#Queen fics

[dapper-lil-arts]

The Chrysalis x Cadance pairing is so much funnier if its a polycule

[frownyalfred]

Green arrow, getting into a fight with batman because he insulted bruce

“No, I want to hear you say it again,” Ollie said, leaning over the conference table and past Dinah to jab a finger in Batman’s face. “Insult him again, I dare you.”

Batman, for his part, looked entirely unperturbed by Ollie’s chest puffing. “I said, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly known for being intelligent. That’s common knowledge, Green—”

“Do you know what he’s been through?” Ollie exploded, “Do you know how fucked up his childhood was? It’s a miracle he’s functioning as an adult. I knew him in school — do you know what he was? Sad. And you have the nerve to sit in your stupid little angst suit and lecture me about Bruce Wayne?”

Dinah swallowed, giving up on holding Ollie back. She glanced at Batman out of the corner of her eye, prepared to size up an opponent, but the other man’s posture was still relaxed.

He seemed…taken aback, if such a thing was possible for the Batman.

“I…apologize,” Batman said quietly. “I hadn’t realized the extent of your feelings toward him.”

“Pick on someone your own size next time,” Ollie grumbled, as close to an apology as he would get. “Bruce does so much for Gotham. More than you’ll ever do. So yeah, if he’s a little air-headed sometimes — that’s fine with me.”

With that, Ollie turned on his heel, exiting the conference room with a huff. Batman stared after him for a long moment, steeped in stillness.

“He cares about his friends,” Dinah offered, breaking the awkward silence. Batman gave her an odd look, jaw tensing.

“I know.”

“Now you do,” Dinah said, putting enough emphasis on the first word for him to look up at her, acknowledging the hint. “I’d better go check on him.”

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce pulled off his sweaty shirt in Ma Kent's kitchen along with Clark and Hal, and began chugging a lemonade. The three men had been doing something that apparently constituted hard manual labor in the barn. Zatanna watched silently, then she noticed it.

A tattoo on Bruce's abs. Some foreign symbols engraved in calligraphic form.

It was possible the world was coming to an end.

She turned her head to try and read it. It was Kryptonian, if she had to take a guess.

Bruce noticed where her gaze was. "My eyes are up here," he said.

"I know," said Zatanna, rolling hers. "I just...since when do you have a tattoo?"

"Since I lost a bet to my kids," said Bruce.

"You let your kids do this to you?" Zatanna was incredulous.

"It's been five years, Zee," said Clark. "Are you seriously noticing it now?"

"Well, I don't make a habit of staring at Bruce's nude form," she replied, her sentence heavy with implication.

Clark blushed and dropped his spectacles.

"What's next," said Zatanna bitterly to Bruce. "I find out you're part of a biker gang?"

"You don't become a biker with just one tattoo," said Hal. "You need an entire sleeve of them."

"Don't give him any ideas," Zatanna cautioned.

"You're overreacting," said Clark.

"The world is in a delicate state of balance," said Zatanna. "The very foundations of my existence are being rocked. I'm questioning everything I've ever known."

"I should probably start paying rent for all the space I occupy in your head," said Bruce.

"The tattoo is actually a very sweet phrase," said Clark. "In Kryptonian."

"What does it mean?"

Bruce cleared his throat and shook his head warningly at Clark. Clark grinned.

"It means," Clark said, "My soul is in two halves, and one of them belongs to you."

Bruce buried his head in his hands. Clark laughed. "Like I said. A very sweet phrase."

"You're going to suffer for this," muttered Bruce to him. "I was okay with it, as long as no one knew what it fucking meant."

"Oh stop," said Hal, grinning without shame. "Stop with the toxic masculinity. Just because you have a soppy declaration of love on your abdomen doesn't make you any less of a man." He raised his glass to Bruce in a toast.

Bruce looked at him levelly, and narrowed his eyes. "One of these days, Jordan," he growled, "you will do something, and on that day—"

"Oh, I doubt it," Hal smirked. "I think you've set the bar pretty high."

"Well," said Clark, with a cheeky grin, "Bruce learned his lesson about betting against all of his kids simultaneously, but I would say the punishment was a bit disproportionate to the crime."

Bruce was putting on his t-shirt. "Enough," he said. "No one else finds out, or I will see that you all pay."

"No one else finds out what?" asked Diana from the kitchen door, where she had evidently just arrived. Her arms were crossed against her chest. Barry and Oliver were lined up behind her, with curious expressions.

Zatanna and Hal laughed maliciously. Clark did not look displeased in the slightest.

Bruce's mouth hardened and he stalked off, muttering something about contingency plans. But no one saw the small smile that tucked itself into the corner of his mouth afterwards, when he remembered Clark's face.

Kryptonians. His fingers brushed over the tattoo. And all the ways they love to claim you.

[superbat-love]

Omegaverse AU. The annual Gotham Matchmaking Event was in full swing. Bruce Wayne, towering over the alphas and omegas around him, moved through the room with an unapproachable aura. The whispers followed him, just like they always did.

"Wayne’s so assertive. Doesn’t act like an omega at all," someone muttered.

"He should stop pretending to be above his station," another added with a laugh.

Bruce pretended not to hear them, his jaw tightening as he positioned himself near the door for an easy exit. If not for the fact that these matchmaking events were mandatory for all unmated omegas of age, he would have refused the invitation outright.

A new arrival caught his attention. The man’s tanned skin and wavy hair stood out, he didn’t seem to be from Gotham. His name tag read "Kal."

Bruce watched the foreigner as he mingled with the other guests. Kal’s alpha status was obvious, but unlike most alphas, he radiated warmth and charm. People naturally gravitated toward him, drawn to his approachable demeanor. The double standards grated on Bruce more than he cared to admit.

Until Kal’s gaze found his.

The alpha froze, wide-eyed as he stared at Bruce. Bruce glared at the shorter man. It usually kept alphas at bay.

No such luck. Kal approached him anyway.

"Have you heard of Kryptonian queens?" Kal asked.

Bruce blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What?"

"In Kryptonian legends, queens were the biggest, strongest omegas in the colony. They either earned the title by winning dominance battles or left to establish new colonies on distant outposts," Kal said, his voice filled with awe. "You’re like a legend brought to life."

Bruce’s guarded expression faltered. Despite the absurdity of the alpha’s words, there was something in his tone—genuine respect—that made him pause.

And Bruce found himself listening.

[sleepypdng]

More Coraline AU 🧵🚪

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Aegon II: My father named me as his heir

Otto:

[calolily]

Patreon request: Gale in short shorts. Featuring Blowmance Gale.

[savanir]

Danyal- or well, Daniel now he supposes, seeing as none of these “kind” strangers can pronounce his name right. Has found himself a golden opportunity to hopefully get back to where he actually belongs.

