#also pls go read my fics?
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roxiusagi · 1 year ago
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✹Cultivate: Slow Life on a Monster-Infested Mountain✹ by @neonghostcat - fan covers in the design style of seven seas danmei publishing ✿
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sooo.. I know it would be more appropriate to post these once the fic is fully finished BUT i got too excited and was waiting too long already to post these hdjfhk and today is cultivate anniversary so appropriate excuse to post lets go!!! anyway theres only one chapter left to go so ppl who have been waiting to read it until its done the time is NOW! hahha
anyway fun fact this was originally going to be just 3 parter. but. at this point cultivate has surpassed svsss in word count if i am not mistaken......so ive decided that adding one more volume would be appropriate lol
oh well and here are the pieces by themselves
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also... just to clarify im obviously in no way shape of form comparing myself to the quality of actual seven seas cover artist lmaoo hdjshf i hope thats obvious that this was just fun gimmick passion project
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sirmanmister · 7 months ago
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đŸ’„đŸ’„đŸ’„ BOOM POW GET KILLED GET KILLED GET KILLED!!!!!
This is a redraw from January 6 2023, in honour of it being 1 YEAR since I posted the last chapter of The Father(s) and Son(s)!!!!! A little bit over a year actually because it was April 10th and it took me a little while to draw this lol
So much has changed in the span of a year omg. And for THE BETTER?? Like I’m going to school, I made and lost friends, I’m slowly but surely getting over some social anxiety (still a wip tho!!! 😭😭) and I’ve found so many cool mutuals and artists and just!!!! AAA!! Not to mention my art skills have improved a whole HELL of a lot!! LMAO
I don’t write as much as I did when I wrote my fic initially, and I feel bad for that sometimes, but it’s just a testament to how things have gotten a lot better for me and it’s not bad that I’m busy. I’m still trying to cobble together some more writing to eventually get another fic out, cuz I do genuinely miss it, but we’ll get there when we get there!
Anyway. TYSM TO EVERYBODY THATS STUCK AROUND FOR SO LONG/CAME HERE FROM MY FIC IN THE FIRST PLACE I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU MADE MY LIFE BETTER!! đŸ«¶đŸ«¶đŸ«¶đŸ«¶
Pspsps closeups/old pic under the cut!!
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ccomilk · 1 year ago
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i return with more doodles of @vanillavengeance's fic Mystic Malfunction. i love this fic a normal amount (is shaking and frothing at the mouth)
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viperwhispered · 8 months ago
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Rest
Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.
At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 
However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.
You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.
So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.
It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.
At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.
“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.
Of course.
It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.
You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.
“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.
“Yes.”
“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”
“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.
Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.
“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.
Really, when did he get so tired?
And how did you not notice it earlier?
You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.
Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.
You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.
Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.
Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.
“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.
Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.
“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”
“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.
Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.
But sometimes you really wish it would be.
Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.
Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.
“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”
You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.
“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”
Still, Jamil frowns.
You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?
“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.
And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.
“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.
It seems he has accepted his fate.
You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.
And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.
Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!
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mitskikissme · 4 months ago
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My very rushed love letter to @rowdyknives fanfic what it means to love her. hes such a talented writer no jokeee
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lauraneedstochill · 2 years ago
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I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave
summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She is smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn’t. (or, alternatively: “No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now.”) pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +
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warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he’s in love with. author's note: I’m working on 3 fics at the moment, and it’s taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn’t add anything to the story). also, I don’t think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don’t care ;)
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Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He’s been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn’t very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.
Aemond’s never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He’s used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he’s some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that’s approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won’t be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He’s never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.
The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He’s been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.
His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it’s a topic he never brings up, it’s a humiliating secret that’s just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn’t withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it would always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.
He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn’t get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can’t bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it’s the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.
All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what’s going on.
“Aemond,” she approaches him, whispering. “What’s wrong? Is it the headache again?”
Aemond doesn’t want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain.”
“I don’t think we have time to fuss over me,” he declines with a pain-stained voice. “I was under the impression that we’re expecting someone to join us today.”
Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.
“Please don’t tell me you require motivation,” Aegon’s voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.
“Undoubtedly you’ve interacted with women before,” he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond’s suffering. “Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won’t run away.”
Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself,” her voice is tinged with irritation. “Just for one evening. Can you do that?”
Aegon’s body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.
“As you wish, mother,” he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.
Aemond is exhausted, anxiety bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she’s approaching the entrance.
When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It’s not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn’t seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won’t let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she’s used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.
“Someone is about to get a piece of cake,” Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.
“Someone needs to shut up,” Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn’t even tasted yet. Aemond can’t help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.
The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She’s seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:
“You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I am surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience?”
When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to her, astonished by his own reaction. It’s not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It’s just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they’re surrounded with.
“I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve,” he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can’t steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.
Aemond asks about her family, letting her lead the conversation. She is easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would’ve really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That is until she abruptly stops.
“Are you feeling alright?” she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion. 
“I apologize if I’m not exactly the best at keeping you company. It’s been a long day,” he knows he should’ve come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.
She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then she moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It’s obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he’s the reason their conversation was cut short, but she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.
“We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested,” she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.
Aemond seriously doubts that he’ll get any rest as his head feels like it’s gripped in an iron vise again. The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he’s almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it’s the nausea, he doesn’t know nor does he care. He’s been handling this for years, he can survive another day.
Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to King’s Landing for a man she’s never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there’s only so much he can do without draining himself completely.
He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He’s passing by Helaena’s chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it’s not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She’s reading to them, and it’s a tale they’ve heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn’t need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N’s shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.
“You are an impatient little thing,” Y/N giggles.
“That she is,” Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.
“Pardon me, I didn’t hear you coming in,” she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. “Your sister was kind enough to keep me company.”
“I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven’t left her side ever since,” Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.
“Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?” Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.
“Make sure to be on time for dinner,” his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.
It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. She mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she’s telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.
When they walk into the library, she pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she can ever be impressed by him.
“This is where you study?” she is admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative “hmm”.
“How many of these have you read?”
“Quiet a few,” he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.
“I wonder what are your preferred subjects.”
“History and philosophy,” he doesn’t mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he’s had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady’s man.
“Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?” when she glances at him, there is a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she’s actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.
“I am afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all,” Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.
“Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time,” she presses the matter further but does so very gently. “Name just a couple.”
He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don’t stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She’s never too pushy with her questions, she’s making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn’t dare to leave her hanging for the second day in a row.
The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.
“I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting,” she says, almost whispering, when they are seated.
“You did not, no need to fret,” Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can’t curb the pain that’s spilling out of him, he thinks.
Food is tasteless in his mouth. She is sitting on his right, and Aemond’s body can’t adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He is so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.
Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother’s gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it. He regrets it the very next day.
When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They’re rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That’s why, when Aemond opens his eye, he’s startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.
“I did knock but got no response,” she gives him a look that’s a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he’s unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.
Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must’ve had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks.
“The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago.”
He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance.
“There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal.”
Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what’s expected of him, it’s about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn’t want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.
“The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other,” Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. “It seems like you’re getting along quite well?”
“I could think of no better woman than her,” Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn’t say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.
Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn’t know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.
“Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you’d be happy to know,” Alicent gives him a lax smile. “I shall let you go back to sleep,” she adds and leaves.
Aemond knows he’ll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N’s chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.
To his surprise, she is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can’t find her in the library and she isn’t in Helaena’s chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He’s lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they are only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.
“We must’ve passed each other, because I’ve been looking for you, too,” he confesses. She seems very pleased with herself though he isn’t sure why.
“I think the weather calls for a walk,” she blithely suggests. “Would you like to accompany me?” — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond is looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes her hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they’ve done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn’t. The feeling of holding someone’s hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.
By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He is blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can’t help but think that she was the reason for that.
“Your mother came to me this morning,” she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. “I assume she talked to you, too?”
“She did,” Aemond confirms. “Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?”
“Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses,” she mimics a man’s voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there as well. “Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech.”
“He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience,” the prince chuckles and she laughs.
Aemond holds a pause and then adds. “Forgive me if I’m being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you.”
“It was not,” she slows her steps. “I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I’m being honest...,” she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. “I am glad that it’s you,” Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. “We’ll make a pretty good team. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at her.
“It seems so,” he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There is a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.
“But I shall give you a warning,” she says with a mischievous grin. “My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won’t shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two.”
“Can any of them outdrink Aegon?” he jokes, and she bursts into laughter.
Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she’s listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it’s almost intimidating. But there’s a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.
He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can’t tell if she senses that something is wrong but she’s the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.
On the way back they are greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. She lightly squeezes Aemond’s hand.
“Tomorrow is a big day then,” — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won’t be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.
“There is still time for you to plan an escape,” Aemond jests half-heartedly.
She looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head.
“Only if you’re planning one. We are in this together, remember?” her thumb brushes over his. “It’s all about teamwork.”
Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn’t want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.
When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It’s the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn’t grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They’ve tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that’s known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.
But he should make an effort.
Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.
For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother’s words — “I thought you'd be happy to know.” Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.
But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there’s more to life than what he's been through so far.
While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider her his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.
And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep. He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.
He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn’t ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.
He doesn’t get a chance to see her throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.
The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots her the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It’s hard not to.
The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N’s hand.
But right when they are standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, she lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That’s when it dawns on him that she’s well aware of the attention but she doesn’t really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them.
That feeling doesn't go away.
Usually, he’s not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can’t tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he’s getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn’t remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?
Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.
“Aemond, you’ve been dancing,” she can’t hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.
“Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion,” Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.
“It is, indeed,” she doesn’t let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:
“I can assure you, this isn’t a cause for your distress.”
But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn’t see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.
Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn’t alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.
He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on her face is unreadable. She’s oblivious to Aemond’s presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he’ll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.
“... It’s not too late to change that, don’t you think,” Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.
“It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser,” when she talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.
“Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn’t of a frivolous kind,” he’s circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.
“I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation,” she recapitulates.
Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at her and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it’s not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She’s looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.
But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.
“I can be very persuasive,” his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. “I think you should appreciate the attention while I’m this generous and...”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.
To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.
Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he’s not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she’s still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.
“I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you’re forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it,” her voice doesn’t lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she’s not afraid of anything.
She lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He is frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.
“You didn’t... You did not just do that,” there’s a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.
“Did what, ser?” her tone is laced with coldness.
The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.
“You will not get away with this,” he scowls, nettled.
“You are telling me that you’re considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe,” she seems unfazed.
His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:
“You, insidious wre—!”
This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man. “I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed.”
She flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.
“Shouldn’t she watch hers? She’s talking to a lord,” Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.
“And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?”
“It was a... a simple misunderstanding,” his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.
“And what was the matter in question?” Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.
“I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal,” the man fakes a smile. “Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly.”
“You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time,” Aemond looks down on him. “Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?”
“I shall rejoin the celebration then,” ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.
Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to her. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can’t stop himself from asking:
“Did he harm you?”
“He didn’t get a chance,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn’t sure how.
"Dare I say we’ve got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.
“I will escort you to your chambers,” the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds, “I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist.”
She doesn’t move an inch.
“...You are not mad at me?” she’s looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.
“I am thinking about cutting his arm off,” he says under his breath, but she catches it.
“Aemond, there’s no need!” she gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.
“I will have to disagree,” he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond’s hand — finally — clings to her again.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me,” she confesses. 
“And I don’t want you to get hurt,” his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Her cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.
