#crafty is alice

[cokesnipprz]

I'm cooking

And I'm finishing it tomorrow:>

[artsy-punk-gremlin]

cool shiny necklaces!

I made these! The best part is I can swap out the bottles whenever I feel like it! I’m gonna fill them with different stuff depending on the bottle. Maybe a shot of espresso, some moss. Who knows! Thought the Tumblr gremlins would enjoy :D

[craftyjuju]

Managed to make a few Alice In Wonderland forever paper flowers today ♡ ♡ ♡

#craftyjuju #Craftyjujudesigns #craftyjujusweddingtreats #AliceInWonderland #aliceinwonderlandflowers #weddingflowers #foreverflowers #paperflowers #smallbusiness

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 9k (she chonky!).

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.

Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.

“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.

“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.

“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.

“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”

“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”

“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.

“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”

Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”

As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.

“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”

“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”

Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”

“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”

Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”

“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.

“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”

Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”

Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.

“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.

“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.

“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”

Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.

“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”

The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.

“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.

She is puzzled. “Where then?”

“Take me to the dungeons.”

“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”

“So you know the way.”

“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.

Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?

“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.

Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.

Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”

“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”

Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.

His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”

That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”

“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”

It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.

“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”

“She can’t get to the rookery.”

Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”

You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.

Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”

You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”

“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”

You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”

“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”

“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.

Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”

“I will.”

“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”

To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?

“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.

He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.

Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.

Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?

You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.

When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.

You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”

“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”

“Not in your lap, hopefully.”

He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”

“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. ��Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.

“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.

“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.

Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”

Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”

“It’s not about that for me.”

“You are betrothed to another man.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“The Usurper is married.”

“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”

“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”

“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”

Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.

“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”

“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.

You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.

“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”

“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”

Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”

“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”

“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”

No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”

Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”

“Yes,” you admit helplessly.

“You’ve never wanted any man.”

“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”

Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”

“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”

“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.

Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.

“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”

He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.

“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”

Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.

Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?

At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”

“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.

What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?

“Father, what—?”

“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.

“Who?”

“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”

“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”

“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”

They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”

“They did the same when Luke was killed.”

Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”

They tore Maelor apart??

Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.

“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.

“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.

“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”

But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.

“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”

“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.

“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”

“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”

You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.

“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”

Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”

Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.

“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.

“Who...?”

“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”

“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”

“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”

“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.

“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.

“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”

“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”

“Alone?!” Everett says.

“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”

“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”

“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”

“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”

“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.

“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”

“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”

“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.

“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”

She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.

The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.

You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.

In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.

“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”

You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.

“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.

“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”

When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.

“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”

She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”

Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.

Aegon is in one of those rooms.

Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.

Sunfyre!!

You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.

“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”

At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.

There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.

“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”

And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.

“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.”

Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.

“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”

But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.

His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”

“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.

“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.

“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”

“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”

He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”

“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.

“This is about you.”

“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.

“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”

“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.

“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”

“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”

“Not yet…”

You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.

He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”

“I want it. I can take it.”

He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.

“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”

“Help how…?”

“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.

You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.

Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”

“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.

“Harder or softer?”

“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.

Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.

“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.

“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”

He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”

“I love you,” you say without planning to.

Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.

[watchnrant]

Agatha All Along Episode 6: Easter Eggs & References

Tower Reversed

Lilia’s Tarot Readings Are Weaving a Magical Web

Alright, folks, if you’ve been keeping track, Lilia’s tarot card game in Agatha All Along is officially on another level. In Episode 6, while doing a reading at William’s bar mitzvah, she drops “The Tower Reversed.” Now, if you’ve been paying attention to the tarot cards scattered throughout the series—and the promo cards (yes, they did that)—you know there’s more to it than a casual reading.

“The Tower” card? That blue crown we saw Teen rocking at the end of Episode 5? Yep, same one. And we’ve already seen the High Priestess tying back to Jennifer Kale in Episode 2 and the Knight of Wands matching up with Alice Wu-Gulliver in Episode 5.

So, what’s up with the Tower reversed? Well, it’s all about dodging disaster or going through a huge personal transformation—totally fitting for where things are heading in this magical chaos. Trust me, if Lilia’s pulling cards, it’s a sign things are about to go down (or maybe up?).

Early Argento Vibes

A Nod to the Master of Horror

So, in Episode 6 of Agatha All Along, we catch William complimenting Lilia’s palm reading tent, calling it “very early Argento.” Horror buffs, you know the deal—this is a clear shoutout to Dario Argento, the horror maestro behind classics like Deep Red, Tenebrae, and Phenomena. Argento’s influence is all about eerie atmospheres and vibrant, unsettling visuals, and it looks like Agatha All Along is taking a page straight out of his spooky playbook.

Split Souls

Lilia’s Crystal Ball Teases William’s Dual Identity with a Sneaky Tarot Twist

When Lilia tells William his lifeline is broken in two, take a good look at her crystal ball. You’ll catch a glimpse of William as Billy, rocking his now iconic hoodie and sweater. That’s a nod to his future goth teen look as Billy Maximoff! What’s even cooler? The reflection is upside down, with the Tower and Wheel of Fortune cards inverted behind him. Those tarot reversals are no accident—they’re setting up some major life-altering moments for William. Lilia’s reading hints that his lifeline is split, describing it as “a new you,” but we know it’s a sign of something much bigger—William’s fate as someone who’s destined to hold two souls in one body, creating his dual identity.

Teen’s Sigil

Lilia’s Crafty Magic at Work

Alright, Agatha All Along fans, Episode 6 just dropped a major witchy bomb—Lilia is the one who cast Teen’s sigil, hiding William’s true identity from every witch out there, including herself. This little spellwork went down right before Billy Maximoff’s spirit took over William’s empty body. So, if you’re wondering why Wanda couldn’t track down her kid in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, this is your answer: the sigil was already in place long before Billy inhabited that body. Lilia’s magic game is seriously next-level, and it’s all part of the tangled web we’re unraveling.

Radio Echoes

A Throwback to WandaVision’s First Episode

As the Hex is shrinking and William is traveling home from his bar mitzvah with his parents at the beginning of Agatha All Along episode 6, they can hear both Vision and Wanda's voices on the radio. Likewise, the dialogue is specifically from the very first episode of WandaVision and its I Love Lucy/Dick Van Dyke Show homage. This aligns with the broadcasts that were picked up by SWORD agents outside the Hex, as was discovered by Darcy Lewis and Agent Jimmy Woo.

Alice Wu-Gulliver’s Fate Flip

From Eastview Cop to Agatha’s Victim

In Agatha All Along, we get some juicy flashbacks that show William Kaplan was already connected to every witch in Agatha’s new coven long before the magic hit the fan. During his bar mitzvah, he got a hand reading from Lilia Calderu, and he was apparently a loyal subscriber to Jennifer Kale’s YouTube channel—where magic meets skincare (because who doesn’t love a good mystical exfoliant?). But here’s the twist: Alice Wu-Gulliver, who later becomes one of Agatha’s coven members, was actually the cop on the scene when William’s accident happened, working for the Eastview PD.

And just when you think you’ve seen it all, the show flips the script. In Episode 5, Alice tries to cast out Evanora Harkness’s ghost from Agatha’s body, sacrificing herself in the process. Agatha, being the power-hungry witch she is, siphons all of Alice’s magic and life force, leaving her for dead. It’s a full-circle moment: Alice witnesses William’s last breath, and years later, Billy Maximoff, reborn in William’s body, ends up watching Alice’s tragic end. It’s a fate-twisting, time-bending move that shows the witchy web Agatha’s been spinning all along.

Whispers of Billy and Tommy

William Encounters Familiar Voices

Right after William's heart stops beating after the car crash, Billy and Tommy Maximoff's voices can be heard telling each other goodnight right before they disappear as Wanda brought down the Hex in WandaVision. However, Billy was able to find William's body as the closest empty vessel to inhabit, resulting in the split life that was foretold by Lilia at the bar mitzvah. However, there's hasn't been any indication as to what might have happened to Tommy's soul, revealed to be Billy's reason for walking down the Witches' Road.

Billy’s New Identity Unlocked

A Classic Wiccan Origin Twist in the MCU

Alright, MCU fans, they did it. When Billy wakes up in the hospital in Agatha All Along, he looks down and spots a medical bracelet with the last name “Kaplan.” That’s right—the show is borrowing straight from the comics, confirming that Billy Maximoff’s spirit has found its new home in the body of Billy Kaplan, just like in the original Marvel lore. And those familiar faces? William’s Jewish parents, Jeff and Rebecca Kaplan, are a perfect match for their comic book counterparts.

William’s Wall of Wonders

Hidden Gems of Magic and Adventure

As Billy explores William’s room, it’s like a trip down the ultimate retro rabbit hole. The walls are covered with posters from magic-infused and adventure-packed classics like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, The Black Cauldron, and Bedknobs and Broomsticks. There’s even a poster for The Goonies—only, it’s oddly titled The Goofballs. Clearly, William had a thing for the magical and mysterious. And judging by his magic-themed bar mitzvah, he was all in on the fantasy vibes. Fast forward three years, and Billy’s transformed the room to reflect his Hex obsession and deep dive into witchcraft lore.

The Westview Conspiracy

Billy Unveils What Really Happened with the Hex

When Billy shows his boyfriend Eddie his deep dive into the Hex, Eddie drops some serious intel: the Westview incident was officially explained away as an “Avengers training exercise gone wrong.” But Billy’s no rookie—he’s figured out the real story. Thanks to his research and a sharp eye for runes hidden within the Hex, Billy’s convinced that magic—not a superhero blunder—is behind the entire event. Talk about peeling back the layers of a cover-up!

Guess Who’s Back? It’s Ralph!

Westview’s Ultimate Insider Spills the Tea

In a shady parking garage meetup, Billy’s mystery Reddit contact is revealed, and—surprise—it’s Evan Peters’ Ralph Bohner. You remember him—the guy from WandaVision who got duped into being fake Pietro and Agatha’s puppet husband. Now, he’s left Westview behind, still haunted by the mind games he endured during the Hex. And with this new alliance, it’s clear he’s ready to spill some secrets.

What Really Happened to Sparky?

The Chilling Backstory You Didn’t See Coming

Brace yourselves—Ralph Bohner drops a bombshell about Sparky, the beloved dog from WandaVision. Remember when Agatha claimed she killed Sparky? Turns out, she forced Ralph to do the dirty work, making him poison the poor pup. It’s a gut-punch revelation that takes Agatha’s villainy to the next level. As if hexing an entire town wasn’t enough, she also made Ralph, under her control, hurt the most innocent of creatures.

The Soundtrack of the Witches’ Road

Lorna Wu’s Magic Tune Takes Center Stage

In Agatha All Along Episode 6, as Billy digs into the mysteries surrounding the Hex and Agatha Harkness, Lorna Wu’s rendition of the “Witches’ Road Ballad” plays in the background. We first heard it performed in reverse during Episode 4 when Lorna’s daughter Alice and the rest of the coven sang it. But now, for the first time, we’re hearing the actual rock ballad as it was meant to be played. It’s eerie, it’s epic, and it’s the perfect witchy vibe for the MCU’s spookiest storyline yet.

Billy’s Deep Dive Begins

333 Clues & a Hex of a Search

When Billy kicks off his search into Agatha Harkness, he types “Agatha Harkness Ancient Witch” into Looky and, surprise surprise, he gets exactly 333 partial results. And, if you’ve been paying attention, that 3:33 clock time from Episode 1’s interrogation scene suddenly clicks into place—definitely no coincidence there!

Among the search results, Billy stumbles upon The Macabre Wiki, an encyclopedia “created by two blood witches from Salem” that covers all things that go bump in the night. There’s also a Witchy Resource page that casually drops some intel about ancient witches and warlocks being “not well documented traditionally” (big shocker, right?) and hints that these mystical types have good reasons for keeping their secrets.

But here’s the real kicker—Billy finds an entry on how witches can choose their age and appearance, stopping their aging at will to stay looking thirty-something for centuries. Talk about defying time!