His current predicament was anything but what he could have ever imagined happening to him. He remembers an attack, an assassination attempt on him and his twin. He remembers taking a hit meant for Dami, he remembers the electricity coursing through his body from the weapon the assassin used and so graciously left in his abdomen, meant to make his body seize which would make attempts to keep him from dying just a little bit harder, and his death just that little bit more painful.

After that he vaguely remembers falling, and then burning green.

Next thing he knows he’s in a foreign place with foreign people trying to “help”.

Wherever he is he’s certainly not anywhere near Nanda Parbat.

But he’ll get back, and the easiest way to do so is to secure transportation and funding.

Which shouldn’t be hard as soon as he’s “convinced” this random rich guy to adopt him.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Oliver is starting to regret the brilliant PR idea of sponsoring and supporting the new improved Star City foster care system.

In and of itself that’s of course a very good thing, and absolutely something he cares about and is happy to spend his money on, but these things should just be a given, just a thing that’s done because it’s the right thing to do.

Can’t just do that of course… we have to make a huge spectacle about it, showcase some poor but very adorable kids in need of a loving family. make a big party about it.

Oliver is vaguely reminded of pet adoption days that some animal shelters do. Also a good thing he’s in full support of, but that’s animals, and these are actual children.

The thought is making it rather hard to keep a pleasant smile on his face. Thankfully he’s very effectively being distracted by the little guy who somehow managed to attach himself to his leg and refuses to let go.

Oliver looks down.

The boy with the biggest most blue eyes looks up.

There are cameras and reporters and Oliver can feel the bad decision creeping up and the voice in the back of his head screaming, “don’t do it. DON’T DO IT”

Oliver lifts the boy up, “hey there little man, what is your name?”

He gets a big smile in return and the bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, weird.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Roy had been talking, or well, it was more like venting to Dinah about something Oliver had done, or said, maybe both, probably both… When they heard the front door open and was quickly followed by a “Dinah I have a surprise but first you have to promise you won’t get mad”

Which… bad sign, very bad sign, terrible sign.

“Oliver what have you done”

The man walks into the room and proudly shows off his latest impulsive decision, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

…That’s a whole ass kid.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! you did not!”

But he did and that choice changes everything.

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ KINSLAYER ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part two.

synopsis: rhaenyra’s daughter seeks revenge for the death of her beloved younger brother lucerys velaryon. and what better way to gain it, than from the man she was once betrothed to.

notes: did i steal daemon’s plot? yes. did the reader do it better? also yes. fuck aemond targaryen (who is 22 here) for killing lucerys fr, and fuck tumblr for making me repost this bc they shadowbanned me :(

warnings: reader is rhaenyra’s daughter, angst, violence, mention of blood, future hotd spoiler (battle above the gods eye)

word count: 3.9k

ONCE UPON A TIME YOU HAD THOUGHT YOU HAD KNOWN WHAT LOVE HAD FELT LIKE. being betrothed to none over than aemond targaryen in an attempt to ensure peace between the divided targaryen house, had gave you a sense of hope. the childish crush you had on the one-eyed prince had long exceeded into your adulthood (unbeknownst to you for a long while). and the news that you were to be married to the man you had felt so deeply for, had you thanking the gods that you were to be so lucky. 

for much of your adulthood, you denied the feelings you had for aemond. brushing the giddiness you felt when you were younger off as a fleeting childhood crush. now, the crimson paint that adorned your cheeks you put down to a sense of duty; you had to act the blushing bride in order to do your part for the realm. your mother's constant reminders that it was you who could maintain the peace between dragons, made you believe it was a sense of duty to your house; to prevent the bloodshed and the path to destruction that would follow if blood was spilt. as time went on, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself that maybe, just maybe, the small minuscule crush you had on the prince, in fact never left. you often reflected on the times where you had lived in king's landing with your family, often choosing to spend time with the second son of the king. you two were inseparable, where aemond went you were sure to not be too far behind. often, challenging each other on who would learn the most high valyrian words in a day, and who would learn the history of their ancestors first. it was a match the gods intended.

however, this sue for peace had crumbled completely. only a mere memory in your mind of what could have been if the targayren house was not so ignorant to the fact that women had much of a right to ascend the throne (you had king jaehaerys to uphold much of the blame for this decision). and now, the house was at war with one another. the dance of the dragons was surely to follow, leaving nothing but war across the realm and your poor broken heart.

the death of your brother lucerys did not seem to help with the feeling of heartbreak that effected life upon dragonstone. you spent many days and nights cooped up in your chambers. there was no one to turn too. yes, you sought comfort with your mother but she too was a shell of her former self. with jacaerys many miles north in winterfell, and your husband the murderer of such an innocent boy, you were left with nothing but your own reckless thoughts. as the sun rose in the east and set in the west day after day, your pain and suffering festered into a new, dark feeling within you. the sadness within was replaced with a craving of utter revenge. the lovesick girl, eyes wide with care and awe was shattered, replaced by a woman no, a dragon, who would go to any means to avenge the cruel death of her sweet younger brother. the love you had felt for the man you once were engaged to disappeared the moment you had learnt what he done; marring any chances at evading the war that was surely to follow. you swore to seek revenge with fire and blood. in whatever means the gods meant it to happen. 

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

the small council met as the sun lays lazily high in the sky, providing the normally dark and gloomy room with a sliver of light that is often uncommon on the island of dragonstone home to dreary weather most of the time. you welcome the sun in all its glory, soaking it in as you stand next to your brother jacaerys as you listen to the squabbles between the men as they discuss the course of action to take next. small crescents dawned under your eyes, reflecting the many sleepless nights you have come to known. the tiredness you feel currently now and all throughout the days since luke's passing has become an old friend to you, one that is begrudging to leave. you tune out, the effects of another sleepless night and your lack of interest in the bickering that is beginning to fester amongst the lords and your mother is boring you. instead, your eyes are captured by the ball of fire that lay millions of miles away. you weren't all that religious, if it came down to it you preferred the valyrian or old gods in favour of the seven. but there was no doubt the glistening embers that rained upon the room was a good omen. you were sure lucerys was looking down upon you, he adored the few sunny days on dragonstone, and this brought a small smile to your face. 

you hadn't realised just how deep in thought you were until your brothers voice broke you out of whatever hazy trance you were. despite tuning out, you had gathered the basics of the discussion - ser criston cole had set his eyes on rooks rest, and a dragon was needed to defend the castle. jacaerys' proposition to fly vermax was quickly shut down by your mother, deeming the boy as too inexperienced in battle and the dragon too young. 

