#edd robe

[hotluncheddie]

Memories of somethin' even smoking weed does not replace.

wc: 3.3k | cw: alcohol, weed | rated: E | part: 2/2 | tags: pre/post s4 au, handjob, hurt/comfort, raised catholic steve harrington

part 1 | ao3

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00:20 January 4th: Basement 

It’s nice, Steve thinks, down here in the basement. Where theres a hazy cloud of smoke from a group in the other corner, cigarettes and weed mixing. Where Steve can relax, let his mind wander to how it smells the same down here as Eddie’s hair had when he leaned towards him on the staircase. 

His mind floats there. In the pews, thinking about Eddie. It makes Steve’s knees itch. 

He slipped down to the basement because he had to. Too many people up there with solid plans of how to get out. Too many who already made it, visiting Hawkins like a novelty, a little trip to some place you can associate with the past, separate from the present. 

They kept trying to draw him in, upstairs, wanted to get to know the guy with the good aim. Some of them don’t even know about King Steve. He’s just some guy, too some, up there. Steve doesn’t know what’s worse. 

It all made Steve start to fidget, uncomfortable. He doesn’t have a plan to get out, doesn’t think he could even if he did. Hawkins isn’t a novelty, not to Steve, it holds his leash. He knows he’s tethered to the place, anxious and afraid to step too far over the thresholds. Knows it’s a little pathetic. But he can’t escape the fear that it’ll all fall apart, crack open and gape and he’ll be locked out. Fail those people who he can’t. Loose the barely there grasp he has on their attention already.   

But, even in the muddy swamp of his thoughts, he’s enjoying his spot in the corner, on an empty sofa. 

He’s definitely feeling the beers now, feels floaty and heavy at the same time. But he also downed a cup of water before sneaking away. So, it’s not taken him too far, not lowered his inhibitions enough to remind him of flower faces and underground fortresses. 

It’s more, just, suburban wallowing. A familiar tipsy sort of buzz. A burning in the back of his throat as his brain jumps from brown eyes to varsity hoodies and back to long dark curls. 

He does the breathing exercise a nurse taught him. Breaths in, holds it, breaths out, sinks into the couch. 

He’s okay. Robins okay. She’s having fun. He’s here and it’s okay. 

‘What was that about not liking attention Stevie, hm?’ Eddie asks as he sits down next to him, handing over a plastic cup and knocking their knees together. 

Steve starts, tries not to show how his heart rates gone up. How Eddie’s fingers brushing his own makes his blood fizz. ‘What’s this?’ He asks, clearing his throat, blinking to clear his head. 

Eddie wiggles his eyebrows, all drama and mischief. ‘Eggnog.’ Then he taps his nose. ‘Special eggnog.’

Steve raises his, takes a sniff. He almost asks Eddie why he’s down here but that would be stupid, and make Eddie leave. He’s not drunk enough to do the first and, also not drunk enough to admit how his chest caves in a little at the thought of the second. ‘Where’d you even get this?’ He settles on. 

‘Fridge. Said it goes off tomorrow so, figured I’m kinda doing them a favour.’ Eddie smiles. He speaks so easily, deep and lilting and musical, drawing Steve in with every breath. 

Steve shifts on the couch. Lets their knees touch, slide together. It’s heady, and viscose, like swimming through stained glass. Steve wants more. Steve decided to take, wants to take. Can kneel and see what he gets given. Smooth wooden pews. A basement at a party. 

Steve downs some, it’s sickly. It’s strong. That buzz seems to double. 

He steps into the robes of who he used to be, who kissed Nancy in the girls bathroom. Who’d whisper in girls ears at parties, make them moan. Blow a kiss up at the stands at baseball games. Did it all, like it was nothing. 

He sucks air in through his teeth, wincing at the taste. ‘This is gross Munson.’ he says, laughing. He reaches over and pours the rest of his cup into Eddie’s, pushing their shoulders together and feeling the heat radiating off of Eddie’s bare neck. ‘Plus, if I drink any more my dick won’t work.’ He doesn’t think, just says, low and murmured. 

The rosary beads are back, circling his throat, Steve thinks he likes the way they bite. 

