#consider this a teaser

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ c.bg; six nights ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: six nights of emo boy gyu sneaking into your room without your daddy knowing. aberrational catholic guilt ridden catcher in the rye wannabe porn document. afab reader x softdom!beomgyu. warnings: everything, unfortunately. minors dni. heavy smut ahead. lots of pretentious writing, too. catholic guilt and imagery. abusive behaviour, parental neglect. drug use. violence. everyone is sad. i’ll keep on updating part-specific tags. index: prologue: the house of god, first night, second night, third night, fourth night, fifth night, sixth night, dawn of the seventh.

prologue: the house of god

when daddy wanted to hide something from you, he would turn to his beloved bible. and ever since you turned fourteen, he had been holding on to a passage that he would repeat to you every night before going to sleep: 

"let no one say when tempted, "i am being tempted by god," for god tempts no one. but each person is tempted when lured by his own desire. then desire gives birth to sin, and sin brings forth death."

that is the only sex talk your daddy ever gave you. it was more of a sex mantra than a talk, or a warning, or even a prohibition. just a rule of nature that he wanted you to have engraved in your mind: desire is sin, and sin is death.

when daddy didn't want you to do something, he'd blame the rule on god. and there's little you could say against that. 

as you grew up, you realised that god might not be real, but daddy most certainly was. a punitive, disciplinary god. and one feels much more compelled to obey divine rule when god lives under your roof. when you can touch him, and he can touch you.

when god lives in your house and his wrath can tear your flesh apart not in hell, not in heaven, but in this life; you become more cautious than the most devoted of christians. so even when everyone in your grade started drinking, dating, having sex; you had it very clear that the priority was to protect yourself. not from the dangers of drinking, dating, or sex; but from daddy, that is to say, from god.

none of your friends from school understood it, that the fear of god was not irrational. you had scars and bruises that god had given you which you could perfectly show them. but then daddy would get in trouble. besides, he wouldn't like you showing your body around. 

none of them could ever understand what living with god was like, so they were the kind of people who would ask that stupid question; if god loves us, why does he hurt us? 

the first person to understand god was a boy called choi soobin. 

daddy had remarried choi soobin’s mom the year before you started college. she was a beautiful woman, lively and hopeful to start a second life after becoming a widow. it must be thrilling to get a chance at a second life when your first one has gone wrong. soobin’s mom could have been very happy in another universe. you felt sorry that she had stepped into daddy‘s trap. 

you had always wondered how daddy had managed to get a woman like her. bright, cultured and affectionate. but then you figured that maybe, as he was god, he didn't necessarily need to be yahweh, or elohim. he could also be zeus and disguise himself as a swan to kidnap and rape leda. 

you found out later that soobin‘s mom had never fully recovered from the passing of her first husband, and she often suffered from major depressive episodes. daddy saw that void in her, and her urgency to fill it. he forced himself into the hollowness of the void, and obstructed her veins, bones, and heart with the word of god.

soon enough, soobin’s mom had no limb or internal organ she controlled herself. she had once had colours, you remembered; rosy cheeks, a hazel head of hair, lips tinted with vibrant red. but daddy had turned her grey. 

soobin’s mom had been kind enough to see the good sides of daddy, you had liked her for that. but you regretted that she hadn't learned to hide her colors so that daddy couldn't steal them away, like you did. 

she became a shadow of herself, an almost non-verbal phantom trapped between the real world –that is, the confines of daddy's house– and the world of hopeful prayers and the salvation of soul.

the boy called choi soobin would never forgive daddy for that. but it was alright. you understood. in a sense, he had killed his mom. you had to love daddy because he had created you, but you didn't think choi soobin was obliged to. 

people said choi soobin had changed, too. that he used to be a gentle kid, polite and sweet, but he had turned hostile. that, like most teens, he had become self-absorbed and belligerent without a cause or that he had gotten those adolescent mood changes so late in his life because he was an attention seeker. people say things like that when they don't understand what living with god is like.