"i will go." 

the words escaped your lips before you even had a chance to think them through properly. the feeling of revenge running through your veins was more than enough to spark this confident outburst. it had to be you who would go to rooks rest. you did not understand why this feeling was so apparent, whether it be the good omen in the sky, or the smile that had graced your lips for the first time in many moons at the thought of your brother being the one who sent it. but the need to take seat upon your dragon silverwing and fly to rooks rest settled in your soul as a desire you needed to fulfil. you knew immediately your mother would never agree to this, already refusing jacaerys to go meant there was absolutely no possibility she would let you go. 

"no. you too lack the experience that is needed in battle. i will not lose another child to this war." rhaenyra's voice trembled slightly with the mentioning of lucerys but she held strong with her decision to not let either of her elder children fly to battle. the mentioning of luke only feeding the fire in your blood, the need to seek revenge for his passing. 

looking up at your mother, you knew she had understood this as it was plainly evident on your face. alas, rhaenyra could not deny you had your mother's stubbornness and your father's strength. "mother, the entire council knows it is far too dangerous to risk the lives of both you and jace. queen and heir. send me, your grace. silverwing is used to battle and if war and bloodshed is sure to follow with the greens still bot bending the knee to you, then we must become acquainted with it." 

her eyes softened as she gazed upon yours, you reminded her so much of herself in her youth. the fire that burned within you mirrored that of hers. the want to prove yourself as more as weak was apparent, when many men had deemed you fragile due to the gender you were born as, you felt the urge to prove them wrong, just as your mother had felt, still feels with the many lords at the council who still see her as the weaker sex. she knew you were going to fly to battle whether she permitted you leave or not. and with a slight of her head you knew her answer. her lilac eyes gazing into yours with such intensity you knew the message conveyed. be safe, sweet girl.

another voice a the council spoke up, one you weren't expecting to hear. your grandmother, rhaenys. "you must send me as well, your grace. meleys is no stranger to battle, like silverwing. two dragons will be better than one, if the greens decide to also send a dragon to battle."

you were shocked that your grandmother was to fight so willingly for your mother's claim to the throne but yet, the more you pondered the less surprised you were. she too was a woman who should have ascended the throne, the queen who never was, yet king jaehaerys passed over her claim as a count of being weak as she was a woman. gods you hated the man sometimes. 

you were no stranger to the care of your grandmother. she knew straight away that her son was not actually your father, you were born a bastard, fathered to ser harwin strong yet she loved you nevertheless. just as coryls velaryon had favoured young luke, rhaenys, favoured you. your dark her reminded her much of her mother jocelyn baratheon and the way in which you clung to her as a child reminded her so much of leanor. she had grown to love you as you her, and refused to see you alone on the battlefield. 

"come granddaughter, we have much to prepare." rhaenys spoke softly as your mother dismissed the council, guiding you with her hand on the small of your back. giving one last nod to your mother, you notice the look of such fierce love in her. the promise of suffering she would bring if you were hurt. yet, the only thing rhaeynra could do now is pray to the gods above that her only girl would return to her safely. and by the gods she did.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

silverwing was just as mesmerising as the day you claimed her at the tender age of  ten and three. her silvery scales often reminded you of the stars that hung from the sky. glistening intently as you often sat at your window deep in thought. such a docile creature, you could not help but fall in love with her kind nature; a dragon who was most friendly to strangers. as you approached her now a small smile once again graced your lips. the she dragon bent down to greet you, pressing her snout to your hand in a sign of understanding. the intelligence of the dragon was also something that had drawn you to her, she was able to sense every emotion you felt. she had known you were grieving and did not hold it against you that you had neglected to visit her. instead, she blew smoke from her nostrils, and you could have sworn she wore a toothy grin. silverwing was glad you had returned to her. 

flying your dragon had somewhat eased the dull ache that seemed to have made a permanent home in your heart. the ocean beneath you and the wind in your hair brought a sense of relief. this was home. you had miss flying your dragon across the realm, watching as the landscape beneath you changed from countryside, to villages, to oceans and to cities. it was freeing. as fast as she was, silverwing was no match for the speed in which meleys, your grandmother's dragon, flew. as she soared effortlessly through the sky, your dragon tried her hardest to keep up. 

"don't push yourself silverwing. meleys is a fast dragon. " you uttered calmingly to your dragon in high valyrian, stroking her scales softly in a show of comfort. oh how you missed speaking the language too. "calm my sweet girl, it will be okay."

as you finally caught up to rhaenys, the two dragons held pace with one another as you surveyed the fields below. ser criston cole's army had been spotted approaching rooks rest. the elder women held your eyes. a message passing through the two of you to get this done as quickly as possible. and with a cry, meleys delved to the army, silverwing not far behind her

a mix of anxiety and adrenaline coursed through your veins. you were petrified at failing the mission and returning to your mother's disappointed face with the castle in the hands of the greens. yet the pure adrenaline of gaining your revenge from those who supported the man who usurped your mother's throne and took your brother urged you to keep going "attack silverwing." you called out causing the dragon to plummet to the ground to attack those below.

the field that was once riddled with soldiers was now nothing but flame and smoke. red heat from the lips of your dragon had engulfed almost the entirety of the battlefield. the flames below you were nothing of the flickering of the candles in dragonstone that brought you comfort. no, the flames you caused mirrored the emotion inside, the intensity of the anger you felt, the betrayal from the man you once loved to cause this amount of pain. 

a sound you had not heard in a long time broke you out of your rage induced comatose. you froze, the greens had come for you. looking up, you recognised the gleaming golden dragon belonging to the usurper king aegon. sunfyre. your anger had only intensified at the man willing himself to fight against you and your grandmother. doubling around the castle, silverwing dipped her sharpened claws into the ocean's water, ensuring a clean cut against sunfyre before rising above the cliffs face, ready for battle. he was no match for that of silverwing and meleys.

despite the adrenaline within, you could not help but worry for your grandmother, as you watched the flames engulf both her and aegon as the dance begun. the women held a dear place in your heart and the image of her being hurt was enough to push you to attack the sun kissed dragon. flying to meet your grandmother, silverwing allowed herself to flip and glide between the flames aimed at you both. the bellows of aegon left a satisfying smirk upon your lips as meleys claws took hold within the belly of the enemy dragon, as you willed silverwing to attack the dragon's wings from above. clawing and scratching at sunfyre, silverwing and meleys both have seemed to have done immense damage to the golden beauty. chunks of the dragons wings had been ripped out and cuts adorned her body, red blood oozing out of her scales. the final blow had been dealt by your grandmother, yet war was far from over as a sickening roar had been heard beyond the trees.

aemond taragaryen had come out to play.

your breath hitched, letting you only to take only shallow breathes as vhagar descended from the trees. you tried to be brave, tried to hold back the tears that were evident in your glassy eyes yet you couldn't. tear drops sprung like rivers cascading down your terror-stricken face as you saw the shining silver hair of the man who had once been the love of your life, and subsequently the reasoning behind all your pain. wrapping the leather reigns that kept you in control of your dragon, you urged her to continue flying around rooks rest. the wind blew harshly as you circled the ashy landscape, drying your tears and making whatever was left stick to your reddened face. as vhagar descended upon the battle in the sky,  hought's swam through your head as you shouted at your dragon to attack, you wished away all feelings of dread. 

in that sliver of calm, you could not help but feel drawn to the sun as it had once again graced you with its appearance. and with lucerys velaryon looking down on you, you knew the gods wanted you to have your revenge in that moment. they had brought aemond to the battle for a reason after all.

flying up to sit side by side with rhaenys, you allowed the hatred in your heart to take over. the fire in your blood burned at the audacity for aemond to dare show his face after all that he had done. 

