rising over the din of the club.

"I understand perfectly," Violet countered coldly. "I understand that you are a coward, Father. A coward who would sell his daughter to shield himself from his own failures."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony momentarily subdued as patrons turned to witness the spectacle unfolding. Rat, sensing the shift in atmosphere, clapped his hands with mock cheerfulness. "Enough of this family drama," he interjected smoothly, his tone brooking no argument. "Violet, you are now under my care. Edward, you know the terms. Don't make this uglier than it needs to be."

With a disdainful glance at her father, Violet pulled her arm free from his grasp and took a step back, distancing herself both physically and emotionally. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, each thud resonating with the resolve that hardened in her eyes. She wouldn't let despair consume her; she would fight, somehow.

“Now, Now, Cartwright,” came a voice that belonged to a hooded figure seated near them at the opposite table. “You should know better than to do your dastardly deeds in the open.” The figure removed his hood revealing a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair that flickered in the candlelight.

Rat sneered. “Lord Butler. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[definegodliness]

Bob Dylan - Shelter from the Storm

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved Everything up to that point had been left unresolved Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove And old men with broken teeth stranded without love Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose I offered up my innocence I got repaid with scorn Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born Come in, she said I'll give ya shelter from the storm

[eye-of-mordor]

THE RINGS OF POWER – analysis of Sauron’s character 1/3

Throughout the series of The Rings of Power, there is heavy symbolism and allegory. Several of these that tie in with Sauron's character seem to have been noticed by some but gone largely undiscussed. Frequent contrasts between the colors blue and red have been used in the storyline arc of his character. The two elements that are represented by these colors are water and fire, which are weaponized by Sauron in Tolkien's legendarium – the deluge of Númenor, and his kingdom of Mordor that is best known for its fiery Mount Doom. Another allegory that seems to be at play here, and plausibly deliberately done by the show creators, are the subtle hints of Sauron embodying many of the main traits of the ancient three-eyed god, Rudra, of the archaic oral tradition of the Rig Veda that was brought to the Indian subcontinent in a bygone epoch by the Vedic civilization who were Proto-Indo-Europeans from somewhere in the far north. Around the time when the Vedic civilization mysteriously disappeared from India sometime in the second millennium BC, the oral tradition of the Vedas was transferred into written documentation. Then when the Vedic civilization spirited away from India, the Hindu civilization was born and with it, the seedling of a newly developing religion would come to grow into the tree known as Hinduism today.

From this seed, grew multilayered stories featuring many new gods. But some were built from the characteristics of the preexisting Vedic gods. One such god is the familiar Shiva, depicted as three-eyed, blue-skinned, wielding a trishula, a lunar ornament atop his hair, and his serpent Vasuki coiled around his neck. This god was developed out of Rudra, likely based on a word used in an account in the Rig honoring Rudra as 'auspicious,'  a word that in Sanskrit is śivaḥ. Throughout the Vedic period, Rudra was often associated with the color red, depicted as an irascible god with whom not even the other gods wanted anything to do with unless they needed his destructive powers to solve a problem. Then later when Hinduism developed, the color blue was attributed to Shiva, who is seen as a calmer side of Rudra, and is believed to be able to control water, especially at night when the Moon's gravity pulls the Earth towards it. This trait of his seems to have been incorporated into The Rings of Power, especially concerning the otherworldly aura of Sauron’s sword hilt that emblazons the symbol of Mordor, seemingly reminiscent of Shiva’s three-pronged trishula. In fact, when his reformed sword is used as a key by Waldreg to awaken the ancient fire of Mount Doom, the element of water is used to achieve this via a massive flowing river that pours into the magma chamber of the volcano, triggering a phreatomagmatic eruption. In this way, Sauron’s weapon is linked to the elements of water and fire. Archaic knowledge of the interaction between water and magma chambers has been demonstrated in the Rig.

(Click here to continue to segment 2)

[scaly-freaks]

“Milk Carton” — Self-explanatory, it was the only song I could think of that has the perspective of someone who survived a kidnapping. I also believe that establishing what is going to happen in the beginning helps build up a sense of dread. We know that a kidnapping is going to happen, we just don't know when.

“In the Pines” — A truly haunting song. The song was originally written by Lead Belly, but the first time I heard it was this Kurt Cobain documentary called Montage of Heck, where the final scene is Kurt performing the song at MTV Unplugged. There’s this moment in the song where Kurt makes this face that is absolutely chilling, almost like he’s Colonel Kurtz staring into the heart of darkness. The lines, “you caused me to weep, you caused me to moan, you caused me to leave my home / I wish to my Lord that I’d never seen your face / I’m sorry you were ever born,” also felt pertinent. All in all, I felt it sets the Southern setting, especially the North Carolina region, where you say Aegon takes Amara.