you were the only one who didn't believe daddy when he said that soobin had a demon inside. you knew better than that, you knew that daddy saw demons everywhere. but soobin’s own mom believed it. when daddy tried to exorcise the demon away from soobin with fist and blood, she looked away.

all that soobin had wanted by acting up against daddy was to save his mom. to bring her back from the dead. but after that betrayal, he stopped trying. 

soobin had never been violent towards you, though. not once. not even mean. you were the only one who understood him, the only one who told him he wasn't evil. you knew that god's tyrannical rule could break a person, fill them with hate. and so soobin and you became close, often talking against god. every whispered defamation, every blasphemy, the danger of it felt so exciting. not because of the mischievous sin, or because of the disobedience, but because you felt like you could speak your mind at last.

your first kiss was soobin. you felt loved when it happened, something you realised you weren't used to. the feeling bloomed throughout the following week as you hid from god's watchful eye to be together.

soobin told you a hundred times that you were the most beautiful girl in the world, kissing all over your face, clasping you as close to him as he humanly could. he would sneak his hand under your skirt and whisper, "don't think about him right now. it's just you and me." and though his touch never went very far in the magnitude scale of sin and punishment, it was enough to breathe a new life into you.

you sensed that a big part of why soobin wanted you so bad was because he got turned on at the idea of defying daddy, and groping his holy daughter was the greatest offence he could commit. but that was alright. you felt the same way. and you hoped that that hate-induced lust would turn into love, in time. you could then be happier, even in the house of god. 

or you could have been happier. because god is omnipresent. and he would soon act to see you separated. the blossoming flower was brutally ripped from the soil.

when daddy found out, he locked himself into the master bedroom with soobin one morning and didn't let him go until the sun began to hide. soobin left that room broken and dead in life, just like his mom, but he didn't have one single bruise. maybe daddy really was god, after all.

soobin never talked to you again. spoken, yes, but it was hollow. you never felt loved again. you learned a lesson that day: your pleasure brings pain to everyone around. the mantra became true. desire is sin, and sin is death.

so if there was any need left in your body to touch, to kiss, to lick, to possess or be possessed; you confined it to the darkest pit of your ribcage, way past your heart, never to be accessed again. 

until choi beomgyu came around.

he was the second person to understand god. but he had brought his lesson learned from home. he knew god’s ways even before he met daddy. he had a god of his own. you called yours daddy, he called his ‘that narcissistic sadist’. but strangely enough, you felt like they meant the same thing. 

choi beomgyu was sort of soobin's friend, if you could even call it that. they never labeled each other as such, never sought out each other's company for the sake of friendship. they just wanted to live through their loneliness while sitting in the same room.

beomgyu’s dad was a dealer. he made a living out of ruining people's lives, as beomgyu saw it. growing up, he had promised himself that he would never be like that, the kind of person who doesn't care about poisoning someone's body if that meant keeping the cash flowing. but as he grew up, he learned that it wasn't all black or white. that all of those fools kept showing at his father’s doorstep, like they had no other choice. like they enjoyed hurting themselves. 

beomgyu, like soobin, had become hateful. one of the things that bothered him the most was the "why me?" question. how unlucky he could have been to be born of such a father. but then again, he could run away. he could sort his shit out, get a job, never see his father again. but he kept going back. like he had no choice. like he, too, enjoyed hurting himself.

his dad barely knew he existed, and if beomgyu ever tried to make himself heard, he would silence him in cold blood. so any semblance of love or validation beomgyu could aspire to, he sought out with mathematically strategised plans. he craved the drug of attention and knew exactly where to get it.

he'd linger around fancy schools and church events, scoping out a certain type of girl. there was always a few of them going through a rebellious phase, desperate to go out with a bad boy and piss off their high-official dad. 

it didn't take much effort for him to get what he wanted. he was handsome enough to make it easy, and even though he was a spiteful nihilist, he could be charming on command. just a smirk, a tousle of the hair, and some cheesy lines like, "i'm messed up, but with you, i feel like maybe i could be better," or "you're too beautiful for a screw-up like me." and he would have them wrapped around his finger. 