Finally, he hits up Dreadit and finds threads speculating on the Salem Witch Trials (SWT for short). One user points out that there are actual reports of witches surviving drowning and burning. Looks like Agatha’s ancient game of hide and seek is about to unravel, and Billy’s just getting started.

Agatha’s Dark Digital Footprint

From Salem to Jolene—The Witch Is Everywhere

As Billy dives deep into Agatha Harkness’s past, he uncovers some serious historical tea. He stumbles upon threads in the DreadIt forum—an underground community where users like “witchygirlblack” and “4thlevelwarlock” speculate about witches surviving the Salem Witch Trials. One post even mentions Evanora Harkness’s coven and hints that some of the young children escaped. When user “SamSamwitch” drops an image of Agatha Harkness, Billy follows the trail using Looky image search. What he finds is wild.

The search leads him to the Bellecross Daily Tribune, revealing that Agatha was listed as a missing resident after the Hindenburg disaster. But that’s not all—Billy finds a 1972 surveillance photo on a site claiming to show Dolly Parton with the “real Jolene.” Yep, someone’s suggesting Agatha was the homewrecker behind that iconic song, stirring up trouble with Dolly’s husband.

Digging deeper, Billy lands on Brujapedia, the self-proclaimed “Encyclopedia of Witches.” The site lays it all out—Agatha’s been spotted throughout history, from The Titanic to Nashville, Tennessee, in 1973. And the kicker? She’s got some seriously dark credentials: murdering her coven, possessing succubus powers, and being the only known survivor of the Witches’ Road.

As Billy reads on, Lorna’s Ballad starts playing, and he realizes he’s just scratched the surface of Agatha’s long, twisted legacy. This witch’s been weaving her chaos for centuries, and it’s all right there for anyone willing to follow the digital breadcrumbs.

Agatha’s Fashion Swipe

Ralph’s Family Reunion Just Got Weird

In Agatha All Along Episode 1, when we revisit the interrogation scene through Billy’s eyes, we finally get the full picture of Agatha’s antics. Turns out, while she was under the spell thinking she was a detective, she was rocking a “Bohner Family Reunion” shirt the entire time. Looks like Agatha’s not above a little wardrobe theft—especially when it involves messing with Ralph’s life even more.

[onyxonline]

Since u decided on Damian as a alias for Dogday what would you call everyone else if given the chance?

Hmmm

Dogday- Damien

Hoppy- Charlie

Picky- Lorainne

Crafty- Alice

Bubba- Seymour

Kickin- Kirk

Bobby- Bella

Catnap (if he was alive LMAO L LOSER)- Theo

[vitaminseetarot]

🎃Pick-a-Card: Halloween Costume Ideas 🎃

Hey y'all, I'm back around for a Halloween reading cause it's time to get a little hyped for it. I know sometimes we can feel like the season doesn't have the magic we're looking for, but a video I watched on Youtube recently reminded me that it's often we who must go out and create that magic for ourselves and others. So regardless of who arrives at my door for candy, I will dress up and decorate the living space with gourds, skeletons, and stuffed bats and scorpions.

It's not always easy to have a costume picked out, or to narrow many ideas down to one, but no fear for I have looked into the cards to see a list of costumes that could pique your interest. Each pile can contain many costume choices, but there may be an underlying theme to each one, so see if any of the costumes ring a bell to you. If not, feel free to choose another pile. The costume you like is the one that's right for you (as long as it's appropriate, of course).

Pile 1 - #20 🎨🕯 Pile 2 - #31 🌸🌈 Pile 3 - #21 🔍🌿 Pile 4 - #41 🌳🦇 Pile 5 - #04 💀🌟

Pile 1 - #20 🎨🕯

{Student, Acolyte, Sun in Pisces - Vision, Word Art, Cancer Rising - Care; 8 of Coins, 9 of Cups, VIII Strength, King of Swords, 8 of Wands, King of Wands}

Pile 1, I sense you're the group most drawn (heh) to creating your own costume. This could be something you make entirely from scratch if you have experience in working with fabrics. You could be studying in an art program or be developing some kind of skill in designing and crafting. Because of this, you may have an inclination towards student or academia related costumes. Some of you may be into My Hero Academia, it could relate to super powers or the supernatural in some way. You could also go the other direction and dress as a teacher or professor, especially one with an outfit that stands out (Miss Frizzle, anyone?) Her dress is very colorful and I see this as a pile with the taste for a wide color palette. You also have a wide imaginative scope of the possibilities, not only for what costume to narrow down to but in all the different styles and techniques you could bring to make it truly your own. I'm getting that this is what you have a talent in and perhaps picked this pile to see what kinds of styles and additions you could add to something you may already be working on, like adding charms to your witch hat. You have confidence in your abilities as an artist due to the passion and love you put into nurturing your art to life.

If you don't feel that way now, then try to experiment and see your crafts as a lion cub that needs to be watched over. The Strength and King of Wands cards inspired me to phrase it that way. There's also a lynx depicted in the Vision card. Perhaps you could be into making a cat related costume, like Black Panther, Ichigo Momomiya, Chat Noir, Catwoman, or even anthropomorphic cats like Tai Lung, Pink Panther, and Meowth. Or it could be a totally original costume you create that incorporates feline elements like a lioness warrior suit, or as Alice but with the Cheshire Cat wrapped around like a scarf. Otherwise, I'm getting a lot of ideas related to magic or supernatural school/apprentice themed shows like the Owl House, Umbrella Academy, or Ever After High. A show that you're really into now that's based on an older series or franchise like Riverdale High could also bring up ideas for you.

If you're really passionate about art in particular, you could go as a popular artist like Bob Ross. Word Art refers to expression in general but you could choose to incorporate a funny message or sign into your costume. That could be due to the overall retro feeling I'm getting with this pile. If you're crafty but still feeling casual, one idea could be to wear a retro t-shirt that just says "VHS" but add it with some matching accessories like cassette tape earrings and leg warmers. There is a large desire to get innovative and creative with this pile, even if working on a budget, even if using supplies on hand. "Try, make mistakes! Try again. Perfection does not exist." It matters less that the costume is a perfect recreation of a fictional character and more important that it fits you comfortably and reflects your authentic self. Flaunt what you got! Let the costume creation be as fun as the celebration.

Pile 2 - #31 🌸🌈

(Child: Eternal, The Assassin, Hiding in Clothing Racks, Mercury in Libra - Influence, Sagittarius Rising - Adventure; II High Priestess, XVIII The Moon, Knight of Swords, IV Emperor, Knight of Cups, X of Swords)

Hey pile 2, I'm getting a wide variety of options for you. Maybe there's a few costume choices you've been cycling through. What comes out to me is the overall dark brooding energy of your costume. With the Assassin card, I'm thinking something involving dark robes and hoods would complement a mask or a fake sword. With the Moon next to High Priestess, you may be more inclined towards a haunting feminine dress, like a wailing ghost bride or siren. The porcelain doll look, like Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas, is also another idea. Either haunting pale or shadowy black clothing may predominate the costume, though a touch of secondary color like light blue, silver, purple, or red will help it pop out more. Sadako from The Ring and Lydia from Beetlejuice also come to mind. Wednesday Addams… oh yeah, this pile is the goth pile for sure; even those of you who don't choose any costume may still find something dark and elegant to put on, like black lace up boots and eyeshadow.

There may be something you saw on social media or advertised in a store that made you inspired. A popular influencer, or just someone you follow closely online, may have put together a costume or decoration that gave you some ideas. For one example, watching crafting tutorials on how to make glittering potion bottles may spark an idea to go as an alchemist or a swamp witch. If you're looking for a way to jazz up on an old costume you've worn before, or you want to do a unique rendition of a more traditional costume choice, then it's worth peeking through Halloween tags to start brainstorming with. Want a different kind of vampire? Watch vampire media and videos discussing vampire media, but also see how combining or fusing it with another option works as well. You could go as a vampire pirate, (vampirate??) or a scaly alien vampire, or a vampire hunter like Hugh Jackman's Van Helsing.

Maybe there is a character you really want to go as but aren't sure as to how others would receive it. The costume you're thinking of could scare them, or be of an unpopular or not well known character. Some of you may want to go as a cartoon character but don't want to be seen as cartoony and silly? "What makes us happy if not how much we have, but how much we allow ourselves to enjoy." Halloween is a time to be not-yourself for a night to have childlike fun. There doesn't need to be one style each person sticks with: if you're a gothic person who wants a bright dress, or a festive person who'd rather look macabre, then what matters more is how you like your suit. Every good party leaves room for the perky goths.

Pile 3 - #21 🔍🌿

{Rebel, The Champion, Venus in Leo - Affair, Scratch-and-Sniff Stickers, Pisces Moon - Flow; 8 of Swords, 7 of Cups, Knight of Coins, XVIII The Moon, 2 of Wands, Queen of Swords}

Pile 3, you seem to be more drawn to action oriented costumes. This is the superhero pile, with the Rebel and the Champion here. Perhaps not just any superhero, but someone who doesn't like to play by the rules? I'm thinking classic comic book heroes like Spider Man, Iron Man, and Deadpool off the bat, but Nemona also comes to mind. A snarky and fun loving character who lives by their own value code. With Affair and Two of Wands, I'm reminded of Harley Quinn somehow. You may decide to dress up as one character and go with someone who matches or complements you in some way. So if you went as Harley they might go as the Joker or as Ivy, Deadpool with Wolverine, etc. I'm also reminded of swordfighting anime heroes like Kirito and Utena. I'm seeing a detective hero costume, too, with the scratch-n-sniff card? Perhaps as Sherlock, or someone from Dead Boy Detectives? Look up real investigative journalists like Nellie Bly, she might give you some ideas (like her long checkered trenchcoat).

You might go for another champion themed costume, like a knight or a boxing champion. A costume that almost makes you feel stronger for wearing it, something that makes you feel confident and look dazzling. If athletics isn't your thing, then I'm seeing the pendulum swing the other way into beauty. You may want to use Halloween as a way to put together and model a gorgeous outfit you thought of yourself. I'm seeing masquerade, so it could be a ball gown or a colorful dress that would look great in a photoshoot. Some of you may go as Chappell Roan. Even in heels and a feathery red dress, you may still feel heroic wearing it. I'm seeing Glenda the Good Witch with a sparkly dress, so you may be drawn to large dresses that have glitter or sequins in them. Your costume has a 3D effects with something like dragon wings or vines pop out as a big feature, or pleases other senses through accompanying music or perfumes.

You could be drawn to the more rebellious aspect of this pile. You could go as an activist or role model you look up to. Being a pirate might sound appealing, or a casual hippie tie-dye look. Halloween could be a chance to experiment with punk and grunge fashion. Rebellious may also refer to wanting to dress in something that's never been done before, a fully unique costume. "Everyone is on a journey unique to them. The world needs your uniqueness." Don't worry too much over whether your costume stands out or not. Once you have your costume idea narrowed down, start with one thing at a time. If you want to make interesting additions to your costume, like using lights or pulling strings, make sure to give yourself the time and space you need to bring it all together. You may find that blending different opposing elements together, or combining masculine and feminine traits to your clothes, can create something vibrant and original, like a dress/suit combo. Don't hold back your own ideas!

Pile 4 - #41 🌳🦇

{Queen, The Priest, Mars in Aries - Impulsiveness, Gazelle, Aquarius Rising - Appreciate; King of Wands, X Wheel of Fortune, 7 of Swords, I Magician, Queen of Cups, 9 of Wands}

Pile 4, this pile is most drawn to fantasy as a genre than the other four. I'm feeling the magic and myth here, fashion styles both historical and anachronistic. A mixture of baroque and steampunk? Or a 70's Rapunzel with a disco ball in her tower? Why not? Some of you could be into the more obscure animated Disney titles like Atlantis and Treasure Planet. I'm getting the movie Stardust as well. The early 00's films featured a blend of old and modern, like flying pirate ships and wizardly magic used alongside modern machines. This pile leans towards Miyazaki films, so you may be interested in going as Kiki or as Howl. With Queen of Cups and Queen, I see some might go as a royal mermaid, could be Ariel, but an extra regal version as I see decorative seashell crowns and jewelry. There could be religious or occult elements sprinkled in, like a ceremonial witch robe or a ghost nun. I'm thinking of movies like the Exorcist and the Wicker Man.

