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novaursa · 5 months ago

Note

heyy

Can you make a Jace x twin sister x aemond

She was very close with aemond when she was younger coz she didn’t have any dragon. And she was even engaged to him but after he loses his eyes their engagement went off.

She still had feeling for him and they often exchanged mail but Rhaenyra chooses to married Jace with her.

time pass she is now with Jace, but when her grandfather died she was sent with her brother Luke, aemond see her and want her for himself again.

he chase her in the sky (obsession like not to arm her) and he almost kill her but he rescue her just in time.

Aemond took her to king’s landing to be with him, and when Jace know he become furious

Stormbound

- Summary: You and Aemond were promised to one another since childhood. And when Aemond lost an eye, he also lost you. But the dragon doesn't deal with absolutes.

- Paring: Aemond Targaryen/velaryon!reader/Jacaerys Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded reader with Grey Ghost, so this plot makes more sense. Also, Lord Borros can read in this one.

The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and wildflowers as you wander through the gardens of Driftmark. Though it was a somber day—a funeral of your aunt Lady Laena Velaryon. You walk beside Aemond, the soft grass beneath your feet muffling your steps. Though just children, you feel the weight of your family's history and the expectations placed upon you. The lush gardens are a refuge, a place where you and Aemond can escape the ever-watchful eyes of your elders.

Aemond’s hand brushes against yours, his fingers briefly lingering before he pulls away, his cheeks flushing with a hint of pink. You glance at him, noticing the way his silver hair catches the sunlight, shimmering like the scales of the dragons you both so desperately wish to ride. But neither of you has yet bonded with one. It's a shared pain, a bond that sets you apart from the other Targaryen children.

"I will have a dragon one day," Aemond declares, his voice full of determination. He always speaks with such confidence, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. "And when I do, I will take you flying above the clouds, where no one can reach us."

You smile at the thought, imagining the two of you soaring through the skies together, free from the burdens of your families and the complex web of alliances and rivalries that bind you. "And what if I get my dragon first?" you tease, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

Aemond's expression softens as he meets your gaze. "Then you will take me with you, won't you? We could fly to the ends of the world, just you and me."

The wind rustles the leaves around you, creating a soft, whispering sound, as if the garden itself is urging you closer to each other. You feel a warmth in your chest, a comfort that only Aemond seems to bring you. You've known him all your life, and though the world outside may be full of uncertainty, when you're with him, everything seems to make sense.

You reach a secluded spot, hidden away from the rest of the world, where the flowers bloom in vibrant colors, and the trees form a natural canopy above. Here, in this little haven, you can be just children, free from the expectations of your titles.

Aemond stops suddenly and turns to you, his expression serious. His violet eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "Do you know why I spend so much time with you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head, curious. "Because we are friends," you reply, though you sense there is something more he wants to say.

"Yes, we are," he agrees, taking a step closer. "But it's more than that. You are... you're my future."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest, one that you haven't felt before. "What do you mean, Aemond?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly.

He takes a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to say what has been on his mind for a long time. "My father and your grandsire, King Viserys, spoke to me not long ago. He told me that I am to marry you one day. Our families have agreed upon it. He said that when we're older, we will be wed."

The revelation leaves you momentarily speechless. You knew that your future would likely involve a political marriage, but to hear that it had already been decided—and to Aemond, of all people—feels both overwhelming and strangely comforting.

Aemond reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours again, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. "I know we're still young, and maybe you don't think about such things yet," he continues, his voice soft and earnest. "But I want you to know that I look forward to it. Being with you, as your husband. Protecting you. Caring for you. I want to make you happy, as you make me."

You stare at him, trying to process his words. Aemond has always been there for you, a constant presence in your life, and the thought of him as your husband... it doesn’t frighten you as much as you thought it might. In fact, it feels right, as if it were meant to be.

"And you," he adds, his voice trembling slightly with emotion, "you will be my wife."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you duck your head to hide it, but Aemond gently lifts your chin, his touch tender. "You don't have to say anything now," he assures you. "I just wanted you to know. So that you never have to wonder where you stand with me."

You nod, your throat tight with emotions you don't quite understand. "I... I don't know what to say, Aemond. But I do know that you're important to me. You always have been."

Aemond smiles then, a genuine smile that lights up his face in a way that you rarely see. "That's all I needed to hear."

For a moment, the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this hidden corner of the garden. As you stand there, hand in hand, you know that your bond will only grow stronger with time.

The sound of distant laughter breaks the moment, and you both turn to see Jacaerys running towards you, his smile wide and carefree. He calls your name, beckoning you to join him, and for now, you allow yourself to be a child once more, running through the gardens with your brother and Aemond.

But in the back of your mind, you carry Aemond’s words with you, feeling a small spark of excitement for the life you will one day share with him.

The journey back to Dragonstone feels longer than usual, the silence within the ship heavy and suffocating. The waves crash against the hull, the only sound breaking the stillness, but even that seems muted, as if the sea itself is mourning the events at Driftmark. You sit in your small cabin, your fingers tracing the edge of a folded letter hidden within the folds of your dress, close to your heart. It’s from Aemond, a hastily written note slipped to you in the chaos after the fight. His words are brief, but they carry the weight of all that was left unsaid between you.

"I did what I had to. I hope you can understand one day. I still care for you."

You read the letter again and again, memorizing the loops and slashes of his handwriting, the way his words seem to tremble with emotion. But each time you read it, the image of Aemond’s face, twisted in pain and anger as he lost his eye, looms larger in your mind. The boy who once held your hand so tenderly now seems like a distant memory, replaced by someone hardened by the cruelty of your shared world.

A knock on the cabin door startles you, and you quickly shove the letter deeper into your dress, your heart racing. When you open the door, you find Jace standing there, his expression a mix of concern and something else you can’t quite place—something heavier, more burdensome.

"Mother wants us," he says simply, his voice strained. There’s no need for more words; you know what this summons means. It’s time to discuss what happened, to face the reality of the fractured alliance between your families.

You follow Jace up to the deck, where your mother, Rhaenyra, and Daemon stand together, their figures silhouetted against the stormy sky. The clouds above Dragonstone are dark, reflecting the mood of the conversation that’s about to unfold. Your brothers are gathered around, their faces drawn and serious.

As you approach, you catch the tail end of a heated exchange between your mother and Daemon.

"Alicent has gone too far this time," Rhaenyra hisses, her voice sharp with anger. "Breaking the engagement without even consulting us—after all the promises made!"

Daemon scoffs, his expression cold and calculating. "She was always going to break it, Rhaenyra. Especially after what happened with Aemond. It’s better this way. That boy is dangerous, and his ambitions will only grow."

Your heart clenches at Daemon’s words. Dangerous? Perhaps, but Aemond is still the boy you grew up with, the one who spoke of your future together with such hope. And yet, as you recall the events at Driftmark, you can’t help but feel a pang of fear. Aemond had changed in that moment, his desperation leading him to claim Vhagar and then fight with your brothers. You know that things can never be the same between your families, but does that mean your bond with Aemond must be severed as well?

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts to you and Jace, her eyes softening for a moment as she looks at the two of you, standing side by side as you have so many times before. There’s a deep sadness in her eyes, a weariness that seems to have settled into her bones.

"It should have been different," she murmurs, almost to herself. "But now we must think of what’s best for our family. For the realm."

You and Jace exchange a glance, both of you sensing that something significant is about to be said. Rhaenyra’s grip tightens on the railing of the ship, her knuckles white, as she turns fully to face you.

"The bonds between our families have been strained to the breaking point," she begins, her voice steady but filled with sorrow. "Alicent’s actions have shown that she no longer honors the agreements made your grandsire. The betrothal between you and Aemond is no more. It’s been annulled."

Your breath catches in your throat, though you knew this was coming. Hearing the words aloud feels like a blow to the chest. You instinctively touch the hidden letter in your dress, as if seeking some comfort from Aemond’s words. But your mother’s next words leave you reeling.

"To strengthen our house, and to protect our claim, I have decided that you and Jace will marry. It is what should have been from the start. It’s what’s best for all of us."

Jace stiffens beside you, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. You feel the world tilt beneath your feet as you try to process what your mother has just said. Marry Jace? Your twin, your closest confidant? The idea feels foreign and unnatural, even though you’ve always known that your future would be tied to political alliances.

Daemon steps forward, placing a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder in a rare gesture of solidarity. "It’s the right move, Rhaenyra. The Hightowers have shown their hand, and we must be ready to counter them. A marriage between the two of them will solidify our position and keep our enemies at bay."

"But—" you begin, your voice trembling. "Jace is my brother. We’ve never... I never thought..."

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she takes a step closer to you. "I know, my dear. I know this is difficult. But we must think of the greater good. The two of you are the future of our house, and together, you will be stronger. We cannot afford any more divisions, not now."

Jace finally finds his voice, though it’s thick with emotion. "Mother, is this truly necessary? I would do anything for our family, but to marry my sister... it feels... wrong."

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with determination. "You are not just brother and sister, Jace. You are heirs to the Iron Throne. And in our family, such unions have always been a way to keep the bloodline pure and our claim uncontested. You must trust me in this."

You look at Jace, seeing your own turmoil reflected in his eyes. You have always been close, sharing everything, but marriage? It feels like a betrayal of the bond you shared, something that could change the dynamic between you forever.

Daemon’s voice cuts through the tension, his tone commanding. "This is not just about love or comfort. This is about power, about survival. The Hightowers will stop at nothing to see their line on the throne. We must be prepared to meet them with equal strength."

Rhaenyra nods, her resolve hardening. "Jace, Y/N, you must do this. For the sake of our house, for the legacy of our ancestors. You are the future, and together, you can secure it."

There’s a long silence as the weight of her words settles over you both. You can feel the eyes of your younger brothers on you, their innocent faces not yet fully understanding the gravity of what’s being decided. You feel torn between duty and the remnants of your childhood dreams—the promise of a future with Aemond, now shattered, and the new path being forced upon you.

Finally, Jace speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "If it is what must be done, then I will do it."

His words hang in the air, final and resolute, and you know that there’s no turning back now. Your mother’s expression softens, and she reaches out to touch your cheek gently.

"You are stronger than you know," she says, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "And together, you and Jace will be unstoppable."

You nod, though your heart is heavy, and as the ship finally docks at Dragonstone, you feel the weight of the future pressing down on you. The letter from Aemond still burns against your skin, a reminder of what might have been, but as you step onto the rocky shores of your ancestral home, you know that you must let go of that dream.

The path before you is set, and though it’s not the one you envisioned, you will walk it with your head held high, just as your mother taught you.

The air over Dragonstone is foreboding, filled with the weight of a war that has not yet begun but feels inevitable. The sky is a dull gray, heavy with the promise of rain. You stand on the edge of the cliff, the sea crashing against the rocks far below, the salty spray mingling with the mist. Beside you, Grey Ghost shifts restlessly, the massive dragon sensing your unease. His pale scales shimmer like ghostly silver in the dim light, his deep rumbling breaths a comfort in the otherwise oppressive atmosphere.

Your mother’s words still echo in your mind: "You must go to Storm’s End with your brother. Deliver our message to Lord Borros Baratheon and secure his allegiance. We cannot afford to lose the Stormlands."

You turn to your brother, Luke, who stands a few paces away, his face a mask of determination. He is trying to be brave, trying to embody the strength that your mother has instilled in all of you, but you can see the fear in his eyes. He is still so young, and the thought of him facing whatever awaits at Storm’s End fills you with a dread you cannot shake.

Before you can speak to him, you feel a presence at your side. Jacaerys, your twin, your closest companion in all things, steps close to you. His dragon, Vermax, waits nearby, his golden eyes watching you both with an intelligence that never fails to unsettle you.

"Are you ready?" Jace asks, his voice low and filled with a mix of emotions—concern, affection, and something deeper that has grown between you in these past months.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with love and fear all at once. "As ready as I’ll ever be," you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Jace reaches out, taking your hand in his. The touch is warm, grounding you in the moment. "I don’t want you to go," he admits softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Not to Storm’s End, not anywhere dangerous. But I know you must."

You squeeze his hand, drawing comfort from his presence. "And I don’t want you flying to the Vale or the North, but you must as well. We both have our duties, Jace. We have to do this for our mother, for our family."

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and in that moment, it feels as though the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, standing together on the precipice of something far greater than yourselves. "When this is over, when we’ve secured our mother’s throne," Jace begins, his voice full of conviction, "we will be together, as we’re meant to be. We’ll marry, and nothing will ever separate us again."

You smile at him, though tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I look forward to that day more than anything," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Jace steps closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His touch is tender, and when he leans in to press his lips to yours, the kiss is gentle, filled with all the unspoken words and promises that have passed between you. It’s a kiss that speaks of longing, of a future that both of you desperately want but cannot fully grasp yet.