"it has to be me grandmother." you shouted over the howling winds in high valyrian. the distaste within had spoken clearly, it had to be you who destroyed the man in front of you. you knew rhaneys understood that, but you also knew she carried the same stubborn nature that all targaryen's had come to possess. plowing into vhagar first, it was obvious she was no match for the queen of dragons. sending waves of fire to the boy riding her, melyes took the moment of distraction to tear at the beast's stomach. 

unbeknownst to you, sunfyre had risen again at the sound of vhagar's approach. seeing the flame grown in the dragon's mouth, rhaneys abandoned the attack on the larger dragon, instead focusing on the dragon mere inches from you. ambushing her from the side, meleys' jaws clamp around the neck of the usurper's dragon. in a state of shock, you forced silverwing to the side, gratefulness gracing your features at your saviour. 

nonetheless, it was plain to see that both meleys and silverwing did not hold enough power to over through the two dragon's that had come to fight. with rhaenys preoccupied with the second coming of sunfyre and aegon, it had left you with the battled against  vhagar. having lived centuries you knew that you were no match for her. she had helped with aegon the conqueror's conquest and that alone had gained her much more experience in battle than your dragon would ever come to know.

reality kicked in like a knife to your stomach. understanding what you had to do sent shivers down your spine, but there was no other way.  to kill the dragon you must kill the rider. 

your mind flickered back to the many moments you had spent with aemond over the years. sneaking into one another's chambers at night to tell stories you have read in history books. the days spent in the garden giggling at the idiocy of your family. and as the two of you got older, you recounted the longing gazes in one another's directions, the stammering and blush that rose to your cheeks anytime he was near. the brushing of limbs at the feast as your grandsire had announced the betrothal. 

none of that mattered now. he had made his choice when he decided to slay his kin and you had made yours. 

gazing upon silverwing properly for the last time you spoke quietly "forgive me, comfort my mother when i am gone. i beg of you." the silver beauty squeaked in return, a note of sadness in her tone. she would miss you just as much as she missed queen alyssane, but she would honour your choice gallantly. "fly back to dragonstone when i am gone. i do not wish you to suffer the same fate, my love."

with your mind made up, you willed your dragon to fly to meet aemond and vhagar taking in a shaky breathe as you did. as silverwing glided through the air, her claw's tore through vhagar. nevertheless, the silver beauty had barely left any damage. vhagar's thick skin was almost impenetrable, only small surface wound were left behind from the attacks you inflicted on her. the only thing that kept you alive was your dragon's ability to stray so close to vhagar yet slip effortlessly beyond her reach whenever her jaws made an attempt to kill you both. 

allowing silverwing to deal with vhagar, meant that you were left to deal with her rider; your glassy eyes never leaving  the man who had caused you such suffering. he had grown you noted, his cheeks now hollowed out as if he has been struggling to eat, a dark crescent clear under his one good eye. the hate in your heart weakened, you had almost felt an ounce of sympathy at his obviously heartbroken state. you wondered if he had regretted his actions; had regretted pushing you away. you wondered if he blamed himself for what had happened that night, if he had really meant to kill luke on purpose. but you also knew you would wonder these things for the rest of your life if you let him live. no matter how much remorse he truly felt within you could never forget his actions, the way in which he took pride in what he did, bragging about being the first to spill blood in this horrific war. and that was enough for you to keep fighting.

pulling away from vhagar for a final time, you flew back around the castle unstrapping the saddle you had on silverwing, tossing it to the wind. unstrapping the sword, daemon had given you from your twentieth name day, you held it in your palm with such force that your knuckles began to whiten. as silverwing set her sights on vhagar once more, a final sound of pain came from your dragon as she knew what you had planned to do. knowing there was no way in changing your mind she flew above the dragon and its rider, positioning you perfectly in what you aimed to do. 

holding onto one of the many talons in her back, you allowed yourself to stand upon your dragon's back, the sword still tight in your hand. your eyes had never left that of the icy lilac that sat below you. the mix of fear and understanding stood in his, as he knew what you were about to do a second too late. the shock of realisation came as he tried to unfasten the straps that kept him tied to vhagar. she was too big of a dragon to move in time for what you were about to bestow upon the targaryen prince, and it was too high of a jump for him to survive.  

jumping from your dragon's back you let your mind to once again reflect all the love you had for aemond taragaryen. allowing yourself to find comfort in the fact that you had known love in your lifetime.

and as you drew the sword through him, you felt no remorse. a debt had been payed. revenge had been served. for luke.

but, there was no escaping the torment your heart inflicted upon you in the moment your sword pierced his only good eye. you had thought aemond would hold loathing at what you had done in his final moments, but all he felt was abhorrence for himself. driving you to the point of sorrow and grief where you had felt like you could do nothing more than seek revenge for what he had done. whispering a soft "i love you'' before you had pierced him, gave you the closure you had needed. those three words had answered all the questions that had played over and over in your mind, running rampant through your darkest hours.

the history books recalled that you had died peacefully with no call of a dragon to save you. you had plummeted to the ground with the man you had loved, knowing you had avenged your sweet innocent brother lucerys and had come to learn aemond had regretted his actions dearly. this was truly enough for you to die happily. and that you did.

[justaz]

merlin notices knights trailing after him while he dashes around the castle and then they follow him into town and they follow him out into the woods and arthur is being super weird about it and none of the knights at the round table are saying anything so oh fuck arthur definitely knows about merlin’s magic and is having him closely monitored bc he thinks merlin is dangerous omg its so obvious. whole time arthur is just in his chambers giggling, twirling his hair, and blushing as he writes in his diary journal that he found old rules that were used to keep his mother safe and he implemented them for his queen his beloved merlin to keep him safe

[ironicallyenraptured]

Her favorite human

I was planning to make another drawing but the creativity bug bit me and… here you have the queen of hearts with her heart (heh)

Humans are extinct AU by: @kiame-sama

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XIX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily. — genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 3,364. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23. — the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 19

"This is madness, Alexander, and you know it!" Cassander exclaimed, his voice thick with indignation as his eyes flashed with barely contained anger. He fixed his gaze directly on the King, his rigid posture conveying both courage and a dangerous streak of recklessness. In the tent, lit by the flickering flames of the lamps, shadows danced across the fabric walls, reflecting the rising tension.