‘Is that so?’ Eddie ask, smile obvious in his voice, gleeful and surprised. Speaking almost in Steve’s ear. 

‘Yup.’ Steve turns his head fully to the side, so close to Eddie’s face. Lets his eyelids droop, licks his lips. ‘What about you, King Freak, that never happen to you?’ He’s pushing, treading from shallows into deep muddy depths. 

‘Do not fucking call me that dude.’ Eddie shoves him lightly, the way girls used to, push just so they can pull him back in. ‘But yeah, obviously I do know, it’s science man.’ 

Steve slouches back next to Eddie on the sofa. Still close, still sharing body heat. ‘Dude, man, what’s up with that, bro?’ Steve teases, set alight. 

‘What’s up with that, bro?’ Eddie slides a hand down his face with a groan. But Steve can see he’s fighting a smile, hiding it behind his palm. Eddie’s rings glint in the lamplight. 

Steve thinks he could get used to this, being so close to Eddie. Watching his face split in half with his grin. Wide open, pink and white. Steve wants to taste. 

Eddie looks at him, incredulous, but his eyes are sparkling. ‘For a smart guy, you’re kinda dumb when you drink.’

Steve smirks, but something in him feels porcelain and breakable. ‘Dunno how I fooled ya into thinking ‘m smart. But ok.’ He says, smirk falling, he swallows, remembers again who he is, who he is now. 

‘Well you’re the only person on this sofa with a diploma.’ Eddie says, something hard in his eyes, but eggshell thin. 

‘Technicalities.’ Steve moves in closer again. As if reaching out.

Steve sees it now, they’re hard-soft. Church wafers before the spit. So similar in their differences. And Eddie knows. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He stands slightly to pull at the legs of his jeans and put his cup on the floor. When he sits back down Steve notes that they’re definitely closer than before. Hip too hip, shoulder to shoulder. He can feel Eddies bony elbow and the muscle on his thigh, weed-cigarette filling his nose, along with something warm, something Eddie. His eyelashes are long and thick. Steve swallows. Fiddles with his empty cup. 

‘Your question before, about attention?’ Steve starts, shifts so he can look up at Eddie’s profile better, take in the line of his nose. ‘I still like it, attention. Just, only when it’s from, certain people.’ And Eddie turns to look at Steve, eyes a little guarded, but Steve takes a chance, glancing at eddies mouth, for just a second, licks his lips. Watches as eddies lips curl up at the corners. 

Eddie stands and Steve feels sticky, hot and cold. But Eddie turns towards him, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a perfectly rolled joint. 

‘You wanna come outside? Help me smoke this?’ Eddie asks. 

Steve looks at it, looks up at Eddie. ‘No.’ Steve looks at Eddie’s handcuff belt buckle. ‘But I’ll come outside with you.’

Steve looks back up through his eyelashes and Eddies eyes are hungry. 

00:59 January 4th: Eddies Van

‘Shut. Up. Harrington.’ Eddie says into Steves lips, tugs at the back of his hair and Steve feels his eyes roll back on a moan. 

Nancy used to do that to him sometimes. He doesn’t want to think about Nancy. Eddies hands are bigger, stronger. Nancy seemed to get flighty if Steve ever let go too much, unmoored and untethered, she didn’t like to swim in the deep end. 

They’re in the back of Eddie’s van, Steve leaning against the side, legs sprawled out in front of him, Eddie in his lap. 

He can just hear the the music coming from the house still, its muffled but, they’re not that far, Eddie’s right, Steve supposes. 

He also doesn’t really care. He just wants. Smells varnished wood, and incense. 

‘Make me.’ He goads and his insides light up at the dark fire enveloping Eddie’s eyes. 

‘I knew you’d be dangerous.’ Eddie murmurs to himself. 

Steve desperately wants to know what the fuck that means. But Eddie just stubs his blunt out and pinches the end to save it for later. ‘Hold this’ he taps it against Steve’s bottom lip and Steve opens immediately. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, taste Eddie on them. ‘Don’t let it fall, okay Stevie?’ 

Steve nods, rock hard. An intense, soul crushing need to be good has him clamping his lips tightly around the joint, ear ringing. 