The wind picks up around you, tugging at your hair, but you don’t move away from him. His lips linger on yours, and for a moment, all the fear and uncertainty fades away, leaving only the warmth of his love.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you close your eyes, savoring the closeness. "Come back to me," he whispers, his voice a plea that echoes in your heart.

"I will," you promise, your voice barely more than a breath. "And you come back to me."

He nods, and with one last kiss, he steps away, his hand slipping from yours reluctantly. The loss of his touch feels like a cold void, but you force yourself to remain strong. You have to be, for your family, for your future.

Jace turns to Luke, his expression becoming serious once more. "Take care of her," he says, his tone protective.

Luke nods, his face pale but resolute. "I will, Jace. I promise."

With that, Jace mounts Vermax, the dragon’s scales gleaming like emeralds in the gray light. You watch as they take flight, the powerful wings beating against the wind, carrying them up into the sky. For a moment, your heart feels like it’s being torn in two, but you push the feeling down, focusing on the task ahead.

You turn to Luke, offering him a reassuring smile. "We’ll do this, brother. We’ll make sure our mother’s claim is secure."

He nods, and together, you mount your dragons, the beasts shifting eagerly beneath you. You can feel Grey Ghost’s excitement, his connection with you strong and unwavering. With a final glance at Dragonstone, the place that has been your home and your sanctuary, you urge Grey Ghost into the air.

The wind rushes past you, the world falling away as you soar higher and higher. Below, the sea stretches out endlessly, the waves rolling in constant motion. You and Luke fly side by side, your dragons’ wings cutting through the sky with a powerful grace that fills you with a sense of invincibility.

But as you draw closer to Storm’s End, the storm clouds grow darker, swirling ominously. You can feel the tension in the air, a warning of what’s to come. You steal a glance at Luke, who meets your gaze with a determined nod. Together, you dive towards the fortress, your hearts heavy with the knowledge that this is just the beginning.

But through it all, you hold onto the promise of Jace’s words, of the life you will build together when the war is won. For now, that hope is enough to carry you through the storm.

The storm rages as you and Luke descend from the skies, the wind howling around you, and the rain pelting your faces like cold needles. The once distant silhouette of Storm’s End grows larger and more imposing with each passing second, its dark towers outlined by the flashes of lightning that split the sky. Grey Ghost’s massive wings beat powerfully beneath you, his body shifting with the wind as he angles towards the courtyard. Beside you, Luke struggles to keep Arrax steady, the young dragon’s movements more erratic in the harsh winds.

As you approach the ground, your eyes catch something that sends a jolt of dread through your heart—a massive shape looming in the distance, just beyond the castle walls. Vhagar. The ancient dragon sits like a shadow in the storm, her vast form barely visible in the driving rain. A surge of fear and unease washes over you, your mind flashing back to that terrible night at Driftmark, to the boy you once knew and cared for so deeply, who now rides the beast that haunts your nightmares.

You turn to Luke, his face pale but resolute as he prepares to land. You force yourself to push down the rising panic, knowing you must be strong for him. "Be brave, Luke," you call out over the storm, your voice barely audible above the wind. "We’re here to do our duty. Mother is counting on us."

He nods, his jaw set with determination as he brings Arrax down beside Grey Ghost. The courtyard is a whirl of activity despite the storm—guards and stablehands rushing to secure the dragons, their movements quick and practiced. You dismount swiftly, your boots splashing into the puddles that have formed on the stone ground, the rain soaking through your cloak almost immediately. The cold, damp air clings to your skin, making you shiver as you look around, your heart pounding in your chest.

The guards approach, their expressions stern as they motion for you and Luke to follow them. You fall into step beside your brother, your heart tightening with every step that brings you closer to the castle’s great hall, closer to the man you know is waiting inside. The memory of your last encounter with Aemond, the tension and hostility that had hung in the air during that fateful dinner after your grandsire proclaimed Luke the heir to Driftmark, is fresh in your mind. And the memory of Daemon’s blade severing Vaemond Velaryon’s head—another reminder of how fragile and dangerous your world has become.

Your mind races with the possibilities of what awaits you in the hall. Aemond’s presence here is both expected and dreaded. How will he react to seeing you again? And how will you maintain your composure in front of him, knowing all that has transpired?

The guards lead you through the corridors of Storm’s End, the stone walls echoing with the roar of the storm outside. Every step feels heavier than the last, your heart thudding in your chest as you approach the doors of the great hall. Luke glances at you, his eyes wide with anxiety, and you give him a reassuring nod, though your own nerves are frayed.

The heavy doors swing open with a groan, revealing the low lit interior of the hall. At the far end of the room, Lord Borros Baratheon sits upon his seat, a large and imposing figure, his expression unreadable as he watches your approach. And standing off to the side, his figure partially hidden in shadow, is Aemond.

Your breath catches as your eyes meet his. He is as you remember him, yet there is something colder, more dangerous in his demeanor now. The eyepatch he wears does little to soften the sharpness of his gaze, which is fixed entirely on you. The air between you feels charged, electric, as if the storm outside has found its way into the room.

Luke clears his throat and steps forward, his voice steady as he addresses Lord Borros. "Lord Borros, we come bearing a message from our mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

He extends the scroll, and one of Borros’s attendants takes it, bringing it to the lord. Borros unrolls the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents, but you can feel Aemond’s gaze never leaving you, the intensity of it almost unbearable. You force yourself to stand tall, meeting his stare with all the courage you can muster.

Borros reads the letter in silence, his expression darkening as he takes in the words. When he finally looks up, his eyes shift between you and Luke before settling on Aemond. "So, the whore’s son comes to Storm’s End to call upon the loyalty of House Baratheon," Borros says, his voice a deep rumble. "And what does your mother offer me in return for this allegiance?"

Luke stiffens at the insult, but before he can respond, Aemond steps forward, his focus solely on you. "She offers nothing that we cannot take by force," Aemond says smoothly, his voice low and dangerous. He moves closer, his gaze never wavering from yours. "You should be on your knees, begging for mercy. And you"—he nods to Luke—"owe me an eye."

Luke flinches, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, but you step forward, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. "Aemond," you say, your voice trembling slightly, though you try to keep it steady. "We are here as envoys, not as enemies."

Aemond’s lips curl into a cold smile. "Are you?" His gaze flickers over you, lingering on the pendant around your neck—the one you’ve worn since childhood, a gift from him when you were both younger and the world was simpler. "You should be by my side, as was always intended. Come with me to King’s Landing. Leave this farce behind. It’s where you belong."

His words cut through you like a blade, stirring up a mixture of emotions—anger, sadness, and a deep, unspoken longing that you’ve tried so hard to bury. You stare at him, struggling to find the right words. "I am where I am meant to be," you reply, your voice firmer now. "My place is with my family."

Aemond’s expression hardens, his jaw clenching. "Your place is by my side. It was decided long ago. If not for your mother’s ambitions and your brother’s blade, you would already be my wife."

The tension in the room is shimmering, the storm outside seeming to echo the storm within the hall. Luke looks to you, uncertainty written on his face, but before either of you can respond, Lord Borros rises from his seat, his patience clearly waning.

"Enough of this," Borros barks, his voice commanding attention. "I will not have my hall turned into a battleground for your family’s squabbles." He turns his gaze to you and Luke, his eyes narrowing. "You come here, expecting my loyalty, offering nothing in return but the word of your mother. I am no dog to be called when she whistles."

You feel a sinking feeling in your chest as Borros continues. "Tell your mother that House Baratheon will not be swayed so easily. My daughters are of age, and I will choose the best match for them—one that will bring strength to my house."

Your heart sinks further, knowing that this means Borros will likely side with Aegon, who can offer a marriage alliance. Luke’s face falls, his youthful optimism crushed by the reality of politics and power.

Borros waves a hand dismissively. "You may take your leave. But know this—if you try to force my hand, you will find yourself on the wrong side of Storm’s End’s walls."

You feel a chill run down your spine as you turn to leave, but Aemond’s voice stops you in your tracks. "You’re making a mistake," he says, his voice low and menacing, though it is directed at you rather than Lord Borros. "You cannot escape your destiny."

You meet his gaze one last time, a thousand words left unspoken between you. But you can’t afford to falter now. With a final nod to Luke, you lead him out of the hall, your heart heavy with the weight of what has transpired.

As you step back into the storm, the wind and rain battering against you, you feel Aemond’s gaze still on you, burning into your back. You don’t look back, even as your heart tightens painfully in your chest. You force yourself to focus on Luke, on getting him back to Arrax and out of this place safely.

You reach the courtyard, the storm raging even fiercer than before. Grey Ghost and Arrax wait anxiously, their eyes glowing in the darkness. You help Luke onto Arrax’s back, your hands shaking with the cold and the tension that still thrums through your veins.

As you mount Grey Ghost, you cast one last glance at Storm’s End, feeling Aemond’s presence like a shadow over your heart. Then, with a firm command, you urge Grey Ghost into the sky, Luke following close behind. The wind howls around you as you soar into the storm, the castle disappearing into the mist below.

The storm has swallowed the world in darkness, the sky an unrelenting swirl of black clouds and driving rain. You push Grey Ghost harder, his wings beating against the gale-force winds as you and Luke streak through the stormy sky. Lightning flashes, illuminating the rolling sea far below, the waves crashing violently against one another, echoing the tumult in your heart.

But then, through the roar of the storm, you hear it—a deep, guttural sound that sends a jolt of terror through you. You glance back, your heart leaping into your throat as you see the enormous shadow emerging from the clouds. Vhagar. The ancient dragon cuts through the sky like a nightmare come to life, her massive wings nearly blotting out the sky. And on her back, you can just make out the figure of Aemond, his silver hair whipping in the wind, his single eye locked on you with a frightening intensity.

“Luke!” you cry, urging Grey Ghost to fly faster, but the storm seems to conspire against you, the winds shifting, making it impossible to gain speed. You can see the panic in Luke’s eyes as he glances back, his young face pale against the dark sky. “We have to split up!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the storm.

He nods reluctantly, his face set with determination. "Be careful," he yells back, veering Arrax to the left, disappearing into the churning clouds.

But Vhagar does not follow him. Instead, the enormous dragon continues to barrel toward you, her focus entirely on Grey Ghost. Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the gap between you and Aemond closing with terrifying speed. You glance back again, and in that moment, you catch Aemond’s gaze, his face contorted into a fierce determination. His eye is no longer on the hunt; it’s on you.

"Fly, Grey Ghost!" you urge, leaning low over your dragon’s neck, your voice tinged with desperation. But you know it’s futile. Vhagar is too large, too powerful, and even Grey Ghost, swift as he is, cannot outrun the monster that bears down on you.

In a flash of lightning, you see Vhagar’s enormous maw open, and Grey Ghost lets out a furious roar as he attempts to dodge the attack. But it’s too late. Vhagar’s jaws snap shut just behind your dragon, her talons lashing out to catch him. There’s a sudden jolt as Grey Ghost is wrenched out of the sky, and you’re thrown against the saddle, your grip slipping as you fight to hold on.

Vhagar’s claws dig into Grey Ghost’s side, pinning him against the rocky cliffs below. The impact is violent, the ground shuddering beneath you as Vhagar slams Grey Ghost down. You feel the air rush out of your lungs as Grey Ghost lets out a pained roar, his body pinned under Vhagar’s immense weight. The world tilts dangerously as you realize you’re about to be crushed beneath the two dragons.

With a surge of adrenaline, you unbuckle yourself from the saddle and leap off Grey Ghost’s back, hitting the ground hard. You roll to avoid being caught under Vhagar’s claws, the rough stones scraping against your hands and knees. Pain shoots through your limbs, but you force yourself to stand, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you look up at the towering form of Vhagar.

Aemond is already descending from the saddle, his boots hitting the ground with a splash of rain-soaked earth. His face is shadowed by the storm, but the determination in his single eye is unmistakable. His presence feels like a force of nature, as unstoppable as the storm itself.

Before you can even think to run, Aemond is upon you. His hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a grip that is firm yet surprisingly gentle. His touch sends a jolt through you, a confusing mix of fear and something else—something deeper, something you’ve tried to bury.

"You’re coming with me," Aemond declares, his voice low and unyielding. The rain cascades down his face, mingling with the strands of his silver hair, but his eye never wavers from yours. "This is where you belong, with me, in King’s Landing."

You try to wrench your hand free, but his grip tightens. "Let me go, Aemond!" you shout, your voice raw with anger and fear. "You can’t just take me like this!"

He steps closer, his body towering over yours, the heat of his presence cutting through the cold rain. "You were promised to me," he says, his voice a growl, filled with a barely controlled fury. "Before your mother, before my mother, you were promised to me. That was the true path, the one that should have been followed. I’m taking back what was stolen from me."

Your heart races as his words sink in, the sheer intensity of his resolve leaving you breathless. You can see it in his eye—the same desperation you felt that night in Driftmark, the desperation that drove him to claim Vhagar. But this is different; this is personal.

"I am not yours to take!" you shout, your voice cracking under the weight of the emotions roiling inside you. "I’m not some prize to be won!"