he would bring them over to his place and fuck them rough on his drug-money-bought mattress. if there was shouting, or a gunshot coming from another part of the house, he'd fuck into them harder, muffling their fear with a rough kiss, using their panic to fuel his own twisted thrill. you fucking scared? i've gone through this crap every day since i was a kid. 

if he could crack the shell of a privileged princess, dragging someone along with him down to his mud, his pain would slightly numb out.

for just a little, but never enough.

that pattern of behavior didn't lead to happiness. not even to satisfaction. it was a vindictive way of muffling his pain with the aching moans of someone who had it easier. but in reality, it only pierced what was left of his soul, making him even more hollow. it was soobin who made him realize that.

until that day, beomgyu saw soobin as almost a kid—pitifully weak and too sheltered. but when he told him about his exploits of going after posh girls, soobin didn't applaud in shared bitterness as he often did.

beomgyu explained to him how hard he got seeing the fear in their eyes as they realised that the life he led, that freedom of the rebel, wasn't as cute and bohemian as they had romanticised.

soobin responded curtly. "and then what? you cum, the spell wears off and you stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking of how miserable you are." he said. "and then you feel guilty for being a piece of shit and using that girl as a blow-up doll. and because of that you feel even worse about yourself, which means becoming more hateful and ruining more people. its not a you thing, you're not that special. that loop has been said and done. probably how your dad feels after beating on you."

beomgyu was taken aback. he didn’t even find it in himself to get offended. he remained pensive for a while before saying, "hyung. do you think i'm a bad person?"

soobin replied; "i think you can choose not to be."

and beomgyu took the advice. he put an end to the hunter-gathering of rich girls. he respected soobin from then on, too. soobin had therefore been a good influence, one could say. or at least an influence beomgyu was willing to accept. he started hanging around your house more, to the point of almost never leaving.

you learned about him as if he were a mythological figure—someone everyone talked about but whose existence you couldn't confirm. as a friend of soobin, beomgyu was bound from the start by an unspoken rule to maintain the least possible contact with you.

beomgyu was made aware of that rule very early on. what he didn't know, because he had been misled, was your age. that's why he didn't think much of it at first; he thought you were a kid. so, whatever—he couldn't talk to soobin’s annoying little stepsister. big deal. he didn't care about kids anyway.

this, combined with the prison-like structure of daily life in that house—minimal time in common areas and endless hours rotting in your own cell—fulfilled daddy's command to keep your life and soobin's, and therefore boemgyu’s, completely separate.

but even though you hadn't seen choi beomgyu in person, you had been able to construct a fairly accurate forensic portrait of him, pieced together from your father's warnings about people like him.

about the piercings, daddy believed that the body is holy, and anyone capable of mutilating within sin. about the music they played when locked up for whole afternoons in soobin’s room, he believed that god is serene, and disturbing that peace is a sign of the devil. he considered long hair on a man an abomination, and much like the eccentric clothes, a mark of a sodomite.

daddy didn't approve of him, and saw him as no more than a threat to the sanctity of his home. but beomgyu was quick to remedy the situation.

beomgyu was most acquainted to the ways of gods. he knew they were capricious, proud and pathologically narcissistic. so he made sure daddy could see he was a troubled young man and played the role of the lamb seeking guidance. he convinced daddy that he could abduct him, like he had done with soobin and his mother.

when soobin recounted the scene to you, his voice had sounded more hopeful, more full of admiration than you had ever heard. "he went to your dad and talked to him as if he was the buddha. said that he was lost and needed someone to guide him on the right path." soobin said. "he had some quotes from the prodigal son parabole learned, and he just delivered so naturally. not a trace of shame because when he lied to his face like that. it was like watching a play. your dad bought everything."

from then on, beomgyu became an unsung hero in your eyes. the boy who had outmanipulated daddy into having it his way. the boy who had defeated god.