“I think I... I was the one who did some damage,” she complains.
“You must imagine my surprise,” Aemond drawls, teasing.
“Oh, Gods,” a quiet groan leaves her mouth. “That was not very ladylike of me.”
She covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.
“You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he enunciates each word. “He only sets an example of unseemly behavior.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t too far off,” she remarks, her voice relenting.
“Hmm, you are certainly not to be truffled with,” he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.
“May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?” Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:
“My father taught me that,” her tone is surprisingly impish.
“And how did you manage to talk him into it?”
“Talking didn’t help much, actually,” she grins. “And then I broke my brother’s nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine,” she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can’t hold back a small laugh.
She joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other’s company. But then her smile wilts.
“There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren’t very nice back then,” she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.
“What did they do?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It’s just um,” she’s looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn’t any. “It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean.”
Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.
While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, she spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.
“Is it the headache?” her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn’t know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that.
She is quick to clear up his confusion. “I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive,” she explains coyly.
“By asking about my health?” he finds his voice again. “I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions.”
“We’ve only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you’re allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone,” she kindly points out.
A day. Up until now the only person who’s known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.
“Did the ointment help?” she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on her face tells him otherwise.
“That was your doing?” he can’t hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.
“I’ve been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required,” she informs him.
“And what kind of witchcraft is it?”
“It is not,” she playfully elbows him. “It was something my grandsire taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain,” she has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.
“After her death, he wouldn’t let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret,” her smile is bittersweet. “Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again.”
Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.
“I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first,” she reveals.
"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester’s face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.
“I shamelessly boosted his ego,” she wrinkles her nose. “Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill.”
“But it wasn’t just that,” Aemond cordially protests.
They already reached her chambers but he doesn’t want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she’s been a saving grace for him, but he’s somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.
“It was way more than that and I...,” never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I must admit, you exceeded my expectations,” Aemond breathes out.
It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.
“I am glad to be of service, my prince,” she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.
He didn’t register the moment she came a bit closer, but she isn’t shying away from shortening the distance. There’s something enamoring about her trusting nature but that’s not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...
Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would’ve been disrespectful and naive. He’s mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.
But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at her, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.
“I shall bid you goodnight,” her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.
As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends. Lucerys’s name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond’s routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.
She’s never nosy or clingy; he is the one seeking her company at all times. She’s an early riser, too, and they are always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and she can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.
She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it’s all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.
When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she is terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives her enough confidence to pat Vhagar’s snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.
They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can’t help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.
For a while, he’s oblivious to how inseparable they’ve become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister’s chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — “You two seem joined at the hip!”, it startles him. But that moment doesn’t turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.
“I will steal her away from time to time,” Helaena says, as cheery as ever.
“Bold of you to assume I will let you,” he chuckles, his gaze not leaving his betrothed.
“I think she’ll have the last word,” his sister retorts with a cunning smile.
Aemond doesn’t think twice before admitting. “She will never say no.”
“My point exactly.” The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He has no wish to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. She asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that’s when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn’t want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn’t like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven’t been on good terms ever since. 
She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks. “Must you really go?”
He ponders before answering with a sigh. “It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect.”
“I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you,” she frowns.
“It would be a little too late for an apology,” Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.
“I still think you deserve one,” she says like it’s the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.
“I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me,” and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.
She bestows him with her softest smile. “I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting.” Aemond doesn’t know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn’t involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that’s what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.
“Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!” Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.
“I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him.”
“I didn’t say I want to switch places,” he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.
“Although switching places with you sounds tempting,” he sneers.
“And why would you ever want that?” Aemond raised his brow questioningly.
“You got yourself a pretty wife-to-be,” Aegon chants and whistles.
“Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged,” Aemond deadpans.
“ 'tis won’t be necessary,” Aegon's quick to object. “Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession,” his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.
Aemond lightly chuckles. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Leaving her is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.
When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.
She’s standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they’re both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.
Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.
It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that’s not what motivates her. Instead, she’s an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.
Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar’s carcass away.
“You had a successful hunt, dear prince,” when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.
“As usual,” Aemond answers indifferently. “Never took you for a hunter.”
“I cannot appreciate cruelty,” Lannister forces out. “And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear’s grip. So I am here merely to control my brother’s primal impulses.”
The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.
“Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him,” the prince mutters.
Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint. “I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother’s sympathy toward your—”
“You should not,” Aemond cuts him off. “Would be better to address his manners but it’s the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves,” with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.
Except she isn’t there.
The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.
Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he’s never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would’ve been burned to a pulp as of right now.
Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it’s already too late as she is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.
“...What am I missing exactly?” she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn’t care.
“You’ve been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing,” she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.
“Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion,” her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland’s scared tone.
“But what are your accomplishments?” the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. “Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. The prince, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.
She looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.
“You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above.”
Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she’s seen enough.
“The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you’re clearly lacking,” she casts Jason a disdainful glance. “So from where I am standing, it looks like I’m the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”
When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn’t surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.
“I would like it if we left earlier, my prince.”
“As you wish,” Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.
Disregarding everyone’s attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond’s ire.
“Give me just a second,” he can’t help himself.
Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn’t let him make a sound.
“That was the second time your brother couldn’t hold his tongue,” Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. “If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time.”
“Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like...”
Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:
“I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like.”
Without saying another word, the prince storms off.
Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.
“Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore,” Aemond says, sitting next to her.
“I sure hope so,” she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.
“Whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture,” way more than he cares to admit, “but there’s no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me,” Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:
“I will.”
She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.
“No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now,” she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.
Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. He runs out of luck so fast, he must’ve jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. She notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.
“Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?” she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.
When she finds out, she looks devastated.
“It must steep for a few hours, I can’t make it right away,” her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.
“There is another way that I know of,” she slowly suggests. “But you will need to lie down."
“Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in,” Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.
She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.
“Close your eye,” she asks calmly and he obliges.
Aemond senses that she leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.
“It was probably all the noise that caused this,” she presumes.
“Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil,” Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.
“He is pissed I didn't choose him,” she laughs quietly.
“Choose him?” her words peak his interest. “You had a choice in the matter?”
“My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn’t like,” her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.
“May I ask what was your decision process?” Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.
“I’ve heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten,” he can’t see her smile but he can hear it. “That was impressive enough.”
Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes. “That can’t be the only thing you’ve heard.”
“I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors,” she notes imperturbably.
“I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm...”
Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.
“I decided I would be the judge of that,” she says firmly.
“And what is your verdict?” he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.
She doesn’t think for a second.
“All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn’t a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you.”
Aemond shouldn’t take it to heart but that’s precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.
Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn’t breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.
She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. She removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.
“What do you see?” he exhales.
“Nothing scary, that’s for sure,” her gaze doesn’t leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.
“Nothing I don’t admire,” her voice is a little above a whisper.
“Nothing I wouldn’t love.”
His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.
She lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it’s almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It’s her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what’s left of his eyelid.
When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.
He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it’s on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn’t want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.
She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.
“I must admit,” she tries to catch her breath, she can’t stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, “you exceeded my expectations.”
Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.
“It’s all about teamwork, as I’ve heard,” he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they are kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He’s lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.
His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.
Turns out, letting her in doesn’t make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.
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✧ the title is a quote from Hozier’s song ✧ I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can’t help but mention the extensive research that @adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept. ✧ I have a playlist for Aemond đŸŽ” I didn’t add any music in this fic BUT I’ve listened to “Mr Sandman” a lot, especially the instrumental version. 💕 my masterlist
English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!
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foolishlovers · 1 year ago
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MUTUAL PINING FIC RECS: Below you'll find a list of Good Omens fics in which Aziraphale and Crowley are pining for each other.
You can request more fic recs here.
you play with my feelings (right from the start) by PenroseSun (G, 3k)
There were three things of which Crowley was absolutely certain: 1. Aziraphale, being an angel, was required to be kind and loving towards all things, even when those things were flawed or sinful or fallen. 2. Notwithstanding that obligatory kindness, Aziraphale would never, and could never truly love a demon, in any meaningful sense. 3. Despite this, Crowley was desperately, hopelessly, in love with him.
For To Quench My Thirst by apliddell (G, 6k)
After moving to Sussex with Aziraphale, Crowley is trying so hard to be satisfied with friendship and the suddenly beautiful life he already has.
Slow by write_away (T, 9k)
It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.   Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.
got a pretty face, pretty boyfriend too by KissMyAsthma, leukozyna (T, 9k)
Aziraphale and Crowley are next-door neighbours. They’ve been attracted to each other since they met. The only thing keeping them apart is a thin wall between their bedrooms and Atticus and Freddie, Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s respective life partners
 or are they? A human AU glued together by misunderstandings and wet food.
speed limits (and how to break them) by darcylindbergh (E, 13k)
There is a trick people do with a mint candy and a bottle of cola which results in a small eruption, and something very like it, for much higher stakes than a laugh in a car park, is about to take place in Aziraphale’s back room. Or: what happens when you finally unscrew the cap on a six thousand years of repression, and drop in Valentine’s Day.
Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture (M, 17k)
"Yes, exactly. Retire." Aziraphale reaches for the last remaining tartlet brimming with summer berries. "Somewhere along the south coast, perhaps." Or: Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.
32 Questions That Lead To Love by ffonippop (E, 32k)
”First formulated in 1997, [32] questions to fall in love is a study by psychologist Dr. Arthur Aron which took place at Stony Brook University, New York. The aim? Speeding up the creation of intimacy between two strangers.” The Cosmopolitan Okay, fine. Crowley was 32-Questions-That-Lead-To-Love-ing Aziraphale. Sue him. He had no expectations, all right? Just, an innocent curiosity.
Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 50k)
Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.
Fledging by FeralTuxedo (M, 53k)
Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him. A human AU/kid fic.
Style and Substance by Cabernet_Woebegone (E, 89k)
“But y’know, if my boss finds out I’m helping you even a little, they’re gonna throw me out on my ass.” “Yes, I understand it is a bit of a conflict of interest for you
 Is there something I can offer you in return? Something you would like?” Aziraphale questioned hopefully. You, Crowley thought loudly as he took a second sip. I want to know if you moan when you kiss the same way you do when you try something delicious. I want to know if your lips taste like Zinfandel. “Yes, actually.” Aziraphale is having difficulty running his restaurant, and it isn't helping that he believes the place across the street is trying to sabotage him. To his surprise, chef Crowley comes to him on friendly terms. Together they come up with an arrangement that could benefit them both.
On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E, 133k)
1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.
Old Vines by sevdrag (E, 189k)
A.Z. Fell, one of the most respected names in wine and food blogging, has been sent on assignment with his assistant Warlock Dowling to spend six months in California Wine Country. Under direction (by his boss, Gabriel) to use this experience to double his blog followers and write a novel, Aziraphale is both excited and anxious about the opportunity. Anthony J. Crowley is the owner and viticulturalist of Ecdyses, a winery that unexpectedly fell into his lap eleven years ago when he hit rock bottom. He may be in debt, yeah, but he’s paying off his loans — and despite pressure from his lenders and their team of inspectors, Crowley has found a kind of contentment tending his little corner of terroir and producing extraordinary wine. Crowley’s old vines are the heart of his vineyard, and he’s never let anyone in. Crowley finds Aziraphale intriguing; Aziraphale finds Crowley enthralling. Turns out a famous wine expert and an experienced viticulturalist can still learn things from each other. The summer of 2019 unfolds.