“Rampage” — I felt that this accurately captured Aegon’s demeanour. I don’t know whether they might have known each other prior to her abduction, but most kidnappings occur with someone who knows you. There will be a lot of songs where you just feel looming dread, and this is the first of them. “Milk Carton” is disturbing, but there’s no dread, because there’s no anticipation. Whereas “Rampage,” I’m going to assume, seems to be spoken from the perspective of a lover of a boy whom, it’s heavily implied from the references to the Columbine Shooters and Tate Langdon in American Horror Story, is ultimately going to shoot up a school. When I was a kid, my parents would play this song called, “Six O’Clock News,” about a woman whose lover goes on a shooting rampage, who has just learned she’s pregnant with his child. I always was very shaken by that song, and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have loved someone who committed such atrocities; just the sheer guilt, the discomfort regarding how to mourn them, the thoughts of I should have known, I should have seen the signs…was unthinkable for me as a child, and is unthinkable now. In “Creek Blues,” another song from the same album as “Rampage,” you sort of get this mosaic of such “signs.” He shows the speaker his daddy’s guns, he kills dogs and leaves them to die by the nearby creek. I think, for me, I wanted to build up a sense of dread over the songs, until it reaches its pinnacle, sort of this mounting pile of evidence that something terrible is going to happen. I discuss the notion of warning signs in relation to violence and abuse in the explanation for “Sometime After Midnight.”

“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” — Chosen mostly because it inspired this creepy, creepy short story that we read in high school, about the immediate moments preceding the abduction of a teenage girl from her home. Incredibly unsettling story, and absolutely heartbreaking. The story, called “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” was adapted into a movie in the 80’s. Honestly considering removing it, given that I’m trying to build up dread, and it’s not really a dreadful song. Let me know if you think it should stay.

“Sometime After Midnight”— I wanted to convey a sense of looming doom; there’s this moment in W.G. Sebald’s The Emigrants, where there’s this extensive idyllic depiction of Bavaria, and then this war plane crosses the sky. This section starts out with the understanding that it’s the account of a character’s mother, and that she wrote it while awaiting deportation to a Nazi death camp. And this endows the image of the war plane cutting across this clear blue sky above this bucolic Bavarian landscape with a feeling of absolute dread; they have no idea what is going to happen. It’s the equivalent to the tomb in Arcadia, or the ending of Irréversible: it’s a portent of doom. “Sometime After Midnight” is one such prelude; the speaker remarks to herself that she knows that she spent all day getting ready for the date, but that she has this feeling in her stomach that makes her feel uneasy. She remarks that she’s been told that bad things happen after dark, and then looks at the setting sun. It’s the equivalent to a puzzle piece falling into place. I do truly believe that there is an intuition that people have that something’s off, and that many, especially women, choose to ignore this feeling, tell themselves that they’re being silly or paranoid, only to realize that their gut was right. It’s meant to convey dread, and banality. While the speaker may have considered her day preparing for the date innocuous, just a bit of fun, in retrospect, the day will become far more significant.

            I was too young to remember 9/11, but when I’ve asked my parents and my friends’ parents their stories of that day (I grew up very close to New York), they all reacted differently—my boyfriend's dad saw the second tower get hit from the train window, and stayed on the train, my friend's dad was in the South Tower and ran to the Hudson to get on one of the many boats that were trying to take people off Manhattan—but one thing detail was the same in all of their stories: there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. The reason why this detail has crystallized in their head is because they should have known. It was only in retrospect that the day that began like any other became that day. We trace the final day of murder victims, what they wore, their last words to their parents and loved ones, because we want to prepare ourselves for the possibility that our banal, commonplace lives could be torn apart at a moment’s notice, that one day we might walk out of a door and never be seen again. I believe that we have an intuition about people, but not about events. The speaker of “Sometime After Midnight” does not know that this is the last day; she may not have spoken to any of her parents or friends or loved ones but instead spent all of it getting ready for a date that will end in either her abduction or her demise. She may have a gut feeling, but by the time she feels it, it's already too late. This is her last day, and all that she can do is watch "the sky turn black by the window-side."

“Bad Things”— Another song that I felt exuded dread, although in this case, the fear actually becomes realized. The opening riff almost hits like a stuttering heart, with this insistent clapping noise; it immediately evokes both despair and anxiety. The song's chorus reads like a nursery rhyme you tell children: bad things happen, and you are powerless to stop them. The chorus is also apt for a kidnapping: you leave home, and you never come back. I had never been able to decipher the spoken part, but in looking at the lyrics, they’re really chilling, given that they’re spoken by Jim fucking Jones. The lyrics read as such: "You’d have wanted to run, you’d have had to run with them, because anybody could’ve run today, they would have wanted to. I know you’re not a runner and your life is precious to me.” It’s essentially Jim Jones gaslighting his followers in the leadup to their mass suicide, telling them that they actually have agency over their fates. They chose to stay and kill themselves alongside him, he argues, because they didn’t run when they could have. They freely chose to stay with him and die with him. But this isn’t true; the inner circle would punish those who attempted to escape, and the event that precipitated the Jonestown massacre was a group of Jones loyalists gunning down the Congressman Leo Ryan and defecting members of the People’s Temple on an air strip as they tried to leave. Jones manipulated his followers into believing they had a choice, that, if they wanted to leave, they could have, when they never did. I think I recall Aegon using this rationalization in Chapter 10 of YSMMC: it was Amara's choice to go to the cabin, so he bears no responsibility for any of the acts he felt licensed to subject her to as a result of this choice. And, as in Jonestown, Amara’s “choice” in YSMMC wasn’t much of a choice, because it was either that or a confrontation with Jace, and Aegon knew this, and exploited it to his advantage. He helped create the conditions that would cause her to choose. It all reminds me of when I was reading Chapter 17 of YSMMC, and I was reminded of this passage from Lolita:

“Get in,” I said. “You can’t call that number.”

“Why?”

“Get in and slam the door.”

She got in and slammed the door. The old garage man beamed at her. I swung on to the highway.

“Why can’t I call my mother if I want to?”