Alexander looked up from where he sat, his imposing posture, even in repose, exuding authority. His eyes narrowed like blades, and a dangerous expression shaped his face. When he spoke, his voice was low, but filled with a restrained fury that rumbled like muffled thunder.

"Do you disapprove of me, Cassander?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The generals gathered in the tent exchanged uneasy glances, aware that the situation was about to escalate into something irreversible. The air seemed heavier, and the crackling of torches became the only sound that dared to break the tense moment.

Everyone was still much more wary of Alexander after the incident with Cleitus, and for a moment it seemed that Antipater's son remembered that.

Cassander swallowed, instinctively taking a step back. His confidence wavered for an instant, and he seemed suddenly aware of the fatal mistake he had made in confronting Alexander in this manner. The color drained from his face, but his eyes, though hesitant now, still held a hint of defiance.

How stupid.

Before the atmosphere could explode into chaos, a tall, composed figure stepped forward. Hephaestion, the only one capable of calming Alexander’s nerves, intervened with deliberate calm, his voice cutting through the stifling air like a much-needed breeze.

"Alexander," Hephaestion began, his voice firm but tinged with caution. He shot a warning look at Cassander, who returned it with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "What I believe Cassander means," he continued, choosing each word carefully, "is that this decision... Is unwise. Attacking Babylon in this manner, without adequate preparation, could result in catastrophe."

Alexander turned to him, his eyes still shining with fierce determination. The king took a deep breath, as if absorbing Hephaestion's words, but there was no sign of hesitation in his posture. He stood, his imposing figure now completely dominating the space.

"I will not abandon my wife," He declared, his voice brimming with passion and authority. "Our queen is in danger, and every second we wait is an affront to my honor and my love for her. I will not wait another second."

Alexander's words echoed through the tent like an absolute decree. The silence that followed was heavier than ever as those present absorbed the king’s unwavering determination. Hephaestion, though worried, said nothing more, only nodded, knowing that when Alexander made up his mind, there was no force in the world that could change his mind.

Ptolemy, who had remained silent until then, stepped forward, his thoughtful features carefully hiding any trace of doubt. His voice, hesitant but controlled, cut through the tension that still hung in the tent like a suffocating fog.

"All right," He said finally, after a moment of consideration. His hand slid to the central table, touching the maps spread out with an almost reverent caution. The parchments were covered in markings, tracing borders, routes, and fortresses. He studied them briefly before looking up to meet Alexander's fervent gaze.

"Where do we begin?"

Ptolemy's calm tone contrasted with the simmering fury still emanating from the king, but there was a pragmatic acceptance in it that seemed to bring a slight sense of focus to the room. The surrounding generals relaxed slightly, realizing that at least one of them was willing to follow the course Alexander had decided, even if it defied prudence.

Alexander leaned slightly across the table, his fingers pointing to a route plotted along the Euphrates River. His determination was palpable.

"We begin here," Alexander said, his voice firm. "We will march swiftly down the valley, using surprise and speed as our greatest weapons. Babylon will not be expecting a direct attack — and that is why we will win."

Ptolemy nodded slowly, but his expression still held a shadow of doubt. He knew that defying Alexander would be futile, but he also knew that the success of this endeavor would depend on more than bravery and speed.

"Then we need adequate supplies and logistics," Ptolemy stated cautiously. "If we are to move quickly, we will need experienced scouts and a plan to keep the troops supplied. We cannot afford to fail due to lack of resources."

Hephaestion, who was still nearby, crossed his arms and looked at Alexander, as if waiting for the king’s response to Ptolemy's sensible suggestion.

Alexander straightened, his expression unchanging, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes. He knew he needed men like Ptolemy and Hephaestion at his side, those who could temper his impetuosity with practical wisdom.

"Then see to it that you arrange it, Ptolemy and Hephaestion," Alexander ordered, his voice still thick with authority. "Make the necessary preparations. But know this: we will not hesitate. I want the troops ready to march at dawn."

Ptolemy nodded again, this time with more conviction, and began studying the maps with renewed attention, along with Hephaestion. The room was filled with a mix of movement and tension as each of the generals took their turn in preparing for the campaign.

May the gods be on their side.

Dawn was slowly creeping in, bringing with it an uneasy silence that seemed to extend throughout the royal tent. Alexander sat in a chair near the table, a glass of wine in his hands, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the flickering candlelight. The dark liquid swayed in his cup as he swirled it absently, lost in thought. Anxiety weighed on his chest like a suit of armor he could not remove, preventing him from giving in to sleep.

The solitude of the moment was interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the flames and the soft sound of footsteps in the distance. He knew he should rest, prepare for the imminent march, but his mind would not give him a break. His wife’s face haunted his thoughts, and every second that passed without action felt like a personal defeat.

It was then that the uneasy tranquility was broken. One of the guards at the entrance to the tent appeared, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect before speaking.

"My lord, there is someone who wishes to speak with you." The guard announced, his voice low but firm.

Alexander frowned, irritated by the interruption, but his curiosity was piqued when the visitor's name was revealed.

"Aslan?" He repeated, his voice thick with suspicion. He leaned back in his chair for a brief moment, considering his options, before waving his hand, indicating that the man could enter.

Aslan was an enigmatic figure, and Alexander did not trust him for a moment. There was something about his presence — perhaps the furtive glances, the measured tone of his voice, or the way he always seemed to know more than he should — that made him deeply uncomfortable. There were many rumors surrounding Aslan, and Alexander was not naïve enough to ignore them.

But despite his reservations, Alexander could not deny that Aslan had been valuable. It was he who had brought him the crucial information about his wife's whereabouts, knowledge that none of the king's other allies had been able to uncover. For this, Alexander was somewhat grateful, though that gratitude was tempered by constant vigilance.

Aslan entered the tent with deliberate steps, a hint of a smile on his lips. He bowed slightly, but his posture remained casual, almost insolent.

"Your Majesty," Aslan began, his voice silky but heavy with a subtext that Alexander had yet to decipher.

Alexander raised his cup, eyeing the man like a predator studying its prey.

"I hope you have something important to say, Aslan," Alexander replied, his voice cold and clipped. "I am not known for tolerating pointless interruptions."

Aslan laughed softly, tilting his head as if recognizing the danger in the king's every word.

"Certainly, my King. I would never dare waste your time," He said, taking a step forward and lowering his voice.