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justaz · 4 months ago
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lance who has always hidden his insecurities under grandeur and humor. a huge ego paired with an inflated sense of pride. he is someone who is confident and cocky, but he exaggerates it in response to the deep rooted belief that he is not enough, that he is ordinary at best, lackluster at worst. he grew up as the baby in a huge family which came with a lot of coddling, yes, but his achievements had been made time and time again which made them expectations rather than milestones. the first time he truly shone was when he got into the garrison, something no one in his family had done before, something to be celebrated. he worked his ass off at the garrison to be top of his class, to be a fighter pilot, to reach the stars - to be the first of his family to reach space. who could too that? no matter how long he spent studying or training, he still tested into the cargo pilot class. it wasn’t the worst but it wasn’t what he wanted. he fell short by a measly three points. it was infuriating.
lance worked his ass off even more. he wanted to be something, he wanted to be noticed, he wanted to be praised, he wanted to be celebrated. he never made it. there was one student that caught his eye though - keith kogane. a living, breathing legend. he tested at the top of their class. miles above the other students. completely untouchable. despite his reputation, his grand achievements, keith never cared. he was never in the library studying or spending his free time on the flight sims. he rarely made it to class on time. he didn’t care. yet he was the best of the best. iverson gave him a hard time but it was clear to everyone that even iverson admired him and his skill, his talent. even lance admired him. he wanted to be like him, he wanted to be him. he was rejoiced, he was celebrated, he was praised, he was admired and he didn’t even try. lance pushed harder and harder but only ended in burning himself out. he crumbled under the pressure while keith didn’t seem to notice it. lance loved him but also hated him. then he was gone. and lance was a fighter pilot. barely.
iverson, now with one less eye, loathed that. he gave lance scorn and belittlement, compared him to keith at every turn and went on and on about his failings, about how he’d never be keith, about how he didn’t deserve keith’s space in the class. lance hated iverson, lance hated keith, lance hated himself. he just had to try harder. he was more deserving of all of it than keith. he never cared, he didn’t want what he was blessed with. lance fought tooth and nail for it. he deserved it. he rose a bit in the fighter pilot class and kept fighting, iverson kept ridiculing and humiliating, keith’s name remained at the top of the boards. as the year passed, his name overtook name after name until he was below keith, three points behind. almost, almost, almost, almost

then they were in space. kidnapped by giant, sentient, mechalions. fighting in an intergalactic war. unable to return home. the years of resentment lance held for keith came to surface in close quarters with the man and he relished in every challenge that he won and despised every challenge he lost. he worked his ass off to get better until he could rechallenge keith until he won. he wasn’t sure when their rivalry became tinged with friendship, but he didn’t hate it. he should’ve, but he didn’t. it was keith’s disregard for his own amazement that infuriated lance. he was gifted and never cared for it. he was everything lance wanted and it was like it meant nothing to him. like he would trade it all at the drop of a hat if he could. yet, keith was fun, in an odd way. awkward and funny, a little prickly around the edges but a soft, gooey marshmallow heart under it all. lance knew it. he saw keith tear up at a couple of cute babies of some species on some planet as they played.
then shiro went missing and keith was forced into the role of leader and he very clearly did not want it. again, lance felt a flicker of annoyance. the role of black paladin, the pilot of the black lion, that was something lance had wanted. not at the expense of shiro, not at the expense of anyone, but he could be leader. he could lead the paladins of voltron in the fight against the galran empire. he could be revered on every planet they freed from tyranny, his name would live on forever. no one would overshadow him. yet, now keith stood in the shadow of the black lion, his face pinched and his eyes dark. he had lost his brother twice now and was being forced into leadership, he was now the one to make all the decisions for the team of (mostly) teenagers against the empire that had terrorized the universe for over ten thousand years.
lance stomped on the flicker of annoyance and put it out as he strode forward and stood beside keith. he spoke lowly, gently. he wasn’t sure how, but the right words spilled forth. keith’s shoulders relaxed and his scowl eased to a faint frown. he stepped into his role as leader. he was still as impatient and impulsive, he was quick to anger and often blinded by it. lance was there for it all. he held keith back, became his patience and impulse control. he quelled his anger when he could and talked sense into him when keith was already fired up. in return, keith gave him trust and gave him power. to outsiders, it seemed like it always had since the birth of voltron - the black paladin, the leader, and the red paladin, the right hand. but in all actuality, it was more the black and red paladins, leaders of voltron. the final decision rested with keith, but he never made a choice without lance’s input. lance made the plans and keith approved of them. lance talked at the diplomatic meetings while keith put on a brave face and played nice for a few hours.
then shiro came back and keith stepped down. lance felt as if he had finally found his footing. lance and keith, leaders of voltron, best friends. and now keith was leaving. lance watched keith walk away as he supported hunk and his tears. lance retreated to his own room and found traces of keith in every nook and cranny. hell, the damn castle ship could be traced back to keith in lance’s mind. ever since he stepped foot in the garrison, everything was tied to keith - the school legend, top of the class, best fighter pilot in their generation, the crazy man breaking into a government facility to kidnap legend takashi shirogane, the conspiracy theorist with the odd sounds in the desert, finding the blue lion, ending up in space fighting a war, red paladin of voltron. it was all keith. yet he wasn’t here. lance loved him, but he also hated him. he wasn’t sure how many more times he’d end up feeling that same sentiment.