History may be big with this group, seeing as both legends and history require both consistency and great storytelling. If you decide to go as a royal figure like a queen, you may like to add different twists on the look. Like a zombified queen Victoria or a statuefied greek philosopher. With the horse in Impulsiveness and the gazelle, you might have a hobby horse, horse mask, or a centaur costume. If not horse, then a similar animal. I feel though that it's a costume that would tell a story, so a particular centaur from mythology like Chiron or a historical figure who rode on horseback like Napoleon. Your costume may feature an accessory that serves as a "companion", like a skeleton creature or eels to go with your mermaid outfit. A few of you may have been thinking about Daenerys from GoT? I've never watched it, but I imagine the dress would go well with tiny dragon figures perched on the shoulder. If you're going as an original character, you may be interested in having a backstory already in mind when people ask you who you are. If you're into DnD, I can see you going as your OC. Whatever stretches your imagination!

"We do not have nature, we are nature." I see you including a lot of natural themes into your costume. Flowers, possibly real, may be included in your dress or hair. You may decide to go as an elf or a nature spirit who is closely tied to the wooded or oceanic worlds. Characters with lots of nature power tied to them like Nashida from Genshin come to mind. I get that you already have a good idea of what you'd like to do, but feel reserved about it. In case of buyer's remorse? Maybe it's natural for you to want to wait until it's close to the holiday to completely decide on what to wear, to the point of not telling others what it's going to be up until the night of Halloween. It's for you to know, and for them to be surprised and remember.

Pile 5 - #04 💀🌟

{Destroyer, The Orator, Venus in Gemini - Flattery, Bear, Aries Rising - Act; 7 of Cups, King of Wands, Ace of Cups, II High Priestess, 10 of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune}

Hello pile 5, I'm really getting the strong feeling that your ideal costume choice for this Halloween will be a costume you already have. There may be a storage chest or closet full of dresses and props that haven't been used in a while. They are asking you to bring them out and give them a bit of a make-over. Bear strangely reminds me of "bear market", so perhaps you're trying to be frugal on spending anything this year. A costume you wore a couple years ago may have been expensive time or money wise, but that costume doesn't have to lay on a shelf forever. That Sephiroth ensemble you wore to the convention could be dismantled and reused into a new fallen angel or dark soldier uniform. The plague doctor mask can be reconfigured into an overall creepy bird monster or its robe could become a grim reaper robe. You don't have to look very far for ideas this year because it seems as though you already have plenty of supplies on hand. Additionally, there are a lot of thrift stores that offer discounted items that might be easily thrown together. Seven of Cups shows that there are many different items in your toolbox.

I really get that this pile loves the creepy, gross, and gorey aspects of Halloween, or is at least interested in incorporating these elements into a costume. I'm seeing aliens, not the friendly kind but the facesucking kind Ripley had to fight. Bugs, arachnids, and buglike cryptids also come to mind, like spiders or Mothman. You could have a dress with spider web patterns or go as a character like Miss Spider from James and the Giant Peach. If animals are more your style, I still see the costume as fierce and almost cartoonishly scary. You might choose to go as a predator like a bear or a wolf, or perhaps even a zombie deer costume. On the more animated end, you might go as Stitch or as Freddy Fazbear. I'm seeing large costumes, possibly even reused inflatable costumes.

"You already have everything you need. You are the answer." This pile reminded me of a costume rental store I once lived close to in childhood. It was so easy to stop by and say hello to the shop owner like a neighbor before renting out an Ursula or bat costume every year. You may be interested in recreating something like that, but with Act above Wheel of Fortune you will need to take action on the idea rather than wait for it to happen. For example, you could talk with your friends about making a costume swap event or a collaboration, or post something online in a local space to meet and swap with something else. Your pile card and Flattery both show that when at least two minds come together with the same idea in mind, you can create new ways to exchange and find new interesting costume choices on a budget.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[apeekintothepantry]

Meet Violet Fielding, my original historical character from 1918 Boston!

I've been doing some workshopping with my custom historical characters because I've been a little bored with AG's historical offerings of late, and because it's a fun excuse to dig into moments in time that interest me personally, but AG probably wouldn't produce a similar character themselves. (I say that, but my 1940's Hawaii character predates Nanea, so who knows! Maybe I'm manifesting some future stuff I can borrow for my gals.)

Violet is the youngest of three siblings. Her older sister Alice is in her early 20's and either a nurse or a Hello Girl, leaning towards nursing because I'm not sure I want her to go overseas and she could work at a hospital in Boston during the war. Her older brother James is 19 and enlists in the Marines once the US enters World War I. I think by Violet Saves the Day, he's returned home dealing with quite a bit of "shellshock" and that becomes a somewhat major theme.

Her parents are pretty wealthy, and the family lives in a brownstone on Beacon Hill in Boston. Her dad is a doctor and mom is a suffragist who also gets involved in causes supporting the war effort. Both parents are very supportive of their kids following their passions and getting themselves out there in this still relatively new century, which is why Alice has been allowed to go to school instead of immediately marrying some wealthy guy.

Vi herself is a precocious and creative kid. I think she likes to draw and paint and generally be crafty and creative, which comes in handy when brainstorming ways she can support her brother overseas and the war effort more broadly. While she's not afraid to get her hands dirty, she does like typically girly things like having teatime and looking at catalogs filled with new dresses. Her book series would theoretically cover 1917 through 1919 or so, and touch on the war, Women's Suffrage, the Spanish Flu, shellshock, and possibly the Boston Molasses Disaster.

Currently I'm trying to come up with a best friend character for her, as she really needs a Nellie or Ruthie in her life with the age difference and both siblings being off doing exciting and scary things without her. There are a lot of different directions I could go in with said friend - fellow wealthy-ish kid feels boring, Boston had a lot of new immigrant communities in the 1910's, some of whom did live in a specific part of Beacon Hill, Boston historically struggles with insidious covert racism but was still a city with a number of prominent Black and Jewish communities - and nothing's quite clicked as perfect just yet.

Violet is a Marie-Grace doll with a Nanea wig. Someone was selling her on a Facebook group a few years ago and I immediately felt like she was a Violet and needed to join my crew. Her last name was inspired by Lady Dorothie Fielding, a British woman who drove an ambulance during WWI and received several awards for bravery and service. Fielding's letters home were published after her death and are a really fascinating look at what it was like on the front lines doing this incredibly dangerous and important work. I used it as a major primary source for an educational interactive I helped develop in one of my previous jobs.

[wordstome]

What are Price's daughters like? What are their names? Are they sweet or pranksters or crafty like their father?

Also, which of the 141 + KorTac dads are on the PTA?

OMG how did you know I wanted to write more about Price??? I love you Spec <333

Price's daughters are named, from oldest to youngest, Alice, Brianna, and Clara! Alice is a classic cool older sister, undeniably her dad's right-hand woman. When she and Brianna were younger, she would mess with her younger sister all the time, but since Clara the baby came around, she decided to be a "grownup" (which is of course, adorable). When they're a bit older, I can see them taking on the same dynamic as (bear with me, this is a deep cut) Flavia de Luce and her sisters from the Flavia de Luce books by Alan Bradley. Alice and Brianna band together to mess with Clara, but I can see Clara growing up to be very smart and quick-witted, probably taking after Price.

As for the PTA:

Price: is definitely on the PTA. He runs it like the military: no room for middle aged mom drama or passive aggressiveness in his PTA!

Ghost: absolutely not. He's not touching that stuff with a ten foot pole. As long as nobody's making things difficult for Caden, he's good, thanks.

Soap: he's on the PTA, but he's not getting shit done. He'll do whatever Price asks of him, but he's just there to shoot the shit and flirt with moms. Rascal.

Gaz: He might drop in once in a while and help out at events, but he's a busy busy man and can't make those meetings, unfortunately.

König: No, much like Ghost he isn't interested in suburban school district politics.

Horangi: Horangi, similarly to Soap, is on the PTA, but his presence is sporadic and he's solely there to pick up gossip and instigate. Wait a second, why is he allowed in here? His daughter's not even in school anymore!

Keegan: didn't even know there was a PTA

[agatharkn3ss]

Here it is. My final theory.

it’s a crazy long one, but it’s how I work it out in my head because it makes a lot of sense

SUMMARY

 I think they are in some kind of a loop and/or an illusion, since “time flow is an illusion” and also there is some time hopping because of the tunnels. So when we first see “Agnes O’Connor”, this is actually already Agatha figuring out what happened to them on the Witches Road. And Rio doesn’t meet the coven for the first time until she meets with Lilia in the tunnels. I think in the earth trial episode, they will be in a morgue and it will be Billy’s trial (as we know, Rio is “a tourist”). Agatha will give up her necklace and let Billy access her thoughts. Following the trial Billy and Jen will get out, but Agatha will stay and go back to Rio. Whatever fight happens, I think Agatha will absorb Rio’s powers and die as a result. Rio could potentially be just part of Agatha from then on. Alice will become security guard (again!) as she takes over as Death. Billy will be able to go back in time and/or illusion (because they are actually still in Agatha’s basement), trigger Agatha into Agnes O’Connor so she can help him “solve the case” and try to fix what went wrong – e.g. by using a different spell this time – the one Lilia must have left him in the spell book. Whether he succeeds or not, I think it will be left open to interpretation!

THE ROAD

I am back to my original theory I wrote way back that the Road has always been a con created by Agatha herself. She’s crafty, she’s clever and she’s power hungry. So she wrote the “summoning spell” herself and kept conning the “undeserving” witches for a few centuries. Maybe that’s how she met Rio – but she couldn’t syphon Death’s powers, therefore making Rio that one witch that walked out of the Road with Agatha. But her past is eventually catching up with her, because “revenge is a witch”.

I think Agatha has met Lorna Wu (in her “Jolene” days) and tried to convince her too, but then she saw little Alice with her, so she “spared” Lorna. As we know, Agatha has a soft spot for kids (spared Jen because of her midwife work) so this would track. Maybe she told Lorna she couldn’t take her or that she wasn’t worthy of the Road after all etc. But Lorna was so taken by Agatha’s wonderful words about the road, that she decided she will try it on her own – thus writing the rock version. It’s ironic then that in turn Lorna’s influence was eventually what created the idea in Billy’s mind and then tricked Agatha. Talk about the past catching up with you!

This brings us to what we see in AAA – I think this really is “The Witches Road”. The first and the last one, but I think it is a real deal. Billy created it but I don’t think he realises this, or how much control he has. He didn’t know the road wasn’t real. But because of his powers, he still managed to channel his intentions to summon it – he is the Magician, as explained by Lilia. I think what did the trick was simply him saying to Agatha “I want you to take me to the Witches Road”. And so she did, because magic took the path of least resistance. That’s why the road is so heavily influenced by Billy’s bedroom – almost every element we see can be found in that room.

And that’s why Agatha was so surprised by it when the door appeared – she was simply planning on stealing the power from the witches. Though curious why she told Lilia about her limitations before – I think this is her test for the witches. Because if she tells them the truth about herself, and they end up blasting her anyway, then it’s “on them” that they get killed. In that way she must think them stupid and “undeserving” and therefore it’s not her fault?

WESTVIEW

With the original idea of the road being a myth, I am a bit confused where the Salem Seven comes from. Why would a coven go so horribly feral? And with them being young children to start with, wouldn’t Agatha try to influence them to form her own coven? Maybe there is some sort of a curse involved. When Alice’s demon was released, Agatha said “once vengeance is loosened, you can’t reel it back in” – I wonder if this has relevance?