“Because,” I answered, “your mother is dead.”

In the gay town of Lepingville I bought her four books of comics, a box of candy, a box of sanitary pads… at the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go. (140)

That is to say, Jim Jones, Humbert in Lolita, and Aegon in YSMMC all act as if the decision by their victims to have sex with them was their victims’ choice, when they were the ones who set up the conditions that forced their victims to do what the men say. And, even if Amara freely chose to go to the cabin, she didn't choose any of the acts Aegon subjected her to there. I figured that this would be the approach of Aegon in this AU; tell Amara that it was actually her choice. This song sort of represents the pinnacle of the lead-up: the kidnapping that we've been expecting has finally occurred.

Anyways, as always, thank you for the opportunity for me to sharpen my character analysis approach to get ready for school; the methodology that guides my interpretation of characters is essentially the New Critical close reading method, and requires that I reconcile all aspects of their character and actions with each other, to explain their motivations, etc. It's a great challenge to have to analyze characters when their writer is right there to correct you; you're a lot less likely to cast generalizing statements about characters; it's harder to pontificate falsehoods when God is right there, if that makes sense lol. It forces me to be much more discerning, and therefore hones my analytical process, so I thank you again for that!!! X Caroline

Absolutely insane descriptor behind each song in this playlist, and the thought put into them? Girl, you are going to ace your impending studies. I consider myself lucky that this silly little hobby I picked up attracted people who treat it as something real and genuine which then pushes me to improve.

I only really fix someone's analysis if I think it's interpreting a sensitive topic in a way that I don't think is conducive to open-minded discussion; that responsibility kind of feels like it falls on me to fix since it's my work they're reading.

But your analysis, as well as others who have had their interpretations, I love to ingest, because as a writer, it's so easy to feel like these characters are just mine. But in reality, I read an amazing book and I hold those characters in me in a way that the writer might not recognise or identify with. Someone might extract the gentleness of Aegon and Amara and want to hold that close, whereas I might have written that particular chapter/passage from a place of extreme violence and trauma. Both are correct because both are tangled up with human beings. And when someone gives me their approach, I get to experience this familiarity of my characters from a whole other vantage which is so, so fun.

I'm a fan of every song you've chosen, and even though I know I can't write this AU right now, the lyrics to each are painting scenes into existence. For instance, as I was reading (and listening), a scene came to me where Amara tries to escape from the moving truck, and when Aegon gets her back, he choke-slams her into the horizontal part of the seat, her neck bent at a crooked angle as her head hits the car door. He's kneeling on the gears and the brake, one arm angled up against the roof of the truck, crouched over her like a malignant beast in a painting. The physicality of him filling up the space while she curls up and tries to push at his chest with her feet...yeah.

The Lolita comparison and the instances in YSMMC where Aegon created an inescapable situation and then handed her the illusion of choice...YES. Exactly it. If we're speaking in terms Helaena would use, Amara is an insect missing several legs, and Aegon is the spider slowly spinning the web in circles around her. Or a ladybird around which he's drawing a shape and she keeps trying to avoid the new lines he's putting on the page, without realising she can just step over them. She regularly suffers from what I like to call a fuck fog but there's so much more happening when Aegon decides to actively manipulate her. The Targaryen trauma train is so real, and it's just inconceivable every single one of the siblings hasn't developed their own methods of "playing God" when things don't go their way.

Anyway, urgh, fucking juicy ask. Delicious. Nibbling on it like a chicken leg.

P.S. Before I forget, I didn't envision Aegon knowing her before he kidnapped her at first, but I sort of like that now. There's a scene in Room where she screams at her mother for telling her to "be nice to everyone" and that's why she helped her eventual kidnapper look for his dog that didn't even exist. Maybe Amara gave Aegon a smile in passing a few times at the place she worked, and it was never anything more complicated than that. A scrap of kindness he decided to poison and taint.

[dreaming-of-barbi]

I have finally come up with a backstory for my reagent oc! I am so happy with how they have turned out !!! Very very long lore outline thing below, copied from my google docs and written on my phone so there might be some errors.

Sugar & Bone(s) | The Demon and The Vessel – lore dump / outline 

TRIGGER WARNINGS - not in order -

RELIGION, OCCULT THINGS, DEMON??, GORE MENTIONS, ABUSE??, DEATH, MAFIA??, DRUGS?? that's all I can think of 

Description of Sugar - 

About 22 years old when she reaches Murkoff.

5’3”, somewhat pudgy with blueish gray eyes and dark brown curly hair that reaches down to her hips. A large portion of her face is covered by a very sensitive, actively healing scar. 

She subconsciously touches the scar on her neck and face, feeling how much it has healed each day. She avoids mirrors and also hides her face with her hair when she can. She removed the night vision headset and E.S.O.P within the first few weeks of being there as the Demon can see in the dark just fine and they don't use the rigs.

She tries to hide the screws Murkoff drilled into her skull. She doesn't smile often as it feels weird against her healing skin. It won't ever fully heal, forever leaving a nasty spider web like scar across her face. 

Her teeth grew back sharper, some of her facial features being slightly altered because of the Demon.

Ages and timeline may change, especially as more lore for Franco comes out. It might be a little off with the ages but I tried to keep everything lore accurate. 

Locations are kind of unknown, for now. Most likely within Louisiana, before finding their way to Mount Sinyala in Arizona.

~

Ever since she had been born, it was as though she was cursed. Labeled as a “demonic child” before her birth, she was already doomed to be nothing more than a scapegoat for whatever was needed. 