Aemond’s grip on your wrist loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that is somehow more terrifying than his earlier anger. "You’re wrong," he says, his breath warm against your ear despite the cold. "You’ve always been mine. From the moment we were children, we belonged to each other. I knew it then, and I know it now."

You shake your head, tears mingling with the rain on your cheeks. "No, Aemond. We were children then. Things are different now."

His expression softens just slightly, and for a brief moment, you see the boy you once knew, the boy who held your hand in the gardens of Driftmark and promised to protect you. "Things don’t have to be different," he says quietly. "We can still be what we were meant to be. I will make you my wife, back at the capital. No matter what Rhaenyra or Alicent say."

Your breath catches in your throat at the intensity of his words. You feel the world closing in around you, the storm raging, the dragons snarling in the background, but all you can focus on is the man before you, the man who is both your past and the future he so desperately wants.

But you know you cannot let him take you, not like this. Not as a pawn in the game your families are playing. "Aemond, please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn’t the way."

He looks at you, his eye searching yours, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of doubt, a hesitation. But then it’s gone, replaced by the fierce resolve that has always defined him. "It’s the only way," he says, his voice final. "You’re coming with me, and together we’ll make our own destiny."

Before you can respond, he pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist with a possessive strength. The proximity sends your heart into a wild rhythm, confusion and fear tangling with the old, familiar feelings you’ve tried to deny for so long.

"Aemond—" you begin, but he cuts you off.

"We’ll be together," he says, his voice a vow. "I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. You’ll see, this is the only way."

The crackling fire in the hearth does little to warm the cold stone walls of Winterfell's great hall. The North is a place of enduring chill, where the warmth of the flames fights a losing battle against the ever-present cold. But for Jacaerys Velaryon, standing before the fire, the cold within him is not merely from the Northern air. It’s a cold that has settled deep in his bones, born from a letter that trembles in his hand.

Cregan Stark watches him, his gray eyes sharp and perceptive, though he says nothing. The Lord of Winterfell has seen many men face terrible news, and he knows better than to push too quickly. But even he cannot help but feel a flicker of concern at the way Jacaerys clenches his jaw, the muscles ticking with restrained fury.

Jacaerys reads the letter again, as if hoping the words will change, but they do not. They remain as damning and horrifying as the first time.

"My son, upon your return from the North, you will not find your sister here at Dragonstone. She has been taken, stolen from us by Aemond Targaryen. He has brought her to King’s Landing, and there are whispers that he intends to wed her against her will. I fear for her safety and what this means for our cause. You must return to me as swiftly as you can, for the time to act is upon us."

The parchment crumples slightly under his grip, the tension in his body vibrating with barely controlled rage. He can hardly breathe, the thought of his sister—your sister—in Aemond’s hands making his blood boil. The fire within him threatens to consume him, but Jacaerys knows he must keep his head. He must think, must plan.

But all he can feel is the roaring in his ears, the overwhelming need to fly south and tear Aemond apart with his bare hands.

Cregan steps closer, his boots barely making a sound on the flagstone floor. "Jacaerys," he says, his voice a deep rumble that commands attention but carries no judgment. "What has happened?"

Jacaerys clenches his fists, trying to force the words out without letting the fury consume him. "Aemond," he grits out, his voice low and dangerous. "He took her. He took my sister."

Cregan’s eyes narrow, understanding dawning in their gray depths. "Took her?" he echoes, his voice calm but laced with a growing concern. "Where? When?"

Jacaerys swallows hard, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass. "After Storm’s End. I knew she was heading there with Luke, but I thought they’d return. I thought—" He stops, his breath hitching as the weight of his failure presses down on him. "I should have been there."

Cregan places a hand on his shoulder, a firm yet comforting gesture. "You couldn’t have known," he says quietly. "None of us could have. But tell me what you know, Jacaerys. We can’t act without understanding the full extent of the situation."

Jacaerys forces himself to breathe, to push through the fog of anger clouding his thoughts. He straightens, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "My mother’s letter," he begins, his voice still rough with emotion, "says that after they left Storm’s End, Aemond pursued them. He chased them on Vhagar and... somehow, he managed to catch up with them. He—" Jacaerys’ voice breaks for a moment, but he grits his teeth and continues. "He took her. He took her to King’s Landing."

Cregan’s expression hardens, his hand tightening slightly on Jacaerys’ shoulder. "And what does he intend to do with her?"

The question is a knife to Jacaerys’ gut, the unspoken implications clear between them. He can hardly bring himself to say it, but he knows he must. "There are whispers," he says slowly, the words heavy with dread, "that he plans to marry her. That he’ll force her to be his wife."

Cregan’s jaw clenches, and he nods, his mind already turning to the potential consequences. "If that is true, it would be a bold move by Aemond," he says, his voice measured. "He must know it would enrage your mother, perhaps even push her to act more recklessly than she might otherwise. But if he succeeds... it could strengthen his claim, and by extension, Aegon’s."

Jacaerys’ heart pounds painfully in his chest, his mind racing with the possibilities. "I have to go after her," he says suddenly, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. "I can’t just sit here while Aemond—while he—" He can’t finish the sentence, the thought too horrifying to voice.

Cregan’s grip on his shoulder tightens, grounding him in the present moment. "And you will," he assures Jacaerys, his voice steady and firm. "But you must not act out of rage alone. We need to think this through. If you fly south now, without a plan, you could be walking into a trap."

Jacaerys shakes his head, his frustration and anger boiling over. "I can’t just sit here!" he snaps, pulling away from Cregan’s grasp. "I won’t let him do this to her! She’s my sister—she’s everything to me! And Aemond—he can’t—he won’t get away with this!"

Cregan watches him with a calm, steady gaze, letting Jacaerys vent his anger. When the younger man finally stops, breathing heavily, Cregan speaks again, his tone measured. "I understand your fury, Jacaerys. I would feel the same if it were my kin. But I also know that anger alone will not save her. We must be smart about this."

Jacaerys turns back to Cregan, the fire in his eyes now mixed with desperation. "Then tell me what to do," he demands, his voice shaking. "Tell me how to save her."

Cregan’s face is grave, his mind clearly weighing the options. "First, we must send word to your mother," he says. "She needs to know that you’ve received her message and that we’re preparing to act. Second, we must consider how to approach King’s Landing. Charging in with dragons might provoke a response that puts your sister in greater danger."

Jacaerys opens his mouth to argue, but Cregan holds up a hand, silencing him. "But we cannot wait too long," Cregan continues. "Aemond’s intentions might not be clear yet, but the longer she remains in King’s Landing, the harder it will be to bring her back safely."

Jacaerys feels the weight of those words, the cold reality of the situation settling over him like a shroud. Every moment that passes could bring more harm to you, the sister he loves more than anything in the world. He looks down at the letter in his hand, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

"I can’t lose her, Cregan," he whispers, his voice cracking. "She’s... she’s everything to me."

Cregan’s expression softens, and he places a hand on Jacaerys’ arm. "You won’t lose her," he says with quiet conviction. "We’ll get her back. But you need to keep your wits about you, Jacaerys. For her sake."

Jacaerys nods slowly, trying to push down the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume him. He has to be strong, has to think clearly if he’s going to save you. But it’s hard, so hard, when all he wants to do is fly south and tear Aemond apart for daring to take you.

Cregan steps back, his expression becoming more focused, more tactical. "We’ll start by preparing our forces," he says, already moving towards the door. "And we’ll send ravens to your mother, letting her know what we plan to do. We’ll need to coordinate our efforts if we’re going to succeed."

Jacaerys follows him, the anger still simmering in his chest, but now tempered by the need for action. "And then?" he asks, his voice rough.

Cregan pauses at the doorway, turning back to Jacaerys with a look of steely determination. "And then we’ll go to King’s Landing," he says. "And we’ll bring her home."

The words are a promise, one that Jacaerys clings to as he prepares to face the storm that lies ahead. No matter what it takes, no matter the cost, he will save you. And Aemond will pay for what he’s done.

But even as he steels himself for the battle to come, the fear lingers in his heart—the fear that he might be too late, that Aemond might already have taken something from you that can never be returned. It’s a thought that fuels the fire within him, the need to protect you from the man who has already taken so much.

As he follows Cregan out into the cold, Jacaerys vows that he will not rest until you are safe again, until you are back where you belong—with him, by his side, where no one can ever take you away again.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #jacerys x reader #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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myfairstarlight · 5 months ago

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I've started to see takes saying Colin deserves better than Penelope, and claiming she "got away with everything", and to that I must say:

Whistledown was never created out of jealousy or anger. It was born from a lonely girl who wished to be part of a society that rejected her, so she wrote about it.

Penelope never pursued Colin. This wasn't some nefarious plan of hers like that take makes it sound like. He's the one who did all the chasing. Penelope was very much planning on distancing herself from him and the Bridgertons after last season. He's the one who couldn't let her go

She literally offers the annulment knowing there might still be people angry at her for Whistledown. That's her taking accountability and absolving the Bridgertons from dealing with her mess. Guess what he does again? He refuses, fully accepting the challenges ahead. Now that's marriage. And standing by his cancelled wife.

She decides to come clean in front of the whole Ton despite everyone around her trying to find an out for her. She could have taken the easy way out, lie to get the rest of the blackmail money needed, but she refused to drag the rest of the Bridgertons into this.

"Penelope faced no consequences" she is wracked with guilt for half the season, her closest loved ones turned away from her, and she got blackmailed. This is also a romance show the queen was NOT going to behead her as punishment, actually, go watch Game of Thrones instead

She was already changing the column to be more uplifting towards women and less confrontational with the Queen (even as the other debutantes talked shit about her, and the Queen threatened her). She was aware that her previous tone in her writing may have led to more problems. She is atoning for her past mistakes already.

Really looking back the only real mistakes she made was with Marina and Eloise. These were exceptions to what she usually writes as she exposed their secrets, not gossip. That's an important distinction to make. One the show itself does not make, actually.

You can add what she wrote about Colin too as an exception, since she was being petty and angry, and she regrets it immediately

She confessed everything to Violet. Granted, we do not see the letter, but she did come clean to the head of the family (since Anthony already left, otherwise I bet she would have told him too)

The one thing I agree with is that we had no closure for the Marina situation, despite her being mentioned several times.

But overall, she was remorseful, and she tried to fix things. She reached out to Eloise several times before they reconcile, she changed her column, and she now wishes to use her column to give a voice to the voiceless, the same way Whistledown helped her find a voice.

And Colin, well, he's only ever wanted Penelope, even after the reveal. Because Penelope remains the only one who truly understood him and supported him for being himself. Meanwhile Penelope is trying to be better. That's the key word, she wants to do better, so no she does not "get away with everything" because there was never malicious intent from her in the first place, but for the damage she did do, she wants to make up for them. And yeah, she's a goddamn mess, but as he said, she is his mess.

However, Colin did deserve better, but in terms of writing and screen time especially in part 2. We were told, more than shown, about his struggles, which is a bit of a shame when compared to Penelope's (and yet people still misunderstand her character, so).

#bridgerton #bridgerton thoughts #lil rant #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #polin #my ever controversial queen... who is not even that difficult to understand media literacy is just dead #i noticed a shift when the season first came out everyone was piling on colin and now it's back on shitting on pen goddamn #star.txt

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mcrdvcks · 1 month ago

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Stardust

chapter summary: Din surprises you with a trip.

word count: 974

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

prompt: stars

notes: this is my first time writing for din so i'm sorry if it's not accurate :) anyways, since i'm going to college for astrophysics, this seemed like an appropriate prompt for me to do (also because i'm a space nerd)

this is another prompt from @dindjarindiaries for dincember!

star wars masterlist

The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted in hyperspace. You sat at the small makeshift workstation, tinkering with a malfunctioning thermal detonator. The compact device refused to cooperate, its stubborn wiring fraying your patience. Grogu babbled from his floating pram, watching your every move with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't touch that," you warned, flicking a glance his way. His tiny claw hovered over the edge of the table, aiming for your hydrospanner. "I mean it, kid."

Grogu cooed in protest but retracted his hand. He pouted, but his expressive ears perked up when a shadow crossed the threshold of the cockpit. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Din. His presence was as familiar as the hum of the Crest.

“Is that thing gonna blow up in your face?” Din’s modulated voice carried a teasing lilt.

“Only if I’m lucky,” you replied dryly, not looking up from the detonator.

Din leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beskar armor reflected the dim light, making him look even more imposing. “You’ve been at that for an hour.”

“I’ve had worse company than a stubborn explosive,” you quipped. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. That was never a good sign. Din could stare down blaster fire and an entire squad of stormtroopers without breaking a sweat, but this? This pause made you suspicious.

“Get your coat,” he finally said.

You blinked, turning to face him. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His tone was even, unreadable, but there was a hint of something—anticipation, maybe? “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. Grab Grogu. You’ll want to see this.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to argue. If Din was being cryptic, it usually meant he was planning something. And while his surprises often included unexpected blaster fights or hostile negotiations, this didn’t have the same edge of danger.