The clack of his belt being undone makes Steve close his eyes and breathe deep through his nose. Eddie palms Steve’s cock over his jeans, eyes hooded and dark. 

Eddies nimble fingers go for his fly, he lifts one of Steve hands to rest on his shoulder. Gets his cock out of his boxers so fast Steve feels himself sink, the van melting away until it’s just Eddie. Just Eddie in his lap and the smell of smoke and ash. Steve holds on for dear life. 

He lets his other hand come to Eddie’s hip, thumb stroking where his t-shirt sits at his waistband, dipping to feel skin. Eddie’s hand on his cock is making him feel desperate, but he doesn’t make a noise, just feels his eyes wet. 

‘That’s it, staying so quiet, take what you need.’ And Steve’s lets his hand roam. He wants to feel, touch skin. He strokes Eddie’s neck, fingers trailing over his torso, searching up under his shirt. Slips his hand around to Eddie’s back pocket and squeezes. Eyes rolling in his head again over Eddie’s lean lines, his sharp edges and soft parts. The hand twisting his dick so perfectly. He’s not gonna last. 

He opens his eyes again and Eddie’s bore into him. Dark and big and eating him whole. His mouth is open, slack, relishing in taking Steve apart. Steve whines weakly in his throat, Eddie’s hand comes up and grabs that handful of hair again, tugging once. 

Steve tips over the edge, spilling into Eddie’s hand. Shuddering through his orgasm with a muffled groan, his hands still squeezing what they can reach of Eddie. One hand under his t-shirt, fingers in ribs, Steve wants to crack Eddie open, reach inside. 

Eddie tucks him back in his boxers. Takes the joint from his lips and places it behind his ear. Steve’s breathing still not back to normal but he leans in for another kiss. Needs to feel tongue and heat and know that this is really real. Really happening. 

That it’s not Steve of ’84 or ’85, that he made it to ’86. That he survived, that he didn’t nail himself on a cross and leave the rest up to fate. That he chose, he offered and took. 

Eddie kisses back holding his jaw with a clean hand and sucking on Steve’s lower lip. Steve goes for Eddie’s fly but his mouth gets pulled off, Eddie pinching him at the chin. 

‘S’all good sweet thing. Can’t cum when I’m crossfaded, mind gets all muddled and I can’t focus enough.’ And he says it with a smile, like it’s no big deal, just a fact. Steve feels his insides churn with need. 

He needs to repay the favour. That’s how, how he can show it. Show how he needs, how he wants. How his hearts is just begging to be ripped out, bloody and still beating. And he can give that over, he can. He wants to. 

Eddie pecks his lips again and moves off of Steve’s lap, tossing the hanky into a corner. 

‘I gotta find Rob first but, uh, you wanna come to mine? Hang out? My parents aren’t home.’ Steve asks, maybe he can still fix this, keep it. His voice is higher than normal, still breathy. He clears his throat, swallows, tries to feel the van under his feet. 

Eddie’s settles across from him, holding his lighter. He looks over with a little lazy smile. ‘Ah, sorry toots, that’s a little too close to romance for me.’ 

Steve tries not to let his cracks show, but he knows his valleys can open, sometimes the maw in his chest can’t be close quick enough. ‘What’s wrong with romance?’ He asks, his bandaged up heart lodged in his throat. 

‘Just not something I do, it’s no stress, I’ll just see you around Harrington, yeah?’ And it’s so casual. So final. 

Steve swallows and nods and checks his fly is done and slips out the back door. Hopes his cracks weren’t too blatant, too ugly. 

He aches. He needs to confess. 

6:15 July 15th: Hawkins General, Room 136

Eddie was finally healing. His blood had been drawn and his skin had been grafted, he’d taken his meds and even attended a couple government mandated therapy sessions. 

He’d admitted in them that yeah, he didn’t trust easy. But no one other than Wayne had shown him they cared with such consistent acts of kindness. Everyone else left him in the dirt. So no, he doesn’t trust easy. 

They’d said you have to give people a chance to be kind to you, and if they do fuck up you’re always within your power to leave. But that sometimes kindness goes both ways. 