The Demon found her at only a few months old, quickly latching on to such a sorrowful soul. How could something so young and small put off this much sadness? And this place? This was no religious commune, especially not when they could so easily step foot on these so-called “holy grounds”.

Shannon meets Franco at age 4 years old, very, very young at the time. Franco isn't much older, as he's almost three years older than her. 

She witnesses him being screamed at by Salvatore and, guided by a simple thought placed in her mind by the Demon, follows him when he runs off after, finding him hiding himself away and crying. She sits next to him without ever saying anything and shares a small loaf of banana bread with him, being called away by her guardians not too long after. 

Franco never forgets this gesture, recognizing her as he gets a bit older and starts learning more about his fathers… business. He sees her within The Commune whenever his father would bring him along in the following years, visiting sometimes to see how the operations were going. 

The commune is a cult, as well as a front for money laundering, and providing another way to smuggle narcotics For Salvatore. Has ties to a  “Freak Show” miles in the opposite direction of the city, which of course, also has ties with Salvatore. The cult buys and also helps distribute Salvatore's goods, earning a small profit for it as they use their ties with the Circus to keep production rolling through.

Who's going to question the little pilgrim-like Christian village out in the woods? 

Circus’ and Freak Shows were hardly even being bothered with any more, less and less appearing across the country each year as people grew bored and tired of it. 

With generous donations coming from Salvatore's companies, food and charity sent to both the Circus and The Commune, no one batted an eye at this tight knit circle. No one noticed them. 

The perfect front. 

It was a dying form of crude entertainment, the only thing keeping it alive was The exploitation of the gullible Commune members nearby, and the few people who visited occasionally. 

A deal was made with the Commune’s “Elders” and the Ring Master of the show, using one of the “attractions” to strike the fear of god into the gullible members. In return, they are paid a good sum of money, and given a discount on Salvatore's… finest selection.

A small albino girl, with a genetic defect causing feathers to grow on her face and body, skin pure white as snow, with two tiny, flightless wings to complete the look. (She is my fiance's oc! teehee) 

She was labeled the “Angle”, thanks to her own inability to pronounce the word. Anyone who attempted to correct it  would be berated and attacked by the Ring Master in a drunken stupor. 

Shannon was often taken with to the Circus, seeing the “Angle” trapped in her tiny cage, hearing the “Elders” scream how the members of The Commune lacked any real faith. Screaming as the small girl in the cage wept, demanding that they watch as she “cried for their sins”. 

Shannon would sneak out sometimes to see the Angle herself and even spoke to her, forming a small friendship, though it was fleeting, as Shannon couldn't risk being caught by the Ring Master or she (and Angle) would have hell to pay. 

She continued to seek Franco out in their younger years, despite him telling her to leave him alone for a while. He was fearful of both becoming close with someone but also fearful of what his father may do about it. Shannon was undeterred, Franco being the only person in her life who didn't treat her like an outcast, everyone else looking at her as though she was the devils spawn. 

He slowly warms up to her, they get to know each other more, Franco and Shannon always being very sneaky about their friendship. Shannon was supposed to stay within The Commune, to cook, clean, take care of the chores. Play the mini housewife for them, as all the Commune Women were expected to, and only god knows what Salvatore would do about his son prancing around with a lowly, nothing girl from that Commune, risking the operation that was held there. They knew the retaliation it may cause if either ever heard of their affairs.

Franco and Shannon knew better than to risk the wrath of Franco's father and the Commune… right?

Franco had many mixed feelings for Shannon.

She would actively look for him, wanting to spend time with him, unlike the other children and people in his life. He was often very skeptical of why Shannon was always so nice to him, even when he got incredibly angry she never switched on him or treated him with disdain like most. 

He was the only person who didn't treat her like a creature. All of The Commune members saw children as nothing more than easy, free labor, especially Shannon, training and treating her like a dog instead of a child. This would often translate into how other people treated her, as it was often encouraged to treat her this way by the “Elders”. 

Franco did not do anything like this to her, not once. She could deal with his temper, the yelling. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. 

She knew how kind Franco really was. 

Shannon began sneaking out of The Commune at around age 10, usually walking for miles to get into town and visit Franco, bringing him sweets she had made. 

Franco gives her the nickname Sugar (often Suga’ because of his accent teehee) sometime around when she's 11 - 12.

She makes him a dessert, accidentally adding too much sugar as she was distracted talking with him. He teases her for it, telling her it's “Just like you. Sweet as Suga’~.” the nickname staying as Franco keeps calling her such.

Franco began to flirt with her more around this time in their life, though he also often acted cold and harsh towards her as his own fears stirred. What was their “relationship”, if it could even be considered one? She would never be safe around his Father, around here at all. 

The “Beloved Elder(s)”, as they often demanded to be called, soon began to… up the Villages dosage of medications. They had drugged the “villagers” into submission for years, but for whatever reason they had decided to raise the amount, and even began including the commune children.

Sugar often wandered her way to Franco in town, nearly nodding off, clearly under the influence of something. 

One time Sugar appeared at his doorstep, about to collapse from whatever those bastards forced into the food. It was much worse than before, and He would stay with her, helping her ride it out. If only Sugar wasn't so naive, even as they talked of running away. Even as Sugar spoke of the terror the Commune Leaders brought her, she wouldn't hear his pleas to her that they were hurting her for such a long time, Franco trying to convince her for years that she was in danger staying within the commune. 