the team
drifted. hunk and pidge paired off while allura and shiro paired off leaving lance and coran. coran was a nice, funny, odd man that reminded lance of his father back home. coran’s crazy, kooky exterior melted away when it was just them two and lance felt the same happen with him. coran talked of altea before it all, his husband and their son. lance talked of home too, every detail he could remember from earth and his family. lance busied himself with training or helping coran around the castle. he tried with the rest of the team, but things were pretty tense and his loud, jovial nature wasn’t exactly welcome all things considered. he tried to be shiro’s second as he had been keith’s. he offered his input and his plans but they were tossed aside without a moments thought. he was belittled for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong when he tried to speak up at their meetings. he was not shiro’s second, he was keith’s piss poor replacement as he had been at the garrison. he quieted and kept to himself. he stuck to the walls with crossed arms or locked himself on the training deck for hours at a time. shiro was off, a but different but lance couldn’t put his finger on it. the way he looked at them all sometimes was eerie. his eyes were empty and void and unsettling. after being shouted at on the bridge during a meeting,
he really couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. he thought getting it out in the open would ease the worry off his shoulders and, if it didn’t, then whoever he spoke to could laugh off his worries to properly ease his mind, help him see sense. lance told coran. coran did not laugh. he did not brush off lance’s worries. he all but confirmed them. he said how he had found shiro’s behavior odd and the shouting really sent the point home. shiro before had never yelled, not like that (bar slav but that was understandable). the rest of the team also sought lance out to share their same opinions. lance took it all in stride despite the heavy dread settling over his shoulders. in agreement, the team trailed down to the bay and sat in front of the black lion. instead of the slow, patient meditation where they would ascend into the astral plane, it felt more like they were snatched and hauled up into it. they found shiro there, the real shiro, the dead shiro. they weren’t sure who was on the ship, but it wasn’t their leader. they all remained in the astral plane as they talked over a plan.
lotor considered their line of questioning and shared the witch’s experiments while he was there and gathered that if shiro was anything, he was most likely a clone. there were other options such as shapeshifter or droid disguised as shiro but both were easily disproven as if shiro were a shapeshifter, there would’ve been moments when he tripped up and either didn’t remember something or acted too different from the shiro they knew. if shiro were a droid disguised as shiro, well
their capabilities of such a thing were lacking. the droids the galran empire had were only good for fighting and even then they were pretty lackluster. the witch had an odd fascination with life and death so the chances of shiro being one of her experiments at recreating life were incredibly high.
lance didn’t trust lotor either but he knew they needed all the aid they could get so he bit his tongue and allowed lotor to remain in close cohorts with all of them. they staged a coup and overpowered the shiro on the ship. unable to kill him, they froze him in a pod and kept him locked in the floor of the infirmary. with the loss of her spy, haggar launched an attack on voltron. tens of hundreds of galran ships warped to their position but their appearance was quickly followed by hundreds of thousands of rebel ships and military ships from those in the coalition. the blade managed to send a few ships, though at lance’s poking and prodding, kolivan relayed that keith wouldn’t be there as he hd been out of a mission for the past couple of weeks and hadn’t returned yet. heavier dread settled over lance but he had no choice then to ignore it and fight with the rest of his team against the galran attack.
with a great sense of deja vu, lance found himself locked out of the red lion. he groaned and complained to him as they didn’t have time for this but red didn’t budge. lance spoke to coran through his comms that red wouldn’t let him in and the older man appeared in the bay at frightening speed. they talked it over and red allowed coran to enter and pilot him. as coran stepped into red’s maw, black let out an ear-shattering roar. the deja vu was never ending as lance found himself rushing toward black and taking a seat at the helm. the castle ship was put on autopilot, it kept its shield up as it fired at passing galran ships whilst the rest of the team flew around in their lions taking on ship after ship. as rebel and coalition ships began to fall, the team formed voltron and took out the ships with ease.
it was odd, finally being in charge. finally being recognized. being turned to for guidance with unwavering trust. it was something he had always dreamed of, something he envied keith for, something he truly didn’t want when he finally got it. how could they look to him? how could black choose him? he was just a boy from cuba, one out of a family of seven, twelve counting his sister in law, niece and nephew, and grandma and grandpa. he was a cargo pilot who had no business being in the fighter pilot class. he became a paladin by sheer luck, luck attributed to keith kogane. even now, as black paladin, he only received that position because shiro was out of commission and keith was on a mission for the blade. the moment keith returned, the lion would return to keith and lance would go back to being his second, ignored at best, yelled at at worst. as of now, he was keith’s stand in. he just had to make it until keith returned. problems arose practically ever minute and lance tried to imagine keith and how he would respond before making a decision. he’d stand still as he took in the information, pointer finger and thumb brushing together as he thought it over, and finally respond.
he checked practically every minute of every day for a response from keith or a change in status from kolivan, but neither ever came. keith was still on a mission. he had been for weeks. lance stood on shaky legs as he led the team. he hesitated and was indecisive. he froze up when they turned to him to make a decision. he was not a leader. he wasn’t who they were looking for. they needed keith. he needed keith. lance would spend his time in the bridge, a line ringing endlessly in hopes of keith finally picking up, as he looked over the battle plans and made tweaks and adjustments as he saw fit. allura joined him once and merely watched as he worked. she chuckled to herself suddenly and mentioned how with the clone as their leader, she had forgotten what it was like with keith as their leader. she had forgotten that lance was once their strategist, that he had been part of the duo that made all the decisions for the team.
coran also joined him after allura left. he let lance ramble aloud about the plans until he ran into an issue he couldn’t resolve quite yet. he stood still as he rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together. coran smiled and exhaled sharply. he said softly how he had not seen lance “like this” in quite some time. at lance’s questioning look, coran explained how lance had been so confident and sure of himself when he led with keith. under the clone’s leadership, lance had been shaken and wasn’t sure of himself anymore. the lance of the past few months was quiet and hesitant, unsure and unsteady, whilst the lance who led with keith was confident and self-assured. he made these decisions for the team and didn’t second guess himself once. yes, he thought over his plans from every angle to ensure the team was as safe as could be, but he never doubted himself. coran supposed it was keith’s unwavering faith, loyalty, and trust in lance. keith followed lance’s decisions just as much as the team followed keith’s.
