#Otto the Helicopter

[nocternalrandomness]

Otto at Oshkosh

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 4.5k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.

Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.

Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?

It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.

Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?

Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—

“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.

One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.

He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.

Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.

He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”

Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.

“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”

“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”

Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.

“Is Ari okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”

Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”

“Ohhhhh. Fuck.”

“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”

“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.

“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”

“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”

You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”

“No way. You didn’t major in math.”

“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”

“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”

“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”

“Cool. Teach me math.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.

“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.

“Uh. Long division.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”

Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”

“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”

“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”

“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”

“Nine.”

“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”

“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”

“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”

“And five goes into 18 three times.”

“Where’s the three go?”

“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.

“And then we subtract…”

“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”

“Wrong. Loser.”

“What! How am I wrong?!”

“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”

“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”

“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”

“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”

“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”

“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”

“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”

He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”

“You want to try calculus now?”

He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”

“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”

Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”

“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”

“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.

“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”

“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”

“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”

“But you couldn’t stay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”

“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.

“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”

“So far.”

“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”

“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.

“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”

“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.

“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”

Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”

You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”

“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”

“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.

“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”

“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”

“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”

“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”

Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”

“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”

“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”

“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”

“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”

“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”

“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”

“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”

You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”

“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”

“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.

As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”

“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.

Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.

“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”

He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”

“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”

“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”

He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”

“And you hate me too.”

Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”

“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”

“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”

You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.

“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”

“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.

“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.

You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.

You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.

Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.

“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”

You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.

Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.

“You don’t know what’s going on

You’ve been away for far too long

You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”

As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.

“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time

I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”

Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.

“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.

Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.

Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.

The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”

The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.

“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.

Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.

Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”

“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”

When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?

Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.

“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”

Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 3/5)

Daemon Targaryen x modern-f!reader / nurse!reader

word count: 5.6k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: separation, Daemon in his New Moon Bella Swan era, reader in full/overly hectic nurse mode, Viserys losing (even more) hair because of Daemon, Daemon is severely whipped, language

August 2023 / the 8th Moon, 113 AC

A flash of bright red passes by, your peripheral vision drawn to it as if on instinct. You don’t look back as you turn a corner, not wanting to see if it is a similar vehicle.

If it is, then that’s just fucking cruel. As if the universe itself is mocking you.

Because no matter how much you deny it, every single thing reminds you of him. 

Cars. Broken laptops. Your worn-out couch. Old movies. Pizza. Burnt food in your kitchen. Helicopters. The dog-eared paperbacks on your shelf. 

Damn him. Damn him to his ridiculous seven hells.

It has been weeks since Daemon Targaryen disappeared from your life, as easily and as abruptly as he had entered it.

Without a trace, as if you plucked him from your imagination. Except he did leave a mark so indelible it cannot be denied. He left his mark alright, in the form of constant sleepless nights. In how you space out each time his memory hits you. In how nothing in your little apartment seems to be yours anymore. Every corner, every inch of the space screams his name. He has made your world his own. He had claimed your heart… and then left. And now you’re here to pick up the pieces.

You remember the torture reflected in his face, the rage, when his brother came to take him away. You knew how badly he wanted to go home, so you made his choice for him.

You told him to leave. 

Stupid girl. You want to go back to that very moment, and tell yourself to make him stay. You know you should have held him in your arms, keeping him rooted in place. In this world, with you. 

But you opted for selflessness. You chose to have your heart broken, so that Daemon can go home. You know that he would have stayed if you only asked.

Fuck, I should have asked.

The Rogue Prince has been unpleasant and volatile ever since he returned from that strange other world. He has been made welcome, feted and tended to, day and night. Everyone was initially glad to have their Targaryen prince again. Until they realized how much he had changed.

Daemon quickly went back to his roguish ways, but it seems as if these tendencies increased tenfold. Something was severely wrong with the Rogue Prince. Something other than his usual myriad of dangerous flaws. Only a handful knew of his predicament, of his loss.

When the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, chooses to make some remark about how you were just some woman, and an unknowable outsider at that, someone who might never fit in the Seven Kingdoms, Daemon says nothing at first. 

For an entire minute, he sits at the council table, his mind stirring. 

Some of the small council members think the conundrum solved. Their prince must have finally realized that what he wants – who he wants – is an impossibility. But the more discerning of them, those more familiar with Daemon, know otherwise. 

Lord Corlys could have all but predicted what came next, after a grievous line from Ser Otto that goes, “Perhaps we should finally arrange for a union between the Prince and one of the Ladies of the Kingdom. Lord Baratheon’s eldest daughter might be – ”

Of course, he does not get to finish imparting this idea, as Daemon rises in a flash, Dark Sister drawn across the table and directed to Ser Otto’s sternum. 

The Kingsguard springs into action. Any harm conducted during the small council meeting, could of course also extend to their King. 

“Daemon!” Viserys growls, his patience having run out. 

The prince simply warns, “I will not have this snivelling sycophant make decisions about who and when I am to wed. And I will not hear any more slander about the woman whom I love, do I make myself clear?”

Ser Otto merely stands his guard, hands half raised by his sides as a gesture to the Kingsguard to not make any sudden attempts to remove the prince from the room, lest he should suffer any grievous harm to his person as a result.

“Daemon,” Viserys implores again, “Ser Otto was merely making a suggestion. What else is the small council for if not to freely discuss matters of import for ourselves and for the Seven Kingdoms? You are their prince, after all. Whom you wed will be most crucial, indeed.”

Daemon begins to relent. Slowly lowering Dark Sister, a sly smirk materializes on his lips, as if to show just how little this perceived threat to Ser Otto means to him. It isn't even enough to warrant an apology. 

Daemon seats himself once more, appearing to look unfazed as he inspects the calluses on his hands. “There is only one reason as to why I even deigned to participate in today’s council meeting. I wish to know if we have finally received word back from those bloody witches who had me returned… the ones who can apparently travel through our realm and the other.”

Viserys sighs, knowing his brother is not there for anything else. Not for his duties. Not for the realm. But for you. “Nothing yet, Daemon. But we are trying – ”

He stands abruptly, without any mind to formalities. “Then it appears there is no reason for my presence here.” 

In a moment, before any plea could be spoken, the Prince was gone from the council chambers.

Lord Beesbury, confused, addresses the table, “Was the Prince not meant to report on the recent dealings of his Gold Cloaks with – ”

“Oh, what does it matter, my Lord?” Ser Tyland interjects, with a scornful whip of his hair. “Prince Daemon would not be aware of all the goings on in the Red Keep, seeing as he is either holed up in his chambers or too busy hunting down those shameless heretics who can miraculously send him back to – ”

“Ser Tyland,” Viserys commands, his voice clear for once. “I shall ask that you leave that matter alone. Unless you can be of any help, which I highly fucking doubt.”

A hush falls over the small council. Their King has never been prone to swear freely like a drunken Lyseni, unlike his younger brother. 

“Perhaps,” Ser Otto says, “we should convene this council meeting for another day, my King.”

Viserys merely huffs in response. “Very well.”

As he departs the room with the Kingsguard, he wonders if things will ever be even just an infinitesimal amount of simple when it concerns his brother.

His conclusion comes swiftly – no, it never will be.

You lower your clipboard on the nurses station, leaning against it in exhaustion.

“Ms. Carlson is stable now, thankfully.” You address Dessa, an older colleague who has been newly stationed at the desk. “We just need to monitor her blood pressure from time to time.”

“Sure thing.” Dessa gives you a once over, clearly not approving your current state. “But sweetheart, why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ve been taking way too many extra shifts just out of the blue like this, and you have to give yourself a break.”

Taking a deep breath, you roll out the tension in your neck and shoulders. The bright wash of hospital lighting makes you feel slightly nauseous, so you shut your eyes tight. Briefly. 

But not brief enough. In the recesses of your mind, in your memories, you can almost feel him. Hear him.

Leaving this world for but a moment, and gently slipping from consciousness, is enough to make you remember. 

And you remember everything.

My love. Come lie with me, he would say. 

Your mind reels from exhaustion, and from the perpetual echo of his voice. Leave me alone.

Come back, is what you meant. It’s what you’ll always mean. But his desire to return to his Westeros, to his Seven Kingdoms, was too strong for you to ignore. He swore he wanted to stay with you, so you had to make the choice for him.

This measly world was never meant for Daemon, whose fire can set everything ablaze. And there surely were plenty of times when he almost let his rage and his usual ways get the better of him, if it weren’t for you. His anchor.

You know that he would be too much to bear, and this world would try to quell him. 

It was the right decision. So why did you have to feel so wretched about it?

Because you love him, you big idiot.

“Fuck.” You mutter under your breath, opening your eyes.

“Sorry, what was that?” Dessa’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, the expletive taking her aback. Poor girl just expressed concern, and here I am over her desk, eyes glazed over like a zombie.

“Oh, it’s just… you’re right, I do need some rest. My shift ends in an hour and I plan to sleep for the next 24 hours. At least.” That isn’t the truth, but you don’t feel it necessary to deepen her concern. You could be upfront and admit that you find it hard to fall into slumber, because almost every time, without fail, Daemon is there to welcome you.

His voice. His touch. His burning gaze. Your dreams could be there to offer a sense of comfort, a safe haven that can temporarily ease you out of heartbreak, but all you can feel is a painful loss. 

You don’t think it right to lose yourself in what was, or what could have been. Where would be the point in that? It isn’t as if this is a typical long-distance relationship, and Daemon simply went off to live in another city. 

No. The damn bastard had to go off to an actual other dimension, didn’t he?

How can anyone expect any less from someone like Daemon?

Dessa relaxes, and sighs audibly. “That’s good. Go do that, hon. If you want, I can cover for your next rounds, whenever that’ll be. You’ve been taking up all the extra shifts around here as it is.”

“Thank you, Dessa,” you say genuinely. “I think I’ll go check on 517 one last time before I go.”

You start to push yourself off of the counter and get your bearings, but Dessa reaches out for your hand, keeping you in place for a moment longer.

She smiles, and you can’t help but notice something lingering underneath her expression of comfort. As if she knows. 

“It’s going to be alright,” she says, and the sentiment quickly takes root in you, a sense of warmth wrapping around you like a warm hug. Too soon though, she lets go, and you are snapped back into reality. 

Until she adds, still smiling, “Those we love tend to find their way back to us, ñuha riña, if that is truly what is meant to be.”

Everything stops. It feels as if ice has infiltrated your veins, like some sudden shock. That sounds like…

“What… what did you call me?” you croak.

She merely tilts her head, her smile dropping only slightly, taking on a new emotion. Something like pity. Does she know?

“I don’t know what you mean. I merely gave you a piece of advice, my child.”

You slowly look around, trying to shake some sense back into yourself. Shaking your head, you say, “Right, I must have misheard things. It’s just… I thought I heard you speak…” High Valyrian. His native tongue. 

“Speak what?” She asks, a hint of confusion visible on her face.

“Nothing,” you shake your head quickly, stepping away from the nurses’ station. “Thanks for the advice, Dessa. I’m just… a little out of the loop is all. I’m definitely going to rest after this. I’ll go do some final rounds, and check back with you in 5 minutes?”

“Of course, darling.” She smiles again, and you think of how welcoming the sight is. How genuine. Dessa has this seemingly maternal quality to her, and you feel grateful to be at the receiving end of it. 

You mirror her smile, before finally turning and sauntering towards the rooms.

When you finally reach your apartment, you have to drag yourself up the flight of steps, your legs feeling like jell-o underneath you.

Dessa is absolutely right. All those extra shifts are taking their toll. In your defense, you believe them to be necessary. Your own messed-up version of therapy. Cooping yourself up in your flat would be torture, when Daemon has left his mark on every inch of the space.