I wonder if Salem Saven has always been trapped in those tunnels under Westview. I was always intrigued by Agnes quote “If there’s one thing we can agree on is that these cases are always about the place, the specific small town, the history of it, the people in it, the secrets buried beneath it.” It’s a curious line and if we go with the theme of the show that it was Agatha All Along, then it would fit that the secret she buried were the Salem Seven themselves, and Agatha’s crimes are catching up with her. It is equally of note that Rio even quips that who better to solve the case than “One of Westview’s very own. Yeah, you’ve lived here your whole life.” Of course, this could be just a line to make Agatha realise she is not this imaginary Agnes character. But then again, if you remember from Billy’s internet search about Agatha, she was seen on the Titanic disaster – the ship was sailing to New York, so not far from New Jersey at all. And the Hindenburg disaster actually happened as the aircraft was landing in Lakehurst, New Jersey! So maybe Westview at one point was her home? But she didn’t know it as Westview? (side note, I think that maybe the note about her traveling the Eastern Seaboard is actually directly linked with how the witch trials panic has taken over many of those states in 17th and 18th century. It was Agatha all along!).

Billy was investigating Westview because of the Hex anomaly. But there was also an article shown that “Strange occurrences persist to haunt Westview”, even 3 years after the Hex. So I wonder if this underground incomplete transit system has something to do with it.

Also curious how Billy has been investigating New Jersey towns – there is a map on his bedroom floor that circles a few of the towns and says “These 6 towns all link to the 7th town. Where are 8-9?” The 7th town in the middle is not very clear, but it looks like it’s in the vicinity of Fort Dix (a Marvel easter egg?). Could Eastview and Westview be the missing towns 8 and 9?

There are also interesting parallels to East, or Eastview – starting with the “Agnes of Westview” being a literal copy of “Mare of EASTtown”, the intro contains a scoreboard of a match between Eastview and Westview. Billy is originally from Eastview but it is Agatha herself who’s the Wicked witch of the East.. These two locations are inexplicably linked.

BILLY’S JUMPER

Billy’s sweater is adorned with runes – I think they are some forms of different sigils. On Billy’s wall, he was investigating sigils and there were lots of similar symbols that he researched. Also he wrote that some sigils can be recharged and used to strengthen energy, while others will be activated when destroyed – creating bursts of energy. So I think Billy tried to build some of them into his sweater. It’s interesting that they only really made proper appearance after he started researching Agatha online. So maybe he build some of them as protection or maybe added some after time looping.

I think there are essentially two main versions of the jumper. The first one was worn by him in Westview – during interogation and gathering coven etc. Most notably it has a clear pentacle on his right, an eye on his left and the face of Alice’s monster on his right shoulder. The centre “pleats” are almost aligned – the top one is a close line, the bottom one is a bit torn.

But THE VERY SECOND they enter the Witches Road, the pattern is immediately different. The middle pattern is totally turned upside down – the top is now the torn “pleat” and the bottom is the solid line one. The eye moves lower down, the pentacle seems to disappear and seems replaced with a six-pointed start lower down. The demon face is still there in roughly the same place. So this suggests they have gone upside down on the Road? Or that they really just are under Westview, in the tunnels.

That second jumper pattern stays with us for most of the time on the Witches Road EXCEPT for the moment at the end of the water trial when Sharon dies. The pleat pattern is temporarily reversed and the pentacle appears – just for that scene. So I think Sharon is probably fairly safe and that one was actually Billy’s illusion. Also, if the body was real, why would they even need to dig a grave for her? From what we’ve seen already, the ground would’ve easily swallowed her. So I think Billy used his magic to send Sharon back out to Westvew, safe as a kitten.

As the story progresses, we see more and more of the jumper and more symbols. There is a big bird engraved on his back and I wonder how that will play in the story – maybe as a messenger? (does not quite look like a phoenix reborn or anything). From the moment he breaks the sigil, Billy’s hoodie also start turning more red. I wonder if that’s the chaos magic influence?

TIME SLIPPING

There is definitely something going on with the road – whether it’s a time loop, a spell illusion, I am not sure. On top of Billy’s changing jumpers, there are some crucial inconsistencies that I think are intentional and could hint there are different versions of the trials. Things I’ve noticed:

There is that shot of a photo of a boy disappearing in Agatha’s “office”. It could be a sign of spell breaking, but maybe there is more to it

When Billy casts the release spell on Agatha in ep.6, there is a quick side shot of him, suddenly having a black thumb and the spell book was opened on a completely different spell. There was ink smudged on one page. This would explain that Agatha picked this little detail in her Agnes persona as she spotted it in the interogation – I believe this is Billy using a different spell left to him by Lilia, when she handed him the spell book back in ep.7. When he did the original spell before, it looked like he broke a lot of rules set out in the spell-book, where it said that the consequences of that would be that the spell became corrupted. This could explain why Agatha couldn’t remember Mrs Hart’s name and kept using wrong words and expressions. But this new spell from Lilia could be what he was meant to use all along and to fix the original “corruption” and set Agnes investigation in the right direction. It would also give a new meaning to that "I don't want to go back to the closet again"

Episode 5 (Agatha’s trial) had so many inconsistent shots – the hands and bracelets and nails and even skin colour kept changing between different ouija board shots. The games pile where Ouija was first sat (one of them said “Clue”) kept changing too. And right by the door we see troll dolls. But they change too – in one scene there are only two – one with green and one with yellow hair. And in many other scenes there is an additional baby troll with dark pink and blue hair and a card with red cross symbol next to it. Seems like important change

When Agatha does her tarot reading in ep.7, we don’t see her card placements, but when she slams the final card down, we see it and we see most of other card slots are empty. But in the next shot we see a full tarot spread again.

I’ve been wondering about what all of these mean. It definitely feels like there is an illusion, or maybe Billy has this reset loop going on, until he gets what he wants?

Edit: the trolls could signify how Lilia (Fate) and Rio have always walked hand in hand, but now baby Alice takes over (or joins as the Maiden of the Triple Goddess trio)

THE LOCKET

I believe the hair inside the locket really is Nicky’s – every time Agatha picks the locket, Nicky’s theme plays. However, I think there is more to it – I think because of how strong emotions are attached to it, the locket also serves as Agatha’s protection amulet – in a sense that Rio can’t take her and maybe that’s why Billy can’t read her thoughts. Nicky’s protecting his mum.

Maybe that’s why we also have those parallels where Ouija rules say “Do not ask about death” and Agatha never seems to answer any questions about both Rio and Nicky, or even say Rio's name - ever. Billy questioned Agatha about Rio before fire trial, then about Nicky after it. In both cases she either didn’t say a thing or changed subject. It seems to be one thing that Agatha is literally unable to talk about, yet she can’t be without it.

ALICE & THE “TIME” TUNNELS

Alice also has a protection amulet – and her mother has put a lot of love into her, so I think it serves as a similar thing to Agatha’s locket. Death can’t take Alice. She also has once borrowed Rio’s own dagger to draw circles and cast protection magic with it – it could be significant for someone to use Death’s own dagger?

I think all this leads to more foreshadowing – maybe she will come back and continue her job as a door security guard – much how she did at the “Hot topic” shop. Maybe she lives or maybe she becomes an incarnation of Death? (if Agatha kills Rio) The reason I think this is because when Alice dropped to the floor, seemingly dead, her hand landed on a page that said “you stay here and guard the door”. BUT that is likely the door that they previously accidentally opened when they tried to summon the green witch – between the realm of life and dead? (and it was blood moon then too)

The door is in the underground tunnels. I think this is even pointed to us in Alice’s tarot card – the top symbol usually represents the character’s necklace, but in case of Alice’s, it’s a weird sign. I first theorised that it is simply a spelling representation of her rune on the protection necklace, but I think there is more – that sign actually looks a bit like the tunnels – that very location where Lilia and Jen saw Salem Seven. As you remember, they saw two paths in front of them – the Witches Road and the other “Path Ahead”? - and there was also a tunnel on the opposite side – “The Path Behind”.

But remember, when Lilia and Jen saw Salem Seven, they were moving backwards! This suggests some kind of time anomaly going on with the tunnels.

So my theory is that Salem Seven have been trapped in the tunnels under Westview until the coven opened “the door” when they tried to summon a replacement green witch. The door opened and Salem Seven were able to go and search for Agatha. Because of the tunnel time anomaly, they chose a “path behind” tunnel, leading them to the surface of Westview and arrive on the day that Agatha was gathering her new coven.

Now, Rio physically appears on that day too and fights Agatha before telling her Salem Seven are coming. SOOOO. I think the first time Rio actually is with this coven is when Lilia sees her under the tunnels. This is the first time Lilia accepts her fate, accepts that she’s always been seeing death everywhere and thus, she is finally able to see Rio next to her. That’s why Rio is dressed in her full Death attire. But Lilia didn’t die in that moment. She carried on through the tunnels until her trial. So I think when Lilia sees Rio in the tunnels, she tells her she needs to warn Agatha about Salem Seven (and maybe about the black heart reference, which would also explain why Rio would use that specific line?). So Rio exits the tunnels the same way that Salem Seven do and finds Agatha (remember Salem Seven have been following Agatha all that day, in their animal forms). That’s why she is full of anger in that moment. For her, this is the first time she saw Agatha in ages so she feels she needs to take some time to “play” with Agatha. After that, she disappears, and probably goes back to the tunnels, so she can climb back up to the “road” and do her “surprise” emerge.

THE TRIAL

After Lilia’s trial, Billy, Agatha and Jen will carry on along the road. They will eventually reach “the end”, which is also the beginning – we see Agatha will trip over someone’s (Alice’s?) shoes, suggesting the Road is in fact coming to a full circle (or a figure of 8 – which is also etched on Billy’s sweater). But they have one more trial to go, so they will be confused.

However, remember the power of Billy’s wishes? Well, in ep.4 he said “I wish we could go home”. I think that wish worked. They did eventually go home – back to Agatha’s house, that’s why the ended up where they started. I wonder if this is then, when Rio catches up with them. They might even fight, because the sigil is no longer protecting Billy’s identity so Rio finally realises who he is and wants to take his body because he broke the rules. Somehow, this makes the 3 of them – Jen, Billy and Agatha end up in a morgue. We see them waking up in that room, emerging from body bags. Maybe this was how Rio intended to send them to the trial. I am fairly certain, that this room they are in, is actually Agatha’s basement. They literally are home. There is even the same pentagon shape on the floor.

It is the Earth trial so the theme will be around death and buried bodies, hence the morgue. The trial will be Billy’s because he has technically stolen a body. In this version Billy actually looks just like William Kaplan. As Agatha said Rio is “a tourist” and as such, she won’t get a trial, or at least not this one. We also hear in a promo Agatha reading “the answers lie where the truth is buried” – which eerily reminds her own quote from detective Agnes.

But this has double meaning – because the truth is buried inside both Billy and Agatha’s heads. So I wonder whose truth needs to be unearthed. Agatha will place her hands on Billy’s, so maybe she will finally “talk to the dead” as her spirit element, and try to bring out William Kaplan to the surface? But I also think that Agatha will also need to strip all of her layers and finally be honest with them. She will tell them about the truth behind the Witches Road and her con. I wonder if she will have to let Billy read her mind too? (and hence learns egregious amount about her) As that would be ultimate vulnerability – one that she’s always been so fierce of protecting (nod do the scene with Rio “You’re vulnerable” – “Only physically”). So she will need to give up her locket in order for the test to pass – her last connection to Nicky, and potentially protection from Death.

They will pass, but I have no clue how they will get out. I feel Jen and Billy could end up in the tunnels. Jen knows about them and she will literally be the Path Ahead, leading them out and exiting, but again, they will come out in the past – but before Salem Seven. I think their appearance will be what triggers Agnes O’Connor persona. Maybe they reunite with Alice in the tunnels, but Alice will stay behind to protect them?