around halloween that year, beomgyu and his dad had a terminal fight. it ended on a threat so destructive that beomgyu thought it was for the better if he stayed away from his father's place for a couple days. maybe a week. soobin, knower of the impotence and humiliation of having to sleep under the roof of the one who lacerated you and torn you to pieces, offered him shelter.

daddy's eyes lit up with greed. he saw the definitive chance to welcome a prodigal son into the fold. for beomgyu it was almost a joke. he was amused at how fast daddy allowed him in. so clueless and hasty, like one of the girls he used to charm into his bed.

in truth, beomgyu wasn't even to blame when he inevitably bumped into you. it had been daddy's mistake, he had let him in himself. you thought maybe that made daddy more human, somehow. that he forgot to close the back door to the prison and the devil strolled in.

but it wasn't really a matter of having let his guard down. daddy was still as stern, still as disciplinary, still as paranoid as he had always been. choi beomgyu was just much smarter than daddy.

he was a demigod, he was a promise. he was soon to make you his.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ please let me know if you think reading about booty sex is gross (i'm doing market research)

[skeletonsfortea]

Painkiller

by Three Days Grace

Bet you can't figure out which relationship this is gonna be about XP

[talesofexchanges]

🍹Summer Events announcements coming soon! 🥤

[nights-at-crystarium]

That Raha design analysis post but now I’m doing the same on purpose with Vivi. He’s shärp and pointed af \o/

[tessen-nhs]

(no playlist link here; all of these songs are from the official homestuck albums!)

the striders' backstory is very important both to the story and to me personally

[electrozeistyking]

yeah no i’m still not here, i just scheduled this to post after a good chunk of people watch episode seven. i haven’t seen it yet. i have no idea what happened and that means this doesn’t count as a spoiler.

but i am assuming something off the walls happened or that it ended on a cliffhanger again (or maybe both at the same time) and that’s why i drew this. yeah this was done four days ago. i’m smart cookie

i’m assuming it came out already. kinda just guessing at this point

[kor0kke]

Isolation.

I haven't draw that much, mb

[mrultra100]

August is now over, time to get ready for the skeleton war once again.

[chirpsythismorning]

When the interviewer asked when we should expect s5 to be coming out, that’s when Shawn mentioned that a little bit of an answer to that might be out there soon.

He actually mentions that this answer could be out by the time the video for this interview comes out, and since this interview was filmed mid-May and it’s now mid-June, I’m assuming we could be getting something soon or within the next couple months, potentially about a release date aka possibly a small teaser with 2025 stamped at the end…

[ruinationz]

tired: caine x pomni, in the sense that caine is trying to keep her there forever with his own malicious intentions (and pomni has given up entirely, probably on the verge of abstracting if caine will even LET her), or pomni is using the relation in order to escape . very bad. very ooc. what is wrong with you

wired: caine x pomni: in the sense that they both understand that they cannot be together forever and that's ok. they still love eachother so so SO much nothing can change that and are ACTIVELY working to help pomni escape in a way that she can bring caine with her.

sometimes they find themselves thinking "i want to be with you forever", then pausing and going "...when exactly is 'forever', really?". sometimes one panics over the idea of being abandoned and going back to square one all over again, or one of them abstracting, or some horrible event that will separate the two. but they understand that the shitty situation exists and is stopping them from anything further, and they're trying to fix it as best as they can. and even if they do part one day (in the case that caine is unable to, somehow, come to the physical world), who cares? they'll have one another in their hearts, holding their memory close for as long as they live

then again it's 8 in the morning, im half-asleep, and have no idea what im doing

[writingbyshiloh]

Smoke Sesh

AN: This was part of the 3k Jordan Li wip but it didn't fit the flow of the fic, which is sad bc I really liked it.

CW: drinking, drugs, smoking weed

WC: 300 (lol)

“Bad?” Jordan asks referring to your frown at the blunt. You forgot they were next to you, the mix of drugs and alcohol making all the voices quiet down and blur together into background noise.