The kitchen where he kept trying to make dishes, only for them to end up charred at the bottom of your trusty IKEA pot. The couch where you spent most nights, curled up in each other’s arms, boxes of takeaway shared between the two of you.

You would dramatically relay your worries about your patients in the ICU, and he would muse about the 'peculiar sort of idiots' he had to deal with at the auto shop. By that, he meant irate customers and even women who took a liking to him. So much so that they would deliberately lose small parts of their car engines, only to specifically request Daemon’s assistance. 

He would pull you onto his lap and cage you in his arms, smirking at the poorly masked envy in your expression. Soon after, your worries would dissipate in a haze, his lips snaking smoothly all over your skin.

I’m clearly upset now. Where’s my comforting embrace, huh?

Sullen, you make your way to the kitchen. Upon quick inspection of the fridge, it becomes evident that you desperately need to make a grocery run.

“I’m officially a peasant. No wonder the great Prince of Westeros didn’t want to stay with me.” You rack your brain for other alternatives, taking note to push away the thought of what Daemon would suggest. Freshly made pizza, with all his preferred trappings – spicy salami, heaps of cheese, nduja, and basil. Conveniently delivered straight to your door in a jiff. 

No. Definitely not that. 

The thought of Daemon not having access to such a glorious thing as pizza anymore made you spiteful. Take that. That’s what you get for leaving. 

You drag yourself onto the couch, slumping atop the worn out cushions. Silly girl. Do you think he would care? That world has everything he could ever wish for. 

The sound of knocking on the door pulls you out of your thoughts. Thankfully. Two sure raps on the wood to pull you out of your misery, for who knows how long.

“Hi.” Tom stands on the other side, a sheepish smile on his face. “Care for some company?”

This would be the fourth time since Daemon’s departure that he’s shown up at your door, out of the blue, simply asking to spend time with you. And this would also be the fourth time that you acquiesce, and let him in. 

Any and all distractions are welcome. Even in the form of your neighbour, with his puppy-dog eyes and suggestive remarks that clearly indicate that he still has not gotten over you. Despite being rudely confronted with the reality of you and Daemon, many months ago. 

But the reality is… there is no more you and Daemon, is there? Once Tom grew aware of that, his eagerness returned twofold. 

You did not show the same interest. Not in that way, at least. You made sure of that by saying “I’m glad we’re friends again.” when he first came over. Friends. Only that.

Still, there was some part of you that felt as if you were leading Tom on. By letting him in again, being his friend, you were giving him hope that it could turn into something more. Especially now that you badly needed a shoulder to lean on. 

Before you could let guilt rip through you, you force a smile up at him. “Sure, come in.”

I might pay for this later. 

For now, his carefree laugh and animated talk of everything that’s going on in this world might just help piece together the remains of your heart. 

*flashback* March 2023 / the 3rd Moon, 113 AC 

It was no easy feat to summon a priestess of the old gods to King’s Landing, but when Prince Daemon disappeared, his brother the King Viserys spared no effort in seeing his brother safely returned. 

Every sept of every religion was consulted. The Maesters of the Citadel. What remains of the water-wizards in Dorne. The magisters of the Free Cities. 

Many of the common folk surmised that perhaps, the volatile Prince Daemon simply took off without any word of warning.

However, that supposition may be easily debated with the fact of Caraxes’ presence on Dragonstone. Daemon would not have left Caraxes behind. If anything, he would have almost certainly ridden on dragonback to wherever he planned to go.

It further complicated matters when some of the soldiers present on the battlefield wherein Daemon was last seen profusely swear that their Prince simply vanished into thin air. 

The Maester were quick to dissuade their King of supposed foolhardy lies. One does not simply vanish. It is unheard of, a mere calumny. Their advice had been near unanimous - the Prince left, or was in hiding. Likely he did not wish to be found, which is why he left his dragon behind, the creature inevitably drawing attention wherever it goes. 

Just when the commotion around his disappearance had somewhat dissipated, a triad of self-proclaimed members of an outer sect, an adjunct to the priestesses of the old gods, made themselves known in the Red Keep. Accompanied by the elder priestess, they asked for an audience with the King, who eagerly welcomed them. His council members, on the other hand, were wrought with suspicion.

The women, three close-knit sisters, introduced themselves as Treesa, Verness, and Dessa.

They claimed to be part of a covert sect that sprung from the Old Religion. One that remains largely unknown in Westeros, which warranted the suspicion of the small council. 

“Realmwalkers.” Verness declared in a proud tone. “That is what we call ourselves, borne out of the fact that we can jump from this realm, my King, to another strange yet equally fascinating one. The very same realm that Prince Daemon finds himself trapped in.”

“Trapped? And in another realm, you say?” Viserys’ fury was rising to the surface. “I charge you to speak plainly, and do not offer me such calumnies. Where is my brother?”

Treesa smiled wryly, unperturbed by the King’s growing wrath. “He has been sent to the realm of Korzion. The realm of steel, if you please. Largely inhibited by men. Like us, but not quite. They are somewhat more… connected to these… these machines.” There was a faraway look in her eyes, rendering her expression almost vacant. Her gaze met that of the King’s, but it appeared as though she did not really see him. Her mind was elsewhere, her skirts moving alongside her gently swaying figure. 

Upon hearing this, Otto Hightower leaned in to whisper to the King, “These so-called priestesses must only be devising some trickery, my King. Perhaps we should adjourn – ”

Dessa interjected, “We can prove it to you, King Viserys. We are the only ones who can ensure that your brother is safely returned to this realm. Whether you trust us or not, that does not alter this truth.”

Viserys stiffened, a decision forming in his mind. Ignoring the look of reproach from his Hand, he took a deep breath and responded, “Tell me everything.”

September 2023 / the 9th Moon, 113 AC

“It took you a long while to allow yourselves to be found again.” Daemon’s voice, while low and controlled, maintains an underlying impatience. As if he could not be bothered, and is only going through everything for the hope of seeing you again. Sitting casually, partially covered by the shadows, he briefly thinks of how you would definitely make a remark of how much he resembles a ‘Bond villain’ from those movies you love. 

You once ran your fingers repeatedly over his hair, mussing it completely, after a couple of glasses of wine white. Daemon sat there, half in surprise and half in adoration. “Mystery man,” you slurred, smiling sleepily, “you’re someone straight out of a book, or a movie, or… or… my dreams.” Your eyes widened at that, at the incredulity of it all.

“You have dreamt about me, haven't you?” He cheekily responded. This was quite some time before the two of you finally dropped all the pretence and acted on your desires. Before the two of you allowed yourselves to fall completely in love.

“Mmm,” you giggled, “Strange how I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

Daemon, for all his brazenness and devil-may-care behaviour, found himself feeling disheartened at your words. Bad boy, you said. But that had a different, softer meaning for you. You were not aware how bad, how malevolent, he actually is. You did not know how he had dismembered enemies in battle, in his blind rage. You did not know how he had selfishly manipulated and lied his way purely to get what he wanted. You did not know that he would kill anyone who tried to hurt you, without reservation, in a heartbeat. 

He thought of how you were too good for him. Sitting there, after hours upon hours of your daily work as a healer, still managing to offer him a meal and spend time with him after near exhaustion, your smile was still whole and true and good. And it was being directed at him. The strange, angry man who infiltrated your little world and did not seem to want to leave. 

He thought, determinedly, that he did not deserve any of it. He did not deserve you.

Treesa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “I think I have lost you, my prince. You are no longer in this world, as you were.” Sitting across from him in his chambers, she has half a mind to become irate at how Prince Daemon is regarding her as if she is nothing more than the mud on the sole of his princely boots. A mere inconvenience. But her annoyance is restrained by her understanding of how he must be feeling. 

He regains himself, ignoring her remark, and continues, “Where are the others?” Then he flippantly waves his hand. “Never mind that. You said you will help me. Then can you transport me back to her world? Or her to mine? How soon can this be done?”

Treesa smiles slyly, “So many questions. How powerless you must feel against the tides of fate. What if your story has already been determined by the gods? That you meet your love, stay together briefly, only so that she may change you forever?”

“Careful now, witch.”

“Realmwalker.” 

“Whatever you call yourselves. Make no mistake, I am not asking for your help. I demand it, as your prince.”

Treesa just laughs, the shrill sound as light as air. “Do not take us so lightly, Rogue Prince. The one you claim to love is also one of us.”

“What?” 

“Your love from Korzion? Oh yes. She is a Realmwalker too.”

“Impossible.” Daemon says, shaking his head, but he is already running through his memories of you. Was there something that he might have missed? Were there any telltale signs? Had you deceived him?

“It is the truth.” Treesa shrugs. “Only she does not know it yet. My elder sister, Dessa, is currently in her world and she is going to make herself known to her very soon. Then Dessa may also let her know who she truly is.”

“But she…” For the first time since he was tongue-tied around your presence, Daemon struggles to find the right words. “She is not from Westeros, is she?”

“No,” Treesa explains, “but she is a descendant of a woman who was. A Realmwalker of old, who chose to live her life in Korzion.”

“Well then,” Daemon stands, as if prepared to jump through a portal that very moment, “if she is of this world, then she can surely come here, can she not? There is nothing that can hinder this. You claim she is a Realmwalker like you. Bring her to me. Or… bring me to her. You have done it before.”

“It was Dessa who transported you to Korzion, my prince. And, it is no easy feat to bring another non-walker to Korzion. It can take a heavy toll on any of us. Much was needed to be orchestrated for the King to momentarily travel realms just to coax you back with him.”

Daemon merely petulantly tilts his head, and clenches his jaw, as if to say, ‘how does that help me?’.

The very first Realmwalker or Vyzh-agon was a priestess of the old Religion.

“Sit down, my prince,” Treesa sighs. “You will know of everything soon enough.”

Aesdella, believed to be originally from Old Valyria, and eventually settling in the North of Westeros, was the very first to travel to the realm of Korzion. Our realm. It remains unclear when she was born and when she perished, but she lived well before Aegon’s Conquest. Another source of speculation is how her abilities came to be, but from her bloodline came those with similar abilities. And so forth. Until this very day. 

Only Aesdella’s female descendants inherited this very nature of being a Realmwalker. This power can remain dormant, hidden under the surface, or it can be practiced and essentially turned into a way of living. Such as with the sect of Treesa, Verness, and Dessa, as well as their other sisters and cousins. 

She was believed to be a formidable woman, garnering respect from even those of other religions, and other lands. Though she made sure that her abilities would not be known by others, seeing as she did not trust the nature of men.  These powers, if in the wrong hands, could bring strife to both Korzion and her realm. It has been said that this is why she made sure that only her daughters and their daughters after them would receive her power, but this is mere conjecture.

There are many peculiarities which concern travelling between realms. The Realmwalker would have to envision her precise destination, lest she should accidentally end up in the middle of some remote part of Amazonia. She would require some tools, if she was not necessarily raised in the practice of realm walking. She would need to prick her fingers or her palm with a sharp sliver of moonstone, let her blood meet the raches of a raven’s feather, and recite a chant in High Valyrian. This is enough to awaken the power passed down to her through Aesdella’s bloodline. The feather will turn to ash in her hands, and swirl around her form, multiplying a thousand fold, and in a moment, this daughter of Aesdella will have travelled realms.

Those with immense power resting inside them would eventually not need the moonstone, nor the raven’s feather, after a while. The chanting matched with pure will is enough. 

A Realmwalker may also transport another to Korzion, and vice versa, but this can exact a heavy toll on both parties if done incorrectly. Which is why Viserys’ jump to Korzion could not be done in a haste, and also why Dessa was rendered unconscious for an entire moon’s turn after having to quickly transport Daemon to Korzion following his fatal injury.

“Dessa saved you by transporting you to Korzion, as realm travel can sometimes have regenerative effects on one’s person. Luckily, your jump proved to be so.” Treesa reveals, the dancing firelight casting shadows on her angular face. “She did this because, and I am certain that you do not remember at all, but you once saved her son’s life, Prince Daemon.”