“Fine.” You pushed back from the table, scooping up Grogu, who squealed in delight. “But if this ends with me patching up your injuries again, I’m taking your meiloorun.”

Din chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not this time.”

---

The planet he brought you to was small, almost unremarkable at first glance. Its atmosphere shimmered faintly as the Razor Crest descended, the golden hues of its surface shifting like liquid. Din handled the landing with practiced ease, and soon, the three of you stepped out into a soft, sprawling expanse.

“Okay,” you said, surveying the area. “What’s the deal? Where’s the bounty?”

“No bounty.” Din’s helmet tilted skyward. “Just… look.”

You followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, brighter and closer than you’d ever seen. Nebulas swirled in vivid colors—violets, blues, and golds—while constellations stretched in intricate patterns. It was as if the galaxy had folded in on itself, presenting its wonders in one breathtaking view.

“Din,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “What… how did you find this place?”

He shifted beside you, his voice quieter now. “Picked up some star charts during a job. Thought you’d like it.”

“‘Like it’?” You laughed softly, overwhelmed. “Din, this is… incredible.”

Grogu reached up, his tiny hand grasping at the stars as if he could pluck them from the sky. You held him close, feeling a wave of emotion you didn’t expect.

Din stood beside you, quiet but solid, the kind of steady presence you’d come to rely on. His helmet tilted ever so slightly as he watched the scene unfold, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “is this your way of trying to impress me?”

He turned his helmet toward you. “Is it working?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to impress yourself, Mr. Star Charts.”

Din made a soft, amused sound. “Thought you might appreciate the view. Astrophysicist and all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, did you crack open a textbook to prep for this? Next thing I know, you’ll be spouting quantum theory.”

“I’d rather stick to tracking fobs and blasters,” he shot back, but there was warmth in his voice.

Grogu squirmed in your arms, letting out a series of excited babbles. You adjusted your hold on him, and he immediately grabbed a piece of your jacket, pulling it toward his mouth.

“Okay, little guy, relax,” you said, gently pulling it away. “This is a ‘look but don’t eat’ situation.”

Din chuckled again, a low rumble that made your chest feel lighter. You turned toward him, watching the way the stars reflected off the curve of his helmet. Even without seeing his face, you could tell he was watching you—really watching you.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, letting the sincerity bleed into your words. “I needed it.”

He shifted a little, the faintest hint of hesitation in his stance. “I just… wanted to see you smile.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a guy who spent most of his time grunting or giving one-word answers, Din could hit you with the kind of sentiment that knocked the wind out of you.

“Well,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “mission accomplished, Mando.”

You took a step closer, lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment, and you lingered for just a second longer than you probably should have.

When you pulled back, Din didn’t say anything right away. But his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s stay out here for a while.”

“Only if you promise to stop being so cryptic next time,” you teased, but you followed him anyway, Grogu snuggled securely in your arms.

For now, the galaxy could wait.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #grogu #din djarin and grogu #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando x reader #dincember #dincember 2024

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fairestbeard · 3 months ago

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The Bear “Pasta” episode is about tainted/interrupted magic.

Walk with me.

In my previous meta I discussed how The Bear uses magical realism or marvelous realism in its story telling as evidenced in “Pop”. This is also very evident in the episode “Pasta”.

What Is Magical Realism?

Magical realism is a genre of literature that depicts the real world as having an undercurrent of magic or fantasy… Within a work of magical realism, the world is still grounded in the real world, but fantastical elements are considered normal in this world.

David Lodge defines magic realism: "when marvellous and impossible events occur in what otherwise purports to be a realistic narrative"

The genius of The Bear is that it’s so subtle in its use of marvelous realism that it is totally left to interpretation. The magical aspects of the stories are so blended in with the ordinary so much so that you might not notice at all. We can see The Bear employing aspects of folklore and the supernatural in the most subtle ways.

Violet.

Over the course of the season, we’d see the color and general ambience of the show shift a lot to emphasize the mood and the events. This episode focuses on Carmy and Syd bonding over the menu they’re trying to create and it feels (to the sydcarmys at least) like some type of love is in the air. This is the closest Sydney and Carmy had ever been in proximity and intimacy to that point. It is also the most progress they made on organizing the menu in the season. We even arguably see Carmy the most animated and relaxed for how neurotic he is known to be.

In this episode we see a lot of violet or purple, which is associated in magic with love potions. There’s a ray of violet light streaming through the restaurant and all through the episode we can that (especially) Carmy’s skin is ever so slightly tinged purple. There’s also a hint of purple in almost every scene either from the lighting to random purple objects in the background (remember season 1 with the tomato cans everywhere? They’re saying something).

This was a very deliberate choice and the biggest evidence is the Chicago flag shown at the start of the episode.

The Chicago flag in The Bear vs the real Chicago flag.

Wiz Richie

Richie assumes the role of the wizard-in-charge, dressed in the purplest purple and trying to assert himself all over the ongoing renovations at the restaurant. He calls himself the supervisor (supervisor of the spell?), accuses people (obviously the audience) of not knowing “how to watch stuff”, in other words we should be paying more attention. The movement or beat of the episode is also centered on him. Everything is going chaotically well as it does with the Berzatto clan both at the restaurant and away but then…

Richie finds an anomaly.

Mold is the death knell

Fak tells them mold is the death knell and it could "ruin everything". In other words, it could spoil the magic that's already happening, because it will.

Richie is in denial about the presence of the death knell and is trying to get everyone to ignore the problem instead of dealing with it the right way. But there really IS a problem and his efforts to prove there wasn’t results in a more catastrophic ruining of the magic.

This moment is where the whole trajectory changes. That’s the exact moment Carmy runs out of veal stock and has to go to the store. While Emmanuelle and Syd's dinner turn from sweet memories to an argument about whether Carmy is trustworthy, Carmy runs into Claire.

A breached portal

What I love about this scene is how once you see it you can’t unsee it.

The way Claire is introduced into the scene, it’s almost like in a marvel-esque fantasy film where a portal is opened do or create something good but some other force gains access to that portal and is introduced to their world. We also see the introduction of the cold blue that pervades the rest of the season.

We can sense Carmy's discomfort. He tries to gently evade what's to come.

But the mold has taken hold.

Sometimes the dark force is not a horned creature with a three pronged weapon. Sometimes the dark force is beautiful and smiling and “remembers you”.

Note: While I now and forever will be anti Claire bear and even though the format, through this marvelous realism lens, casts her as a malevolent force, in reality she probably isn't. Storer stays deceiving and léger de main, remember? Ultimately Carmy is the one "trapped in a prison of his own design".

#the bear #the bear meta #sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #claire bear

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kedreeva · 2 months ago

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I was looking through Spring Creek's fowl collection and am in love with the Peaches. Is there anything you can share about them? Are they like the white ones where the ladies arent impressed, or do they have the more usual luck

The peach don't seem to have a problem breeding!

Peach is actually (genetically speaking) one of the coolest color mutations out there. It's a sex-linked recessive, but it's NOT a single-factor mutation like any of the others. It's a combination of Cameo and Purple.

So the thing you have to understand is that the sex-linked mutations are all on the Z chromosome. Males have 2 Zs and females have 1 Z. To show a sex-linked recessive color in the phenotype, "All" Zs must have the mutation. A peach bird has 2 copies of the purple mutation, and 2 copies of the cameo mutation.

In autosomal mutations, this isn't a huge deal. If something has 2 different mutations, then they're just on different chromosomes. But.... cameo and purple are both on the Z. You can't move them from one Z to the other normally.

So if you have a male that's purple (Z^pl/Z^pl) and you breed him to a cameo hen (Z^c/w), the daughters get a Z from dad (Z^pl) and their w has to come from mom. So they're purple. The sons get a Z from dad (Z^pl) and a Z from mom (Z^c), making them wild type heterozygous for purple and heterozygous for cameo. The same is true if the parents are switched. You can only ever make single-color hens and wild type het males.

So what gives?

Chromosomal crossover!

During meiosis back about 20 years, a cameo or a purple moved to the opposite Z while the chromosomes were swapping tails, and a pair of purple/cameo birds produced a few birds that didn't look cameo or purple, and blue birds that carried the double-gened chromosome.

A few years after that, a group of pure cameos also produced peach- it's likely in this case that purple spontaneously mutated in this group. Purple has already mutated at least twice that we know of (purple and European violet are both "purple" by genes, but with very different phenotypes), and probably mutates more often than we think, given that it's most likely a simple dilute, like chocolate in mice.

Now, we have Z chromosomes that have both cameo and purple on them (Z^plc), which makes for a Peach bird. The two genes cannot be separated on purpose, but through the same process that put them together, may be undone back to separate chromosomes, or removed entirely. At Bill's, he has a blue bird who came from purple parents (at least according to records), which suggests that the more likely candidate for the gene that translocates easiest is purple.

It does make me wonder if EV is the result of something similar; of a chromosome that perhaps got More Purple added through crossover. I don't have the records to be able to tell for sure, and haven't been able to trace origins enough to find out how it started.

#peach peafowl #peafowl #asks #peafowl genetics

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emsgwenstan · 1 year ago

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Personal or professional?

Chap 1 | chap 2

Larissa Weems x fem(carpenter/joiner) reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Violet Hastings is a feminine and strong willed woman, who also has a lot of secrets, from her unconventional job to her personal issues, Larissa may be the one who opens violets heart but what is the price?

Warnings: eventual swearing, self criticism, hurt/angst, body issues| this chapter, none?

There it’s a lot in store for this just bare with me it’s only the intro. <3

———

“Violet get in here!” My boss called out into the work shop. “Coming!” I yell back, setting down the sand paper on the bench. Quickly making my way to his office I manage to scrape my leg yet again on a protruding piece of timber, with no time I decide against cleaning off the blood that’s now dipping down the length of my leg, when he wants me he wants me now.

Opening the door my breath was caught in my lungs upon laying eyes on the most beautiful woman i had ever seen. “Violet this is miss Weems, she’s looking to have a few cupboards made.” He said half assed with a sigh as if he’s so hard done by. The woman gleamed up at me, uncrossing her legs and extending to her full height. She was tall, very tall but not to much taller than me, already so captivating.

“Larissa.” She said with a deep voice holding out a delicate hand for me to shake. ‘My Larissa you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever gazed at’. I thought as i took her hand and gently yet professionally greeted her properly. “Violet.” I breathed hardly remembering if that was right. The touch lingered a little long, but I’m aching to be eligible enough to feel her hand once again.

“So… what exactly are you looking for.” I asked after clearing my throat. “She wants to get some tall cupboards for classroom storage at that school outta town.” He interjected. I shot him a glare at his rude behaviour. “As I recall I believe I asked miss Weems.” I snapped with a smile, returning my gaze back to her. “Well that is correct, but I was wondering if you had any ideas for the design, I want it to match the interior of the rooms if possible.” She said timidly, her English accent clear and alluring. “Of course I’ll take you to the show room.” I said turning to hold the door open for her.

On the short walk, the air was filled with a comfortable silence, which was nice because I’m not one for small talk. “Here we are, go nuts.” I chuckled. Larissa paced about the room and went from each item on display running her finger tips along the edges. I admired her for doing so, sometimes feeling something is far more important than looking, although that to is quite necessary, but I also admired her, her posture and height, her beauty and kindness, Larissa seems to be the epitome of grace, to which I envy.

“Oh my goodness these are incredible.” she said turning to look at me over her shoulder. I blushed and tilted my head down slightly flustered. “Who ever made all of this is very good, just look at the detail.” smiling and saying nothing, Larissa faced me probably observing my silence. “Did- did you do all of this?” She asked. “Guilty.” I responded returning her gaze. “Well, you very talented, your skill is remarkable.” She said, making me smile in thanks.

“So anything in particular catch your eye?” I wondered. “All of it honestly, but…personally this is my favourite.” Larissa walked a few steps to a vanity i made a few years back, not one that goes in a bathroom but the free standing one’s that go in a bedroom or foyer. I could see how her face contorted into awe at its presents, her eyes scanning over the fine details scribed into marble tops edge and the vintage gold handles, the mirror frame also a painted embellished gold. Larissa looked at me and began to speak again. “You know, this is off topic but… it was quite refreshing to see you walk in before, I thought I would be dealing with another incipient man.” She said not bothering to care if it caused offence. It was absolutely taken as a compliment.

“Well, if I’m being honest, it was lovely to see you to, we get all sorts of different clients who may I say are a handful to deal with, especially since they get palmed off to me considering I’m the only worker.” I replied in hopes of showing my gratitude for her compliance. “Your the only other person who works here… apart form your boss?” She asked almost in a concerned manner. “Yes, no body else finds him tolerant enough to stick around, so really the only reason I’m here is because I have some freedom over what I do, a little blackmail of me leaving and him shutting down for good always seems to do the trick.”