“I don’t mind the music, definitely more of a party vibe.” you reply, mistaking them, thinking they’re asking about the shift in music. A faint uptempo beat and lyrics about how the singer won’t shake it if a man is not paying her bills.

“No, the weed.” Jordan says. You’re glad that they’re thinking clearly.

“Oh yeah, the rolling paper is shit. Want to try?” you ask. The flavour from the paper is mostly for mouth taste, but Jordan doesn’t need to know that.

“Sure.” They shrug.

The logical way would be to simply hand over the joint. But no matter how faded you are, you’re still on a mission. Taking a long deep inhale, you jut your chin to Jordan telling them to lean in. They eagerly comply, pupils blown wide, probably from lust and whatever they used tonight.

You brush your lips gently against theirs, blowing a thin trail of smoke into their mouth. You feel them inhale while their hand comes up to brush your cheek. It's the cheers and screams from your mutual friends that make you snort with laughter, pushing more smoke than intended into Jordan's mouth.

They jerk back, coughing and sputtering. You try to quell your laughter, but can’t stop. You do rub their back, trying to soothe them while the weed convinces you this is the funniest thing you have ever seen.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” you giggle, watching then hunch over and try to breathe normally. “Do you want some water?”

Jordan nods in reply, still too focused on coughing to verbally reply.

[purplink8]

Can I be real for a second? I don't think L giving a foot massage to Light was very in-character of him. Like manga!L would've totally scoffed at how pathetic anime!L appeared when he did that.

I like the rain scene bc it's really pretty (also Light MOANS bc of L? *sighs* yeah i ship lawlight) but I'm always so ?? at anime!L's behavior? The anime made L way too melancholic and y'know self-deprecating kinda guy. In contrast, manga!L (whom I love to death) is so so confident in doing what he's doing and has the time of his life during the Kira case as he's intellectually challenged (by Light) as he figures out the case little by little.

I don't get where the anime creators got the idea that L is a very sad character who cares about justice so much so that he's actually Justice itself? Manga!L enjoys solving cases. I'm not saying that L doesn't care about justice at all- just that he cares more about winning.

So, the anime creators looked at a character who cares about winning (& his own ego) than everything else and decided to... make him give a foot massage to his nemesis (surprise surprise bible symbolism featuring L as Jesus *🤮* coming up) apparently due to accepting Light's (boy's first debut as Judas) 'betrayal' how can there be betrayal when there was no trust between them in the first place and saying "It is the least I can do to atone for my sins"...

The only way I could've made a little sense of this is if L was mocking Kira with that line but the anime just had to go above & beyond to make it (L's actions) seem too genuine for that to be true. which is. so. FRUSTRATING

Manga!L wouldn't have done anything like that. Not even ironically (he'd have thought it to be below him for pretending to be accepting his defeat mockingly to Kira). Even Manga!L's not enough of a bastard to try to compare himself with Jesus (and just after knowing (god knows how) that he's going to die)- like that's too stupid omg: even for a mockery.

Does he actually think that Light would pick up on the (him as Jesus) symbolism and be like 'oh no! L is too noble like Jesus to die by my betrayal i'm such a bad judas how come i NEVER NOTICED THIS BEFORE'... and decide to spare L's life? Or embrace his inner Judas like the bad bitch he is and finish L for that godawful mockery of Jesus?

Whenever I think about Anime!Light's in-character reaction I crack up as it would be smth like 'wow this guy who graduated summa cum laude from torture university is pretending to be Jesus? lol what a real piece of work. would've expected better from you L: so pathetic lmao i hope rem kills you soon i'm so done with you rn- rip 💀'

Manga!L (if he knew he were going to die (don't know how that's possible in the anime; still we're talking about how the anime creators seem to see L as Jesus so ~anything is possible~) that is) would never go 'guess i'll die' accept his defeat offering a foot massage to his enemy and inwardly throw a pity party being all "… It'll be lonely, won't it?" GIRL you were the one going on & about how you'd EXECUTE Kira once you catch him on live tv (also saying that you'd bring Kira's head to the task force) I REALLY doubt you'd feel lonely if either one of you were to die- that (killing each other) was the point!!