AGATHA ALL ALONE

Agatha will be left behind. She will come out of the morgue, walking up the stairs – just like her own basement. And she will come out, standing in the Witches Road version of her own house, realising she is on her own again. Rio will be waiting, and Agatha will be furious that even after this painful sacrifice, she still doesn’t have her powers. That’s when she shouts “I want my prize”. Rio might be angry with her but she will also notice that Agatha no longer has the locket. They might have a confrontation and fight, but I wonder if there is going to be any one last sight of Salem Seven – after all, I think two of them survived – Cicada and Owl. And my theory is that Cicada made her way into Agatha’s trial in ep.5. She stood in the witches’ way and could’ve got inside the trial by getting a bug tangled in Agatha’s hair. That’s why the whole trial was off. It was Cicada’s trial to pass – she needed to punish Agatha and so she did. As a result it was Cicada and not Agatha who could get her wish – which is revenge on Agatha. That’s why Agatha couldn’t get out at the end of the trial. So maybe Cicada appear again, that’s why we see Agatha tied to a pole again. But Rio blasts Agatha with her magic so she absorbs it and restores her magic – but she will then die as a result – as foreshadowed in ep.1 – taking Death’s magic will kill Agatha. Not sure what happens with Rio, don’t think she could die? Or maybe she wanted this all along, because she’s tired of her job? She said she could make Agatha wish she was dead. Maybe with powers Agatha just absorbs Rio all together? Don’t know, too many possibilities – so I’m happy to leave that mystery for the finale.

AGNES O’CONNOR

Maybe Agnes the nosey neighbour sees Jen and Billy emerge. Or maybe they hide and just drop their clues – like they will bring Agatha’s locket for her to find. I think it could be combined powers of Jen and Billy that disrupt the spell. Or maybe the whole trial and battle take place in the actual house in Westview, so “nosey Agnes” will actually witness it? Who knows.

The reason I think Jen could be involved, because there is this ongoing theme of water in Agnes’s spell. She finds the locket in a pool of water – there is also a puddle outside her house. The “body” she investigates is constantly mentioned to be found “near water”, “in a ravine”, “in the creek”. Like it matters to Agatha. (or maybe it’s something else – maybe this is Agatha’s mind searching for Rio or something about the fact that the locket is made out of cowrie shell, i.e. sea snail (and then Lorna’s band is Coral Shore). There are also a lot of moments where things are seen through reflections in mirrors.

And because Billy read Agatha’s mind before, he will be able to influence her memories, so that she solves the case right this time. The lyrics of the song we hear in ep.2 also seem to align with this:

“There's a road in some old town I remember but haven't found.

I can hear the distant sounds Of that old river where I lay down.”

That’s why in the opening scene in ep.1 we hear Agatha already humming the ballad. She is driving through a windy road and into the woods – which look like a spitting image of the Witches Road. I think the body she is ultimately symbolising Agatha herself – she is a combination of what she remembers – her own past self, Wanda, the Darkhold, Billy, Rio and the Witches Road. She is investigating her own identity. To that end, I think that maybe Rio was never there. It was just Agatha’s mind imaging her as a spirit guide – Rio in the spell is able to really “SEE” Agnes the way she sees herself, she guides her thoughts and often she already knows what Agatha is thinking. Maybe by syphoning Rio’s powers, Agatha actually absorbed Rio inside of her? Rio is definitely not in the armchair when Agatha goes to check the noise upstairs.

Agatha is also trying to remember the Witches Road and figure out what went wrong so she can fix it and save herself and/or Billy or Rio? She even tells Billy during the interrogation scene “I was on a road this morning. It led to something pretty awful”. And that’s why this is a case that “only she can solve”. Maybe she takes those photos of seemingly random areas because that’s where she remembers the Witches Road events actually take place? Then the “kids” drawing on the fridge, showing a figure in black, could just be a quick scribble by Agatha, to remember Rio?

The inclusion of Darkhold in her investigation is interesting, because I don’t think this is just a nod to Wandavision events. After all, while Billy was still a kid in the Hex and searching for Wanda with his mind, he DID see the Darkhold in his mind, as Agatha held it in front of her during the battle. If he read the page he saw, it could explain his extra powers OR it could suggest that because he saw it, he is able to recreate it. Maybe Agatha is already well aware of it. There is a kid’s drawing in Nicky’s bedroom, showing a tree and a big sun. The wallpaper also has images of both sun and moon. I think this is a big hint to Agatha in terms of how to fix the events. Billy’s darkness is missing the Sun – as told by Lilia during his tarot reading. She said it could mean a reunion, but it could be the literal meaning of it. Bllly has became this dark goth character, a far cry from the innocent William Kaplan (who we saw in white – and I think he is represented by white stripes on Billy’s first top). It could even be a suggestion of the Darkhold influence? (His belt buckle reminds me of the symbol on the cover?)

There are soooo many lines in ep.1 that take a completely new meaning with the new context, might post it separately.

While I really like this time slipping, timey-wimey theory, it would still leave the question of how the ending of it would be executed (not enough time?) and what would happen with the parallel time characters if some people do come out to Westview back in time? So I’m leaning more towards it being all an elaborate illusion, created by the S.W.O.R.D. beekeeper from Wandavision XD But I hope at least some elements of my theory are right.

Thank you for reading this far!

[therealslimshakespeare]

My Mother’s Child

Fandom: House of the Dragon, GRRM’s Fire and Blood

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: im a sucker for any GRRM universe and setting but after the recent release of the trailer for House of the Dragon’s second season I can’t quite contain the muses. So here is my self indulgent spillage of thoughts i entertained while watching the first. Perhaps growing up obsessed with Greek Myths, Shakespeare Anti-heroes and Renaissance families took its toll on my moral fascinations but the minute I see a codependent dynamic in a brutally restricted society I go a little nutty on the psycho-analysis and then it turns to feelings and then it turns to fiction.

Timeline: I’ve entirely had my wicked way with events and outcomes, nothing is critically pertinent but Aemond’s time in the Riverlands is changed, the time of Maelor’s birth is fudged, Aemond doesn’t die but is recalled to be regent again after Aegon’s demise, I’ve really no clue which of the Blacks are alive but the gist of it is the war has gone in favor of the Greens for the most part and now Aemond can come into his Crafty Uncle Richard III Regent era while obsessing over his pretty mom. Cheers.

Authors Note: im in no way romanticizing or advocating for the universe typical incest, warped relationships, casual murder, deranged intentions or the dire outcome portrayed of a stunted mother’s dependence on her worrisomely dependable son. Not proof read, have mercy on my tired eyes. Specific warnings below the cut:

Warnings: 18+, dead dove do not eat -thematically disturbing. An exploration of Alicent’s dependence on Aemond during his regency and beyond, undertones of attraction on Aemond’s part and submission to him on Alicent’s, combined with their delusional domesticity by coparenting little Maelor may disturb some. There is some physical touch that Aemond makes weird, his impure thoughts that are blamed on Targaryen tendencies, his recollections of sleeping in her bed as a child, him fucking Alys Rivers and imagining his mom sorta? along with sending Alicent his cum stained letters, calling Maelor “their boy” as if they are his parents, open ending suggesting a potential escalation in the dynamic. I tried to keep this as in character as possible so these warnings sound far more stark and crass than I hope the actual fic reads

It was Aemond sent to fetch his wayward brother, it was Aemond relied upon to soothe his sister, it was Aemond who absorbed Ser Criston Cole’s teaching, it was Aemond who stood any chance of gaining Otto Hightower’s commendation and through it some crumb of praise for the produce of poor, weary, teary eyed Alicent Hightower.

It was little more responsibility for Aemond Targaryen to quickly become the closest thing his mother had to a bosom friend by the time of his maturity, easily adding so weighty a role to those he already held as Lord Regent, terror of the realm, kinslayer and learned heir. It came as naturally to him as had filling each of its predecessors.

Whatever hopeless compulsion, dragon bound and magic made, to be loyal to his family that already ran in his poisoned blood, it was only ever magnified by the sight of his mother’s dutiful martyrdom, year after year bleeding herself out -and all the while not a soul to staunch the wound but him. Surely her husband the King only made it larger with each neglect or attention he paid her, and Aegon had long since been the sour fruit of a painful initiation. Helaena for reasons as gentle as they were cruel could not bear her own mother’s company -nor was the realm that sweet daughter lived in that of the Seven Kingdoms, where Alicent spent her every waking moment dwelling on and maneuvering for her boy King. Helaena lived in dreams and lived to avoid dreams and all Alicent had were harsh realities and dreams so trodden under the march of time that they resembled very little to their former selves by the retelling.

Aemond lived in the bridge between the two women of his house. There were dear to him the cherished traditions of Old Valyria and also, there were crucial to him the pressing matters of harvest and uprising and famine and the throne of Westeros.

He too lived in the Seven Kingdoms, he was practically their king, and like the manner in which he had long led this family by innate authority, such a role came naturally to him, as did sitting by the hearth in his mother's antechamber each evening, a recreation of the way he had stayed with her night after night in the wake of Driftmark, and discussing with her the petitions of the day, outcomes whose decisions needed making before dawn and hopes for the future.

Aemond felt close to her then, and dismal though the Kingdom’s prospects often felt, between the two of them there was calm in these moments. For once in his life Aemond did not find himself chafing under its soothing influence, but instead he would match her in her reclining, legs spread wide in his chair and silver head tilted to rest on the gilt chair, their hands near to brushing and let the connection grow until he wondered if he too were a dreamer and could know her inner thoughts, know her bewilderment and also her relief when he took from her the weight of the day with his sober companionship.

It felt odd parting in the evenings after these talks, what had once been a ritual of her comforting his painful wound in his youth and holding him close through the nighttime terror now felt necessary to be repeated as cure from her own dejection. Only her last remaining grandson Maelor provided some support to Alicent, she herself a child grown old using her own children to soothe herself.

Aemond saw to it that Maelor was brought often to their evening chats, a docile boy with an intense interest in blocks, he was no distraction from their more weighty discussions but when the evening grew late and the moon high and Aemond’s better judgment waned at the soft sight of his mother’s tender form and unguarded appreciation for his presence by her side, there was Maelor to place in her arms in instead of himself, and there was Maelor to pat her arms and lay upon her breast and enjoy the uncomplicated devotion of a mother that Aemond had never known.

Perhaps if his father the King had even once played the role of father, Aemond would not have spent his childhood clasped to that soft bosom while pretending he were the one being comforted by it and not her. He was older now and he had read of such dynamics, he had read of myths and scandals, Maester’s studies of the codependent phenomenon that blurs the line between each familial role. Childlike herself, his mother deserved not another man to have designs on her but a child, a true child she could dote upon and cuddle at night and a good son to tell her,

“You are weary, come, I’ll walk you to bed. Nevermind his blanket, I have it.”

and so it was Maelor who lay with her, Maelor who delighted her, Maelor who took up the space that had last been Aemond’s under her left arm. Only Aemond now allowed himself the task of tucking the furs about them both and stroking the tear tracks off her cheek, leaning down to kiss her forehead as she had dreamed of her own father doing. And then, Aemond betook himself to his own chambers laden with her burdens and his own and fell into the bedding with pleasure in his heart at having been entrusted with the wearisome load.

It continued thus in a pleasurable routine until the Riverlands called for his attention. Aegon was propped up, scarred and dim, on his neglected throne and Alicent was made Protector of the Realm and immediately thereafter Aemond found himself in the courtyard, Vhaegar waiting for him to mount and lead the reinforcements.

As Aemond pressed his thin lips to mother’s forehead in farewell for the duration of a long campaign, little Maelor who was in her arms laid hold of Aemond’s silver locks and seized them tightly during the moment between mother and son, holding the prince hostage a bit longer, for a moment nearer,

“dada.” -the infant nephew babbled to his uncle Aemond for a kiss of his own and to judge by Alicent’s alarmed expression, Aemond’s enforced separation from this little family they had made of a year’s evenings could not have come a moment too soon.

It haunted him, that flash of horror on his mother’s face at an infant’s small confusion. It brought back a seething reproach against her for all the times she’d never understood him, all the times she had raged against his very nature as a Dragon, holding him up with disgust and pride all at once until his head spun with it and he had learned to dance to her every whim, now the devout follower of Old Town and now the noble Dragon whose rights were being denied.