She learns what the Commune really is, and what Salvatore really does at 16,  finally witnessing it first hand at some point. 

Franco knew the Commune was going to break her eventually, and his father would make her disappear in an instant if he felt like it… nothing was safe here, for her. For them. 

They soon had begun to make more solid plans. Long nights spent talking about how they would run away together, Franco promising to keep Sugar safe many times. He had plenty of men he could get on his side if things ever went bad. 

He wanted a new life and he could start it with her…

But yet… his father needed him here, helping with his work. He knew that.

His father was so proud when he blew that fuckers head clean off, even gave him his beloved Lupara. 

He wanted to do good by his father. 

He was being the man his father wanted him to be now, right? He hunted down scumbags for his father, he did the dirty work. He made his father proud. 

He couldn't just let him down like this. 

“What does this girl know, anyways?”

“Sugar didn't laugh at me…”

“Father didn't stoop low, not for no whores.”

“She never scoffed at a word I said…”

Conflict within his mind happened often, going back and forth. He would ditch this broad once and for all… 

But yet, how could he ever forget…?

The way she never once avoided looking him in the eyes, how she smiled and laughed with him, never at him. Baking him things because she wanted to.

Seeking him out because she wanted to see him.

She called him “Fran”... how silly.

It really, truly is a shame. You never know when you have something so good, pure… precious. 

Not until it's too late. 

 

Maybe they had become sloppy, not covering their tracks as thoroughly as they usually did, distracted as their plans drew nearer.

Maybe it was always known, allowed to build and fester for years, until there was no denying it. 

No escaping fate. Cruel destiny. 

It was soon, she would leave this wretched “Commune” and live a free life with Franco. After the last time The “Elders” pacified the members, Sugar was almost unable to escape. She remembered how easily she could have died in that state. She nearly acted like a different person… 

The many, many times of being screamed at by his father, barely acknowledging Franco unless it was to blame something on him, or use him for his business. 

It often felt like there was another voice speaking in Sugar's head. These substances she was forced under were too much.

She was done. They were done.

They would get out of here, together…

She was 17 now. Giddy as she came back to the barbed wire lined fence of the Commune. He mind was filled with daydreams of running away together with Franco, a skip in her step as she made it back.

Only a few more days and they were free... 

They slipped through a small hole in the rusted fence, hidden behind a shed in a long abandoned goat pasture, her typical returning route.

However, this wasn't the same. As she slipped through, she immediately noticed the bushes and grass usually swarming the fence had been trampled and cut down. 

No one cleared the grass back here, no one ever came back here, and she made sure to keep the grass and plant life lush to hide her escape route behind the shed. 

Her heart began to race as she took her usual route back into the middle of the Commune, trying to avoid being seen as she snuck back into her family's shed. 

However, she was almost immediately grabbed as she stepped in, dragged out into the middle of the commune to The “Elders” by her “guardians”. 

They screamed at her about her disobedience, how she betrayed god and walked amongst sin. Commiting crimes against the lord himself and how she shamed their entire community. How dare you risk allowing the devil to infiltrate their precious sanctuary. They had known from the start what a ruckus she would cause in their precious sanctuary. 

They screamed that she was going to be punished, some of the other “villagers” being encouraged to throw rocks in her direction as they screamed and chanted for her to be punished.

Of course, Sugar had expected to be caught sneaking out at some point, and she knew if that happened it would result in her being in trouble… but her heart sank as she soon realized the extent of what the “Elders” really meant. 

They would not risk someone from the Commune getting out, possibly risking their whole operation here. 

She was just some nobody village girl. Not even her parents would miss her. They would have this solved. In fact… they called up some close friends to deal with the job.

Sugar was taken to the same abandoned pasture as the one she used to escape through, kicked down to the ground as The “Elders” gathered around her. Her fear kept her paralyzed in place, trying to think of a way to run and escape, some way to get out of whatever punishment The “Elders” had planned.

“You cannot be allowed to taint The Commune. You are a disgusting, filthy animal. From the moment you were born, you have defiled god, and now you have defiled us. This commune. Only god will judge you, now.” They taunted her, getting close to her face to say, once and for all. 

“It’s too risky to leave you alive, after what you know. You should have known your place.” 

As they step away, Salvatore steps forward and towards her, staying a few feet away as he encourages Franco to step closer to her with a push of his hand. 

Of course Franco was the one chosen to do it. Threatened earlier by his father; “Kill that pest. She means nothing to you, or you will mean nothing to this family.”

Who else was better for the job, anyways?

A fitting punishment for both of them.

Franco held the shotgun tightly, his father commanding him to lift the gun and aim for her head. He obeyed, shaky hands raising the barrel and aiming it to her face. 

Her gray eyes gazed up at him, no tears or reaction as he pointed the gun to her. Only her wide, fearful eyes gave away her terror. 

He couldn't risk angering his father more, cocking the gun and placing his finger to the trigger. He swallowed nervously, not saying a word. 

He had to do this. 

He had to do this. 

For his father, for himself. 

He didn't need her anyways, right? 

His father had done this many many times.

So could he. 

“I-it's okay, I forgive you, and… I love you, Fran.” Sugar said after a moment of silence, smiling to him the same way she always had, though it was weak and shaky. 

As if he couldn't stand to see her anymore, he pulled the trigger with a panicked cry, the sound covered up by the backfire as Sugar instantly fell to the ground in a limp heap.