Manga!L is a selfish character: he values his victory above all else so the anime making him accept defeat that easily + gracefully doesn't sit well with me.

[comradekatara]

Do you have any pre genocide air nomad thoughts? I've been rlly fixated on them and was wondering if you had anything to fuel it

yeah I actually think that the kyoshi & esp yangchen novels do a pretty good job of expanding on the air nomads’ role in the world, how they were treated, how they were viewed, how they treated one another, what functions they performed, various details about their culture and beliefs, etc etc. so if you haven’t read those I would recommend doing so! (they’re very quick reads btw, I finished each within a day easily.) something that really stood out to me in the novels is the way that air nomads are sort of the envy of the other nations because they have the privilege of keeping their hands clean, and never have to worry about making decisions that might weigh on their conscience. which is super fascinating wrt to air nomads like yangchen, kelsang, jinpa, and aang, who do have to get their hands dirty in world affairs for whatever reason (avatarhood or proximity to the avatar is fundamentally a burden and an injustice as much as it is a privilege!) and the way they are either figuratively or literally excommunicated from their temples for causing harm in any way, even if such violence is necessary for the greater good. yangchen also points out that the sort of enlightened tranquility and peace that the air nomads are revered for cultivating also comes at the cost of labor (especially to maintain the temples), rigorous study, no guaranteed stability, and very few material comforts — which, perhaps condescendingly, she assumes that non-air nomads couldn’t actually handle. the novels provide a really interesting tension, expanding on a lot of problems aang faces but in subtler ways. they also further elucidate why the air nomads were considered unfit to exist in sozin’s ideal fascist imperialist society, as their way of life is fundamentally antithetical to his ideology. not because it’s a perfect utopia beyond reproach, but because their values exist in direct opposition to any sort of hierarchizing force that seeks dominance through power and violence.

[vampiricsheep]

Malchor's Leap

[greeksorceress]

Lucerys, who has no interest in Ser Criston’s lessons, has put aside his sword and is crouching down in the dust.

The sun is blazing hot, and the air around the training grounds feels stuffy even if they’re in the open. Sweat coats Aemond’s temple and nape, the heat has been biting his pale skin without mercy since they stepped outside for their daily sword lessons. But where Aemond seems to be slowly decaying, Lucerys pays no mind to the scorching sun rays. 

Lucerys is not sweating like the rest of them. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s not training as hard as his brother and uncles. Well, uncle. What Aegon is doing can hardly be called training.

Aemond both despises and envies that about him, the careless manner in which Lucerys carries himself. If he doesn’t want to train anymore, easily bored of the monotonous routine that Sir Criston forces upon them, then he discards his sword and distracts himself with what he deems worth enough of his attention at the moment. 

Entitled, his mother likes to mumble when Rhaenyra and her brood aren’t listening. Undeserving, grandfather Otto whispers in their ears. Versatile, Aemond likes to contend, the rare moments he’s permitted to think for himself. 

“Prince Lucerys,” Ser Criston growls without looking at the boy, overseeing Aegon’s pitiful and uninterested strikes at Rhaenyra’s oldest. “This is my last warning. Your mother might’ve taught you that it’s okay for you to spend your days frolicking and wasting your time, but the King himself ordered me to teach you how to handle the sword and you’re not above his word.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” snaps Jacaerys, halting his attacks on Aegon, briefly correcting himself when Ser Criston glares at him, “sir.”

However, his younger nephew doesn’t pay Ser Criston any mind, he continues playing with the dirt and merely hums back at him. “My mother, the future Queen, says it’s okay for me to frolic, Ser Criston.”

Aemond clicks his tongue, bitting off his own amusement. It’s admirable how Lucerys, barely seven name days and discredited by the entire court since birth, isn’t afraid to talk back to Ser Criston. Aemond is no fool, he’s seen the amount of respect Lucerys has for any of the adults in their family, this is something personal between their mentor and him.