Aslan smiled broadly, his teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight. His posture was impeccable, almost theatrical, as if every movement had been rehearsed for maximum impact. Alexander watched him closely, unease building within him. There was something about Aslan that made him shiver — perhaps it was the intense gaze, or the air of someone who always knew more than he should.

The visitor tilted his head slightly to the side, keeping his eyes fixed on Alexander, like a predator assessing its prey. The silence that followed seemed endless, until Aslan finally spoke, his voice soft but heavy with a weight that pierced the air.

"Your queen is with child."

Those words struck Alexander like a thunderbolt. He did not react immediately, but his hand, which was holding the cup, gripped the object so tightly that it seemed about to break.

Aslan continued, as if savoring every second of the tension his words provoked.

"My sources tell me that she is being well looked after in Babylon," He added, his voice taking on an almost condescending tone. "But as you well know, she is surrounded by enemies. Anyone who wishes to weaken you will spare no effort to use this situation against you." Aslan paused dramatically, his eyes shining with something Alexander could not identify. "I thought you should know."

Alexander stood still for a moment, trying to process the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him. Anger, worry, joy, and protective fury all fought for space in his heart. His wife, his Queen, pregnant, carrying his heir, amid mortal enemies. The mere thought of something happening to her — or the child —was enough to make his blood boil.

"Are you sure about this?" Alexander asked finally, his voice low but filled with an intensity that made even Aslan feel uncomfortable for a brief moment.

"Absolutely." Aslan replied without hesitation, his tone far too confident for Alexander's liking.

The king placed the cup on the table with a controlled movement, but the tension in his body was evident. He took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Aslan, his eyes fixed like blades.

"If your information is wrong, Aslan, you will answer for it personally." Alexander declared, each word laden with menace.

Aslan did not flinch. Instead, he held Alexander's gaze with an enigmatic smile, as if he were aware of something no one else was.

"I trust my sources, Your Majesty," He said calmly. "But what you do with that information... That's up to you."

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to control the storm raging inside him. The fate of his wife — and now his heir — was at stake. There was no room for error or hesitation.

"Leave." Alexander ordered, his voice icy, though he felt a whirlwind of emotions inside.

Aslan inclined his head in an almost courteous gesture before turning and disappearing through the tent entrance, leaving Alexander alone with the news that changed everything. The king stood still, the candles flickering around him as his thoughts raced.

Alexander felt the weight of Aslan’s words settle over him like a storm about to break. His wife, his queen, pregnant. The concept swirled through his mind, carrying with it a torrent of emotions he rarely experienced so intensely. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking. This was not something that usually happened — he, the invincible conqueror, was now shaken by news that should have been a cause for joy.

Happiness. Pride. Fear. Anger. All of these emotions fought for space in his heart at once.

Finally, he would have an heir. A son. A child to whom he could pass on not only his empire, but also his lessons, his vision, and, in some way, his immortality. Alexander felt a pang of pride at the thought. An heir who would carry on his blood and his name, someone who would carry on the legacy he had spent his life building.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine the child. A son or daughter with (Y/N)'s eyes and her kindness. He imagined teaching the child to ride, to fight, to rule with wisdom and strength. His heart warmed at the thought of this life he could shape and love.

And perhaps, finally, his mother, Olympia, would be silent. He thought wryly of all the letters she had sent him, pressuring him relentlessly to produce an heir. "The empire needs continuity," she always said. As if that were the only reason for him to have a child. Now, he would have the heir she so desperately demanded – but he did not do it for her, or for the empire. He did it because it was with (Y/N), because...

Alexander took a deep breath, trying to order his thoughts that were racing against each other. He loved (Y/N). It was a truth he had never said out loud, perhaps not even to himself. But now, she was far from him. Far from his protection. Surrounded by enemies who could use her and the child she bore as weapons against him.

Fear gripped his heart, quickly turning into cold, dangerous fury. He was Alexander, undefeated in battle, and he would never allow anything to happen to the woman he loved or the child she carried.

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with such force that it nearly fell over. His breathing was heavy, and his fists clenched at his sides. Babylon, the place where (Y/N) was, became, in that moment, more than a military objective or a strategic dispute. It was the place where everything he valued was, everything that truly mattered.

By dawn, Alexander was already shouting orders and preparing to go and get his wife and child. Whatever the cost.

The days in Babylon were heavier than usual. The heat felt suffocating, but that wasn't what was tightening your chest as you stared out your bedroom window. Your hands gripped the balcony tightly, your fingers almost digging into the cold stone. Your eyes were fixed on the horizon, but your mind was elsewhere, struggling to process the news that had arrived earlier.

Alexander was coming.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard those words, but the initial joy soon gave way to a mix of conflicting emotions: hope, worry, and a touch of despair. He was coming to rescue you, you had no doubt about that, but what did that mean for Babylon? For the city that was now seething with panic and preparation? For its people?

You definitely didn’t want to see an entire city massacred and the survivors sold into slavery.

Darius had received the news only a few hours ago, and since then, the tranquility of the city had been replaced by noisy chaos. Soldiers were rushing about, carrying weapons, building barricades, and reinforcing the walls. The raised voices of commanders echoed through the streets, mingling with the sound of hammers and shouts. Supplies were being piled up, and civilians were being forced to work to prepare the city for a siege that everyone knew was inevitable.

The satrap of Babylon, Mazeus, tried to bring some sense to the discussion, arguing that surrender was the only sensible option. He mentioned how Bactria, by capitulating without resistance, had avoided the terrible fate that awaited the stubborn. But Darius, influenced by Bessus — that arrogant fool — rejected the suggestion with disdain.

"Fools," You muttered to yourself, gripping your hands tighter on the balcony. Your eyes closed for a moment, the weight of everything that was to come bearing down on you. "They are all fools."

You knew what Alexander was capable of. He was not just a conqueror; he was an unstoppable force. If Darius and his followers insisted on fighting, Babylon would be razed, its inhabitants slaughtered. Blood would run in the streets, and the walls they now reinforced would be useless against Alexander's military genius.

There was a small hope that if they surrendered, the city might be spared. But you also knew that your presence here complicated everything. Your kidnapping was both a symbol of resistance and a personal insult to Alexander. Even if the leaders of Babylon surrendered, Alexander would show no mercy to those who defied him by taking you from his arms.

You took a deep breath, trying to control the storm of emotions inside you. You felt trapped, powerless, a pawn in a game of power far greater than you. And yet, there was something comforting in the idea that Alexander was coming. He would take on everyone, tear down walls and armies if necessary. Because he was coming for you.

You hadn't quite come to a conclusion about how you felt about him yet, but you knew that you cared in some way. He was your husband, even if forced, and he was the father of your babies. A part of you cared enough.

"Hello."