But woe to him should he be one or the other when it did not suit her. She thought his innate longing for a dragon to be imbecilic when he was young and yet she glowed with pride when he called out those Strong bastards for being anything but pure blooded dragons themselves.

As always with her duty, she hated herself for its outcome yet chose to cloak herself in pride for her sacrifices. His very existence, those of his siblings too, was sacrifice, his very bloodline and nature was an abomination against her faith, his impulses were beastly however much he took her principles to heart, and his tastes remained strange no matter how stifled her own had long remained.

But she had made him. How dare she be repulsed by her own creation.

Prince Aemond’s ire burned through him and suited the needs of war far better than kinder feelings of pining for hearth and home, so he stayed angry with his mother at each hack and hewing of his blade, each swath of farmland he burnt and every ill organized column of traitor levys he annihilated.

Capable, he is the capable son and his mother writes to him thanking him for it and he crushes the missive in his hand before regret surges after and he strokes the parchment flat again on his desk with all the revernace of a lover for his beloved’s skin.

He is kinder the parchment than he is to Alys Rivers.

Alys who is older and smart and wicked, who never once flinches at his nature, who accepts the ruthless pace of his hips and the mauling of his mouth with her own vigor, Alys who he swears to himself is a wartime necessity, the humors most flow somewhere and if he is to bleed he must also spill and she is there and trustworthy and her aura reminds in the moments after pain, warm arms holding him tight on his right side lest he roll on his wounded eye in sleep. The eye does not throb in that raw way any longer, it is a dull and perpetual ache he can expect to remain with him for all time, but the longing for such comfort remains and he lays atop Alys’ matronly breast often for longer than his daylight-sobered self can countenance.

He writes of her to his mother, to grieve her with his sin as much as not to withhold anything from her, he has not before and why should he now? Her reply is stifled and terse in regards to his admission, barely even a line and he must squint to decipher wether it pertains to the subject he is most anxious to hear from her about. But as he thumbs the well familiar scrawl of her pen he can imagine the set of her mouth and the pleading of her eyes, so different from true distress, no, instead it is the girlish patheticness she plays at, despite its lack of success all these years and how the same years have robbed her of the youthful vulnerability that once made men take notice of it.

Only Aemond remains affected by it, and he finds it so deliciously false that he teases it out of her as a treat for himself on occasion. Aegon may have it whenever he sees fit, though being a fool he thinks every crease to her forehead is that of genuine concern. Aemond’s knows her better than that, and sees her pouting eyes come through the written admonition to “keep himself in good company”.

He smirks at Alys when she enters his tent and finds him rolling up the motherly advice. He ploughs her atop the volumes of communication his dear mother has sent him during this campaign and the parchment he sends back to her with his report next morning is stained.

Aemond doesn’t need to hope that she smells his letters for sweat and smoke the same way he smells hers for rosewater and thyme. He knows she does, he has caught them under her pillow and in her pockets when returning to the Keep, time and again, without warning. He knows she prays for him to outlive them all and he knows she will kiss the stains she mistakes for tears. A holy horror fills him at the satisfaction that thought brings, and after it has taken root he cannot find it in himself to enjoy Alys’ cheerful vigor any longer or the dark appetites they once shared. She is too eager, she is too unabashed, there is too little shame for his taste.

Alys is a whore and Aemond longs for the droopy eyed piety of his mother’s face when he tucks her abed, the melancholy contentment of his dutiful care for her and the mislaid trust that she has domesticated her little dragonling to the faith of the seven, her plaint limbed trust that the Warrior and Mother would never meet in the throes of burning want that consume him.

When his task is done, or near to done in these rebellious lands, and a call comes of his brother’s failing health, Aegon mounts Vheagar a disillusioned man, flying high and away above the wreckage he has committed and leaving behind the last Strong bastard dead as promised.

Alicent’s son is a man fully grown when he alights in the courtyard, long limbed and toned from his wartime deprivations, the set of his jaw remains firm but his gait is looser, there is a confidence in bloom now that was only budding before he left. Alicent cannot hide her joy at seeing him again, her pace is faster than is strictly proper as she breaks ranks of the welcoming party to greet him -it is her right as reigning regent.

As his mother.

She clasps his hands and feels his strong fingers engulf her forearms, tugging her nearer in an almost playful fashion -the action suits his new demeanor of confidence but it hardly suits the action of a son greeting his mother.

“Muña,” his rich voice murmurs to her as he stares down at her with not a bit of the usual softening in his sharp features, his lips quirk and his eyes sharply plumb through the depths of her own, “I am come home, as you asked.”

Unnerved by his intensity, Alicent gives him a trembling smile, watery eyes darting from one dear feature in that ethereal face to the next -it is the war terrors, perhaps, that have him so ardent in his tone and grip, men often come back from battle strung taut.

“Then we are safe.” she sighs, meaning it for their family even as her own heart quickens in vague misgiving.

“Maelor?” he questions, not even bothering to ask after the current king, his blood brother, it is the infant he has already fashioned into a surrogate son that interests him now.

“Is well.” his mother glows at the mention of the babe, “Growing and talking more each week.”

“And his mother?” Aemond asks with a soft light in his face as he ducks to meet her eye to eye, and Alicent knows he does not mean the poor Helaena gone mad in the tower, he means Alicent.

“Well enough.” She insists with all the age-old weariness that suggests, and is meant to inform him, otherwise.

Aemond’s jaw ticks in recognition of the old habit, his mother lies often for so pious a woman and she manipulates even more frequently for so devout a defender of the truth. It is a child’s tactic and he knows it, and that fury over it that had filled him in his days in the Riverlands surges back in another form, he feels a superiority in that moment even as he is being played by her weary pout and soft hands.

It is a woman’s way of asking a man to carry her load, to disarm her of her duties, to take from her the pretense of capability and taste for ruling.

Aemond’s conflict for such a role died somewhere with Alys in the Riverlands, by his own hand, in his own bed, his mother’s last letter dancing before his sightless eye. It is with confidence and entitlement that he glides his hands down her shapely arms and takes her hands in his, weighing them between them as she watches in surprise. He thumbs over the knuckles before splaying them out in his much larger palms and running a forefinger over the mangled cuticles.

“Mmm, not well enough for my liking, judging by this.” he remarks and when she goes to snatch the evidence of her worry away he clasps them stronger until it is an undeniable struggle for her to take them back -one he denies with an iron grip and a patronizing smile that she has only ever seen Aegon receive from him. “Those days are over, munta, we will have peace and plenty now.” he drags her stiff arm through his own and turns them towards the entrance of the Keep, patting the sore fingers laying on his arm, “And I’ll have no more of…this.”

Dazed, Alicent allows him to lead her through the great doors and into the colossal tomb that has been her children's home, she stares up at the familiar face of her third born in the light of the grand hall’s torches and marvels at the comfort one existence can bring another. Just as she fears the firm hold on her hand and heeds the temptation she feels to obey a man child she should be governing. These thoughts are put to flight when Aemond halts and turns to her warmly, no sneer remaining and no cold authority left when he whispers excitedly,

“Will you take me to our boy?”

The instant awareness of his meaning, that he means his nephew, that he means her grandson, that he means the future king, that he means Maelor -it sickens her how natural her impulse is to smile back at Aemond’s oddly paternal expression, to lead him back to her antechambers and reunite the little family they made before the war called him and that witch possessed the son Alicent had so lovingly made pure and noble in her belly. It is balm to hear him grown and saying that they are one again, that she is paramount in his life once more, that together they have made something gentler and better than any bastard lovechild conceived in wartime.

“Come.” Alicent urges her son, taking his scarred hand in her soft one as she had a million times before to lead him to the Sept. Yet this time, Alicent leads Aemond to her rooms and the cradle of their future King.

[craftyjuju]

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[robbsstar]

Hi love! I would have a request for you if you are so kind to give it a try : Aemond x reader with Oleanna Tyrell vibes (very cunning, outspoken and bold). I somehow imagine her as being a couple years older than him, long blood red hair and has a dark vibe to her. She challenges him but she is also a big softie inside capable of the biggest love ever. I really feel like he needs this kind of woman in his life like air :))) And would also be someone to keep him on his toes at all times and rock his world up a bit. Please feel free to adapt this idea however you see fit and thank you million times for giving me the opportunity to request. Can't wait to read more from you, you are super talented and we need more of you ^^

Of course<3 I do want to apologize if I went more for the 'plot' than relationship. Allergies are mentioned lets all pretend it exist in their universe as I'm not really sure whoops.

an unfortunate accident- 4.9k words

pairing / summary / warnings ->

-> Aemond Targaryen x Reader -> You deal with the enemy while being married to Aemond -> slight misogyny towards Rhaenyra, Otto, desrcibtion of death, Aegon, slight swearing but not much

masterlist <-

Due to Alicent's mistrust of anybody who is not related to her, Helaena and Aegon were wed. The Queen consort convinced herself she could only trust those she lived with, her family. She disregarded the woman her crafty father, Hightower, had been offering for Aemond. It was you. He did so to build a stronger house, stronger alliances, or, in his opinion, a greater war opponent against the blacks.

But when it was time for her second born to marry, the stressed mother had little option but to listen to her father this time because she didn't have another daughter. Otto Hightower persuaded his daughter to take into account the Hightower's distant cousins.

Your house was the one. Just as savvy, as wily in their schemes, and as brilliant as the Hightowers. There was just one distinction between the two houses. One House plotted behind closed doors, while the other could not be bothered. Yours was the latter. They caused Otto some resentment, and he was embarrassed to refer to your family as a relative of his. However, he was left with no option because there were no better-bred women in the seven kingdoms. An ideal wife for his grandson, is difficult to manage but not necessary because the two families shared the same notion of the iron throne, a male leader, and no woman.

Your father and Otto Hightower were made of the same ancestors. So it was no wonder they strived for power.

Your father, like Otto Hightower, did not want to serve a woman, a lady who also bore bastards. Your father referred to them as brown-haired, illegitimate whore sons. In their youth, he and Otto had plans to marry their offspring in order for their blood to inherit the throne and power. Your father, not your mother, reared you throughout your entire life. Your mother was a gentle, intelligent, but sensitive woman. Therefore, your father decided to take matters into his own hands and raise you to be brave and powerful, bold and ambitious, cunning and scheming.

You demonstrated early on that you were a perceptive young dove. Your father would receive compliments from other lords who told him he did a fine job. Even though he was aware, he was nonetheless inspired by the compliments that were given to him.

You adored the concept your father planted in your brain and knew from a young age that you were destined to marry into the Targaryen family. Who would turn down the chance to become the high-status lady you were to become? As a result, you carried the distinctive qualities of your house with you as you developed.

You met your soon-to-be husband when you were being watered to blossom into an ideal representation of your father. Throughout your time in Kings Landing, you got to know Aemond Targaryen. The blacks had long since left, having fled to Dragonstone, which you described to Aemond as pitiful. The younger child had told you about his lost eye and how he came across his dragon. You had pledged, filled with awe, that you would protect him from further damage.

The boy had mocked you back then. He assured you that it was his responsibility to safeguard his future wife from harm. His words touched you. You had graciously taken his hands in yours and then addressed the youngster, speaking to him with wise counsel. "My dear boy, let's make a pact to look out for each other from now on." You will use your strength to keep me safe, and I will use my smarts to keep you safe.

Your words had left him in awe. It felt almost wrong for Aemond to trust a person that fast. His vision changed ever since that dreadful night, he became aware of all the snakes and rats who were waiting for the demise of the Targaryens- Hightowers and the ascent of Rhaenyra Velaryon.

Since then, getting along with Aemond was not difficult for you. You two had already started to feel wonderful things for one another before being married. Once you did get married and formed a lifelong commitment, your feelings just grew deeper. The first to congratulate you both were your father and Aemond's grandsire; shortly after, they were discovered to be drinking above their actual limit.