She was dead. 

He had done it.

He stared down at her lifeless corpse for a long moment, watching the blood pooling around her in the grass, staining the wildflowers around her. Barrel of Lupara still smoking in his hand. 

He could have sworn… she was staring right back. 

And, just like that, Salvatore and himself were on their way home soon after.

None of the Commune members bothered with the corpse. 

She could rot right there, away from sight. 

Forgotten. 

—

“Man… I don't remember Romeo and Juliette being like this.“

A voice? 

What happened…? Why does it feel so cold? 

Jaw hurts, body aches… it's completely dark. 

No.. no it's not dark, there's a… projector? Playing a film on the screen in front of them. 

It feels so familiar, the movie. 

It was like watching through someone's eyes, seeing their point of view. They were climbing up a chain link fence. Why did the film playing look so familiar…? They've… seen this fence? 

The haunting memories come rushing back as she is almost forced to remember what had happened, nearly about to lose it when sue was interrupted once more;

“Hey. Let's make a deal, you and I. You rest for a while and I'll help you. You won't die because I won't let you. In return, you be my vessel. How does this sound, hmmm Sugar…?” 

That same voice again.

What deal? Well… Maybe some rest wouldn't hurt them. 

They did feel so very tired…

The Vessel fell dormant within the mind, and The Demon began to make their way through the dark forest. It knew having a nose, jaw and neck were important for these human things but… it had been so long since they were one. What was it even used for, again? 

Nevermind, it would heal back all the same. They'd get this poor, pathetic thing some help from another human.

Humans help other humans all the time, right? They're social animals.

This pity is such a weird feeling. What Demon shows mercy, takes it upon themself to help another? Following some random human girl until her untimely demise, helping her like this?

Don't they scheme, cheat and deceive? Only causing pain, tainting the land around them? 

Sure, maybe some, but not all. 

Demon is a species, not an evil. 

First order of business, a plan they had kept since these miserable places had drawn them in so long ago.

The Demon had seen the state of the nearby “Circus”, near the Commune. They made their way to that dingy little fraud of a place, unlocking every single cage and releasing the “attractions” to run free. 

It really had been too long since they had been around living beings, around humans. They didn't realize the chaos they would cause, possibly sealing the fate of a few of those poor souls within the circus…

Oh well, they were still a Demon, after all.

A few years had passed so far and They were nearly 22 now, the vessel's mouth and nose almost fully healed and regenerated thanks to the Demon. It had made quite an effort to keep this human hidden, like a fun little side quest, doing something… “nice” because they wanted to.

And how nice is keeping a human in this state alive? At least the mercy of slumber keeps the physical pain at bay, but what mental anguish would be left there after? Remembering her death, but never passing on?

However, that wasn't something on it's mind anyways, and soon, this human would be waking back up. The vessel was going to start needing things like food and water once more. There's only so much a Demons power can provide to a dying body.

No worries! They had found a flyer, with details about some kind of animal sanctuary thing for humans? The details didn't matter, it would be good enough. It promised things like food, shelter… a “purpose”? Whatever that means. Humans are weird.

Nearly a year later they were at the doors of a Murkoff charity facility, practically waltzing in. 

The workers tried to chemically knock out the Demon for a very long time but eventually gave up as it was a waste of their product, and the Demon just… willingly went in anyway. Walked right into the cattle car full of people, tied up, burlap sacks on their heads, not even batting an eye. 

It glanced around, clicking its tongue in amusement at the sight. 

“Quite the ride. What's the occasion, you got a Demon Lord visiting town?”

Typical.

—

It's hard to say who ended up more affected by Sugar's passing. 

Sugar herself… or Franco.

Salvatore nearly slammed him against the wall, demanding to know what he was thinking trying to get into the pants of some Commune girl, even making plans to leave with her?? 

Franco knew better than to risk his father's Business like this. 

The ultimatum was given, either kill this girl and restore some sliver of respect his father might have for him, or he would deal with the girl himself, and make sure Franco meant nothing to their family.

Franco tried to tell himself it was fine, nothing unlike the women his father went through. 

Many months went by and this thought only festered in his mind.

She was nothing, she had to be.

As the months turned into a few years, he started… exploring more. Branching out and refining his tastes, something to keep these pesky thoughts at bay. 

This would have been fine… if she didn't haunt him every time he tried to even speak to another woman. He would try his best to push her thought away, but nothing would happen there, and those god damn eyes would be staring at him all over again. 

She was dead, why was he still thinking about her. 

Why couldn't he do anything? 

He felt pathetic and it made him so fucking angry. 

But… there was one solution. 

His mind would cloud as he glanced to his Lupara…

A blinding rage would overtake him, once again seeing those terrified eyes staring at him. Forced to relive the undeniable rush that came from watching her body crumble to the ground so effortlessly. 

When he'd “come to”, yet another victim would lay in front of him. Visceral scenes he cannot remember making left in his wake, the image of Sugar in the grass below him being the only memory he could recall. 

Only… he really didn't care for these broads, and who would blame him if he… explored a little more? 

He would take it further and further each time, seeing what could bring him the same rush he felt with Sugar, her name becoming another one of the things he would mutter to himself when he hunted anyone down. Her image, his memories of her would become more vague, partially tainted by his endeavors.

He was starting to be noticed by his father, as he didn't always try to hide these misadventures… but that didn't bother him.