“You will have to be more particular, as I cannot recall every – ”

“Like I said, you do not remember and it does not matter. What matters is that he is alive and well. Dessa is estranged from this son of hers, but will never cease to care for him. It is a mother’s curse.” Treesa shakes her head in disapproval. Daemon feels inclined to think that she has no children of her own. “You saved her son in battle many moons ago, and so Dessa found a spell that ensured you had blood moonstone on your person, wherever you went. This is one way we can maintain a connection to someone, keep an eye out for them. When she sensed you had been grievously harmed, she immediately triggered the moonstone with a spell that would cause you to walk between realms.”

Daemon listens, not because he is especially intrigued by the entire story. He simply sits, waiting for Treesa to speak about you. Who you truly are, and how this expanse between the both of you can be eliminated.

“Did you know, it was by accident… well, somehow at least… that your lady was in the vicinity after you arrived in Korzion?” Treesa laughs dryly. “Realmwalkers can send another individual such as yourself to Korzion so long as there is a beacon there for you to go to. Another Realmwalker, you see. Dessa meant to send you close to Verness who had been visiting with her… Korzioni lover.” Distaste flashes again across Treesa's face, which goes to show that she does not share the same affinity for having lovers, much less children with such lovers, unlike her sisters.

Daemon turns and meets her gaze straight on. “And yet, I was sent to… close to…”

“Yes.” Tressa nods. “Dessa did not know she existed until then. Her great-grandmother was one of us. When she disappeared ages ago, it was believed that she chose to spend the rest of her days in Korzion. Little was known of whether she fell in love, or whether she eventually had Korzioni children. Daughters that would also carry her ability. But apparently, she has.”

A scoff of disbelief and amazement escapes Daemon’s lips.

In Korzion, you sit once again on your couch after another long shift at the hospital. Only this time – and perhaps it has grown out of being a rarity at this point – Tom sits beside you, comfortably slouched a mere few inches away.

“Now, my Rogue prince,” Treesa leans forward on her elbows, the tone having shifted to something much lighter. “Now do you believe in fate?”

You lean away from him, opting to stick close to the armrest, hoping he would take this little hint. But he’s chosen to ignore it, ambling closer to you the first chance he got. 

Your laptop is in the low table in front of you, a new flick playing on the screen. Some new Netflix production that Tom chose, which you weren’t so keen on. But what did it matter?

Company is company. A distraction is a distraction. You probably should head straight to sleep, but you didn’t want to risk having yet another dream of Daemon. Another dream that will end abruptly and wrench you back into this grim reality. 

Remnants of takeout sushi containers are scattered on the kitchen counter. When Tom suggested pizza, you were quick to protest. Daemon loved pizza, and he loathed sushi. So, why not have sushi on this fine evening?

“So when will you get to reading it?” Tom asks, referring to the book he lent you. He initially wanted to give it to you as a gift, but you said you didn’t want a gift if there was no occasion. When he responded with, “I don’t need some special occasion to give a gift to a beautiful girl I care about,” you struggled so very hard to maintain a straight face and not roll your eyes. 

Daemon would hate this. If he still cared.

“I guess I’ll start tonight.” You lie, picking the book from your lap, pretending to peruse the back cover. “Seems like quite the read. I don’t think it will be like any of the other books I’ve read.” Of course it won’t. Because I would never purchase this myself.

“That’s great! You’ll love it, it’s a New York Times bestseller. I found it on BookTok.” He says, as if to reassure you, though it doesn’t really do the job.

You sense his arm snaking behind you on the seat, and before you can make some excuse about having to get some water, an unexpected knock echoes from the front door. 

Thank you. Whoever you are.

You rush toward it, finding Dessa on the other side.

“Nuha riña,” she says, a wide smile on her face. “It’s time.”

She said it again. I knew it.  “What the fu-”

She looks over your shoulder, noticing Tom standing close behind, as if in protection. “What about Daemon?” She asks sincerely.

Daemon? You feel your heartbeat falter, taken aback by someone else saying his name out loud. 

“H-how? You never met him. He was gone before you even came to work at…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully. “Who are you?”

She takes your hands in hers, a firm yet gentle hold. 

“The question, my dear, is who are you?”

end of part three.

______________________

*preview* of part 4

October 2023 / the 10th Moon, 113 AC

“This is real?” Your senses are overwhelmed, and you feel somewhat floaty, as if you’re nowhere at all. Perhaps, you are nowhere, not in your realm and not in Daemon’s, but somewhere in the middle. “Am I doing this? Is it working?”

Daemon, who was frozen at the sight of you,  immediately strides forward. Desperate to feel you, his hands hold onto whatever he can. Your face, your hips, your hands. “My darling, all of this is fucking astonishing, and we can certainly marvel at what you can do to no end, but quite frankly, right this moment I could hardly bring myself to care.”

He smashes his lips to yours. They move relentlessly, as if on their own accord, their master groaning like a starved beast. You feel him, or you think you do, his familiar scent engulfing you, and he feels like home. You feel his silver hair sliding between your fingertips, his sharp teeth gnawing gently at your lips, his fingernails digging into your backside and melding your torso onto his.

Daemon is not one to waste time, that’s for sure.

“I miss you,” you breathe, as he kisses down the hollow of your throat.

“As I you, my love.” Daemon purrs, nipping at your collarbone, breathing you in. “You simply have no idea…”

You feel him, but only just… and it’s not enough. But it’ll have to do.

“Daemon… this is…” You try to voice out your concern, despite the moment. Dessa was right, your corporeal forms cannot meet through your projection; the two of you stand in your bedroom, but everything seems to be enveloped in a thick fog. If you press hard enough, you think your fingers will simply pass through Daemon as if he were a spectre. You realize that he knows this, too, but chooses to ignore it. 

“This is the closest we’ve been in far too fucking long, my love. It would have been sooner if those cunts made greater effort to – ”

You snort, confronted once more with how brash he can be. “Daemon, those cunts? Really? I am one of them, you know. Besides, it’s not their fault.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” His lips form a desperate, wanting smile, as he connects his forehead to yours. “Let me have this. Have you. I need you.”

He’s right. In physical form or otherwise, he is still your Daemon. And you have craved each other too much to be denied any kind of reunion.

“Okay.” Your hand reaches up to cradle his face, and he leans into it. He then looks around, appraising your chambers, as he used to say.

“Nothing has changed.” He hums, while holding you tightly to him, as if he’s afraid that you might dissolve into air. “What is this now? Ever the reader, my heart.” He reaches for the crisp, new paperback novel atop your dresser. 

“Oh, that’s… yeah, someone lent it to me.”

“It certainly does not seem too suited to your tastes.”

You let out a humourless laugh. “Astute observation. It’s my neighbour’s. He apparently thought I needed something new to read.” When he gave you the book, Tom happily explained how he thought you should, “...expose yourself to other things. Things you possibly haven’t tried out before. New films, books, friends. You know to help you forget all about…”

“Your neighbour – what was he called? Tim?” Daemon’s lips curl in distaste.

“You remember his name, Daemon.” You roll your eyes at your lover, and his poorly-veiled jealousy. You were one and the same.

“You have been letting him inside your house?” He inquires, voice dropping an entire octave. If looks could kill…

You nod slowly, carefully. “He’s been visiting every now and then. It’s not a big deal.”

Daemon tilts his head, a sinister look appearing on his face. Smirking, he leans in and whispers, “Has that mongrel taken my place, dearest?”

You swallow thickly, his darkened gaze doing much and more to break your self-control. If he doesn’t stand down… well.

“Has any lady taken mine? In that amazing, grand realm of yours, Prince Daemon?” You respond, rising to his challenge. Your fingers snake in between the low-collar of his white tunic. Only Daemon has ever been able to elicit this out of you.

He enjoys the way you directly meet his eyes, unwavering in your stead. No one ever looked at him in such a way; not one has ever seen him as you do. Daemon has always inspired fear and intimidation in others. Those who find themselves comfortable enough to hold a conversation with the Rogue Prince tend to feel ill at ease or on their guard. As if he might turn on them at any moment. 

People usually mosey up to him because of a favour. Because of his status, his reputation. Because they want something out of him. 

But not you. No. Daemon knows that he has only ever inspired love in you.

Well, that and what might have been absolute surprise followed by wariness, when he was suddenly sprung into your world, injured and in a coat of full armour.

He kisses you passionately in response. Once, then pulling away only to breathe, and again, and again.

“No one can ever replace you.” He swears. He has never been a devout man, but in that moment, he curses all the gods that you two are apart. Meeting in this middle-realm is insufficient. He feels you, somehow. But he does not feel your warmth, nor the goosebumps on your skin from his touch. You are there, but you are not. 

But it will have to do. For now.

“Is this ailing you? Sustaining a connection like this, in this place?” Daemon asks.

“Not really,” you admit. “Dessa says I’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, but it shouldn’t take too big of a toll on me. I’m learning the ropes, and there’s a lot to learn. I mean… this is fucking insane.”

“And here you thought me extraordinary. When it was you all along.”

“Hardly.” You smile in return. If you could feel warmth right now, you would certainly feel it blooming across your face. “I’m not the only one, it seems. And, my great-grandmother… she was from your world.” Your smile stretches twofold in awe. 

He brushes a stray strand from your face.

“The Rogue Prince and his Realmwalker. We were always meant to find each other.”

series taglist: @omgsuperstarg @sebastian025 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @lucytheripper @kindaslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @vainillasmil157 @llovinjoonie @outundertheocean @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @pineappleandro @luckythirtxn97 @knockemdeadgirl @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @kryzeria @selahstars @captainweirdo42 @nitimurinvetitumsposts @aemondmyl0ve @eternallyvenus @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @itscheybaby @my-dark-prince @moonmaiden1996 @mukduk-not-murder @partypoison00 @cookielovesbook-akie @borikenlove @avadakadabra93 @luloveseddie @katsav17

Here we are - it's been a LONG time coming.

Grateful to all of yous for struggling through this wait. I know how much of a pain it is when a fic I'm reading just can't get updated soon enough. You guys deserve Daemon Targaryen at his very best 🖤

Oh and fire like yours isn't losing the somewhat lighthearted tone it might have had. The next part is when mayhem ensues, involving denim, vintage leather jackets, pizza!!!, etc. in Westeros. I just had to get through all this explaining as to how Daemon somehow ended up in our world (Korzion).

Maroon part three up next!

[flowersforzoe11]

Alex Rider S1E7 Episode notes

Just had the most hideous combo of back2baack travel weekends, midterms, and canvassing for the upcoming election (reminder to any Americans of age to go vote--it's what Jack Starbright would want<3), so i have not had a single second to think about this show for the past like 3 weeks. HOWEVER my life is slightly less chaotic now and i'm ready for ep7. without further ado...