Their plan had worked and you were delighted to assist your brother-in-law in usurping his elder sister. To have him sit on the iron throne. For you to survive in this world, you needed wealth and power, and you knew that if you stopped now, you and your spouse would both perish whenever Rhaenyra Velaryon ascended to the iron throne. You were willing to go to any length for the sake of your husband and family, you told yourself.

As the years passed, the Targaryen line flourished. His wife gave Aegon twins, and Aemond was given a son and a daughter. The older one shares the blood-red hair of his mother and the violet eyes of his father, while your daughter had long, white hair. Like him, she has deep Targaryen eyes. A vibrant violet.

Your step-sister-in-law still lingered back at Dragonstone with her sons. You had never met her yourself. The stories your family spoke, even the maids and guards in Kings Landing were enough to get an insight into her character. You held your description short seeing that you could not fully rely on the tales the maids whispered- you found them exaggerating their tales of her. The stories of the rogue prince, you trusted fully even his brother- the King had spoken ill of him in the past.

You believed the firstborn of the king was calm and composed, certain of her own abilities. You must use caution when facing her, which is a great quality to have in times of war. If the rogue prince is by her side, does she still possess mercy in her heart? You were unaware, and perhaps this is not the right time to learn.

The Targaryens- Hightowers were currently dealing with other concerns. A literal knife was being held against their throats. Today they are expecting a visit from a small but strong house. It is said that one man held the power of seven and thirteen if handed a weapon. They needed men to win the war that was coming for them, and they were not about to deny the house that offered their help. House Tindall offered themselves, led by a strong and hasty man.

However, they were the issue. They were the knife that the king had invited for dinner today. Your grandsire-in-law intended to attack them in order to weaken Rhaenyra, not to gather the warriors Lord Tindall so generously provided. You were aware of Rhaenyra's followers, particularly those who resided in Kings Landing.

When it comes to their opinions, your family is a transparent bunch. Maybe not when it comes to their schemes and plots, but they made their opinions known. Therefore, it was difficult for you to keep your mouth shut as you observed her loyal dogs eating, bathing, and sleeping in warm, thick sheets. You were not about to put your husband and two lovely children in danger because you could not compose yourself.

It would only reflect poorly on your own name and that of your father, who raised you differently. A disgrace, which you will never put into consideration, but still, you desired for the traitorous Tindall's to depart or, even better, to die because if they were to return to their queen, she would become stronger. That was something the greens tried to avoid; it was already beginning to look difficult with only three dragons on their side while the blacks have way more.

Hence, you decided to take a different approach. Something that would not declare war but rather be an unfortunate accident. Despite Tindall showing great strength, they also have weaknesses—pathetic ones, you thought.

Your heels filled the halls as you walked along the high walls. The silky, gold dress you are wearing is being held up by one of your hands while the other holds your daughters. While the maids made you ready for the dinner that was about to take place in just a few hours, your ears picked up the rumours the maids spoke about. A weakness. A plan to get rid of Lord Tindall.

In haste, you made your way outside to search for your son and husband. The whole way, you struggled to hide the smirk on your face. ''Mother please! Could you slow down?!'' All the things you wished to tell Aemond left your mind, and you focused on your daughter. As you watched her smooth her silky white hair down, you grinned down at her. You exhaled a chuckle and kissed her on the head.

''I have exciting things to tell your father, my love. My 'running' only reflects my eagerness, and would you not like to see your father yourself? I bet even your brother is there, training to become strong just like your father.'' Your daughter's face lit up just like the sun does every day; it warms your heart. 

''Aemys!'' The little girl called out and ran towards the doors that lead outside, leaving you in the hall alone. You straightened your clothes before pursuing your daughter The sun immediately warms the skin exposed to it, and your eyes squint from its brightness. Only a quick look around was needed to find your daughter again. Her short arms were clinging to the legs of your husband. 

''As she grows, so does her love for you. Perhaps she loves you more than me.'' Your voice caught the attention of your son and Aemond, but your daughter still stuck to him. Your son, Aemys, raced into your arms after dropping his sword. He gains strength as he ages. The arms that are around your waist feel tighter each time you hug your firstborn.

''And he loves you more than me. A fair exchange, I would say.'' Aemond could spout insults and still seem courteous thanks to his soothing voice, which was always pleasant to hear. He took your daughter by her hips and threw her in the air above him. Every time he caught her, a giggle would go past your daughter's lips. Alysys has always been a walking sun in your eyes.

She would remind you of your mother many times—a clever and soft young girl. Her love for animals inspires you, while her mind makes you proud. Your son always surprised you with his boldness; he too was a smart child, something Westeros lacked. But Aemys shines the hardest when he holds a sword in his hand. Sometimes you watch him train and see Aemond in him, and a proud glint in your eyes will be seen.

As you fluffed his hair, dirt trickled down it. His eyes quickly shut, and his hands tried to block yours. ''Mother please! There is no need, as I'm about to continue with father anyway. '' You patted his head one more time before leading him to his sister. ''Go show your sister the things you've just learned, and after I've finished speaking to your father, you may continue your training.'' Aemys went to his sister and took her hand, but not before greeting her with a kiss on her head. ''Come Alysys.''

Aemond's form went near you; his head lowered as he followed his oldest child's action. But instead of kissing you on the head, your husband kissed you on the lips. When he whispered, ''Each time I'm surprised to have so well-spoken children, '' his hands were clasped in yours.

A pleased smile appeared as you bowed your head, breaking your gaze from Aemond. ''It merely implies we have done an excellent job in raising them, husband.'' Aemond continued to stare at you with admiration in his eye. ''I would say, you have done an excellent job. I can assure you that, me, and Aegon were not that clever in our youth.'' It seemed like you could not stop smiling today as his little jest brought amusement to you.

''Perhaps you are right.'' You lightly pinched his arm and teased. His head tilted, he wanted revenge but stopped when he noticed your expression change to a darker one. One he knew all too well. Above Kings Landing, the clouds slowly began to cover the beaming sun. You and he were possessed by Shadow, and so was your discussion.

''But that is not what I am here for. I'm sure you have heard about the Tindalls visiting us.'' As soon as he heard you speak, Aemond's attitude matched yours. ''You mean Rhaenyra's ally.''

''Yes, Aemond. The letter from Lord Tindall mentioned that if we agreed to unite our houses, he would give us his soldiers and his loyalty. Basically, his letter was a lie. I was and still am convinced they were sent by Daemon to kill us.'' The words you spoke were low. Only Aemond could hear you say them in a muted tone. Your eyes watched Aemys fall to the ground, letting Alysys win their pretend fight. ''I assume you already have a plan.''

''That is what i was so excited about, my love. I may or may not have handled everything already.'' A dark glint was in your eyes while you watch Aemonds face twist into a amazed one.

''Am I allowed to know?'' Aemond mumbled in his usual soft voice, behind it you could hear his delight. Your husbands hands freed your face of your fiery red hair as the clouds brought the wind forth. ''No. That is for you to find out.''

''I have heard you were in the kitchens a moment ago. Am I on the right path?'' His hands now gently and lovingly caressed your cheeks. ''Perhaps, perhaps not.'' You replied to him. In the background, Alysys's brother began to torment her while she screamed and laughed.

''I shall wait for the upcoming events then.'' Aemond gave you a kiss and went back towards his sword, which he had stuck in the ground before. His hair swung as he went back to train his son. ''Aemys! Say goodbye to your mother, will you? Aemy's attention was taken from his sister, who lay on the ground and waved to you from a distance. ''Till later, mother!'' 

You returned your child's wave. You believed Aemys was a true gentleman. Your son assisted your youngest in rising from the ground and wiping off the excess dirt she had on her yellowish dress. Aemys pushed his sister's small body in your direction after saying goodbye to her with another kiss on the head.

''Mother! Aemys showed me how to fight without a weapon.'' Alysys laughed as she took your hand. ''I saw, my love. Hence, we are going to have you wash up now. '' You told her when you saw the mud prints left in the hall behind you. ''Oh-oh, '' your daughter mumbled.

The sky went darker as time went by. Aemond and Aemys finished a long time ago and got ready for the upcoming dinner. Well, only your husband, because you and he had planned to bring the children to bed before you left. It was quite late, and you wished to keep Tindall's eyes off your children. 

Aemond closed the doors behind him, bidding Alysys a good night. He came up to your side and extended his arm. ''The guards will watch the doors. '' You and he are walking to the dining hall. Guards followed you to the hall. They are safe, my love, '' you told Aemond when you noticed his unnerving behaviour. You felt the same, letting an ally of Rhaenyra into the castle. It was unnerving.

''Did you have a loving day, brother?'' Aemond pulled a chair out for you, and you sat down while looking at the huge table and the food. ''Wonderful. Just like any other day.'' Aegon answered your question. Beside him sat Helaena, mumbling to herself, but Aegon ignored her like he had always done. Her husband instead drowned in his cups and took a few grapes, popping them in his mouth.

''What about you, dear sister?'' The oldest Targaryen present at the moment asked, sarcasm lacing his rough voice. ''It was marvellous, and it's about to get even better.'' You smirked with glee, and your hand took Aemonds. Aegon was an individual who could not be bothered, but he still had a gift for stirring particular people up, and Aemond was unfortunately one of them.

Aemond felt compelled to protect you since he knew his brother simply intended to mock you. But as Aegon and you both know, your spouse is prone to making his emotions known. The male Targaryens all share the tendency to act in the same way when they are irritated or enraged. He has a tendency to hurt them with his comments, which have in the past caused fights or worse.

That was something you wanted to avoid this eventful evening. At this supper, the Tindall's are expected to feel welcomed.

''Better? Our sisters ass suckers are to sit at this table while they stuff themselves like pigs.'' Aegon scoffed; his eyes locked onto yours. His eye bags were so dark that one would think they were talking to a dead body. ''If you are to be king, my dear brother, then you should learn a few things. This is a great opportunity, so you should use it. Pay attention to this supper rather than overthrowing your liver.''

  Aegon simply scoffed and gulped the liquid in the cup quickly. His eyes were suddenly downcast, disregarding the bug in front that was placed in front of him. He murmured to himself under his breath. ''I don't fucking want it. '' Unsurprisingly, his brother heard. When his stool created a screeching noise, Aemond attempted to get up but was halted by the opening of the tall, gold-layered doors.

Loud steps appeared and were followed by exuberant talking and laughing. Lord Tindall, his family (wife and kids). His mother, a tall brunette woman, was the sole female in the household. Her Husband took the lead, wearing warrior-style clothing and a beard that covered his entire neck. Since Kings Landing was hot even at night, his sleeveless shirt was in keeping with the temperature.

The Lord had black hair, and his face and arms were covered in wounds from battle. His sons were similar in height to him and shared their mother's green eyes and father's black hair. The assumed youngest was roughly the same height as Aemond.

It simply took a single glance. Lord Tindall was a tremendously prideful man, and his pride overshadowed his strategic thinking and ability in battle. Even though he was among the strongest people in all of Westeros, his ego got in the way. No words were uttered by his wife. She was submissive and mum. Her eyes would reflect her respect for her spouse when she looked at him.

Both of these traits were present in their three sons. The tallest and quietest child was the oldest. Even before they sat down, his brothers waited for him to sit first before following him.

You figured that he was the second strongest person in the room. They should not have been underestimated—his father came first. They were sent by Daemon for a reason and not by someone else.

However, you weren't concerned. Even the strongest people cannot withstand a food allergy. The other two sons were loud and proud, just like their father. This ought to be over soon.

All four of you greeted the family. ''Where is the King?'' Lord Tindall's rough voice asked as he looked at the empty seat opposite him. You waited for Aegon to talk, as he was the oldest of the four of you. But a sigh left your mouth when you saw the shrug he sent you. You only returned a disappointed eye roll and spoke as the second oldest.

''I am afraid the king cannot attend today. His sickness is taking a toll on him; he must rest. The queen and the hand of the king will be with us instead.'' You smiled at him and raised your cup, a common sign of acknowledgement. ''I see,'' he replied, his eyes showing slight confusion and intrigue. The lord expected Aegon to talk, the male heir, but was surprised it was the wife of the second-born.