Things were really becoming a blur for him at this point. He didn't remember when Angelina showed up, his fathers fourth wife, his most recent step-mother. 

He didn't know when she suddenly took an… interest in him. 

He was finding himself being hurt by her, she would push him down, forcing him to kneel below her. She made him feel something he had never known before. Helpless, vulnerable, humiliated, afraid, like he couldn't stop her. It felt so familiar, feeling that rush in a whole new light.

He tried to ignore her lurking memories once more. He didn't want to think of Sugar anymore. 

She died. 

Now, he wanted to focus on this, the closest thing to attention he's felt since her. 

His father, of course, found out about the whole affair soon after.

Needless to say, Angelina disappeared, and Franco was lucky he didn't experience the same fate as Sugar that night, sent away to “help” in Miami.

His mind was a bit broken now, you could say. But, without the limitations and judgments of his father, he was free to truly explore his tastes while helping out “friends” in Florida with Cuba. 

By this point, Sugar had almost faded from his memory, only remembering the rush he felt that fateful night.

When visiting Gator Hook Lodge located in Florida, he would often try to experience his cravings with the working girls, trying to chase that rush all over again, even when he barely remembered Sugar's name.

While in Florida he is noticed and taken and transported to Mount Sinyala, a little less than a year after the Demon finds that silly little flyer. 

—

Sugar had gotten used to the routine here, going into a trial, trying to do what Murkoff instructed them to before inevitably being taken over by Bone to get them out of whatever deadly situation they had got themselves into. 

The Demon drove most of the reagents away from its many… habits. Often found gnawing on a bone from one of the corpses around the trials, complaining that the corpses are better than whatever slop the reagents are fed.

It happened often enough that they were soon being referred to as Bone or Bones by the Murkoff employees and other reagents. 

After almost a year of being with Mount Sinyala, they finally enter The Docks, to do one of the newest trials; “Poison The Medicine”. 

They had only heard of the new Prime Asset in passing, this was their first encounter with them face to face. 

They could handle it, right? How difficult could it be? Well, they knew the new Prime had a gun, so they would have to be extra careful going through these trials. 

Maybe Sugar would sit this one out…

The Demon made their way through the new trial environment slowly, keeping themself low and quiet for the time being. They neared the small room they were supposed to enter as a man begging and pleading for their life hung above, strung up almost as if on display. The sight drew a smirk from the Demon. 

As it entered the weird, rounded, rotating doors and into the small room, it took its time to take in the sight. The floor and furniture were soaked with blood, bits of flesh littered from the blast of a gun, corpses carelessly left wherever they died. This proceeded throughout the entire trial. Seems this Prime Asset certainly had been hard at work. 

The Demon pranced its way up the stairs getting a nice, clear view of the pleading, writhing man through the thick glass. If only they could find a way out there… sadly they couldn't risk making Murkoff upset like that again. 

The last time they derailed the trial, they were drugged and isolated for nearly a month! So boring. The Demon wanted to enjoy this new trial for a while before finally wrecking havoc. 

They turned and looked towards the other side of the room a large glass window revealed quite the interesting sight. 

A large expop corpse missing its head was propped up into a red chair along the corner of the room, with someone laying in their lap. They were happily suckling on the breast of the corpse, wearing a white suit stained with blood. 

The Demon smiled, scoffing with astonishment. This place just gets better and better. 

“When is it my turn?”

The Demon said aloud with great excitement before turning to press the button behind them, in front of the window displaying the strung up man. They noticed that the tank within the trial was now being lifted, and that same man was beginning to panic, writhing and kicking as he pleaded for his life even louder.

The Demon's attention was quickly drawn back to the room with the corpse, noticing that whoever had been in its lap had fallen to the ground. 

He was starting to yell something as the Demon stepped closer, peering into the glass to look, drawing an… odd reaction from the Prime Asset. He stepped back, going completely silent and never breaking eye contact with the Demon as he opened the door and made his way out onto the balcony. He didn't acknowledge the hanging man as he made his way towards unseen doors on the other side of the balcony, eyes still glued to the Demon. 

Sugar and the Demon stared right back, nearly in shock at the sight. They knew who he was, they recognized him. The gun he carried, barrel now sawed very short, his Lupara. 

Why was Franco here? 

They had him under some alias, something they didn't understand. How could they have known the new Prime Asset was Franco…? And now they were here, watching as he finally disappeared behind those weird Murkoff doors. Was he trapped in here, too...? 

He looked like he had been hurt, terribly. The Demon felt nearly overwhelmed by it as Sugar's heart ached for him, but yet also trembled from seeing him again. A conflicting dance of affection and terror, a nasty but also quite expensive cocktail in the Upper ranking Hells. No one would believe they got this shit from the source. 

They continued through the trial, doing the weird tasks Murkoff wanted them to, all while trying to avoid being stabbed. The usual, though this time it was certainly odd…

The Demon was no fool, these were real products they were placing into the cooker. They were doing real shit here. 

What the hell was this place? 

The stories they would have for their buddies at the tavern after this all…

Soon they were pushing some big, rusted, heavy, cart on a track over towards the other half of the trial. The Demon was having a good time, even as Sugar was practically bursting at the seems to know what was going on here. How was Franco here? Why was he so important here? …and how would she ever explain this to him… could she even face him? She felt so oddly terrified. 

The Demon finally butted in, a little irritated at their own lack of thinking room from it all; “C’mon, you gotta chill out. I can't do this if you're panicking, I'm feeling it all.” 