It’s just fair. If Ser Criston doesn’t like Lucerys, Lucerys should be allowed to dislike him back. 

Aemond is curious, though, about what can be so mesmerising that Lucerys risks setting off Ser Criston’s terrible temper upon him. 

He knows that if he moves from his post, a step away from the makeshift fight ring they’ve dug in the soil, if he’s anything but ready and waiting for a command, Ser Criston will notice it. The knight has been harsher on Aemond lately, scolding him when he goes soft on Lucerys and kicking him with the pommel of his word when he attempts to take some of his own training time to help his youngest nephew. 

It’s infuriating, Aemond is risking being in the knight’s not so good graces while Lucerys hasn’t even looked at Aemond once, not even when he knocked down his own brother, a head taller and almost twice his weight.

He just wants to see what’s so interesting that Lucerys doesn’t even acknowledge with sparkling eyes that Aemond has won seven out of the eight duels that have taken place so far. 

It’s not fair, because Lucerys applauded his brother when he had hit Aemond’s sword off his hand the previous morrow. 

He tries to go back to Jacaerys and Aegon’s bout, memorise their mistakes so he can overpower them when his turn comes, but he keeps stealing looks at Lucerys and his nimble fingers scratching the grime. 

He just wants to see, even if it’s something stupid like a piece of a spear or the kind of bugs Helaena favours. Aemond caves in and strains his neck, losing the little interest he had in his oldest nephew and brother in the first place. 

Lucerys isn’t playing with an insect, nor has found a treasure worth of a tale. His nephew is drawing on the dust, scratching the ground and kicking out of his path the little pebbles that attempt to ruin his creation. 

The drawing itself is not good.

Lucerys does’t lack artistic skills and is the most talented with ink and parchment in their family, and while most of the times he seems to capture things as they are to the point of uncommon perfection, the depiction he’s plastering in the soil just feels wrong.

It’s a girl, Aemond can tell this much. She has long, wavy hair and big eyes that shine bright thanks to the little stones Lucerys has used for her irises.

For a second, Aemond thinks it must be Rhaenyra, but then he sees her teeth.

There’s a lot of them, at least two upper rows, long and pointy, protruding from her mouth like a dragon’s. Her maw is wide open, waiting for her next meal.

It’s terrifying. 

“Who is that, Lucerys?” 

Lucerys shrugs his shoulders,  “I don’t know. Saw her in a dream.”

Aemond hums, familiar with Lucerys’ nightmares. Their mentors are already at their wits ends, unable to direct Lucerys to the right path now that the boy seems so lost in his head. Slow, had said Aemond’s mother during their private supper a couple nights ago. 

Useless, had agreed his grandfather. Similar to the good Princess Helaena, Aemond overhead Maester Gerardys telling Rhaenyra that same day.

Aemond wonders if Lucerys and Helaena are connected by their dreams when Lucerys finally, finally, turns and smiles up at him, bunny teeth peeking. As Aemond valiantly tries and fails to not count all the freckles that adorn his nephews’s nose and cheeks one by one, he decides that perhaps there’s more than meets the eye when it comes to the most inoffensive members of the family. 

There’s a speck of dust in the tip of Lucerys’ nose and he wants to bend down and—

The air is swiftly knocked out of him. He coughs and glares at Aegon, who clearly can’t believe his own luck. He hasn’t been able to catch Aemond off guard for years now, so this victory must be sweet on his tongue.

“Got you, twat!”

Aemond scowls and rips the wooden sword that his brother used to hit his chest from his hands.

“Aegon, that’s enough.” Sir Criston scolds before turning his disapproval to Aemond, “now, if you’re amenable, my Prince, it’s your turn.”

He nods and steps into the ring, taking a last look towards Lucerys.

Lucerys is back to his drawing, discarding Aemond’s presence once more.

Aemond wants to kick the ground until the monstrous girl is nothing but a thin layer of dust in the air.

[stardestroyer81]

You ever just have a silly idea and then take it to its final form?