Larissa grinned at my words understanding that you need to play a little dirty if you want to survive in the business industry, something Larissa knows very well. “I tell you what… It’s yours, I have no use for it, I just have to tweak a few things before I deliver it for you.” I said hoping she would like the offer. “Oh no… I couldn’t.” She muttered but her face said otherwise. “Cant or won’t?” I asked almost as if i were daring her just to say yes.

Larissa eventually accepted the offer with much reluctance, her blush didn’t go unnoticed when i grasped her bicep smiling at her when she obliged. “Well, when would you like me to come and take some measurements?” hoping it’s soon so i don’t die of anticipation. “Does tomorrow evening work for you? It’s probably best that you come when students aren’t in the way.” She spoke. “Tomorrow it’s just fine how is four o’clock?” I asked. “Perfect.” She said.

Larissa looked down at her feet for a moment to avoid her crimson cheeks being displayed, but quickly her eyes found my shin. “Oh what have you done? Your bleeding.” She uttered, a look of worry washed over her features. Looking down remembering that i had in fact cut myself. “It’s nothing look at all the other scars, I’m sure you can tell it’s not the first time.” I laughed, shrugging it off as no big deal. Larissa opens her purse and pulled out a plaster holding it out for me to take. “Here.” She said. I sighed and took it thanking her and saying it’s not necessary. “It’s absolutely necessary, you need to look after yourself darling, I have to make sure the woman I need is in good physical health now dont I?” She protested. ‘Darling!? her charm is going to kill me!’.

Walking back to the office I said goodbye and good luck dealing with my boss to finalise some paperwork, Larissa let out a breathy chuckle at the statement and bid me farewell also. I paced back to my bench and resumed the task with only one thing on my mind, a beautiful woman called Larissa Weems.

———

The next morning was a drag, it honestly couldn’t go any slower, excitement pulsed though my body as well as butterflies in my stomach, just thinking about meeting Larissa again I’m torn between nervousness and the trill of seeing her, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so giddy just because of a simple conversation or over anything for that matter.

After securing a few shipments of board to make a wardrobe for another client and doing some required maintenance on machinery it was finally time to drive to nevermore, that in its self was exciting. Before I started the twenty minute drive, i went to the weathervane to get a hot chocolate and a pastry on the way and hesitantly bought another set to offer Larissa. I have never done anything like this before. ‘God is she going to think I’m weird for buying her this? Does she even like this stuff? Let’s hope she’s not lactose intolerant or a gluten free person. God Just. Calm. Down’.

The drive down the road leading to the school was in some way magical, the trees making a canopy was surreal, the sunlight creeping through the branches and casting flickering rays along the windscreen, the cool breeze that was gently blowing the leaves was a beautiful sight. Anything that wasn’t four walls and loud noises was remarkable, it feels like when i take a step outside of the work shop and back into the world I’m alive or regenerated again.

Arriving through the iron gates my face dropped at the sight of the imposing school, it was huge and the architecture was to die for, it had a gothic aesthetic yet a warm nature to it. ‘My kind of place’. Parking in the staff lot, i made my way out of the car taking the drinks and paper bag holding the food and walked to what seemed to be the front entrance.

It was very quiet the only sounds were light howling of wind through the stone halls and hushed conversations of students bathing in the sun sitting in what you assume is the quad, even if it shaped as a pentagon. Walking aimlessly through archways and openings I found myself In front of a staircase, my gut is telling me to at least try to see if I’m in the right direction of her office.

At the top of the stairs there were plenty of painted portraits of people who were obviously previous headmasters and important alumni, all seemingly men to, that was until my eye was caught by a flurry of light colour. Just as I thought it was Larissa, her bright hair pinned to perfection and blue eyes radiant, i give credit to whoever captured all of her beauty, especially that little scare above her lip that i somehow absolutely adore.

My staring was cut short when I heard a door open and heals clicking against the marble floors, whipping around I immediately remember she’s far more beautiful in person. “What a horrid experience that was.” She said nodding towards the portrait. “Looks pretty incredible to me.” I said giving her a grin. “Yes well, sitting in silence for six hours without a break wasn’t very ideal, not to mention having to go back the next day to do it again was dreadful.” She chuckled. She tilted her head to look at herself and grimaced at it. “To be quite honest I try so hard to avoid it every time I step of of my office.” She said softly and turned her gaze back to me. “You shouldn’t it’s beautiful.” I said. With a huff Larissa straightened her posture and regained her mask of professionalism. “Hello violet.” She said realising she hadn’t greeted me properly. “Hi.” I responded.

Larissa turned and placed her hand on my shoulder walking me to her office. As we stepped inside the amazement came back tenfold, her interior was impeccable every colour and material held a rich aesthetic, from layered curtains to thick rugs and simple yet eye catching memorabilia that was effortlessly critiqued into place. She has wonderful taste, the only downside was her desk, a small crappy little thing that I’m sure she has trouble fitting under.

Larissa rounder her desk and sat at her throne of a chair and wordlessly asked you to sit by motioning her hand. “Oh, by the way I wasn’t exactly sure if or what you wanted but I brought you a hot chocolate and and a croissant.” You said holding up the goods. “You didn’t.” She said a grin appearing on her face. “I didn’t know what you liked or if you could eat or drink it, but I just thought I shouldn’t be selfish and offer you something anyway.” You shyly stated. “No I want it, that’s my usual actually.” She said. “I hope Your not lying to not make me feel bad are you?” You asked. “Not at all.” She smiled. “Ok well I have one that’s just plain and one that has whipped cream and marshmallows in it so take your pick.” You said pointing to the designated cups. Larissa bites on her bottom lip as she inches toward the drink with the toppings. “Don’t tell anyone but I have the biggest sweet tooth.” She giggled, the sound alone was a melody you wished to hear forever.

“So tell me about the process of making and installing the cupboards? Is it difficult? How would you manage to trek them into the school? Especially by yourself, I’d help you but I’m afraid I’m rather weak.” Larissa asked after she let out a hum at the taste of the drink, getting lost in her own mind wondering about the questions. You chuckled at her slight concern. “Well we figure out what colour or patterned board your looking for, order it and manufacture it in the work shop and I deliver and install it, as for bringing it here I’ll figure that out.” I said taking a sip of my own drink.

Larissa nodded at my words and seemingly scanned my figure, her eyes ran over the expanse of my body from hair and eyes to my clothes, crossed legs and shoes. I broke the silence feeling a little self conscious under her piercing gaze. “I’m afraid my uniform isn’t nearly as impeccable as yours I’m sorry.” I laughed nervously snapping her back to reality. “No, I was actually admiring, I think florissant pink looks great on you and I adore the pink laces on your boots.” She said politely pointing at your feet. “Oh thanks I guess, I decided that if I were to work in this industry I wanted to look quite feminine, what ever that is right?” I chucked. “Yes I see.” She smiled taking another sip.

After a few conversations about little bits of information and other steps, Larissa guided me back down stairs to a classroom. The whole time I spoke with her I realised how easy she is to talk to, Larissa comes across as sweet and charming, charismatic and intelligent, I do feel like slowly she’s peeling layers of professionalism back and being a little more personable and vulnerable, but so am I, not once have i had someone so friendly and easygoing to work or deal with, Larissa seems to understand my opinions and does everything she can to be as simple as she can to make things easier for me. Although a part of me can’t help but wonder if she’s just only being friendly for the sake of it or if Larissa genuinely likes me as a person.

After discussing the materials and rough estimates for costs Larissa and I walked back towards my car. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the results once everything is finalised.” She said clasping her hands in front of herself. “So am I, I think everything is going to look and function great.” I spoke. For a moment she didn’t say anything and just looked at me, although my gaze was diverted to behind her, a car was backing out rather quickly and without thinking i grasped her wrists and pulled her flush against me to prevent her from possibly being hit.

Larissa was stunned at the sudden movement just as much as i was, the person who was driving stopped and wound down the window, a woman with red hair and glasses far to big for her face gave an apologetic smile “oh my god I’m soo sorry I didn’t see you guys there, forgive me principal Weems.” Larissa gave you a look before stepping back and composing herself. “That’s alright Marilyn, please be careful next time.” She said, you could tell she was slightly annoyed it was actually quite funny. With that the woman drove off leaving myself and Larissa in silence. “Sorry about that.” She said. “How is that your fault?” I asked. “It’s not but…” she began. “It’s fine, I just didn’t want you to be run over.” I stated. “I suppose a thank you is in order than.” “No problem miss Weems.” I said. “Please, call me Larissa, I get sick of hearing that name every waking moment of the day.” The woman asked me hopefully. “Ok than Larissa, I’ll be seeing you sometime soon, don’t overwork yourself, I need you in good shape to tell me your thoughts on things ok?” I half joked clearly mocking her for the previous day, but wished it entirely. “I will darling, take care of yourself as well.” Again with the darling. At that I slipped into the drivers seat of my work car and waved Larissa goodbye heading back down the driveway.

Larissa slowly walked back towards her office stopping every so often to absorb the sunshine’s warmth, before heading down the cold stone corridors. She stepped inside of her room and smiled at the empty cup on her desk, Larissa wrapped her perfectly manicured hands around the paper and went to throw it in the bin, however she stopped in her tracks at the delicate handwriting with a phone number and name marked with ‘vi ;)’. She grinned at herself and whipped out her phone.

‘Meet me at the weathervane in your lunch break tomorrow? ~Larissa.’

@sabraaabra

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #gwenchrist(ie)#wlw fanfic

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shadowdaddies · 1 year ago

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Hi so I was the one who asked for sunrise serenity and I loved it so much! Thank you for writing it! I had another small request if you don't mind.

So I'm someone who has like a bad habit of snapping my hair tie against my wrist and I was wondering if the reader could also have this habit? Maybe it gets so bad that there's like red marks and bumps on her skin and lots of bruises? I had a few people in mind for this so I was hoping you could choose between Ruhn, Azriel or Fenrys finding out about the readers habit and helping them by like offering and alternative or just finding out what causes it and helping reader? Sorry it's not very specific.

I hope you have a good day!

Hi love! Thank you, I'm glad you loved it and I'm happy to write this request💜 I hope you have a wonderful day as well

A/N: I know the association that some people have with this habit, so I am putting a warning here for self harm. Please don't read if this might bring up any harmful thoughts or memories for you

Habits

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

warnings: please read request and author's notes for info on potential triggers

Storming out of the Autumn King’s Villa, you embraced the feeling of the fresh air on your face, cooling the flush of your cheeks from the intense encounter you’d just had with the Autumn King. Ruhn’s comforting hand braced your lower back, circling in soothing motions as vicious thoughts eddied in your mind.

It wasn’t right for you to be more shaken than Ruhn - he was the one who had to deal with a revolting excuse for a father, and here he was comforting you, because you were weak. As your thoughts spiraled deeper and deeper, you reached for the rubber band beneath your jacket sleeve, snapping it against your skin.

The sting successfully brought you out of your thoughts, slightly dizzying pain pulling you to focus on your surroundings. Taking a deep breath, you turned to see Ruhn’s violet eyes studying you, concern written on his face. “What are you doing?” he whispered, glancing from your face to your wrist.

Instinctively, you shoved the fabric of your sleeve down, covering the hair tie. Huffing a breath, you bit your lip, cheeks flushing as you suddenly felt embarrassed under his scrutinizing gaze. Ruhn pulled you aside, gently taking your hand in his as he slowly lifted the sleeve, revealing bruises you hadn’t noticed before.

You swallowed, looking up to see the pain in Ruhn’s eyes as his fingers softly traced your wrist. “Why do you do this?” he questioned, so softly it hurt.

With a nervous glance around the empty street, you bit your lip as you considered the question. “It helps me, when I snap the hair tie... When I have bad thoughts. It helps ground me, if that makes sense.” Ruhn considered you for a long moment, eyes searching yours for any discomfort as he lifted your wrist to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin there.

His eyes never left yours as he lowered your arm, hands moving to cup your cheeks as he gave you a soft smile. “I understand what it’s like, to have thoughts that you can’t bear. But I don’t want you hurting yourself over it. Can we think of some other options? Something else you could do when you’re having those thoughts?”

Your eyes lined with tears, lip wobbling as you embraced the feeling of his care and comfort, unlike that which you’d ever felt before. With a smile, Ruhn leaned forward to kiss you, arms wrapping around you in a long hug. You savored his warmth for a long time before pulling away, breaths coming easier than they had in a long time.

“If you want to, just text me. When you are having thoughts like that - just send me a message. It can be a picture, just nonsense typing on the keyboard, or tell me to call you. Whatever you want.” He watched you consider for a moment, before his eyes lit up and he pulled a small journal from his pocket. “This is my journal. You should take it - it’s small and easy to carry, so you can pull it out and write or draw, whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, heart swelling with gratitude that you had finally found someone who understood. Someone who wasn’t trying to change you, but simply be there for you.