“But why is he here??” 

“Hell if I know! This place is fuckin' crazy, and that's saying a lot. I'm sure you'll get to ask him soon–”

“No, I can't just talk to him! What if he's angry with me?”

“He killed you, sweetheart… at least, he thinks he did. He ain't gonna be mad at you.” 

“But what if–” 

Their outward conversation was interrupted as they stepped into “The Train Depot”, stopped short by a gunshot to the floor beside them, causing a small crater in the floor. 

The Demon didn't jump, only turning to face him slowly before Sugar almost instantly overtook the Vessel. 

The change from the Demon to Sugar was very quick and subtle, but it was clear to Franco that something was off about her. 

Well… other than the fact that she was here and alive. 

He watched her fucking body fall to the ground, he put a hole right through her pretty little skull. 

Was he being tormented purposely by these doctors? 

They already knew so much about him, throwing his past into his face at any possible chance they could. Those fucking bastards.

He stepped towards them, causing Sugar to step back a bit in response. Her eye flicked to the gun clutched in his hand. She hadn't forgotten that night, even after years had passed. 

She could still taste the salty, metallic blood choking her as she laid there. It was so vivid, so distinct in her memory. 

Franco looked irritated, frightened, angry. He looked her up and down with a scowl as he continued to approach her. Memories that had almost been left and forgotten were being dredged up just as he was enjoying himself here. 

“Is this supposed to be fuckin’ funny or somethin’? You think this is a joke??” He demanded, nearly shouting as  anger rose with each word he spoke. Guilt and regret gnawed away at him every day, as much as he tried to ignore it. This was the one thing this wretched place hadn't thrown back into his face, how did they even know about Sugar? Enough to impersonate her? 

He was just staring at her for a long while as these thoughts rushed through his mind. 

Was she even real? Who knew what these scientist fucks were doing to him, why wouldn't he be hallucinating? 

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts as Sugar spoke up, smiling at him despite the fear she felt, seeing that same gun held in his hand.

“I.. I've missed you, Fran.”

[ladystarksneedle]

Born to die

Summary: In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aegon thinks about his family as he's fighting for his life.

Spoilers for future seasons of House of the dragon.

He feels as if he’s falling.

Deeper and deeper into a never ending abyss with each moment he’s awake and somewhat in his senses, when his mind is not overtaken by the sedatives he’s being fed. It’s a weightless feeling, he experiences, mostly in the wee hours of the night or whatever he assumes is. He’s covered in salves, potions and bandages of all kinds, Maesters tending to him tirelessly. The smell of disinfectant pungent in his chambers, repulses him and his mind wanders to his father briefly, wondering how he spent the last few years of his life. He feels like him now, the irony should make him laugh but his throat is choked up and movement of any sort aggravates his burns. Perhaps their line was destined to fail, destined to suffer the same fate. Cripples the lot of them and while his brother may have suffered an affliction similar to what his father gained he has much more will than that rotten corpse could ever muster, for them atleast. He rules in his stead now, Prince reagent, the favorite son, finally with everything he’s ever wanted right in his lap yet he knows he won’t fail him. Their envy as much as it pulls them apart binds them to each other too, like a myriad of threads pushing and pulling, a web tinged with their blood never breaking, never thinning. He can hear weeping every now and then. The sound comforts him as much as it shouldn’t, reminds him there is still someone who cares. A halo of red, flashes of bloodied hands caressing his face,  prayers whispered under her breath, his injuries now have him believing in the Mother who visits him every night lulling him to sleep. Perhaps his mother’s gods have decided this as a fitting absolution for his sins. Most days however are spent screaming and crying till his throat is raw. He feels less of a king now more than he ever has. No one is allowed to see the state he’s in and he’s grateful for it. He can hear the Hand's taunts at the back of his mind,

“To show weakness is a fool’s error. Are you a fool boy? You sure as well act like one. It is a wonder the King cannot look beyond his daughter, with you for a son”

His grandsire proves his usefulness even in his absence from the chain of duty he’s been bound with most of his life. Yet he would be a fool to think he still doesn’t exert power through the shadows. We light the way. A Hightower always makes it through the darkness.

He doesn’t feel like one. Never has if he’s being honest. Neither does he feel like his namesake, adorned in his regalia the day he was sent to his doom and the day he set out to avenge his son. A son he never bothered to know. A son he failed like his father before him. Perhaps he's more Targaryen than he thought.

But most of all through the burning, cracking and singing flesh that weeps more than what drenches his face, he misses him and he yearns for her. His mount equally broken, abandoned in that wretched place, guarded by his own reagent, proud and mighty. He misses his shrill roars at midnight, the flapping of his wings and the feeling of safety and comfort of his presence.

In the same breath he wishes for her. They tell him in hushed voices that she hasn’t improved. That she’s still the same shell of a woman, wife, mother, queen. The whispers following her have increased along with the voices in her head. She hasn’t visited him once since his return to their cage. He finally feels like he’s failed her. Revenge sought for their son wasn’t enough to bring her back to him, wasn’t enough to warrant a visit to her dying husband, her king. Yet he can’t find it in him to blame her and for what, the same duty and burden thrust upon the both of them, which she had single handedly carried all these years. He wants to let her go, for her own peace, though he knows both of them shall never find it now. All that is left is Fire and Blood. He’s fire made flesh as he burns and burns and burns, his body alight and his mind clinging to rage, baying for blood. Their house words have never rung truer.