lance watched coran leave after ruffling his hair and slowly turned back to the messy draft of a battle plan. lance’s gaze shifted over to his stilled hand where he had been rubbing his thumb and pointer together since running into the issue. he had been doing the same motion since becoming black paladin. it was oddly familiar. he swore he had seen
keith do it. it was keith’s unique tick that he did when stressed or emotional and trying to compose himself. lance had stolen it. allura and coran’s words echoed in his mind as he thought back to the short period of time with keith as black paladin. lance had felt like he finally found his footing there. he felt seen and heard and appreciated as he and keith led the team together. keith’s trust in his decisions, lance’s ability to match each of keith’s weaknesses to balance the team. here lance was now, leading the team all on his own, and he felt his own weaknesses exposed to the elements at the loss of his samurai.
well, the whole time he had been thinking what would keith do. he had been leading like he still had keith. perhaps that was the problem. he was leading like half of a whole rather than black paladin. lance looked up at the trilling line on the screen of the bridge. keith was on a mission. he was not on the ship. it was lance and his team. lance reached up and ended the ringing line. he had to lead like it. lance watched lotor closely for days but still couldn’t find any issue with him. weeks passed and things sailed smoother than before. lance still froze up in meetings and hesitated before making big decisions, but he stopped looking to his side for keith’s input. just as they fell into the new normal, keith returned. he flew into the castleship with a teleporting black and blue wolf, a tall galran woman that looked suspiciously like him, and (most peculiar) an altean. as well as a growth spurt that came with bulging muscles. not that that was important. what was important was that keith finally gave lance the reason why lotor was so hard to trust.
in the hours waiting for lotor and allura to return, lance lead keith to the infirmary to see the still clone body and retold everything that had happened while he was gone. keith’s face cycled through a few emotions but he quickly forced them back behind a mask of indifference and he nodded. the two of the returned to the bridge to wait for lotor to return to confront him. allura was heartbroken and enraged at the news and had taken to fighting lotor herself. outnumbered and surrounded, lotor surrendered and allowed himself to be taken to the dungeons of the castle. it was unnerving that the castle had dungeons and lance never knew despite his wanderings over the years, but he let it go. lotor was taken into the belly of the castle in chains while keith mourned his brother once more. maybe it was the news of her people that had survived only to be farmed for experiments that gave her the idea, but allura thought of a way to bring shiro, their shiro, back.
the clone’s body was taken down to the bay where allura pressed her hands to the black lion. she began to glow and she walked toward the limp body and placed her hands to it’s chest and head. the light around her body flowed down her arms and hands and into the body on the table. after a few seconds, the body took a breath and cracked open it’s eyes. lively eyes. loving, kind, and caring eyes. shiro’s eyes. shiro was put back in the infirmary as he got used to being alive again. coran stepped back from the red lion and turned the mantle back over to lance without complaint. lance did the same with the black lion to keith. instead of it feeling bitter, lance felt more at peace. being a nobody was horrible, unbearable, but being the somebody that everyone turned to for help and guidance was not very fun either. he was content to be second in command, right hand man, three points behind keith. only, keith took back the black lion but didn’t let lance fall back into the shadows. they fell back into the same dynamic they had before, two halves of one whole, two leaders that complimented each other, that met one another’s weakness with their strengths, that balanced each other, that made a damn good team.
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legovasavouchi · 2 years ago
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chillin
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usignedupforthis · 1 year ago
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illusions of someday (M, 26k, complete)
by softgoldenglow/@usignedupforthis
The one where law student Louis and aspiring musician/full-time barista Harry are both a bit of a mess. There's dance parties and rainy beaches, vodka shots and mugs of tea. The world is hard but they're figuring it out together.
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piscespixiewastaken · 8 months ago
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Thank you, @midnight-fangirl01!! So I also technically don’t have 10 published fics (one is anon, and I don’t know if I’ll ever admit to writing that one). So I will share from my 8 published works and 2 upcoming fics.
1. Artemis Fowl: The Special Zone (Artemis Fowl, Black Blood Brothers)
A young man ran through the streets.
2. When Worlds Collide (Artemis Fowl, Black Butler, The Magnus Archives, original work)
Khione was not the most patient person.
3. Wings of a Changeling (Artemis Fowl, cowritten with @homunculus101)
Foaly stared at the covered glass jar in the lab tech’s hands. (Technically not the first line, but the first line I wrote for the second chapter)
4. The Face I Wear (Artemis Fowl)
The troll had been an unexpected development but not an unsurprising one.
5. Loser Living in His Own Prison (DSMP)
Technoblade didn’t usually think of his rival as an idiot.
6. We Stand Here to Celebrate a Momentous Occasion (DSMP)
The desert felt cold.
7. Do You Got Room for One More Troubled Soul? (DSMP, Hermitcraft, 3rd Life Series, MCYT)
If Xisuma could have picked the word to describe how Tommy looked after returning from the Dream SMP, he would have wanted to settle on “content” or perhaps “relief”.
8. Hold Me Tight (I want to go home) (Artemis Fowl, NCIS)
The young man sat, shivering on the floor by the kitchen island.
And upcoming works

9. Untitled C!Discduo, awesamdad fic (DSMP)
Tommy really wasn’t sure how to feel about this.
10. DSMP Season 2 Except This Time We’re Fighting God (DSMP, Dreblr Gen Big Bang event fic)
Technoblade and Philza stared at the message that sat on Phil’s open communicator.
So far, my openings are a little varied, but very character and action oriented. Not a lot of straight descriptions, unless they’re very short. Maybe it’s a show don’t tell mentality? Definitely interesting!
Tags, tags, who to tag
. Um, maybe @star-cluster-nyx because I think you mentioned you wrote fics? @homunculus101, @do-you-sea-whatididthere, and I don’t know if I know any other writer people. I need to start connecting AO3 people with their tumblr names. I don’t recognize some of you anymore!