Ruhn took your hand, the two of you meandering down the sidewalk towards your home. “Whatever you need, we will work through together,” he promised, leaving a kiss to your hair as you leaned into his side. Clutching the leather-bound journal in your hand, feeling his warmth against your body, you sighed with contentment as you realized that you believed him.

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somuchbetterthanthat · 2 months ago

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Hey.

We know that Jinx&Silco are the obvious duo, compared with Vander&Vi. But what if the explosion incident had not happened, per say, that things had just gotten worse in Zaun while Piltover thrived, and Vi was growing up and becoming so much more angry and she learnt about Vander's deal with the enforcer and she was sixteen and furious. Genuinely betrayed by her mentor, that led up to her trying to beat him up (because, yes, they're the same, their grief and anger goes through their hearts and then their wrists) but of course Vander's still more experienced, more powerful, etc. etc.

So Vi left (leaving behind some shocked siblings, and Vander says "she'll come back," softly, but there's a worried haze in his eyes, and Powder is still feeling rejected because Vi wants to fight but, of course, she still needs her little sister safe, and where she is going she won't take her). And where is she going? Why, to see the one person she's ever saw criticize Vander fully: Sevika.

And Sevika, in turn, brings her to Silco. And Silco sees this young, angry teenager, filled with ideal to save and better her city, and in her eyes he sees a bit of Vander and he can't /trust her/ but also,, she's still young,, she's still... She could be useful; molded better; and she she explains all of it, how Vander is abandoning their freedom for a fake peace, that sparks something back and real into Silco's heart.

("Come here, Violet," he says, carefully. "Perhaps you and I can work some things together... I knew your mother, do you know? A fighter, like you. A brave woman.")

#is that anything #OBVIOUSLY something something toxic vanco still get together #coz powder will not leave her sister nor will vander give up on his daughter etc.#arcane #silco #vi

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virozero · 7 months ago

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[Magnus / Psyker!Reader]

Entangled Entropy - Ch. 0

AN: I haven't written a fic in many moons, so I am hella rusty. Please be patient with me! Also there needs to be more Magnus content on this site and I have a moral obligation to make it. This is also just like an introduction chapter so I didn't quite wanna lable it as chapter 1 or what ever .3. please hit me with feedback I need it lol. also I blame @moodymisty @ms--lobotomy and @kit-williams for inspiring me to write fic again XD Reader will have GN/Masc pronouns even though I will depict them as Transmasc. Word count: 542 Tags: @heuldoch7b Warnings: Mentions of shitty childhood, Slowburn, uh no beta we die like Death Korps of Krieg Credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

Your home world, Æeran, while not as beautiful as the tales of ancient holy terra, was still a gem. With two colonized moons with established trade routes, Æeran was far from struggling. Colorful floral and exotic fauna gave life to the world, you could list all of them from memory.

With blue violet skies to amber beaches, your home world was starting to feel too small for you. While you did visit the moons on occasion, you felt like you have seen and studied everything Æeran had to offer.

You have lived with your royal advisor uncle since you were 17, learning all the ways of high-class society and their politics. Much of it was boring but your uncle wishes for you to take his place as the royal advisor to the throne someday.

You did not care much for the King but were respectful towards him for your uncle’s sake. It was not that he was incapable of much, it was that he would not do anything that outrightly helped the citizens.

Record keeping and recalling notes was your current job due to your gifts. You had a rough upbringing due to being different. Weird things tend to happen around you.Unsure of what to do, your parents did not treat you right but rather as a monster.

Until your uncle adopted you in your late teens. He taught you everything you need to know about how to be a vassal for the lord of the planet. Your unique gifts have aided you with your studies and research as it helped you keep notes and long form records on a metaphysical plain.

That’s right, you were a psyker, but no one on the planet knew exactly what a psyker was or the dangers they could bring. So, they just said you were gifted by the gods since most of your powers were used in a utilitarian way. Occasionally you would try to use them for something different like levitating small objects or forming little animals. You were not that good yet, but it helped keep the boredom at bay.

All that was about to change though as your uncle was called away to business on one of the moons, leaving you alone to temporally take his place. To say you weren’t panicking would be a lie. You told your uncle how you weren’t ready for this as he was leaving for the shuttle. He gently placed a hand on your shoulder and told you he believed in you and that you had made him proud.

With a final farewell, you return to your residence to prepare for the following days to come. As you were organizing tomes from a pile near your bed, a sharp crack and rumble shook the sky, causing you to drop the heavy book on your foot. Cursing, you ran to a window to see what happened. The city still is in one piece, no signs of collapsed buildings. Everything seems ok until you look up at the sky.

A titanic spaceship hid the sun and was looking to dock. You squint your eyes to stare at it, cursing under your breath knowing damn well you had to deal with this as your uncle was off planet.

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #magnus the red x reader #fic #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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widebrimmedhatsblog · 4 months ago

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Pleaaaaaase give me and all of us ALL the lore I would love it 🥹

Yay!!! Let me try and go in order of events?

Actual essay below the cut

Lilith! So, in this universe, there is obviously no deal with Xaden to keep Vi "safe" in the rider's quadrant, but Lilith sends her anyway because she still thinks Vi will be safer in the quadrant than in the scribes, venin-wise. Because of this (in the quadrant with no Xaden) a few things happen! Vi's generally MORE aware of the venin adjacent issues, she's less confident with her lightning, and when it becomes clear to Lilith that Col. Aetos is after Violet, she knows she has to figure something new out.

The storm! The storm is Lilith's doing. @k2jk and I chatted about this briefly, and they summed it up pretty well in that Lilith starts the storm to try and delay Vi from reaching Athebyne entirely, but when that fails, she adapts and overcomes (if you will) and decides to use the storm to keep Vi in the cave with Xaden. Obviously, she doesn't have the deal in this universe, but she knows Xaden, at the very least, cares about the venin problem, as she suspects Vi will too. Also, Vi had THREE dragons, so she was fine, battle-wise. I think in canon Lilith is out of town (LOL) when war games happen, but in this specific universe where (again) Vi doesn't have X looking out for her, I think Lilith would be a lot more hands-on (in her very Lilith way). Also, Lilith clearly has a thing with like, storms at times other people would not want a storm. Seems her love language is just ruining people's day!

Xaddy! So Em and I (@maethologies) captured the Xaden lore in this as instead of being a child of divorce as he is in canon, he is instead a child of PLEASE get a divorce!! I don't know what the math is precisely, but canonically, Fen Riorson had to have been pretty young when he had Xaden, because Sgaeyl is AROUND fifty, I believe. This led me to conclude that his mom would be pretty young too? So there's that part of things, and then add in the fact that their marriage/betrothal/sex pact was contractual and not out of love, and that Fen HAD to be a pretty hard core guy in regards to his commitment to the revolution, and I think we have a nice recipe for some issues! Amy @skyfallscotland's original prompt was that either the Tyrrish Rebellion never happened, or it happened differently, and I decided to take the happened differently route of things. And when considering how things could have happened differently, my first thought for a variable we actually know about was Xaden's mom. So, I made her Poromish (which I think she is, I just think she's hiding in the Isles in canon). Basically, the idea there is that she left when he was ten, but she did come back, and she was pretty in and out of his life. She's not queen, because his parents aren't married (afaik) but she's...around? sometimes? But, her presence in Tyrrendor was able to get Poromiel to throw some extra troops/weapons/money/ whatever who knows at the Rebellion, which helped the Rebellion win. Another thing Em and I talk about that is relevant to this fic is that we both see Fen/unnamed woman who is Xaden's mom as a mirror of xaden/cat, or what xaden/cat would have become, sans Vi. To ME, this means they were pretty toxic, fought a lot in front of Xaden, general manipulation what have you. If we ever get Xaden's mother's first name I will probably succumb to my demons and write a full prequel fic, but that day is not today!

Xaddy part 2! I said this elsewhere, but Xaden's gryphon gift is basically his second signet! That's how he cheats at rock paper scissors (what a guy!!) and that's how he repeatedly reads her mind throughout the fic. Vi doesn't seem to know about gryphon fliers having mind work gifts in canon until X tells her, so I assumed she wouldn't know. Also, like, of course he bonds Sgaeyl eventually. Of course. Not to @ Amy twice in one post, but I think of it as VERY similar to Keep Quiet in that it's like, we know this guy. We know his destiny. We Know. So yes, he bonds Sgaeyl EVENTUALLY, but not on page. I have an idea, actually, but I don't want anyone else asking me to write a continuation of this AU, so I don't want to say it publicly just yet, LOL.

I think that 's it for now? If there's anything else lore-wise anyone else was wondering about, feel free to ask!!

#to hate and to hold #fourth wing fanfic #helena's asks!

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novaursa · 6 days ago

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Legacy (of the west)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: terrors

- Next part: the others

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The halls of Casterly Rock were a labyrinth of stone and shadow, their silence broken only by the faint echo of voices carried on the cold air. Damon, small and nimble for his age, pressed himself into the recess of an alcove, his hair barely concealed beneath the hood of his cloak. His small fingers gripped the carved wooden lion that never left his side as he strained to hear the conversation taking place in the nearby chamber.

Inside, Tywin Lannister stood with one of his bannermen, Lord Alaric Lefford, the lord of the Golden Tooth. The two men faced each other near the hearth, where the fire cast flickering shadows across their faces.

“That thing,” Lord Lefford said, his voice low, “it should not exist. You cannot tell me this is natural, my lord.”

Tywin’s expression was impenetrable, his posture rigid as ever. “Natural or not, it existed. And it is dead. That is all that matters.”

Lefford wasn’t convinced. His weathered face twisted into a frown. “But if one of these creatures reached our lands, how many more are out there? What if they find their way here in greater numbers? Winter has already taken so much from us—our people can barely endure as it is.”

Tywin stepped closer to the hearth, his shadow growing tall against the wall. “Panic is a greater enemy than any beast, Lefford. If there are more, we will deal with them as we dealt with this one. You will instruct your men to remain vigilant but silent. This is not a matter for the realm to know—yet.”

Lefford bowed his head reluctantly. “As you command, my lord.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on the flickering flames for a moment before he turned back to Lefford, his tone final. “Ensure your patrols are thorough. Report any unusual sightings directly to me.”

Lefford inclined his head and exited the chamber, his heavy boots echoing through the corridor. As the sound of his footsteps faded, Tywin’s keen gaze shifted toward the alcove where Damon was hidden.

“You may come out now,” Tywin said evenly, his voice carrying effortlessly through the room.

Damon froze, his heart racing as his father’s words reached him. For a brief moment, he considered remaining silent, hoping his small frame might still go unnoticed. But he knew better than to disobey Lord Tywin.

Slowly, Damon emerged from his hiding spot, his violet eyes wide as he clutched his wooden lion. He hesitated near the doorway, his small feet shuffling nervously against the stone floor.

Tywin’s piercing gaze locked onto him, unwavering. “Eavesdropping is not becoming of you, Damon.”

“I wasn’t—” Damon began, but his father raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture.

“Do not insult me by lying,” Tywin said firmly, though his tone lacked harshness. “What did you hear?”

Damon swallowed hard, his small voice barely above a whisper. “About the spider. The one the hunters found.”

Tywin studied his son for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gestured for Damon to step closer. The boy obeyed, his footsteps hesitant but steady as he approached his father.

“It was a creature that does not belong in this world,” Tywin said plainly, crouching slightly to meet Damon’s gaze. “But it is no longer your concern. It is dead, and it will not harm you or anyone else.”

Damon clutched his lion tighter, his young mind racing with questions. “But what if there are more? What if they come here?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice steady but commanding. “That is why we prepare, Damon. As Lannisters, we do not cower before threats, no matter how strange or dangerous they may seem. Do you understand?”

Damon nodded slowly, though the fear in his eyes hadn’t entirely faded. “Yes, Father.”

Tywin straightened, his presence towering once more. “Good. Now, you will return to your chambers, and you will not speak of this to anyone. The less you dwell on it, the better.”

Damon hesitated, his small fingers fidgeting with the lion in his hands. “Is it because I’m too young to understand?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a faint glimmer of something softer in his gaze. “It is because you are my son, and it is my duty to ensure your safety. That is all you need to know.”

Damon seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding again. “I understand.”

“Good,” Tywin said, his tone final. “Now go.”

Damon turned to leave, but before he reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back at his father. “Will the dragons protect us, too?”

For the briefest of moments, Tywin’s stern facade cracked, a faint shadow of thought crossing his features. “The dragons will protect what is theirs. But a Lannister’s strength has never relied on others. Remember that.”

Damon nodded, his small face resolute as he turned and disappeared down the corridor. Tywin watched him go.

As the silence settled once more, Tywin’s gaze returned to the hearth. The boy’s questions lingered in his mind, unspoken truths hanging heavy in the air. The spider was dead, but its existence was a reminder—a harbinger of the unknown—and Tywin Lannister did not tolerate uncertainty.