-WHAT DEATH SCENE FAKEOUT ALEX YOU GENIUS (i was gonna say, i didn't think his injuries were *that* serious in the book but goddamnit what a reveal. the past few episodes are such a love letter to this show)

-sorry i'm literally still in shock that was genius

-okay i haven't read this book in probably 5 or 6 years, but i feel like Alex returning to Point Blanc was way less consentual. i will say my major gripe with this show is that they're downplaying the evil that MI6 was, especially in the beginning (esp. the show's "no signal" vs book Blunt actively ignoring the signal)

-okay! fine! i like this Smithers (the tweak the chromosomes lines is such a funny cop-out line but i will ignore the science and accept it)

-alex yelling at Jones/K unit is the definition of AURA. god i love "defending those he loves" Alex

-and tulip can keep Kyra's name out of her mouth

-scream it for those in the back. MICHAEL ROSCOE WOULD NEVER QUOTE HITLER

-the motorbikes line was soooo Ella Cornell coded it's crazy (read I Spy i dare you)

-ahhHHHHHH CUB (this is such a good inclusion of K unit)

-Otto Farrant was so good during the k unit sniper scene. real loss of innocence moment for tv Alex and i could see it in his face. love love love (also that was just such a good scene in general. absolutely clincial. if i ever go to war, i'm taking all of k unit with me)

-the dr Greif x stellenbosch dynamic is so deliciously fucked up

-"we need greif alive" if i don't get my helicopter murder and shitty pun i RIOT

-CLONE KYRA IS CRAZY I AM GAGGED

-also for the record i'd be pissed if i was Wolf. just had to air the place out with very little back up and Alex just disappears despite having exactly one job (to not disappear)

-if there's one thing about Alex, it's that he gets his shit rocked often

-i love Alex's semi-working knowledge of science (especially because it only seems to exist when things are about to explode). also, as someone who graduated with a STEM degree, the lab fight scene was awesome. when will it be my turn to throw flasks at my enemies...

-well the project gemini information certianly was destroyed !

-the kids seeing their clones scene was absolutely bone-chilling

-okay i'm gonna say it. i feel like tv Alex is a silghtly nerfed version of book Alex. i feel like his role was a lot more important than "tag along and almost get himself killed"

-WOLF BEING SO NICE TO ALEX??? I'LL CRY REAL TEARS I LOVE THEM

-NO HELICOPTER SCENE AND BAD PUN???????? GET YOUR PITCHFORKS BC WE RIDE AT DAWN

-alex you poor shell of a boy you deserve the world (HOWEVER tv point blanc was maybe only 1/2 as traumatic as book point blanc. someone def toned AHorz down)

-god scorpia has their greasy little hands in everything

-JULIUS

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] // 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤

summary: as tensions rise between your tribe at Black Hat and the Ottos at the ranch, you're certain the killing won't end. Of course, things start to change when the Clarks join the ranch, and one Clark in particular seems to be after the same thing as you: peace.

warning/s: mentions of discrimination, violence, death and injury.

author's note: hey all! so this was a request on here about a month ago and i've been trying very hard to get it written up, but between work and being ill lol, it's been hard. Finally though, it's here! this first chapter is a lil quick-paced to get through the scenes in the show, but it slows down after this and there’s much more alicia x you scenes too. four parts to expect, so stay tuned :)

(also peep the new layout 👀)

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

I was finishing eating lunch when my dad returned from his outing with a small party from our tribe. He didn't look hurt in any way thankfully, but when he spotted me, he dismissed those around him so he could speak to me privately.

"Hey, Y/N," he sighed, pulling me in for a side hug. "How are you?"

I returned the hug, curious to what he wanted to share. "I'm good. What happened? Did you get into another confrontation with the ranchers?"

The ranchers were those inhabiting Broke Jaw Ranch, owned by the Otto family, and whom had problems with us at Black Hat Reservation ever since they stole our land. Prior to the dead rising, my father and ancestors had been trying to win back the land the legal way, but legalities never worked in our favour. Now, no more laws meant resorting to the old fashioned method – violence. And that was exactly what the ranchers practiced, which made me fear every time my father left our home.

"We came across Troy and some others," my dad explained. Troy was one of Jeremiah Otto's sons – the other being Jake – who also headed up the ranch, and he was an absolute dickhead, but a dangerous one. "We warned them to stay away from us."

"You think they'll listen?" I asked.

He tried not to smile as he suddenly threw a bag on the ground from his back, and out tumbled several pairs of boots. Presumably Troy and his party's.

"They should get the hint," he answered. "And if not, they know the helicopter was us. They know what we're capable of."

I sighed inwardly, knowing he was referring to the helicopter our people had shot out of the sky the other night. It wasn't something I was particularly proud of, even if I wasn't directly involved, but it did serve to send a message. I understood why we did it, but sometimes I only wanted peace and not more violence.

"What is it?" he asked, sensing something was wrong.

I looked up at him, expression softening. "Can't we try to negotiate with them? I'm sure if we agreed to speak with Jake–"

"You know what this land means to our people," he said sternly. "The Ottos don't negotiate. Never have. Why would we try to meet them halfway?"

I nodded slowly, having heard this many times before. And to an extent, he was right. The ranchers and the Ottos were all the same, as experience had shown us. They didn't like us one bit, solely because we were different to them.

But if there was a chance at negotiation, Jake would be the one to go to. The most levelheaded of the Ottos, he wanted a peaceful solution, too. But my father didn't trust him, nor see it that way. And maybe I should've started to think like him, too.

"Sorry, I know you're right," I admitted. "I'm just tired of trying to survive, even now. I thought it would be over."

My dad frowned apologetically before pulling me in for a hug. "We're going to get our land back. And they aren't going to hurt us anymore. We've got the upper hand now, Y/N, you just wait."

I nodded, returning his hug, and tried to stop being so soft. His methods weren't always agreeable, but maybe they were necessary to winning this war.

"I'm gonna double check our security on the perimeter," he said once he pulled away. "Take care of yourself."

I offered him a small smile as I watched him walk away, before it faded and I felt shitty all over again. Deciding to get my mind off it, I went to the well to get some water, only for Ofelia to join my side and earn my attention.

"Hey, you look down," she noticed, glancing at me as she filled her bottle up. "What's up?"

Ofelia was one of our newest members of the Black Hat Reservation, someone my father saved from dying out in the desert. As I'd gotten to know her more and more, we became quite good friends and I was grateful to have her around, not really opening up to many people like I did her.

"Just thinking about all this stuff with the ranch," I admitted. "It's tiring is all."

"They should give back what they stole," Ofelia said with a sigh. "They can't get away with it, even now."

"I know," I agreed. "I just– sometimes I feel like the violence is a never ending cycle. They steal from us. We fight them. They fight us. We blow up their helicopter. When does it end?"

"When they surrender," Ofelia said confidently, and I envied it because why couldn't I think that way? Why did I have to be so soft?

I nodded, spacing out a little as I looked back to the well. She squeezed my shoulders slightly, comforting me.

"It won't always be like this," she promised. "We're getting close. They'll give it up eventually. And the cycle will end."

"I hope so," I muttered, before nudging her in the side. "Thanks, Ofelia."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

Barely a few days later, there was a commotion out front, and by the time I'd left the diner to see what was happening, my father was stood before Jake Otto himself and a stranger he'd brought along with him, probably another rancher. All guns were pointed their way and I grew curious to why Jake had shown up. Did he want to negotiate? Maybe there was a chance after all?

"Take them inside whilst I get cleaned up," my dad ordered, flicking his hand.

Some guards ushered Jake and the girl inside the diner as I exchanged glances with my dad, ignoring the bloody apron he wore, a consequence of him beheading a pig moments before.

"You're hearing him out?" I asked, trying to hide any hopefulness, but he knew me too well.

"Doesn't mean anything," he told me, giving me a knowing look. "But we shall hear what he has to say."

I tried to contain my curiosity and eagerness as I nodded. After waiting for him to clean himself up, we both went to the diner and took a seat at the booth opposite Jake and the mystery girl. It was quiet at first, Jake and my father eyeing each other up. Then his eyes met mine and he nodded slightly in acknowledgement, to which I returned. We'd spoken a few times on occasion, but that was in the old world.

The mystery girl beside him also looked between my father and I, though with a hardened stare as if she'd already made her mind up about us. It could have been laughable considering she didn't know us, but I was too eager to hear what their proposal was to care.

"My father will never abandon the ranch," Jake started calmly, meeting my dad's eyes. "You know that."

Without faltering, my dad answered, "Then we'll feed him to the crows like Phil McCarthy." I tried not to cringe as I recalled said rancher being left to be pecked away by crows when he trespassed on our land. "Then Russell Brown and Vernon Trimbol."

Those named were all shared founders of Broke Jaw Ranch, and the number one reason we could never have our land returned to us. My father harboured enough hatred for them for all of us, and I didn't blame him, even if he sometimes let it dictate his actions.

"Russell's dead," Jake informed us. "The adobe burned."

A little pleased, my dad said, "That karma's overdue, but welcomed."

"Vernon Trimbol's dead, too," the mystery girl spoke, eyeing my father curiously.

"I hope it was a long and... painful illness," my dad said without any remorse.

"He died with his family," the girl continued, almost challengingly. "His wife, his daughter. You killed them."

I furrowed my brows, eyes studying the brunette and her absurd accusation. But before I could even think to defend my father, he spoke calmly to Jake.

"Is this girl speaking for you?"

The girl and Jake exchanged glances before Jake ignored my father's question and instead pleaded, "We need the violence to stop."

"Soon will, Jake," my dad answered nonchalantly, before raising three fingers in the air. "Three down, one to go."

"My father never did anything to you or your people–" Jake began, but this seemed to irritate my dad.

"Tell me, junior," he interrupted, "do the lies turn your stomach? Do you taste the bile in the back of your throat?"

"State police investigated this," Jake explained, "they found no correlation between–"

"Stop–" my father banged his hand on the table with frustration, "–talking. You're boring me, like you did in court. Those days are dead."

"I thought we had an understanding, even outside of court," Jake tried again, and I could see why my father was growing more angry, despite holding it in.

"I understood," my father reminded him. "When you came here with your drunk friends, I was to serve them their food with a smile on my face. Tolerate their slurs. Clean up their vomit in the toilet, and thank them for their pocket change tips."

I swallowed hard, the memories of those days returning to mind as he mentioned them. Nobody wanted to see their family belittled, but that's exactly what we had to endure from Jake's family. The peace we wanted was looking farther and farther out of reach.

"The days of the white man's courts are over," my dad told him. "Land grabs, desecrations... over. Now you have our verdict. The first humans' verdict. You must vacate our lands."

It fell quiet as Jake stared at my father, trying to read his expression. Would he finally give in? Could this be it?

"I was hoping for a parley," Jake said instead, and I should have known it was too good to be true. "A chance to negotiate and to avoid more loss."

I glanced at my dad, seeing him stuck in thought as he digested Jake's words. But this was exactly what I was after this whole time and we couldn't just let it slip by.

"Let's do it," I spoke up for the first time, earning everyone's attention.

"Y/N–"

"No, I'm serious," I cut my dad off as he tried to make me reconsider, no doubt. "A parley is good. It's what we all need. To stop the killing. To stop the cycle."

"Exactly," the mystery girl agreed, and I glanced at her with both gratitude and curiosity.

My dad paused, studying my expression, and I communicated my hope for this all I could with just my eyes. Thankfully, he seemed to understand.

"Maybe you're right," he finally gave in, responding to Jake's offer. "If a parley can spare blood... we can talk about it. After we eat."

Just on cue, Ofelia approached our booth with a tray of freshly prepared food, setting it down before us.

After sharing an awkwardly quiet meal with Jake and his newly introduced rancher friend, Alicia, the latter excused herself to chat with Ofelia outside. I watched them leave, wondering who exactly Alicia was and how she knew Ofelia, but my attention was returned to Jake and my dad as they discussed the terms of the parley.

One of our people were to be exchanged with one of theirs as a hostage – in this case, Jake – to earn each other's trust and respect the temporary ceasefire. I was familiar with this method and even ready to offer myself up, but as soon as I brought it up to my dad once Jake left the room, I was immediately shut down.

"I'm not sending you," he said in that annoyingly calm but stern voice he pulled out on his subordinates. "I've already decided it's Ofelia."

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. "Dad, c'mon. I'm the right person for this! You know peace is all I've been preaching! I can do this, just let me! Let me be useful!"

"You are useful," he told me. "Here."

"Dad–!"

"End of discussion!" he silenced me, before closing his eyes with annoyance. "You're not going over there. Ofelia knows what she's doing. She's older."