You whirled around at the sound of Aslan's voice, your heart leaping into your throat with shock. He was there, standing casually near the door, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His posture was relaxed, and his lips curved in a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes. It had been days since you had seen him, and you had been relieved by his absence. But now, he was back. Only the gods knew where he had come from.

"A kiss for your thoughts, my dear?" Aslan asked, his voice calm and tinged with amusement.

You crossed your arms instinctively, trying not to show the discomfort you always felt in his presence.

Aslan tilted his head slightly, his smile widening as his eyes fell on your noticeably rounded belly. His gaze was so intense that you almost cringed.

"You’re getting more beautiful every day, (Y/N)," He commented, his voice low and honeyed, as he leaned casually against the nearby wall and crossed his arms. "Pregnancy suits you well."

You felt your throat go dry. There was something about the way he was looking at you — or maybe the babies you were carrying —that made every instinct in you scream in alarm. Trying to maintain your composure, you straightened your posture and met his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster.

"Aslan," You finally replied, your voice sharp. "What do you want?"

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes sparkled even brighter, as if he’d been waiting for this very question.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," He said, his tone so innocent it was hard to believe. He tilted his head again, his eyes boring into you in a way that seemed to read every thought that passed through your mind. "And, of course, to make sure our future little prince and princess are well taken care of."

You didn't want to know how he knew you were expecting twins or why he assumed it was a girl and a boy. You wanted to ask but knew you would be met with no answer, just rambling.

"I’m fine," You replied dryly, your voice firmer than you expected. "And so are the babies. You don’t have to worry."

Aslan laughed softly, the sound echoing around the room disconcertingly.

"Oh, but I do, my dear," He said, pushing off the wall and taking a step toward you. "You carry something very valuable, something that could change the course of many things."

Your body tensed, and you took a half-step back, holding your head high. "What do you mean by that?"

Aslan stopped, as if realizing he’d reached his limit. He raised his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender.

"Nothing much, just the musings of a man who likes to watch the game board," He replied with an enigmatic smile. "But for now, I just wanted to say how good it is to see you, and how... Radiant you look."

Aslan glanced at you as he turned his back to leave, but he didn't bother to move.

"Do you want to leave?" His words were calm, but loaded with something you couldn’t identify.

"I... What?" You began, trying to process what he had just said.

Aslan raised his hand, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as if anticipating your confusion. "I mean, my dear," he continued, his voice as soft as a serpent whispering in your ear, "back to your time, to the twenty-first century."

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but as you know I was sick and busy with personal things, then I got better and got the flu 🤡 but I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I personally really liked how it turned out and forgive me if there are any mistakes.

See you guys soon! ❤️

[frownyalfred]

The batkids love “Uncle Ollie” because he’s the cool uncle who comes over and randomly throws things at them to catch in increasingly tricky intervals.

They’re flipping backwards over furniture trying to catch random little darts constantly whenever Oliver’s there to talk to Bruce about JL stuff. They need to catch the thing, which drives Bruce quietly crazy even as he acknowledges it’s a useful test of reflexes.

Uncle Ollie sometimes gets bold enough to try and throw shit at Bruce. This isn’t a good idea for several reasons.

[velvees-archive]

miles edgeworth who—when flustered—wears his embarrassment like he wears his suit: bright red, color blooming on his cheeks, because even if his words are sharper than most, he’s sincere and honest. having shed the darkness that lingered over him for the greater part of his youth, he’s straightforward with his intentions and unafraid to show himself to the world

vs

phoenix wright, whose face has assumed many a mask after people he trusted betrayed him time and time again. the flush that comes over his features is quiet and soft; hidden, as if he’d been tamping his embarrassment down only for it to bubble over, spilling out just enough for a light pink to color his complexion. he is an artist at heart and a skilled performer; for a long time, he didn’t know if his act would ever end. he’s used to drawing the curtain over his thoughts, so when he can’t immediately seize control of his expression, you have to wonder what (or who) could lure it out of him

[obiwhat]

alice drag AU fic out now 🧸🗣️

chapter one: “with teeth”

[jq37]

Aelwyn is sixteen and preparing for midterms at Hudol. Uniform pressed and starched, head full of incantations and spell components. She doesn't mean to bump into Adaine and get orange juice all over her shirt but today isn't the day she's going to start showing weakness.

"You know, you really should watch we're you're going," she says archly, playing off the clumsy mistake as a purposeful jab.

Playing it off a bit too well because, the next thing she knows, Adaine is flipping her off and a bolt of queasy looking, green energy is coming towards her. Ray of Sickness. And she can't spare the spell slot for Counterspell because she needs it for her exams.

"You little bitch!" Aelwyn says once she's emptied the contents of her stomach down the front of her shirt.

"Good luck with your exams," Adaine says sweetly.

Aelwyn is eighteen and the oldest, mangiest cat she's ever seen in her life has just vomited on her shoes.

"My," she says, casting a shield spell around her ankles to stop the cat from clawing at them. "You weren't kidding. He is a little bastard, isn't he?"

The shelter volunteer looks mortified. "Oh, gods! I am so sorry. I tried to warn you--I mean, not that I'm blaming you but--"

"No, it's alright. I did ask you to show me stragglers."

The shelter worker gestures to another pen on the other side of the room. "I can show you the kittens we just got in or there are some very well behaved older cats as well if you'd--"

But Aelwyn cuts her off, scooping up the old cat--though she holds him at arm's length for now, just to be safe. "No need. I haven't changed my mind. I'll take this one." She looks at the tag on his collar. "Hector."

Aelwyn is three and, as of a month ago, no longer the youngest Abernant.

She's had baby dolls in the past but never a baby sister and this is exciting new territory. She's full of questions. When is she going to be able to walk? When is she going to be able to talk? When will she be old enough to have lembas bread instead of formula?

Her parents seem less fascinated by the new addition to the family than she is but her mother is amused when she slaps away the hand of a colleague of her father's who tried to touch Adaine before sanitizing his hands, standing between the much larger man and her sister.

"So defensive. Perhaps she'll be an abjurer."

When Aelwyn asks what that is, her mother says that it's a kind of magical protector and she likes that a lot. That sounds like a good thing to be.

At night, Adaine cries. Except, she doesn't hear it because the mobile above her crib is etched with runes that cast the Silence spell.

"But what if she gets hurt?" Aelwyn asks.

Her father brushes her off. That's what the Unseen Servants are for. But she thinks that's what an abjurer might be for too and even though she isn't one yet, that doesn't mean she can't start practicing.

So, every night, Aelwyn waits until her parents have put Adaine down for bed and then tiptoes into her room. She checks to see if Adaine is silently wailing and if she is (and even sometimes if she isn't) she presses her face between the bars of the crib and sticks her little hand over Adaine's face.

"Don't cry," she says, even though the Silence spell mutes her words as completely as the tears. "Mum said I'm an abjurer. Nothing will get you. Don't cry, baby."