Edit: last minute tag, @geek-22!
writing patterns tag game
Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!
Thank you for the tag, @ravenite-void !! đŸŽ¶âœšïž I had lot of fun doing this :3 (although i didn’t notice a particular pattern except that my WIPs are too old to appear here and maybe i should get out of hiatus xd)
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1. Sēċan (Star Wars)
Everything began when Luke went to fetch a wasted Ben in Anchorhead’s only tavern.
2. The Monster and the Child (Star Wars)
The dragon slept, curled on itself in the cold cell that was its home.
3. Batman’s Downfall (To Stand Alone) (DC)
There was a new killer in town. He called himself 'Red Hood'. Had he been clownier, Batman would have bet on a new scheme from the Joker part.
4. Ahch-To Soul, Korriban Body (Star Wars)
The hound - for it had no name but hound, beast, mutant - collapsed in the dark alley, its small paws folding underneath it.
5. A Nightinghale in a Golden Cage (Star Wars)
I had left the GruyĂšre to explore, the break on planet finally allowing me to stretch my wings after spending so long cooped up in the ship, when a cry in the Force alerted me.
6. A Feather's Fall (Star Wars)
I walked alongside the young Togorian that had recently become my ‘Padawan’, glancing proudly at the green crystal that shone in his fist.
7. Scales of Ember (A:tLA)
Everything burned. His body felt strange, his nerves raw, as if liquid fire was spreading through his veins.
8. À La CroisĂ©e Du Temps (Le Visiteur du Futur)
Renard se réveilla en sursaut. Son front rencontra un mur. Il poussa un juron et, plus lentement cette fois, il se releva.
9. Flightless (Star Wars)
It had been her mistake.
10. By each other we pass by, our meeting as fleeting as the brush of wings (Star Wars)
There had been a disturbance on Canyon. Vader was called to deal with the issue.
*** ** * ** ***
Now, tagging time~ !
@fanfictasia @kefalion @bluntblade @doctorgeekery @pat-the-togorian @purple-iris @beguilewritesstuff @linzerj @cinderfeather @kuraiarcoiris @wendingways @gasmeros @renegadeoftheworld @threebea @batsimph @metellastella @chickadeechickadoo @aimportantdragoncollector @in-company-of-misery @udekai @purpleopossum don’t hesitate to join if you want to! (Although no pressure). I’m pretty sure you can interpret the rules as ’last chapter posted’ instead of last fic posted xd (like several chapters of a same multichap fic).
Anyone who see this post and want to join in on the fun, do so!
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justsumtransdude2000 · 2 months ago
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And what if I wrote ATYD but for the Skittles? Huh? What if I write half a million words about Barty Crouch Jr. pinning over his bsf (and maybe Regulus' brother - hear me out!)?? Huh?? What if I write Regulus dying and Barty having to watch and it finally pushing him over the edge because Reggie was all he had left and he thought he was being careful??? What then??
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poepill · 1 year ago
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happy belated valentines day quodo upon thee! originally posted on ao3 for the quodo minifest, this was my valentines for @chacusha, who organized the event! i had a ton of fun drawing them and im definitely looking forward to next year <333
+ bonus art based on the comic by Kate Beaton, Javert is in Slash Fiction:
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the-kr8tor · 7 months ago
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It is done
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crownedwille · 4 months ago
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#some thoughts incoming idk if i should share but i need to put them somewhere#it's hard being in the yr fandom since the finale when you don't share the same vision and opinion as the rest#and people make future wilmon posts or write post s3 fics (which many exist now) they just don't align with your idea at all#and they're not exciting to me at all and the whole concept just makes me upset#i don't wanna imagine Wille as a 'normal' person (not that that's ever possible anyway which the show loves to ignore)#like I'm sorry but i didn't come to the show to watch an ordinary love story and have them lead an ordinary life#the idea of Wille being a future king and them navigating that royal life together is so much more interesting#i hate that that isn't canon anymore and when ppl make posts about them it's not about that or that would only be seen as a negative thing#i don't wanna imagine a life where they are 'normal' that isn't appealing to me at all and it sucks seeing everyone embrace it#and it's like you're not allowed to want something else or think differently bc that makes you the bad person and you're just wrong#i can't be excited about their future (also bc i don't really see them going strong in the future with how they messed them up in s3)#(i also didn't want to know what could possibly happen in the future i wanted that to stay open and just be in the present)#and seeing everyone else excited and happy about it makes you feel horrible and very alone and disconnected in the fandom#i don't wanna take it away from them but i also would love to see other takes but that's basically impossible now#am i the only person who feels this way or are there any other who can relate? pls let me know#i already feel like ppl are gonna attack me for this but it's been hard especially now with Simon's month and seeing so many interpretation#navigating ao3 has also become difficult now#it's hard finding fics to read where wille stays crown prince and you don't have to be scared for that to change#i just can't read any canon compliant fics anymore and i hate it bc i hate to disagree with canon#i normally don't do that bc canon is important to me and i don't want to reject it and create my own fantasy#and that's what's upsetting#anyway sorry i had to write this#personal
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mamawasatesttube · 6 months ago
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i wish it wasn't so normal for people to complain about unfinished wips or fics that take a long time to update. because sometimes i think i have a really fun idea for a fic but it'd take a while for me to write, and i like talking about my work as i do it and i don't like writing entire fics over like 20k without sharing, because i lose steam. so if i were to write and post that cool fic idea, it'd be as a wip. and then i think about all the people who just refuse to engage with wips, or all the other people who would just go "update pls" all the time, and of how people only really comment in the first 24 hours something is posted and then it's lost to obscurity, and then i just go "actually whats the point in going through the effort writing this out? i'll just daydream about it now and then and be done with it." and then i don't write it. alas!
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