"So, what? I'm a kid all of a sudden?" I asked rhetorically. "We both know I stopped being a kid a long time ago. Back when–"

"Don't say it," he warned me, and the hurt returned to his eyes momentarily. "Please, Y/N. Just respect my decision."

I clenched my jaw, frowning. I couldn't argue this with him, I knew it. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't hurt him, so I nodded reluctantly and left it at that.

"Good," he said with relief. "C'mon."

We joined the others outside, where Ofelia and Alicia seemed to finish up their conversation. My dad nodded to Ofelia, who approached us, seeming to know what was going to happen. After discussing the parley with her, we waited for Jake to be ready, but he seemed to be bickering quietly with Alicia on the sidelines.

"Do we have a parley or not?" my father asked impatiently, interrupting their fight.

Jake gave Alicia a disapproving stare, but nodded. "It appears we do. Alicia will be staying."

My father nodded and motioned for Jake to follow him for a moment. This was the perfect chance for me to speak to Ofelia.

"You know them?" I asked her quietly, away from prying ears.

"Only Alicia," she answered truthfully. "Remember when I told you about that family who helped me? The Clarks?" I nodded and she continued, "That's Alicia, the daughter."

I was surprised to say the least, glancing over at the brunette in question. "Small world."

"Uh-huh..."

"From what you told me about them, about her, it doesn't sound like they're like the Ottos," I said with confusion. "Why is she helping them?"

Ofelia frowned, looking down at her shoes. "We killed Travis, her family. He was in the helicopter when we shot it down."

I sighed, glancing out at the Clark girl who was standing with her arms crossed, looking like she was holding in a restrained anger. It made sense now, why she was so frustrated back there.

"It wasn't right," I said quietly, looking back to Ofelia, "but dad's stubborn. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone but the Ottos."

"Well, Alicia won't let that go," Ofelia said knowingly. "Not right now."

"But she's staying for the parley, so that's gotta be a good thing, right?" I asked somewhat hopefully.

Ofelia nodded. "She's levelheaded. Smart. She wants the same as you, Y/N. Peace. She won't wreck this, if that's what you're worried about."

I hummed in acknowledgment, studying Alicia once more, wondering if she was all of these things Ofelia was saying and more. If this was the same girl who took Ofelia and her family in when they needed help, the same girl who cared for strangers as if they were her own, then maybe all wasn't doomed.

"I have to go," Ofelia suddenly said, eyes glancing behind me at Jake and my father.

I nodded, pulling her in for a quick hug. "Be careful over there. They aren't all like your friend."

Ofelia snickered quietly. "I know." Then she met my eyes one last time, nodding in Alicia's direction. "Look out for her, yeah? She's good."

I nodded, if not for the stranger, then for Ofelia. "I promise."

Shortly after Ofelia left with Jake and a scout, I found myself washing up some dishes in the diner kitchen as usual. My dad was showing Alicia around the place, but I didn't expect him to turn up in the kitchen with her in tow, leaving her to me.

"Y/N," he called, and I shut off the tap, turning around and surprised to see to them. "Alicia is going to be sticking with you during her time here, helping around as much as she can. Is that alright?"

I raised my eyebrows slightly, glancing at the deadpan expression of the girl in question before meeting my father's eyes questioningly. Why me? There were so many other people he could have left her with. And besides, I thought he didn't trust my instincts when it came to stuff like this.

Obviously, I couldn't argue that with him in front of her, so I simply nodded.

"Sure," I said awkwardly, before meeting the green eyes already fixed on me. "You can help me finish the washing up, I guess."

"Thank you," my dad said gratefully, before leaving the two of us alone.

"Nice to meet you," I greeted her. "I'm Y/N."

"Walker's daughter, right?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, before turning to face the sink as she joined my side. Swallowing uncomfortably, I felt the need to glance at her and say, "I'm sorry. About your– about Travis."

She furrowed her brows. "How do you know that? How– how can you even say that? It was your father's orders that killed him."

She wasn't shouting, but the anger in her voice was still present, only making me feel guilty because she wasn't wrong.

"Ofelia told me," I answered. "And I didn't want that to happen. I told my dad not to shoot the heli down, but his hatred for the Ottos runs deeper than anything else. Even me, sometimes."

She clenched her jaw, looking down at the sink, and I almost regretted bringing it up in the first place.

"What do you want me to do?" she changed the subject.

Knowing I couldn't do much about her dismissiveness, I nodded to the sink. "Start washing, I guess."

Between the two of us, we finished washing all the dishes and pans in no time, an uncomfortable silence filling the air, then I wiped my hands and spoke.

"I'm gonna go pick some vegetables from the field, if you wanna join."

"Do I have a choice?" she asked, neither bitter nor indifferent, but it still rubbed me the wrong way.

"Look, you might not like this, but this exchange is the only way to ensure peace. If this works, maybe things can finally be okay."

She quirked a brow curiously. "And you want that?"

"What?"

"Peace?"

I looked to her with confusion. "Why wouldn't I?" She rose an eyebrow judgementally, so I asked, "Do you?"

Her eyes flickered between mine, giving nothing away. "Of course. I want to be safe. I want to keep my family safe."

"So do I," I said gently.

"Then we're in agreement," she noticed.

I sighed quietly, already leading her out the kitchen. "If only it were that easy."

She mumbled in agreement as she followed me to the vegetable patch, the both of us holding a basket to collect our pickings in. Again, it was quiet between us, something I presumed would remain considering we were still 'enemies', but it didn't last long as she spoke up.

"Will this really work?" she asked from beside me.

I paused, glancing at her as she worked. "Well, if we leave them out any longer, the sun's gonna fry them and then they won't be very edible any–"

"Not this," she stopped me, giving me a disapproving look. "The parley."

"Oh." I cleared my throat, continuing to pick the chillies from the plant. "Hopefully, yeah. If your people treat Ofelia with respect–"

"They aren't my people," she interrupted firmly.

As if she wasn't a mystery already.

"Okay...," I said slowly. "Well, if the ranchers treat Ofelia with respect, a relationship of sorts can form between us and them, opening everything up to negotiation."

"And if they don't?" Alicia asked.

I gave her a questioning look. "Won't they?" When she didn't answer, I grew worried. "Alicia, is Ofelia in danger there?"

"No, no she's not," she assured me when she saw my expression. "Not with Jake. He'll keep her safe."

Feeling warm under the sun, I used my sleeve to wipe at my face and sighed. "Jake is patient, much easier to talk to than his family, but it's not enough."

"Your father isn't very patient," Alicia commented.

I smiled dryly. "My people have been patient for centuries. More than you could know, Alicia."

"I'm not going to pretend to understand what the history of the ranch means to you and your people," she said earnestly, "but I'm hoping we can find a peaceful resolution. That's why I'm here, Y/N."

I nodded, meeting her gaze. For some stupid reason, I wanted to believe her. I think I might have. She seemed different to the others, maybe because of everything Ofelia had told me of her. I wasn't sure, but I truly hoped she wouldn't disappoint.

Unfortunately for everyone, the parley didn't last long and I still wasn't sure if it was slightly my fault. Maybe if I'd kept a closer eye on Alicia, they wouldn't have smuggled her out of there? Or maybe it was inevitable.

I wasn't sure. All I knew was one second I was telling her to get some water from the well and the next there was the sound of shooting coming from outside, along with a mini ambush of ranchers. By the time I'd grabbed a gun and made it outside, they were already driving away, a glimpse of Alicia in the backseat of their truck. And to make things worse, a few of our people were either injured or shot dead.

It angered me, but mostly I felt disappointment at the fact that we'd come full circle yet again. Alicia had seemed different earlier today, like she actually wanted this to work. So, why had she broken out of here, hurting my people in the process?

My fault for believing her, I suppose.

Of course, this didn't bode well with my dad, and understandably so. However, I certainly didn't expect him to send Ofelia undercover there, under the guise that she'd been thrown out, when in fact she was there solely to poison their militia with anthrax. As soon as she returned, that was when I found out. I worried about what was going on with her, since I didn't even know she'd left, but she was distracted.

"Ofelia, what the hell happened?" I asked worriedly, upon seeing her battered and bruised face. "Where have you been?!"

"The ranch," she answered angrily, though it wasn't directed at me. "I was supposed to make them sick. But he didn't tell me– it was fucking anthrax!"

"What are you talking about?" I said with confusion, trying to meet her flickering gaze. "Why were you at the ranch? What anthrax?"

And that's when she explained the plan, conducted by none other than my father. Except the catch was that it wasn't a little something to just weaken their militia, it was anthrax poisoning to kill as many of them as possible, and Ofelia didn't know until it was too late.

"Alicia didn't want to mess up this parley," she continued to explain. "Her mother used Troy to get her back because she was scared for her. It wasn't her fault. She still wants peace."

At this newfound information, I was surprised and also a little relieved because, stupidly enough, I still believed there was hope.

"And now her brother, Nick, is sick because of the anthrax," Ofelia finished guiltily. "And it's my fault."

I frowned, shaking my head. "It's not. You didn't know. He should've told you."

Not in the mood for my sympathy, Ofelia shrugged me off and walked away to be alone. And I only grew more frustrated at my father, ashamed at his manipulating tactics amongst his own people, all because of a vendetta.

Storming over to him in the greenhouse, I tried to keep myself calm, but it only irked me more when he tried to pretend everything was okay.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?"

Squeezing my fists together, I stared at him with disbelief. "Seriously? Am I okay?!"

Confused, he blinked. "Is that a no?"

"You lied to Ofelia about the anthrax!"

He sighed, like this was all a mild inconvenience. "I didn't want to. But it needed to be done. Someone had to weaken their militia."

"You don't get it, do you?" I asked with a glare. "This will never end. They killed our people. You poisoned theirs. They'll just keep coming back. It's a never ending cycle!"

"And I'll keep it going if it means getting justice for our people!" he finally snapped. "If it means protecting our home, taking back our land, then yes, I will keep going!"

I unclenched my jaw, exhausted already. "Wow. I hate to say it, dad, but maybe this just isn't worth it anymore. Maybe the ranch isn't worth it."

He frowned with frustration, about to retaliate and berate me no doubt, but our argument was conveniently interrupted by the sound of shouting in the distance. The two of us ran out to see what the commotion was, only to see some of our tipis on fire, along with ranchers driving around and shooting around.

"Defence, now!" my father ordered, and I immediately ran to grab the nearest gun before taking cover.

It wouldn't have made a difference though, as soon enough, a pickup truck belonging to the ranchers began to drive away with our reliquary in tow, one that contained many of our ancestor's belongings in one place. The only rancher who knew of its existence was Alicia, considering my father had shown it to her when she was here. Which only meant one thing.

She'd told them to steal it.

As predicted, this war was a constant back and forth and my dad was only seeking revenge, as usual. Once the ranchers had stolen our reliquary, they used it to try and negotiate peace with my father. But he was so angry that he declined and threatened them, giving them until nightfall to vacate the ranch. Instead, Alicia's mother, Madison Clark, did one even better. She offered us up Jeremiah Otto's head.

And that was how we negotiated a peace deal, where we could finally move back onto our own land, though sharing it with the ranchers.

It wasn't ideal, but if it meant no more bloodshed, and also no more Jeremiah, then my father was more than happy to accept. So, a handful of us began moving in.

Most of the ranchers seemed to accept it, but I couldn't personally be sure. I tried not to focus on that though, nor the clear divide between our people. Instead, I did what I did best. Gardening.

I was taking stock in the vegetable patches to see what was growing and what else could be planted when I heard someone approaching behind me. To my surprise, it was Alicia.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

I nodded awkwardly before returning my attention to the clipboard in hand. We hadn't properly spoken since the parley was broken, so I wasn't so sure where we stood with one another.