Adaine grabs her hand with impressive grip strength for something so small and, within a few minutes, she's trancing peacefully.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her sister is off to save the world again. This time from a Night Yorb--whatever that is.

It feels cruel that Adaine should have to go risk her life again so soon after she just almost died--not almost died, she did die before being raised by her cleric.

She wants to come with, to help in some way. Surely she could be helpful--last quest they brought Gilear for Helio's sake!

But Adaine doesn't ask her and she can't bring herself to say the words she needs to have the conversation she wants. So, instead, she lightly whaps Adaine on the shoulder with her spellbook as she's packing for the quest.

"I know you haven't done much studying lately what with your grades being based on how many hobgoblins you kill or whatever ridiculous system Aguefort has cooked up," Adaine rolls her eyes at that, "But if you don't mind a little cram session before you leave tomorrow, I can show you how to cast Teleport like I said. Might help you stay a touch less dead on your quest."

Her tone is light but her eyes betray her: Please, please, please don't die again.

Adaine's expression softens but then she scoffs, playing her half of their game. "I don't know what a Hudol dropout who's been in jail for the past year is gonna teach me but do your best."

Aelwyn is seven and her father is cross with her.

"Really Aelwyn," he says and even though they're talking via crystal she can feel the frost of his glare. "You thought it was appropriate to call me at work for no good reason? How many times have I told you and your sister to not bother me while I'm working."

She hates the word bother. She doesn't want to be a bother. She tries very hard not to be. Maybe she just didn't explain herself well enough.

"I know, father. But Addy got really scared and panicky on the playground. She was breathing really hard and--"

Her father makes a noise of disgust. "I don't have time for this. She is in primary school now. Stop coddling her. And her name is Adaine, not Addy. Please speak properly. I'm raising you better than that."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

Aelwyn is eighteen and most of the claw marks on her arms have healed, which is nice. On her lap asleep is Hector who has apparently decided he likes her enough to use her as a radiator but not enough to submit to medical treatment without using her arms as a scratching post.

"You little heat vampire," she says as she slides her thumb across the screen of her crystal, searching for a video that will help her out. Eventually she finds one that looks promising and she calls it up.

On the screen, a halfling is standing next to a cat who is actively shredding her sweater with its claws. "You're going to be tempted to use some kind of a shield spell when applying the ointment," says the halfling. "But cats can smell abjuration magic and they don't love it. You won't get close enough to do the job. Isn't that right my darling?"

In response, her cat hacks up a hairball.

"Darling indeed," she says under her breath.

But even laced with sarcasm, the word is sweeter against her tongue than she anticipated.

She sinks her hand into Hector's fur and scratches his back for a few moments before tentatively speaking aloud. "Sleeping well, my darling?"

Hector says nothing--he's asleep and a cat. But warmth blooms in Aelwyn's chest--more than enough to make up for what Hector is leeching from her.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her father has just given her the most horrible command she's ever received in her life--and she's counting being made to sink a ship full of people in that calculation.

She knows her father doesn't expect her to delicately extricate the knowledge he needs from Adaine's mind. He expects her to get it at all costs. To ransack and pillage the memories if necessary with no heed of the consequences on her psyche. He'd probably prefer it that way--the more broken Adaine is, the easier it will be to mold her into a version of herself that is more useful to him.

Aelwyn is usually a smooth talker and a convincing liar but now, she stumbles all over her words, babbling out a stream of deflections and pleas as her heart squeezes tighter and tighter in her chest until she can't hold back the truth that she's been suppressing for years anymore.

"Adaine's just…she's a baby."

Aelwyn is eighteen and her apartment is full of cats.

She's always thought that the phrase, "One thing led to another" was a bit of a cop out--clearly there were key steps between point A and point B being glossed over--but in this case, there is truly no better way for her to articulate how she went from zero cats to ten cats in such a short amount of time.

She's sure that if she was still living with Jawbone, he'd have something to say about it but that's exactly why she isn't currently living with Jawbone.

She portions out food for all of the cats, saving Hector for last because he likes to eat curled up next to her.

"My darling baby boy," she says, lifting him onto the couch with her because the jump up is a bit much for him and his old bones. She kisses him on the top of the head and then pulls out her crystal. She scrolls mindlessly for a bit before checking her messages despite the fact that there's conspicuously no notifications.

Not that she has many people to expect texts from but she hasn't heard from Adaine in a few weeks and it's unsettling. When they weren't getting along, they were still living under the same roof. She was able to keep tabs on her, more or less. Now, they're closer than they've been in ages but barely talking.

I'm the older sister, I suppose, Aelwyn thinks. I should take the initiative.

She pets Hector with one hand and drafts a message with another: Are you alive, bitch?

She's about to press send but then she frowns and deletes the draft. After a few moments of thought, she taps out a new message: Can't believe I'm gonna say this. Miss my little sister. Everything all right?

Aelwyn is seventeen--though she doesn't feel like it.

Her mind is telling her that she's sixteen and that she was just been broken out of a jail cell in Solace but Adaine is telling her that she's just been broken out of an entirely different prison after being tortured for months even though she doesn't remember any of that.

But her body feels frail and Adaine says she's been in her mind which means she must have used the hard reset.

She's suddenly feeling very vulnerable--not because of the disorientation or the of the levels of exhaustion she can feel weighing on her like leaden chains. No, it's because of the fact that Adaine using the reset means that she must have read the treacle-y note that she left there for her to find.

It was just an insurance policy, she tells herself. There was wisdom to buttering up your savior to make sure she'd do what you needed her to do.

She manages to mostly believe it. But the small, truthful part of herself that knows how deeply she meant the words is so uncomfortable that she antagonizes Adaine until she's annoyed enough to hit her with a spell, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

Aelwyn is nineteen and she's going to kill her mother.

Well, not alone of course. Adaine deserves the kill at least as much as she does if not more. It'll be a group effort.

It's a strange mix--the cold fury at her mother mixed with the warmth she feels for her sister, sitting across the table from her. She summons a flame to her palm, a preview of what their mother has waiting for her. She watches Adaine's eyes harden with resolve and she sees the face of her baby sister, left to wail alone silently for hours, soothed by her presence. "Let's get her."

"Yes, my dear," she says, the endearment coming freely as if this has always been their dynamic. "We'll get her."

But there will be time for that later. Right now, it's time for ice cream and seeing Adaine so content in such a simple pleasure causes the warmth in her to surge so suddenly that it would be startling if it wasn't so pleasant. The urge to voice it is so powerful that she doesn't know that would have been able to stop it at any point in life, let alone now.

"I hope we get to eat ice cream and cast magic forever," she says, words that would have been impossible for her to say one short year ago and impossible not to say now.

And, to her delight, Adaine agrees.