The study room of Casterly Rock was dimly lit by a cluster of candles, their golden glow casting flickering specters across the polished wood of the long table. Damon, seated with his small hands folded neatly in front of him, tried to suppress a yawn as Maester Aldren droned on about the histories of House Lannister and House Targaryen.

The old maester’s robes rustled as he leaned over a thick tome, his chain of office clinking faintly with each movement. The sigil of the Lannisters—a roaring golden lion—was carved into the back of the boy’s high-backed chair, a silent reminder of the legacy he was being groomed to uphold.

“House Lannister traces its roots to Lann the Clever,” Maester Aldren recited, his voice carrying the practiced monotony of years spent teaching. “He is said to have tricked the Casterlys into abandoning their ancestral home and claimed the Rock for himself. This tale has been told—”

“Maester Aldren,” Damon interrupted, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

The old man straightened, his bushy eyebrows rising at the boy’s audacity. “Yes, young master?”

“What do you know about the Others?” Damon asked, his voice quiet but firm, the question dropping into the room like a stone into a still pond.

Aldren froze for a moment, his fingers tightening on the edge of the book. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something far more guarded. “The Others? Where did you hear of such things?”

Damon shifted in his seat, fidgeting slightly under the maester’s scrutiny. “I heard Father and his council talking. And… I read something in one of the old books in the library.”

Aldren sighed, closing the tome in front of him with a soft thud. He regarded Damon for a long moment, his pale blue eyes thoughtful. “The Others are creatures of legend, young master,” he said carefully. “They are said to dwell in the farthest reaches of the North, beyond the Wall. Stories tell of their coming during the Long Night, when the sun vanished, and the world was cloaked in darkness and snow.”

Damon leaned forward, his youthful curiosity burning brighter. “But are they real?”

Aldren hesitated, choosing his words with great care. “Some would say they are nothing more than tales to frighten children and keep them indoors at night. Others—particularly those in the North—believe they are very real. The truth of it, I cannot say. But the legends warn of their return whenever the world grows cold.”

Damon’s brows furrowed as he considered this. “But it’s been dark and cold for three years now. Couldn’t that mean they’re coming back?”

The maester’s expression grew somber, and he folded his hands atop the table. “It is true that these winters are unlike any the realm has known in living memory. The sun barely rises, and the nights stretch endlessly. If there were ever a time for such legends to resurface, it would be now.”

The boy frowned, his fingers idly tracing the carved lion on his chair. “What do they want? The Others?”

Aldren’s voice grew quieter, almost reverent, as though speaking the words might summon something from the dark. “The legends say they bring death and cold wherever they go. That they raise the dead to serve them, turning man against man. They are said to be implacable, merciless. Their purpose… no one truly knows.”

Damon shivered, his small frame seeming even smaller under the weight of such ominous tales. “Could they come here? To the Rock?”

Aldren offered a faint, reassuring smile. “Casterly Rock is strong, young master. It has stood for thousands of years and withstood countless sieges. Should the Others even exist, they would find no easy prey here.”

Damon wasn’t entirely convinced, his gaze dropping to the lion he had been carving on the table with his fingernail. Recent words Tywin spoke to him became alight by fire in his blood. He was not just a Lannister. After a moment, he asked softly, “Do you think the dragons could stop them?”

The maester tilted his head, considering the question. “Perhaps. Dragons have long been symbols of fire and power, and fire is said to be the greatest enemy of the Others. But it is not for me to say.”

The boy seemed lost in thought, his young mind grappling with the weight of the conversation. Finally, he looked up, his expression determined. “If they come, I’ll stop them. I’ll ride a dragon like Mother and burn them all.”

Aldren’s expression softened, though a shadow of concern lingered in his gaze. “A noble sentiment, young master. But it is not dragons or fire that makes one strong—it is wisdom and preparation.”

Damon nodded, though his thoughts were clearly still churning. The maester reached for another book, flipping it open to a page depicting the sigil of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon.

“For now,” Aldren said, his tone returning to its usual instructive cadence, “let us return to the histories. If you are to rule the West someday, you must know the legacy of both houses that flow through your veins.”

Damon settled back into his seat, though his mind remained far from the words of the maester. The shadow of the Others loomed in his thoughts, a dark specter that seemed to grow with every whispered tale and chilling breeze.

Maelor sat on a thick fur rug near the hearth, stacking wooden blocks into an uneven tower. His small face was lit with concentration, his silver-gold hair glinting in the firelight. Around him, servants quietly moved about, some mending garments while others tended to the ever-burning fire that kept the biting cold at bay.

You, seated in a high-backed chair draped with Lannister crimson and gold, watched your youngest son with a faint smile. His soft hums of contentment filled the room, a small but precious comfort against the oppressive weight of winter. Yet even as you gazed at him, your mind wandered, drawn to a voice that had haunted your thoughts for days.

Bran’s voice.

It had been over a week since you heard it, and though the memory of his calm, distant tone had begun to fade, the unease it stirred within you had only grown stronger. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something left unsaid, something urgent that lingered just beyond your grasp.

“Lady Y/N,” one of the servants interrupted your thoughts gently, holding up a finished garment. “Would you like to inspect this now?”

You blinked, snapping out of your reverie, and offered a polite nod. “Yes, thank you.” Taking the garment, you traced the intricate stitching absently, the motions automatic as your mind remained elsewhere.

Maelor’s tower toppled with a clatter, drawing your attention back to him. He frowned briefly but began rebuilding with a determined expression.

“You’re getting better at that,” you said, your voice soft and warm.

Maelor looked up at you, his violet eyes bright with pride. “I’ll make it bigger this time, Mama.”

You smiled, but it felt distant even to yourself. Rising from your chair, you walked over to him, kneeling to help him balance the blocks. As you stacked one carefully on top of another, you couldn’t help but wonder if the voice would return—or if its silence was its own kind of warning.

“You’ve been quiet, my lady,” said Elaena, a senior servant who had been with you since Damon’s infancy. She approached with a steaming cup of spiced wine, her keen eyes watching you closely. “More so than usual.”

You accepted the cup with a faint smile. “Have I?”

Elaena tilted her head knowingly. “You have the look of someone carrying a heavy thought. If I may be so bold, is it something about the North?”

You hesitated, the warmth of the cup seeping into your hands. “Perhaps,” you admitted softly, glancing toward the frosted window. “The North always seems to call, doesn’t it? Even in silence.”

Elaena’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’ve spoken of the boy before—the Stark who became something... more. Bran, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a sip of the wine. Its warmth spread through your chest, but it did little to ease the chill of your thoughts. “I heard his voice, Elaena. In my mind. As clearly as I hear you now.”

Elaena glanced around the room, her expression cautious. “A voice from the North, reaching here? That’s... unsettling, my lady.”

You placed the cup down on a nearby table, your fingers tightening briefly around its handle. “It wasn’t unsettling. Not at first. It was... familiar. Reassuring, even. But now, the silence feels louder than the words he spoke.”

Maelor tugged at your sleeve, drawing your attention back to him. “Mama, look! It’s even taller!”

You turned to see his newly completed tower, precariously leaning but standing nonetheless. Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “You’ve outdone yourself, Maelor. Perhaps one day you’ll build towers that scrape the sky.”

Maelor giggled, his earlier frustration forgotten.

Elaena cleared her throat gently. “Perhaps the silence means his message was delivered, my lady. That he has no more to say.”

“Or perhaps it means I didn’t listen closely enough,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

The thought gnawed at you as the hours dragged on. Something inside you refused to let it rest. Whether it was instinct, intuition, or something deeper, you couldn’t deny the weight of it. Bran’s voice had reached you for a reason, and the void it left behind felt like a question that demanded an answer.

“Elaena,” you said suddenly, standing and smoothing your skirts. “Keep an eye on Maelor for me.”

Elaena nodded, though her expression was laced with concern. “Of course, my lady. But where are you going?”

“To clear my mind,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm brewing within.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to Maelor’s forehead. He looked up at you with wide, trusting eyes, and for a moment, you hesitated. But the pull of the unanswered call was too strong to ignore. With one last look at your youngest son, you left the room, the cold stone corridors of Casterly Rock swallowing you whole. The weight of Bran’s unspoken words pressed heavily on your heart, urging you to seek answers in the growing darkness.

The silence of the castle was broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps and the ever-present hum of the cold wind outside. Bran’s voice, though silent for days, lingered in your thoughts like a haunting melody, weaving unease into your every step.

Your mind churned with unanswered questions as you turned another corner, lost in thought. The memory of his words, calm yet laden with meaning, refused to leave you. It felt like a warning—something you couldn’t shake.

As you reached the outer corridor that led toward the stables, you heard voices. The low murmur of men speaking drew your attention, and you paused just before the doorway. Stepping closer, you caught sight of Tywin, clad in his dark hunting armor, speaking with his men. His presence was commanding, even among seasoned hunters, and his eyes scanned the group with precision as he gave orders.

“Double the perimeter. If anything larger than a wolf is spotted, send word immediately,” he commanded, his voice firm and unyielding.

The hunters nodded, their faces a mix of determination and unease. The thick pelts on their shoulders spoke of preparation for the bitter cold, but nothing could entirely shield them from the dangers lurking in the endless winter night.

Your heart sank as you realized what this meant. Steeling yourself, you stepped into the light, and Tywin’s eyes immediately found yours. His gaze softened slightly, though his commanding presence didn’t falter. With a curt nod, he dismissed the hunters, who quickly dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

“Where are you going?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. The unease in your voice betrayed the calm you tried to project.

Tywin adjusted the clasp on his armor, his tone measured but unrelenting. “The lands around the Rock need to be secured. There have been reports of movements in the woods. It could be nothing, or it could be something worse. I intend to ensure it is the former.”

Your worry deepened, and you stepped closer to him, your voice soft yet imploring. “Your place is here, Tywin. With us. With your family. This castle, our home, needs you more than the woods do.”

He regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable, though the faintest flicker of something softer passed through his eyes. “And my duty is to ensure that this home remains safe. I will not leave the safety of our lands to chance.”

“It’s too dangerous,” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “You’ve heard the reports, haven’t you? The creatures they’ve encountered—things that shouldn’t exist. And you want to go out into that darkness?”

Tywin straightened, his imposing frame silhouetted against the torchlight. “It is because of those reports that I must go. If there is a threat, it must be dealt with. Do you think I would sit idly by and let others take that risk while I remain behind these walls?”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, your touch a rare gesture of vulnerability. “You’re too important to risk yourself like this. The men trust you to lead, yes—but they also need you to survive. I need you to survive. If anything happens to you out there—”

He placed his hand over yours, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Nothing will happen to me. I’ve led men into worse. This is no different.”

“But it is different,” you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your resolve. “The world is not the same as it was. The rules have changed, Tywin. You cannot face these dangers as you would a rebellion or a rogue bannerman.”

His jaw tightened, though his hand remained over yours. “I have always faced the unknown with logic and preparation. I will not falter now.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation, of doubt. “If you go out there, you’re gambling with more than just your life. You’re gambling with everything we’ve built. Everything we’ve endured to keep safe.”

For a moment, silence hung between you. The distant howl of the wind filled the space where words couldn’t. Tywin’s expression softened slightly, the steely edge of his resolve tempered by something unspoken. He leaned down just enough so that his eyes met yours fully.

“You worry too much,” he said quietly, though there was no dismissal in his tone. “I will return, as I always have.”

You bit your lip, the words you wanted to say catching in your throat. Finally, you whispered, “I cannot lose you.”

His hand squeezed yours gently before letting go. “You won’t.”

With that, Tywin stepped back, his posture straightening as he adjusted his cloak. The cold air from the open corridor swept between you, a stark reminder of the peril that awaited outside.

“Stay here,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Keep the children close. I’ll return on the morrow.”

As he turned and walked toward the courtyard, your heart ached with a mixture of fear and admiration. Watching his retreating figure, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his departure, the darkness outside seeming to press closer with every step he took.

You stood there long after he disappeared into the shadows, your unease lingering like a ghost in the cold air. The winter winds howled louder, carrying with them a silent prayer for his safe return.

The quiet hum of Casterly Rock’s walls seemed louder in the stillness of the evening as you stepped into the boys’ chamber. The soft glow of a hearth fire painted the room in warm, flickering light, casting gentle shadows across the carved wooden bed frames and the thick furs draped over them.

Damon was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his eyes bright with curiosity despite the lateness of the hour. Beside him, Maelor lay on his back clutching a stuffed lion to his chest, his hair sticking up in soft tufts.

“Why aren’t you both asleep yet?” you asked, your tone gently chiding as you closed the door behind you. “It’s late, and you’ll need your strength in the morning.”

Damon shrugged, his expression a mix of youthful mischief and lingering concern. “I’m not tired,” he replied quickly, though the yawn he tried to suppress betrayed him.

Maelor, on the other hand, reached his arms up toward you from where he lay, his small voice plaintive. “Mama, I couldn’t sleep.”

You smiled softly and moved toward Maelor’s bed, sitting down on its edge and brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “What’s troubling you, little lion?”