"So, it worked," she tried to make conversation, referring to the peace deal.

"Barely," I mumbled.

It went quiet, and if it weren't for the fact that her footsteps weren't heard, I could have believed she'd left.

"I didn't know they were going to come for me," she suddenly said, a hint of guilt in her voice. "My mother was worried."

I shrugged halfheartedly, but she felt the need to justify it, as if she cared what I thought.

"I didn't want more people to die."

Finally, I lifted my eyes to meet hers. "Nobody ever does. But when it's my people, it's just collateral, right?"

Her lips curved into a slight frown as she shook her head, and I really wanted to believe her. Desperately. Because she seemed genuine, and if she was, then this wouldn't be for nothing.

"Jeremiah is gone now," she reminded me. "This can be a fresh start."

I pressed my lips together, lowering my clipboard. "I know that. You know that. But what about the ranchers? His followers?"

"Most of them only want peace," she tried to reassure me. "They'll follow anyone who gives them a sense of safety."

I suppressed the urge to scoff. "I hope so."

"The only way to show them that is to be unified," she added.

I quirked a brow. "And how do you suppose we do that?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Work with me, not against me. Side by side. If our people see us working together, maybe they'll realise it's not a bad thing."

I exhaled quietly, impressed at her thinking. "That's a good idea." She nodded gratefully, and I continued, "But why? Why would you care? And why us?"

She ran a hand through her hair as she explained patiently, "I've already told you that I only want to keep my family safe, same as you. So, why not work together in that? You're the daughter of the leader of those the ranchers are learning to trust. They see you working with us, they'll ease up. I just know it."

It made sense what she was saying, and she'd never done anything to give me reason to distrust her. Best case scenario, we could truly establish peace. Worst case scenario, we didn't become friends. I couldn't see much to lose, so I gave in with a nod.

"Okay. I guess you're right, Alicia."

She began to smile, both hopeful and relieved. "Great. Maybe we can start with me giving you a rundown on what we're growing?"

I sighed, returning her smile, and it felt good to have a reason to smile again. "I– yeah. That would be super helpful actually."

[insom-nom-nom-niatic]

DD- What if?

Welome to tonight's drunk drabbles...

Set after Troy "died" and I also made up a character, his name is Cooper, and he's kinda like Cooper from S3... that's all you need to know.

CHARACTERS: Troy Otto X Fem Reader

PROMPT IS FROM THIS LIST!

33. “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

The helicopter door slammed shut, sending a shockwave through the eardrums of the 3 inside. Immediately, the horde of walkers smashed into the thinning metal, the windows creaking just waiting to break against the pressure.

Taking in your surroundings you clambered into the pilot's seat, flipping any switch you could see, hoping for the slightest battery charge to at least get one rotor spinning. Alas, no success.

The two men pressed their backs to each door as they buckled and cracked, moments from busting like a sardine can underwater.

“Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” Cooper shouted above the moans and groans of the hundreds of undead.

“Yes-” You quipped, locking eyes with the large man eyeing Troy with a snarl. You then switched your focus back to the curly haired brunette you've come to fancy. "-I've already brought him back from the dead once this year, I'd like to give it another few if we can."

Troy gave you that look of his. The one with mischief laced in his crystal blue eyes and a ghostly, daring smirk.

“What if I just break his nose a little?”

"No! I tend to like his face the way it is, god-damnit!"

You took another glance in Troy's direction, watching the gears in his mind work a way out of this mess as he looked towards the collapsed metal on the roof of the machine. Smirking to yourself, you muttered under you breath as you bit down on your bottom lip, "especially his nose."

[kingcunny]

might be a moot question bc Alyssa living to raise her sons potentially changes a bunch of shit down the line, but: do you think Alyssa would have liked/Approved of aemma? wb (assuming she lives that long for some reason), alicent? its possible some of her fondness for daella would transfer to her kid but it's also possible she'd like. project that grief onto the kid she died giving birth to. I'm spinning her around in my mind i love my toxic bi #boymom

no this is an interesting question!… honestly i think if alyssa had lived longer to raise her sons they wouldve ended up …Weirder. alyssa going through a massive psychological shift after her marriage to baelon and having children. cough cough #boymom grooming+emotional incest cough cough helicopter parenting.

just to streamline things a bit im gonna assume alyssa and baelon dont have anymore children after aegon dies. and baelon still dies when he does canonically.

i could see alyssa orginally pushing for a rhaenys/viserys marriage. (possibly) unlike baelon or jae, she has no qualms about marrying her son to someone who will walk all over him, and unlike aemon im not sure she would be concerned with what being married to a male relative would do to rhaenys claim to the throne. rhaenys and viserys are just like her and baelon when they were kids. without a sister, viserys marrying his cousin is the next best option. but after getting overruled by her brothers/father i think she would approve of aemma/vis as a counter offer. maybe attracted to the idea of having daellas daughter, the last living peice of her, close. back home. she couldnt protect daella, and maybe even blames herself a bit for her being sent away. but maybe she can protect her daughter instead? maybe that will provide her some peace?

but that would, of course, not include protecting aemma from viserys. or the grooming, sexual abuse, duties of marriage that come with being his wife. thats what aemma (and daella) actually needs protecting from, thats also one of the few things alyssa *cant* protect them from. she couldnt even save herself from it. inversely, i think alyssa would end up contributing to the grooming of aemma. maybe even doing it thinking shes helping aemma. making it easier for her. or something.

while alyssa is attracted to the *idea* of aemma, i think actually being around her would be very hard for the exact reason you mentioned. aemma would be just a constant reminder of the sister she lost. and how/why she lost her. everytime alyssa sees daella in aemma shes torn between love and grief and anger all over again. i think alyssa would *want* to be close with aemma, but theres just too many conflicts of interests.

alyssa was only 17 when she had viserys! she wouldve been 46 when he married alicent if she lived. i *could* see an argument for alyssa meeting alicent and seeing this young girl surrounded by grown men who want to sleep with her and feel her protective instincts kick in. *but*…. we need to remember alyssa wouldve met alicent after baelon dies…

a little aside cause its relevant for this- my alyssa uses valyrian supremacy as a way to cope with the generational cycles of abuse and incest. being raised on the doctrine of exceptionalism, i think it would be very hard for alyssa to accept and cope with the idea that her big brother was killed by something so mundane as *illness* that baelon the brave was brought down by *biology*. so like viserys, i think she would start looking for other explanations. 

and like viserys, the man who suddenly shot up the ranks of lords to become the second most powerful man in the kingdom, whose whispering in her fathers ear, essentially ruling in his name, sending his daughter to his rooms. would be an attractive person to blame. so i think alyssa would actually dislike alicent, through her paranoia of otto. *especially* if she learned about alicent and viserys affair… thats just sinking their claws in deeper

im not entirely sure how things would play out after aemmas death. i mean, i know it would retraumatize alyssa, daellas daughter dying the exact same way she did. alyssa failed her, again. i imagine her lashing out at viserys, blaming him. but also not wanting to give up her control over him, especially now that hes king, by doing something like, say, leaving for dragonstone.

so i dont think alyssa wouldve approved when viserys told her he wanted to marry alicent. it probably wouldve caused a huge fight between the two of them. i could see alyssa wanting him to marry laena, for the same reasons that she wanted him to marry rhaenys. she does *not* approve of viserys marrying outside the family, *especially* to ottos daughter. he killed viserys father! and she *knows* he knows that too…

all that aside, i just dont think alyssa and alicent would get along on a personality level. alyssa is rowdy and nasty and rude. that would clash hard with alicents proper goodgirl upbringing. shed think alicent was stuck up and a prude. alicents faith i think would be another point of contention with her valyrian supremist mother in law.

but well viserys is the king now, she doesnt control him anymore, he can make his own dumb decisions. alyssa at that point i could see deciding to take a little vacation to dragonstone, skipping her sons second wedding. making her disapproval obvious.

at *best* her and alicents relationship would be extremely strained… and im not sure how much alyssa would want to interact with her grandchildren from alicent…

[psitaniumpsichosis]

PSYCHONAUTS 2007

WHAT ARE RAZ LILI BOBBY UP TO ALSO WHAT ARE THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH EACHOTHER LIKE

HEYY So glad you asked!!

[spoilers as usual, minor this time]

Raz has a LOT on his plate. He's 35, and running two summer camps-- Whispering Rock and Green Needle Gulch (which Ford turned into a Summer Camp after the P7 started staying in the Motherlobe with age. He's always bouncing between work at either camp or work as an agent, as he's one of the busier Psychonauts.

Lili works at both camps as well, but primarily works in Green Needle Gulch managing Bob's greenhouse and Otto's old lab-- her cousin Preston (OC) helping out with the Greenhouse. She and Raz have two kids, Ely and Marona -- but they're frequently with Raz's sister Freena (OC), Adam, and Morris. They're just too busy to take care of the kids. While Lili isn't as busy as Raz, she's still pretty run down.

Bobby is a counselor at Whispering Rock, now married to Chloe with a daughter named Abbey. He's much more laid back, still very snarky and a jerk-- but overall a good guy. He's a helicopter parent over Abbey, and tends to help out troubled kids who are in similar situations to him (a bad home life and taking it out on others). He's also a guitarist that occasionally collaborates with Phoebe and Quentin!

As for how they get along, Bobby and Raz are actually pretty good friends -- they still argue and fight , but Bobby cares about Raz almost like a brother. He feels similarly about Lili, they bounce off each other pretty well personality-wise and it's not uncommon to find the two chatting after the day ends.

[upwards-descent]

Synthesized

"So... What the fuck is it supposed to do?"

Mike held the little purple pill up against the single light in his shitty apartment. It read BDLM, stamped onto the little capsule in white ink.

"Everything, man," Rico grinned, holding up the bottle and giving it a shake. "That one little thing you got cost $50 alone. This whole bottle had me bleedin' $470 but you get a discount if you buy the 10 count."

"And you know this is legit?" Mike scowled at him incredulously. "How the fuck did you even get it?"

"It's professional made villain shit," Rico was already choking down his own dose and chasing it with a flat room-temp energy drink. "Dude's got an honest-to-god pharma degree, he's like the only villain that does. I wouldn't trust no one else."

"BDLM..." Mike pursed his lips in thought before swallowing it down anyways, waving his hand to refuse a sip of Rico's drink when offered. "Didja get it from the guy directly or what?"

When Rico didn't respond, Mike finally gave him his attention. The other man had a hungry look in his eyes, one foot tapping a rapid incessant beat against the floorboards.

"Oh," Mike replied, eyes wide. His skin felt hot, his heart pounding. Damn, that kicked in fast. "Let's go... Set some shit on fire and then... Jerk off with the ashes."

"That's the best idea you've ever had in your life, bud."

+++

Vikram watched the news with a smug look on his face, sipping a glass of red wine as chaos unfolded. BDLM was working as he'd expected; increased libido, temporary mania, increased energy and strength, loss of inhibitions. The balancing act had been delicate. He didn't want to synthesize something that'd burn Malibu to the ground but he did want to seed some chaos and watch how a normal person handled it. In a way, he sort of bottled the Doctor Bedlam experience. If anyone wanted to know what two hours in his head would feel like, all they'd have to do was pop that little purple pill.

The news helicopter was flying down a familiar street. Vikram's eyes went wide and he nearly spilled his wine when he shot upright.

"Otto!" He yelled through the mansion, flexing his shoulders and spine as he ran to summon his Silverback suit. The neural circuit pathways buzzed as they were activated. "Otto, the mob is approaching my favorite fucking pizza place, we gotta save the brick and mortar! Warm up the fucking car, let's go!!!"

[studentparxie]

How Waterparks Formed.