It did not take long for Otto Hightower and the queen to arrive. The evening appeared to go smoothly on the outside, but that was only the case.

The queen forced a smile everytime a joke was told or she was fidgeting around while sometimes staring at the weapons Lord Tindalls guards were wielding. When she learned that an opponent had been invited, she felt anxious. Alicent was concerned for herself, her kids, and especially her grandchildren.

Otto Hightower was the one conversing with Lord Tindall. They started off talking about lighter topics but soon drifted to politics and war. Your grandsire-in-law's actions did not surprise you because he most likely had a plan of his own. He was grasping for information.

Helaena took small bites while nervously listening to one of Lord Tindall's sons, or she was talking if it was with Aemond. Aegon completely kept to himself.

Aemond did not speak much, and if he did, it was only with his own family. To Aegon, he would indignantly throw insults; to his mother, he would reassure her with physical touch or words.

You appreciated Aemond not interrupting the exchange you were having with Lady Tindall. You were sharing stories—false stories—with the wife. At first she would only hum or say a few words, but over time she shared more than you anticipated.

You would closely observe her while you listened to her speak. She would frequently fix her gaze on the guards the Lord had brought. When you questioned whether something was wrong or whether the main course was to her taste, she would smile tensely. Lady Tindall would smile hesitantly and wave her hands.

The Lords guards gradually backed away from their original positions and formed a circle around the table. There were perhaps eight guards there, which seemed excessive for just dinner. However, there were a lot more guards for the queen.

''Does your plan involve killing?'' Aemond whispered into your ear; it was obvious he was triggered, as his eye was shooting daggers at the unfamiliar guards around you. ''Do not worry, my dear, as that would only worsen the matter. "Even if they have the power, one guard cannot beat twenty men at once, can they?''

Your eyes caught your mother-in-law gripping a knife hard; the young wife was beginning to tremble in her seat. Aemond watched you nod behind him, your eyes looking past him. ''Watch over your mother, my love; it is time.'' You mumbled and gave him a kiss on the cheek before you slowly stood up.

''I would like to say a toast while the servants bring in the dessert.'' Everyone in the room tuned in when you raised your hand with a cup of wine in your hand. It was held high while you spoke. The hand of the king leaned back into his seat right as you spoke; a smug aura was emitting from him. However, the queen had trouble feeling at ease. You felt bad for your mother, as she was only going to feel worse with what she was going to witness.

''Lord Tindall, my family wants to thank you dearly for meeting with us and uniting our houses. You will be a great asset to the Targaryens, and we are delighted to wed the future king's daughter, Jahaera Targaryen, to your youngest, Finley Tindall.'' 

''As am I! '' He interrupted and hit his youngest on the shoulder hard. His acting was so fabulous that you had to give it to him. A small cheer followed his words. You only responded with a small lift of your lips and continued.

''My brother Aegon will ascend the iron throne after his father, the king, Viserys Targaryen, and protect the Seven Kingdoms just like his father had done all the years before him. With our strength combined, we will stop anyone who says otherwise, as they are nothing but traitors to us, an enemy we have and will destroy.'' 

You did not hesitate to emphasise the last bit. A quick glance was shared with your distant uncle and, at the same time, your grandsire-in-law. ''I am sure the ride here took you a long time, and so I want to express our gratitude through a wonderful dessert.''. Many servants began to bring in the dessert.

''I have heard many stories of your hometown, and the foods sounded interesting." With the bowl placed in front of you, I wish to make you feel even more welcome. Good apatite.'' You finished your toast and drank the wine in your hand.

Before taking a seat, you delayed and nodded at one of the guards. When the bowls were set in front of your family as well, they instantly understood. Alicent's expression was one of shock and worry. Otto looked proud but managed to hide it effectively. Helaena played with a bug under the table while trying to avoid glancing at the guests. Aegon's intoxicated self laughed but quickly covered it up by taking another drink. Before that, he gave you a discreet applause, to which you responded with a smirk of your own.

Aemond first looked towards you, looking for a sign of confirmation, and when he got one, his eye was directed to the Lord. His eye followed the way the family began to swallow their hometown's last course. 

''While you eat, I want to confess. My maids, sadly, could not find the right ingredients, and so we had to change a few things.'' You nervously told them, but the second-born spoke fast after you. ''No worries, my lady. This tastes just like the maids at home do it!''

''Oh really?'' You asked, following your grandsire's form. Your back against the chair, a hand holding onto a cup, and the other holding your husband's Your pretending eyes turned sly and dark, and instead of a fake nervous smile, it got replaced by a lazy smirk.

''Then I am glad.'' Even your voice sounded shady. ''I was afraid the peanuts were going to be a distraction.'' This sentence stopped the whole hall. Your family watched with interest when the Tindalls stopped eating their dessert. His wife, Lady Tindall, began to shake with terror. ''P-Peanuts…?''.

Each kid responded differently. The oldest appeared to accept his fate and made an effort to reassure the secondborn one that everything would be alright. The smallest, Finley, started crying, while the second child did nothing but gaze at you with horror written all over his face.

"Y-You cunt!" Bring me Aegon and her head, guards! '' His raspy voice rang out, but all he got in response was silence. Unlike his family, the man with the black hair understood what was happening right away.

He got to his feet and scanned the area. Each of his guards had a severed throat and was lying on the ground. It's unfortunate that Lord Tindall was stuck with his head in the bowl and was unaware of the silent killing.

He hurriedly approached you, his feet pounding the ground so loudly that it echoed. You chose not to move and simply gave him an arrogant shrug. You got blocked by Aemond. Your husband glares at the furious man, watching him hit the ground.

''Th-The Q-Queen! Rhaenyra Velaryon will sit the ir-on throne after Viserys T-Targaryen. I-I pr-omise you tha- Cun….'' He was loyal until his last breath, but it obviously did him and his family no good. Blood was pouring from their eyes, nostrils, and mouth. Aemond slowly made his way back to his seat, almost stumbling over the dead body of Finley Tindall.

''M-My dear? What will we tell the people? Rhaenyra will take this as an act of war, will she not? Father.'' The queen said this while being comforted by her son, Aemond. It was a sight she did not wish to see. 

''Do not worry, mother. Rhaenyra, more like Daemon, cannot do anything as this will only show he had a plan of his own- this is delicious!! My Gosh!'' You interrupted yourself when you tried the dessert. ''A shame they were allergic to peanuts, though, '' you said with a full mouth, ignoring the tense atmosphere around you.

  ''This really isn't bad.'' Aegon muffled and took another spoonful of it. His mother only glanced at him with disbelief. This time Otto spoke and while the king's guards moved the bodies. ''I assume your plan was to lie. We will say an unfortunate accident happened; we had no knowledge of their allergy or a cure. The guards had to be killed because they wanted to kill us. '' Otto told his daughter and offered her the dessert. 

''Exactly. Is it good, my love?'' You beamed and turned to the seat next to you. Aemond nodded at you. ''It is. Perhaps we should give a little to Aemys and Alysys. Our little ones would love it.'' He takes another taste after answering. ''We should.'' You confirmed his thoughts.

The queen was at a loss for words as she observed her children eating in peace. Helaena does appear to be a little uneasy but still emptied the bowl herself. Alicent worries as she looks at her father. After a brief exchange of stares, her father's eyes finally got through to her.

''a-an unfortunate accident… alright.'' She repeated it and took a shaky spoonful of the soft texture. 

[sahowhs]

You all know how this is going to start… I’m watching Heartstopper again. No even embarrassed how often I watch it. But what I love is looking for all the hidden Alice Oseman books in different episodes. Season one has some crafty book placements and I love it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Actually, while we're on the topic of pets, what pets do you see the others with?

[Referencing this post!]

I'll (slightly) cheat and condense everyone into their groups, then say "whatever animals fit the motif of their respective character/film". There's some notes for each boy as well, but not always in the most intense of details. (Please keep in mind that this is only covering the main 22 students from NRC!!) Heartslabyul already tends to hedgehogs and flamingos, so those could be common creatures to have as pets/familiars (especially among the card soldiers like Cater, Trey, Deuce, and Ace) Alternatively, there could be other animals from Alice in Wonderland such as cats (for the Cheshire Cat), oysters, living flowers, walruses, dormouses, rabbits/hares, etc. If we want to stray outside of the dorm motifs, a chameleon for Ace (since he has a talent for mimicking people)?? Cater with a fox because of how crafty he can be?? (I don't feel super strong on this choice.) Trey is Normal so a cat or a dog for him!! The dog could be useful for sniffing out special ingredients while a cat is fitting because Trey's VA also voices Lucius... And of course, Deuce deserves a chicken so it can lay many eggs! Riddle I see getting one of the standard pets because "it's the rule/tradition at Heartslabyul!" Uhhh, mostly savanna animals for Savanaclaw I guess?? But again, the same moral debate I mentioned in the original post still applies here. (Like, would it be weird for a lion/wolf/hyena beastman such as Leona/Jack/Ruggie to have a lion/wolf/hyena as a pet/familiar???) Octavinelle would have a lot of aquatic creatures as pets/familiars. I think the "perfect" pet/familiar to match Azul's image would be eels (to mimic Ursula). Not sure what Jade or Floyd would have (the JP fandom uses a dolphin and a shark emoji, respectively, to refer to them so maybe those)?? But since Jade is the informant for the group, I'm thinking something small and agile so he can send it to spy for him. (Plus, it could chill out in his terrariums for funsies later.) Floyd would have something more aggressive... Scarabia would have unconventional animals from all over Twisted Wonderland! Kalim is someone I see as having many animal friends, so I can't think of just one animal. Maybe a tiger (like Princess Jasmine)? But it's also fun to imagine Kalim riding in on a massive elephant! He was originally supposed to have a monkey familiar (like Aladdin), so I can easily see that happening as well. Jamil has a clearer desire for a specific animal companion, and that would be a parrot. I can also see a snake for... obvious reasons. Maybe a bug to really torment them. Peacock for Vil because he sits in a peacock throne and it has a majestic vibe. A crow or raven also works due to its association with the Evil Queen. Rook, like Kalim, is someone I see with a variety of animals and not a specific one. Whatever his pet/familiar is, it would probably be a skilled hunter. I'm thinking like some kind of predator bird like a hawk or falcon. Epel... nothing immediately comes to mind, but maybe something small and cute but tough like he is. Idia would want a kawaii widdle neko-chan (his words, not mine) to keep as a lap warmer while he aggressive games. Ortho is more of a dog person (yes, this is purely because of his Cerberus Gear card), though I picture him engaging with virtual pets and/or those cybernetic dogs more than like... actual animals. I think Lilia's bats already count as his pets, although they are rarely ever mentioned in dialogue. Silver, as a member of the light trio, is another person that I see with many animals (squirrels, deer, birds, rabbits, etc.). Sebek I feel would shout that every animal is inferior to Malleus and that no pet he has could ever match Malleus's, etc. etc. etc. He's usually associated with crocs, so I think many would gravitate to one as Sebek's pet??? I think it would be funny if his familiar was something small, cute, and kinda pathetic (like a chipmunk or something) so he acts all bashful about it... but hey, I think a horse (so he can ride proudly into combat) also works. Malleus I already covered in the original post linked above.

[seaglassandeelgrass]

Crafty maidens leaving fools without (horses, gold, swords)

Cover woodblock is taken from Bodleian broadside 4o Rawl. 566(169)

The Crafty Maid's Policy- Frankie Armstrong

The Maid on the Shore- Stan Rogers

The Broomfield Hill- Malinky

Lovely Joan- Martin Carthy

Crockery Ware- Jackie Oates

The Highwayman Outwitted- Pete Coe & Alice Jones

The King and the Fair Maid- Cara

Martinmas Time- Karan Casey

The Baffled Knight- Lucy Ward

The Crafty Maid's Policy- Lindsay Straw

10 tracks; 35 mins. [Spotify]

[my other playlists]