Before Maelor could answer, Damon spoke up. “Where did Father go?” His voice carried the weight of a question he had been holding in since Tywin left. “The guards said he went out with the hunters.”

You hesitated, glancing between your two sons. Damon’s sharp gaze reminded you so much of his father, while Maelor’s wide-eyed innocence tugged at your heart.

“He’s gone to make sure the lands around the Rock are safe,” you said softly, your voice steady and reassuring. “Your father is very brave, and he always does what needs to be done to protect us.”

Damon frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But it’s dangerous out there. What if—”

“Your father is the cleverest and strongest man I’ve ever known,” you interrupted gently, your hand resting on his knee. “He wouldn’t take a risk he couldn’t handle. You don’t need to worry about him.”

Damon seemed to mull this over, though the concern didn’t entirely leave his face. “Do you think he’ll be back before breakfast?”

“I’m sure he’ll be back before you even wake up,” you said with a small smile, though your own heart felt the weight of uncertainty.

Maelor clung tighter to his stuffed lion, his voice small and tentative. “Can you sleep in here tonight, Mama?”

The question caught you off guard for a moment, and you looked down at him, his wide violet eyes searching yours for reassurance. Damon’s head tilted slightly as he waited for your answer, clearly curious to see what you would say.

“You want me to stay?” you asked gently, your voice warm with affection.

Maelor nodded earnestly, and Damon chimed in, “Yeah, stay, Mama. It’ll be better with you here.”

You laughed softly, the sound a balm to the lingering unease in the room. “Alright, alright. If it will help you sleep.”

Both boys brightened immediately, and you rose to retrieve a spare blanket from the trunk at the foot of the bed. Draping it over the plush rug between their beds, you made a small nest for yourself, the hearth’s warmth reaching the cozy spot you prepared.

“You two, no more questions,” you said as you lay down. “It’s time to close your eyes and dream of sunny days.”

Maelor snuggled deeper into his bed, his stuffed lion clutched tightly against his chest. Damon lay back as well, though he peeked over the edge of his bed to look down at you.

“Do you think Father dreams about sunny days too?” Damon asked, his voice soft now.

“I think your father dreams about the same thing I do,” you replied, reaching out to pat his hand. “You two. Always.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and Damon settled back into his pillows, his eyelids growing heavy. Maelor’s breathing had already begun to slow, a soft rhythm that mingled with the crackle of the hearth.

As the room grew quiet and still, you stared at the ceiling, your own thoughts wandering to Tywin out in the dark, frigid night. You had spoken with confidence to your sons, but deep down, a part of you whispered the same fears Damon had voiced.

But for now, with your boys safe and warm beside you, you let that worry fade, focusing instead on the soft sounds of their breaths and the gentle flicker of the firelight.

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maeve-is-annoying-about-books · 2 months ago

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Arcane Season 2 Vi

This poor fucking woman, the irony has bit into her and won't let her go.

Vi starts the entire series with a pretty explicit goal, earning the respect of Piltover. Frankly of Zaun too, both. To be a big deal, I think. And the terrible part of it all is that she has it. It's the worst thing in the world. She hates it.

Caitlyn, the now-sheriff of Piltover requests her aid specifically. She's bumped shoulders with Jayce, the rising star of the city. She's spoken to the council and told them what she thinks to their faces. She's been manhunted by Silco, the most terrifying power the lanes had ever seen. She's a Pretty Big Fucking Deal, or would be in the eyes of her past self. All it cost was what she actually wanted.

Everyone she loves keeps getting torn away from her and her heart is so big that it can break every single time. Her friends, dead. Father figure, dead. Her sister she pushed away and Jinx is who returned. Caitlyn, her (as far as we know) first love, has just shoved her away. Just like Violet did to Powder all those years ago. Both of them begging not to be left behind. Left alone. FUCK.

Vi would do anything for Caitlyn at this point and that's what makes it sting. But it's also what makes it wrong. It's the gateway to making it right again, I think. Like, look at her. Vi's lost everyone and is now clinging to Cait. "Yeah I'll use deadly semi-sentient fissure gas on people. No yeah go ahead honey I'll help you arrest anyone in our way just please. Stay."

Like, look at the circumstances she takes the badge in. It's because if she had it, Caitlyn would have never been in danger during Renni's attack. Vi could have crossed the police line and ended it before it ever began. But she didn't, and now that guilt of nearly losing the last person she has drives her to take up the mantle of enforcer.

Of course she has plenty of excuses for what she did while wearing the blues, I genuinely think her only focus is on keeping Caitlyn happy and safe. Until it comes to a head, and a child gets in the way. Only now does Vi put her foot down and say, "No." And her inaction cost her again, in a sense. "If only I had said something sooner" is a phrase I can easily imagine her thinking to herself. Before the gas and the shock and awe and becoming the thing she probably still has nightmares about.

I think that's why this breakup arc needed to happen. Like yes, it puts Vi directly into Powder's shoes to make her understand her sister again. But it's also that Vi needs to get her strength to stand up again and find what she's fighting for, because Caitlyn needs that Vi more than ever before.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane vi #arcane season 2 #also that kiss hello?#that kiss specifically holy shit budget went into that #not to be a lesbian but oh my god #oh my fucking fuck #it's impossible for me to see Vi and not be smacked in the face with her clear burgeoning abandonment issues #like holy hell girl #someone get this girl a hug and a smooch

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skyfallscotland · 11 months ago

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So this has been in my head all day and I just had to get it out. I don't know if I'll just leave it here or uh...yeah. @justallihere I want you to know you're taking FULL responsibility for this nonsense. This is your fault 🫡

(consider this some AU world where Tyrrendor successfully seceded years ago, Xaden is king, and they have their own riders academy but Tairn still bonded Violet because he lives to make Xaden's life difficult, also...violet/cam/liam has a certain appeal to it...no, someone stop me)

“You know you can enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Violet Sorrengail says judgementally. “If you’re forced to follow me around, you may as well have some fun.”

“I’m not forced to follow you around.” He replies immediately, shifting on his feet as his eyes scan the dark tavern, noting each of the patrons lingering by the bar. It’s true he’s not. His brother had asked and he had accepted. It’s the least he can do while they try and figure out how to deal with this—the mess that Tairn has caused, bonding a rider from Navarre.

“Sure you’re not.” There’s that judgemental tone again.

“Perhaps I just enjoy your company.” He tosses back, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Violet eyes his boyish grin before snorting, shaking her head as she picks up her drink—some sweet-looking lavender concoction.

“And if I decide to enjoy someone else’s?” She challenges, a hint of conceit in her voice as she leans around him, nodding her head. “Like maybe Prince Cam’s? He’s been watching me since we got here.”

Liam’s head whips around and he instinctively moves to the side, shielding Violet’s body with his own as his eyes search out Navarre’s third prince. It takes a moment to find him, shrouded in darkness where he sits in the far corner of the tavern, boot on his knee as he nurses a glass of bourbon, his posture unnervingly relaxed.

He can’t quite make out the other man’s eyes across the room, but he knows from memory they’re a deep forest green, just like the rest of his family. “Yeah, totally fine with it.” Violet says sarcastically, drawing his attention back to her. She looks pointedly at his torso and the way it’s shifted automatically to shield her from the prince’s view.

“I’m not forced to do anything.” He insists, dragging his attention back to their conversation. “But I am here to keep you safe and that,” he shifts his eyes back to Cam, “is not safe for you—not anymore.”

It’s entirely out of her control—out of all theirs—but Violet Sorrengail is now the key to taking down Tyrrendor, so regardless of how she might feel about it, he’s going to protect her and that means not going anywhere near Navarrian royalty. “I’ll go and see what he wants.” Liam says sternly, his hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Go back to your friends.”

Her jaw tightens and she opens her mouth like she might protest, but clearly thinks better of it. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, swiping up her drink and turning on her heel. She tosses one final glance over her shoulder towards the dark corner the subject of their conversation is in, but otherwise doesn’t falter, storming back over to her squad.

He watches, waiting for her to be safely ensconced between Rhiannon and Ridoc before striding slowly to the other side of the tavern, moving easily through the Saturday evening revelry until he’s standing over a man he’s only ever seen in passing.

“Liam Mairi.” The prince’s lips tick up. He drags his eyes up over Liam’s frame as the blond rider does the same. He’s sprawled out in the chair, relaxed as could be, his knees slightly spread as he takes a long draw of liquor. “Come to threaten me away from Sorrengail?”

“You know who I am.” It’s half statement, half question.

“I made it my business to know.” He taps his fingers on the table in front of him. “A Tyrrish citizen attending Basgiath War College? That sort of news travels fast.”

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Cam’s lips tick up like that’s something amusing. “Many things.” He pauses for a moment, studying Liam’s face. “Where’s your king?”

Liam tenses. “In Aretia. Obviously.” He tries to appear as relaxed as the prince in front of him, but he’s certain he fails. “Xaden has a country to run, unlike…some.” His tone is mocking, challenging in a way he should probably refrain from, given his status as a diplomatic representative.

“Yes, it’s terrible being third in line. I really detest having all this free time to do whatever I like, truly.” He downs the rest of the bourbon in his glass, dropping it onto the table. “Tell me, does she know?” He climbs to his feet, circling around the table slowly, like a predator. “Do you plan on filling her in? After all, it’s only fair given the danger it puts her in—being bound to your king.”

“She doesn’t know.” Liam lowers his voice threateningly, “and you’re not going to tell her.” Blue meet forest green in a fierce glare. “Interesting that you do though,” he moves closer until there’s only an inch or two separating them. “I guess that means you’re just like the rest of your family—happy to sit back and watch the world burn.”

That gets a reaction out of him, the younger man stepping forward with a snarl on his lips. “You know nothing about me.” He looks up into Liam’s eyes. “You riders always think yourselves so superior to everyone else.” His voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible over the revelry of the tavern. “Just because I’m not flying around on the back of a dragon, doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing.”

He’s slightly shorter than Liam but just as well built and when he steps further into the blond’s space, Liam can’t help but look. His sandy brown hair is immaculately styled, his clothes are clean and pressed, and when he glances down even the man’s boots shine. It’s obvious he doesn’t belong here but…there’s something in the way the other man holds himself—with a spine of steel—that stirs something within him. That same steel is reflected in his eyes.

“So what are you doing?” He murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up mockingly. “What’s your plan to help fight a war your family would stop at nothing to keep quiet?” Cam’s jaw is clenched, like he’s fighting to keep something in, rather than speak his mind. Almost against his will, Liam’s hand rises, his fingers sliding over the scruff on the other man’s jawline as he cups it gently. “All that power and what do you have to show for it?”

Cam’s lips part, his eyes roving over the blond’s face. “Nothing I can talk about here.” His green eyes are hard, unflinching as he tilts his head, pressing his cheek into Liam’s hand.

“Are you asking to get me alone?” The Tyrr’s lips curve up in a smirk.

“Would you like that?” The prince fires back.

He would actually. The shock of that revelation has him faltering, his usually unflappable composure dissipating as he stares down at the slow, arrogant smile spreading across full pink lips.

“Tell your king I want to speak to him, Mairi.” The younger man whispers, reaching up to lace his fingers through Liam’s before removing the blond’s hand from his face. It feels like it takes an eternity for their hands to separate, his fingers sliding purposefully over Liam’s own. “Whenever that dragon of his drags him back here.” The prince turns to leave, his torso brushing Liam’s as he slides past him, far too close for it to be considered accidental.

“And where will you be until then?” Liam enquires, his eyes dark.

Cam looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “I’ll be around.” He disappears into the crowd, going unnoticed by the rest of the taverns patrons and Liam watches him go, a dangerous, terrible curiosity stirring in his chest.

He remains frozen for a moment, unmoving until a flash of silver catches his eye and he shakes it off, striding across the floor to rejoin his new squad.

“That looked like it went well.” There’s laughter in Violet Sorrengail’s voice and a hint of arrogance as she ribs him. “I’m glad you took care of it.” A sarcastic grin slides over her face as she lifts her drink to her lips. “I’m fine here if you need to take care of anything else.”

He stares at her, unimpressed. “Very funny.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, her eyes dancing with mischief. “First time with a man?” This woman is entirely too smart for her own good and it’s only going to cause him more and more headaches as time goes on, he just knows it.

“I’m not into men.” He shuts her down.

“You’re a consummate flirt, Liam Mairi.” She laughs. “I refuse to believe that.”

But he’s not lying. Consummate flirt he may be, but he’s never been interested in anyone of the male gender…until now. Liam knows himself and his own mind well. He’s not into men, but Navarre’s third prince and his quiet arrogance, his ridiculously green eyes and the way his skin feels beneath Liam’s hands? That…that he may be into.

Shit.

#they are my new babies and i love them #why do i have a cute parapet scene circling around my brain now; send help #liam/cam #liam mairi #liam mairi/cam #fourth wing fanfic

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