Awsten Knight was going to college after graduating high school like a typical young fellow. Then, he dropped out because he realized that being in college was only going to put him in an unnecessary $200,000 debt and not achieve his goal. As lucky as he is, he developed a noncancerous tumor under his kneecap. The most important thing about this tumor in his leg is that he finished the very first Waterparks release, an EP called Airplane Conversations.

After Airplane Conversations was released, Awsten then decided to look for people to join his band. He originally envisioned the band as a 5-piece, complete with a bassist and keyboardist, but ultimately ended up as a trio. He first met Rob, a rich kid who he had in mind to play drums. Rob had an extremely nice studio that they could use whenever they want. That was what sold Awsten on him. Rob had a really nice apartment that couldn't be more than 5 years old, and Awsten wondered how Rob made this much money. You'll figure out how he made that much money. On his kitchen table, from corner to corner, it was absolutely covered in weed. Rob had an evil amount of weed. They started demoing a couple of songs in the apartment until he found out that Rob actually lives in a mansion because his family is rich. Things were going good, Rob introduced new bandmates to Awsten and the sound was finally coming together. Until, Awsten arrived at band practice one day and heard a gun cock. There was a man waiting by Rob's mansion holding a big gun, gruffly asking Awsten to leave and saying that Rob isn't home. Awsten frantically called Rob for a month, until one day Rob called back saying he was in Amsterdam. Needless to say, Awsten kicked him off the band.

Up next, Awsten met Geoff, permanent guitarist and "cutie pie" in Waterparks. Awsten did not want to meet Geoff. He met Geoff through their bassist, Daniel, who is no longer part of the band. He saw Geoff's Facebook and immediately laughed. He had a heavy Myspace phase, he was the ultimate pretty boy, and Awsten did not like that he was wearing a choker. He first met Geoff at a party, in which he was making sure everyone was taken care of and comfortable. Their interaction that night was brief, Geoff was enthusiastic to jam with Awsten. This was a pet peeve of Awsten's, he didn't want to jam with him because his gear was abysmal. Geoff brought the world's smallest amp and a busted-up starter edition guitar and Awsten was immediately turned off. Geoff was eager to learn more and learned how to play all of Airplane Conversations in under a week. Awsten learned about Geoff that week. He used to hide and throw rocks at cars as they drove by, light his jacket on fire while he was wearing it, and that he literally worked everywhere. Geoff once got in trouble for building a staircase out of milkcrates to get on the roof of the school to smoke weed with his friends. Someone called the cops on them, and they were surrounded by three squad cars, two K-9 units, and a helicopter. Awsten decided to keep him in the band.

The last person to join Waterparks is Otto Danielle Wood. One night in 2009, Awsten was outside a venue handing out flyers to a bunch of people, one of which being Otto Wood. One detail that caught his eye about the flyer was the massive text on top that said: "NEEDS A DRUMMER." One thing about Otto Wood is that he never uses the internet or social media, so he was forced to make a Myspace to contact Awsten. Otto arrived before Awsten for practice, and here are his first impressions of Awsten: dark brown hair with bleach patches, a red bathing suit, only had one shaved leg, and clunky pair of blue and white shoes. Awsten asked Otto to join the band that night. This was a different band, one that played really bad progressive rock. They got scheduled to play a high school show by a "manager" that scammed them from all their songs and money. The show went terribly. Otto was really hard on himself, he gave them the silent treatment and drove away to never speak to them again. In 2012, Awsten was struggling to find a new drummer. Daniel suggested calling Otto and Awsten agreed. He didn't want to call about a new band because he knew he wouldn't agree to it, so he called him up to make some light boxes. They met at a Quizno's because Otto loves Quizno's, though he had a guarded air around him. Awsten asked if he could come to Waterparks practice and he surprisingly agreed. Otto heard the EP and learned it pretty quickly. They practiced together a couple more times until Otto decided that he wanted to join Waterparks.

That's how we got the Houston pop-rock trio that we know and love today. Awsten, Geoff, and Otto have been at it for 11 years now and I hope to see them continue in the future. Most of this information came from Awsten's book, You'd Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out To Get You. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

[gnomeyflamingo]

✮ Just another day... ✮

We return to find Atreo sleeping soundly. *Eerie sloshing style noises*

Atreo: *jumps awake*  “What was that?”

Atreo: “AHH a MONSTER! Go away!”

Monster: “I wish I could little boy but the housing market is rough. I'm also going through an ugly divorce. Do you mind if I eat bits of your dead skin cells and hair? I’m starving.”

Atreo: "EW NO!"

*Has trauma bath*

Alejandro: “This is how you cook Acco. You handle your two knives simultaneously, chopping the watermelon with reckless abandon.”

Acco: “Wow!”

Alejandro: “And then you let the bowl of fruit salad slide down your arm, like this…”

Acco: “Teach me Papi!”

Brielle: “Show off."

Brielle comes home and receives amazing news; she has gotten promoted. She’s now a National Leader and all of her legacy goals have been completed, except for one! Brielle: “Woo I reached the top of my passionless, dead end job! I’m soaking in it, I have ARRIVED!”

Atreo: “Congrats on your promotion Mum. So my birthday is coming up and I was thinking…”

Brielle: “We’re not leaving Acco at home.”

Atreo: “Come on! It’s MY birthday, I should get to invite sims I actually like.”

Brielle: "He's your brother."

Atreo: "And?"

Brielle: “Atreo really hates Acco and I don’t know what to do about it. He’s the heir now, the battle is over. Your move.”

Alejandro: “We can't force anything. I mean Atreo's been calling me by my first name since he aged into a toddler. All we can hope for is a character arch."

In true Atherstone fashion, Acco brought Helmuth home from school and they’ve become best friends forever.

Helmuth: “And then when my teacher heard my name, she cried and hugged me, telling me to stay strong! I'm so changing my name!"

Acco: "Ooh let's come up with name ideas!"

Acco: “Dear diary, today I’ve become BFF’s with Helmuth. He's thinking of changing his name and we had a brainstorm session. He now wants to be known as Otto, after one of the cats on our lot.”

Atreo: "Another scout promotion for me! Making those garlic wreaths is paying off!"

Alejandro: “You can do this buddy. Draw those lines! You’re holding that crayon excellently.”

Atreo: “Thanks for the encouragement.” 

Acco: “And then the tooth fairy-”

Atreo: “Shut up Acco, you're distracting me! I’m busy wiring this motherboard into my school project.”

Otto: “MURDER! HELLP! MURDERRRRRRR!”

Kelsy: “What was that about? A knife through my neck? Seriously?!”

Alejandro: “I told you to move.”

Kelsy: “How am I still alive?”

Alejandro: “I’m a really good cook.”

Kelsy: "Then FEED ME!"

Brielle's using her telescope for the first time, not realising I have WW installed.

Brielle: “Hehe I wonder what my neighbours are up to-OMW! Close the curtains! That’s not even the bedroom!”

As Brielle averts her eyes in embarrassment, the snow falls and Winterfest begins!

In the early morning…

Helicopter pilot: “The prisoner is loose and is throwing glitter and glue into my eyes! Where did she even get it from- she just jumped out- mayday, mayday, helicopter is going down-”

***Cool and dramatic explosion***

Keahola: “Must. Heal. From. Third Degree. Burns. And. Broken. Bones. Must. Be.... Nanny!”

*smoke and fire clears*

Keohola: ���Hey that worked! My immense passion has healed my injuries. Great. I’m coming Atherstone boys. Nanny is back!” 

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❧ Back to the Legacy Archive

[hitchell-mope]

Hypothetical titles for season thirteen of 88

ETA. Season premiere. Part one. Right as New York elects a new mayor, Jones is given the solemn news of an incoming celestial event that he’s been through twice before. First regular appearance of Julian Hilliard as Barnaby and Jonah Sullivan. First appearance of Michelle Yeoh as Mayor Camilla Bradley.

Preparations. Season premiere. Part two. The precinct is overrun by panicked calls after the news is made public, which leads Jones, Beaumont, Sawyer, Lionel and Minos to hold a televised conference on what approach the public should take.

Who what when. Part one. An up and coming young actor by the name of James Mulgrew is accused of rape by his ex girlfriend. But Winifred knows the truth of what really happened. First appearance of Ross Lynch as James Mulgrew, Sofia Carson as Marisol Cairns and Sofia Vergara as her mother, Maria Cairns.

Where why how. Part two. Following Mulgrew’s suicide right before his innocent verdict, Findlay sets out to weed the truth out of Maria and Marisol Cairns while trying to convince Mulgrew’s grieving father Otto not to do something he’ll regret. First appearance of Woody Harrelson as Otto Mulgrew.

Blood pudding. Part one. Gideon almost falls prey to a cannibal that’s lurking in the sewers under the city

Soylent. Part two. The race is on to find Gideon before the Butcher of Battery Park puts him on the menu

Compassion. Part one. Findlay clashes with the young, overbearing, helicopter mother of a boy who disappeared on a shopping trip to Columbus Circle. Guest starring Britt Robertson as Nora Bateman

Sin of the mother. Part two. Armed with new information courtesy of Nora’s ex husband. Sidney sets out to find Norris before time runs out. Guest starring Nathan Kress as Darion Payne

Change isn’t always easy. Part one. Skipper helps a young, at risk, transgender boy get in touch with his older brother while Thornton prevents the boy’s abusive parents from finding him.

The Institute. Part two. Sidney tracks down Mikey’s older brother while Skipper gets the boy settled in at the Mulligan Institute. Guest starring Joe Keery as Allen Delvecchio.

Que sera sera. Part one. Four separate doomsayers gather crowds outside One Police Plaza. And each threaten to abduct Jones if he doesn’t do something about the comet.

Whatever will be will be. Part two. Jones zaps everyone in the Plaza home early so he can deal with the doomsayers alone.

The Botticelli Comet. Midseason finale. Part one. With little more than 48 hours left to go before the comet breaks through the atmosphere. Final preparations begin for a very different New Year’s Eve.

After effects. Midseason premiere. Part two. Following the comet. At 00:10 AM on New Year’s Day 2053. Sidney makes sure the families are okay. Two weeks later. With magic back. Sidney’s team lead a manhunt for dangerous escaped death row convicts.

Many of one. Part one. Sidney’s team are called to investigate when Ignatius Kennedy is found in a dumpster behind a bar covered in blood. Guest starring Bruce Campbell as Ignatius Kennedy

Multiple. Part two. Constance Bradley (Ming Na Wen) represents Ignatius at his manslaughter trial. But evidence from Marilyn Davenport could turn the tide in his favour. Guest starring Sally Field as Marilyn Davenport, Chris Pratt as Emerson Davenport and Aubrey Plaza as Tatum Mercer

What to do when family leaves you. Part one. Having lived through the comet five times, Clementine decides to not live through a sixth time and opts to Take Her Leave. Much to Delaney’s apoplectic anger. Final appearance of Holland Taylor as Clementine Hauser and Lily Tomlin as Lilith Hauser.

Soliloquy. Part two. In the 300th episode. The Five Families hold Clementine’s funeral. And all wait with bated breath for Delaney’s eulogy. First full appearance of Mallory Jansen as Lilith Christensen

Previous life. Part one. A rift develops between Findlay and Drummond when she finds out he’s been visiting his dying Satyr godparents at a hospice.

Rabbi. Part two. To mend the rift between them, Findlay seems out a rabbi to bless the Wilmington family plot so Drummond’s godparents can be buried there. Guest starring David Schwimmer as Rabbi Aaron Hoffman.

Kind to be cruel. Part one. Almanac (Asher Angel) returns with a favour to ask of Gideon. But to do that he’ll have to fight through an incredibly irate Delaney, Drummond and Andy.

Arizona. Part two. En route to his grand larceny trial, Almanac (real name: Gerald Gauthier), reveals his real family link to Gideon

One trotted out of the peacocks nest. Part one. Drummond makes the decision to move out of the Wilmington Estate and back into the Sullivan apartment in Greenwich. Guest starring David Henrie and Selena Gomez as the latest married heads of The Magistrate, Alberto and Marina Guzman.

Ooga booga booga. Part two. On his first night on his own Drummond gets an unwelcome housewarming visit from an old foe. Guest starring Matt Smith as the Boogeyman.

El tango de Roxanne. Season finale. Part one. In an effort to both support Otto’s grieving process and get Maria to confess to gaslighting Marisol into falsely accusing James of rape, the five families put on a benefit showcasing James’s greatest achievements. But a relation’s return may or may not put a spanner in the works. Guest starring Beyoncé as Melanie Crenshaw. First appearance of Sarah Hyland as Zoey Anne Mulligan.

Is it all worth it. Season finale. Part two. Having gotten Maria Cairns into custody. Birch’s team has 48 hours to get a full confession out of her. All the while Findlay and Sidney become disillusioned with the impotence of the law and Marisol Cairns guilt continues to eat her alive. Final appearance of Sofia Carson as Marisol Cairns.

[fromtheboundlesssea]

NGNM: Otto absolutely becomes a helicopter 🚁 grandparent to Aemond.

Otto: what do you have there Aemond??

Aemond: a Valyrian dagger! 🌝

Otto: NO!!

[aresdifesa]

Consegnata una nuova coppia di H225M alla Aeronautica Ungherese In Ungheria il Ministro della Difesa Kristóf Szalay-Bobrovniczky ha annunciato l’avvenuta consegna di una nuova coppia di elicotteri H225M alle Forze Armate Ungheresi da parte di Airbus Helicopters. I due elicotteri portano il totale degli H225M ungheresi al momento ad otto, su un totale di sedici ordinati. I nuovi elicotteri, come quelli già consegnati a partire dall’estate dell’anno scorso, sono stati assegnati alla 86a Brigata Elicotteri MH Jozsef Kiss che ha sede a Szolnok Gli H225M acquistati dall’Ungheria sono dotati di capacità di comunicazione all’avanguardia e sono impiegati per il trasporto, la ricerca e il salvataggio in combattimento e le

[skadee17]

III- My shadow

Pat Daley addressed the gathered community of the ranch and recounted seeing an angel land in her garden while she was preparing preserves in her kitchen. She was referring to her recently deceased daughter, who was full of courage. At 12 years old, her daughter had jumped off the roof of their house with an umbrella, thinking she would land softly. The mother explained that the child ended up with a double arm fracture but never cried once.

While she was speaking, I felt as if I were being watched, as if someone was observing my every movement or expression. I dared to glance at the stage where the Ottos were, and my eyes met Troy's: this sociopath was staring at me with a mocking, even disturbing, expression. What was his problem?

Charlene's mother continued her speech and added that her daughter had risked her life for the unprepared: that is, us. The others gave us dark looks in reaction to the grieving mother's words. We didn't seem to be welcome here, yet my mother wanted us to stay, at least for a while. I felt like bursting into laughter at these words; they considered us unprepared, but they probably never set foot outside this ranch of conspiracy theorists. And the only ones who had done so were busy killing humans for science and were part of a group of deranged military personnel. What more could I ask for, I sarcastically thought to myself.

But I knew it wouldn't be easy; the community members didn't trust us, and we didn't trust them: a 50-50 split.

My mother suddenly stood up and spoke: "My name is Madison Clarke, and these are my children, Nick, Alicia, and Bella. We are deeply sorry for Charlene and for all those you have lost. We have lost loved ones too." She paused and continued, "Travis," she repeated his name with emotion, "Travis was our compass. We wanted to thank you for welcoming us into your home and for your generosity. You won't regret it."

Jack took the floor next and said, "We've all been through that; it's what brings us together, and mourning is hard, but it's important that we get through it."

Before he could finish, a man interrupted him and asked about finding out who shot at the helicopter.

"I'm sorry, I know it takes time to move on, and Pat has the right to grieve, but I want to know who shot at the helicopter."

Jack replied to the man named Vernon, "Vernon, we'll find out," he said. 

"When?" the man impatiently asked.

 "Believe me, we'll take care of it." 

"How long will it take?" The man pointed at Jeremiah. 

"Jeremiah, please..."

The old man replied, "Nothing has changed, Vernon, don't worry. We still intend to fight. We asked Station Alpha to inspect the crash site. Once we know who we're dealing with, we'll act. If it's a madman, we'll act, and if it's an even greater challenge, we'll act," he concluded.

Then a new voice spoke, and Troy took the floor: "He talks about revenge. We'll find him, and we'll make him pay, whether the threat is big or small, we'll set things right."

The voices of the people around us echoed; they agreed with Troy, they wanted revenge, and I must say, so did I. Travis had been killed by these lunatics, and they would pay for it.

"Wait, we'll get justice when we know exactly what we're dealing with. We can't afford to scatter; we must represent the hope of a new world..."

I never thought I'd agree with Troy, but on this one, he was right. Whoever had killed Travis and nearly killed my sister would pay, that was certain. Troy looked at me, I didn't break the exchange, I should have, but I didn't. I didn't know why, but this time, I didn't look at him with disdain but more with understanding. He wanted to protect these people, and I wanted to protect my family.

After this meeting, my mother and Alicia headed towards the cafeteria for lunch. I joined them a few minutes later after checking on Luciana and seeing if her wounds were healing well.

The three of us ate together. Alicia told me about her encounter with Gretchen Trimbol, Vernon's daughter, and her invitation to a group called "Resurrected Christ." My mother had forced her to participate to integrate into the ranch. I couldn't help but laugh and mock her; I knew my sister inside out, and that was everything she hated.

Unfortunately, karma seemed to have it in for me, and I spilled my coffee on myself.

"Damn!" I exclaimed. 

"Guess you should have kept your mouth shut instead of mocking me," teased Alicia. 

"Shut up," I interrupted. I stood up, sighing, and heard my sister laughing behind my back. What a lovely day ahead.

I headed towards our cabin, and once there, I closed the door to avoid the whole ranch seeing my breasts and took off my top.

My bra was soaked, as was my sweater. Damn it, I took it off too and felt the breeze on my bare back. As I put on a clean shirt, I noticed someone in the bed. I hadn't seen them when I came in; it must have been Nick taking a nap. Privacy wasn't much of a thing here.

I asked, "How's Luciana?" 

"She's still alive," came a familiar voice.

I immediately turned around and saw Troy coming out of the bunk. What a freaking psychopath. I hoped he had enjoyed his peeping because that was reason enough for me to gouge out his other eye.

"You crazy jerk! What the hell!"

"I really liked your mother's speech," he taunted me. "Especially when she said his name, Travis. It gives him importance, makes him real."

"He was real," I countered. 

"But that's not why she talked about him. It wasn't heartfelt; it was calculated. She wanted to remind us that you were also victims." 

"What are you insinuating? That you're a victim? Let me laugh; you're a freaking monster. You kill people and call it science. So, keep your remarks to yourself and get the hell out of here."

There was a pause, then he asked me, with a calmer voice, without mockery, "What were you doing in the old world? He hesitated, I mean, my father said you studied medicine. What was it like?"

I took a moment to think, should I answer him? "It was tough, but I loved it." 

"I never went to high school. 'Troy has some socialization difficulties that prevent him from integrating into a normal school curriculum.'" 

"And look at you, years later, killing innocents. I doubt they were wrong," I sarcastically retorted. 

"I did it for everyone; I thought you'd understand." 

"But that's not the case, you condemned them to death." 

"They were already doomed, I spared them suffering." 

"You're not a savior, Troy; you're a murderer."

He moved closer to the window and looked at the people outside, then continued, "Everything I've done is for them; they deserve to live and feel protected. Everything I do, I do solely for this place." 

"Does your father believe you when you say that?" I asked. 

"Yes, he understands. Complicated problems require complicated solutions." 

"Killing people isn't complicated; it's very simple." 

"You see, you also understand me and understand this world."

Those words sent a chill down my spine, but despite everything, I had killed people too, to protect myself and my family. At first, I felt guilty for taking lives, but as time passed, it became more natural, as if I had always done it. So, if he was a murderer, I was just as much of one.

How could he always get into my head and make me question myself? He was like a shadow behind me, like the demon on my shoulder. Every time we talked or looked at each other, something happened. I had to vanquish the monster because he was my shadow, the dark part of my being.

[notiziariofinanziario]

Airbus Helicopters ha sottoscritto con Bundeswehr un contratto per l’acquisto di 82 Airbus Helicopters H145M

Airbus Helicopters ha comunicato di aver sottoscritto con la Bundeswehr un contratto per l’acquisto di un massimo di 82 elicotteri militari multiuso.  Si tratta dell’ordine più grande mai realizzato per l’H145M ed anche il più grande per il sistema di gestione delle armi HForce. Il contratto comprende anche sette anni di supporto e servizi per garantire una messa in servizio ottimale. Per l’Esercito sono previsti 57 elicotteri mentre le Forze Speciali dell’Aeronautica riceveranno cinque H145M. “Siamo orgogliosi che la Bundeswehr abbia deciso di ordinare fino a 82 elicotteri H145M“, ha affermato Bruno Even, CEO di Airbus Helicopters. “L’H145M è un elicottero militare multiruolo molto robusto. La Luftwaffe ha già acquisito una significativa esperienza operativa con la sua flotta di H145M LUH per le Forze Speciali. Faremo in modo che la Bundeswehr riceva gli elicotteri secondo un programma di consegna molto ambizioso, che prevede le prime consegne nel 2024, meno di un anno dopo la firma del contratto.”  L’H145M L’H145M è un elicottero militare multiuso che offre un’ampia gamma di gamma di capacità operative. In pochi minuti, l’elicottero può essere convertito da un ruolo di attacco leggero con armamento balistico assiale e guidato ed un sistema di autoprotezione all’avanguardia ad una versione per operazioni speciali che include anche un dispositivo di discesa in corda doppia. I pacchetti di missione completi includono anche funzionalità di verricello e carico esterno.  Inoltre, il nuovo H145M tedesco dispone di opzioni per future capacità di missione come il Manned-Unmanned Teaming, nonché delle più recenti connessioni dati e sistemi di comunicazione.  La versione base dell’H145M ordinata sarà dotata di dispositivi installati in modo permanente, incluso il sistema di gestione delle armi HForce sviluppato da Airbus Helicopters. Ciò significa che la Bundeswehr potrà addestrare i suoi piloti sullo stesso tipo di elicottero utilizzato nelle operazioni e nei combattimenti. Non sono più necessari costosi cambi di tipologia e si raggiunge il massimo livello di professionalità.  L’H145M è la versione militare del collaudato elicottero leggero bimotore H145. La flotta globale della famiglia H145 ha ora accumulato più di sette milioni di ore di volo; è utilizzato dalle Forze Armate e dalle Agenzie di sicurezza di tutto il mondo per le missioni più impegnative.  La Bundeswehr opera già con 16 elicotteri H145M LUH SOF e otto H145 LUH SAR. L’US Army gestisce quasi 500 elicotteri della famiglia H145 con il nome UH-72 Lakota. Altri operatori dell’H145M sono Ungheria, Serbia, Tailandia e Lussemburgo; Cipro ha ordinato sei macchine. L’H145M è alimentato da due motori Turbomeca Arriel 2E ed è dotato di controllo digitale del motore (FADEC).  Inoltre, l’elicottero è dotato della suite avionica digitale Helionix, che, oltre all’innovativa gestione dei dati di volo, include anche un potente pilota automatico a 4 assi che riduce notevolmente il carico di lavoro del pilota durante le operazioni.  Il livello di rumore particolarmente basso rende l’H145M l’elicottero più silenzioso della sua categoria. Read the full article