Eddie knew that. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t still terrifying. 

Even more terrifying because Eddie had a face for the kindness. A place he aches to send his own, packaged and pretty and waiting to be unwrapped. 

See, Steve Harrington was kind. Steve Harrington gave Eddie some of his blood, he’d helped the nurses change his bandages once or twice when the staff numbers were too sparse during a shift. Filled his water cup and cut his ugly but actually pretty good hospital meatloaf for him. 

He’d kept Eddie squeaky clean, no chance of being kicked in the dirt, left dead in a ditch, whatever metaphors works best. 

Steve was good. Eddie knew it. He did. But that doesn’t mean he’s not scared. 

Because Eddie wanted to be kind back. He hoped holding Steve’s hand though getting his blood drawn, and letting him nap half curled on Eddie’s bed were enough for now. To let Steve see. See that he always wants to stroke his hair if a nightmare hits, not just when they’re fresh from hell. That he always wants to hold his hand, not just when there’s needles involved. 

It’s actually, like, all the time that he wants to hold it, it’s really bad. Terminal. 

The first time Steve filled his water unprompted Eddie honestly thought he heard a church bell ring, like, how can someone be so good? 

And, even worse maybe, is that Steve Harrington was also a dork. 

A genuinely silly guy. Cracking jokes unprompted just to get someone to laugh, someone to groan which makes someone else laugh. And he sits amongst it, this happy little chaos he’s created, and he beams. 

Eddie thinks about it sometimes. That night in his van, at that random house party he can’t remember. He only remembers Steve, where Steve was, what he was doing, how he looked. Eddie thinks about that. 

Thinks about his face when Eddie said he couldn’t hang out, how he seemed to masking tape himself back together, disappointed and fragile. But Eddie just couldn’t take anything further. Couldn’t risk letting Steve see him. 

Sometimes Steve follows Wayne to the hospital chapel. He doesn’t ask, but he wants to. Wants to know who Steve prays to, what about, why his knuckles are still bruised when most of his other injuries are healing. Why he never talks about his parents. Why he hates the colour red. Where he goes when he zoned out and his whole face mangles into a frown, into an aching maw, Eddie wants to know, if just to help a little, ease his pain. 

Eddie thinks about Steve, as he knew him and as he knows him now. About people being kind, about a therapist saying it goes both ways. And Eddie thinks he wants to be brave. 

For Steve Harrington, Eddie can be brave. 

‘Look what I snuck in for you today, fit for a king, no?’ Steve slips two Yoo Hoo’s from the inside of his jacket. Coming to sit in the plastic chair by Eddie’s bedside.  

(Covered in crochet blankets that Robin brought over the moment she clocked that Steve fell asleep here sometimes. Steve likes to stick his fingers through the holes while they watch tv. Eddie likes to watch Steve’s fingers.) 

He looks tired, Steve, deep purple stains under his eyes. But Robin said he’s brighter when he’s here, knowing Eddie and Max are alive, getting to see them. She said it was like he forgets when he’s not here, ghosts clouding his vision. Maybe it’s just more distracting here. Eddie doesn’t know. He just knows Steve’s here now. That he brought him chocolate milk and that he’s smiling. 

Eddie holds the drink up to the light with two hands, opening his eyes wide, like it’s something holy. ‘Ah, the stuff of angels.’ 

Steve snorts and reaches up to open it for him. Eddie’s heart clenches. 

Steve is kind, and good and brave. Eddie can try and be half that, for Steve. 

He takes a sip, watching Steve do the same. ‘This kinda reminds me of eggnog.’ He muses, heart rate picking up. 

‘I’m not putting whisky in it Eddie, Wayne would skin me alive.’ Steve says, flat. Beaming when Eddie snorts. He’s so wide open, so eager, and bright. 

‘I know that.’ Eddie says. ‘Just, I guess it’s you then, reminding me, of eggnog.’ He tries, hiding behind his riddles.

Steve looks confused, glancing between their drinks and Eddie’s face. 

He needs to spell it out, Steve deserves his plain honesty, Eddie takes a deep breath. 

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Eddie starts. 

‘Dangerous’ 

‘Shhh!’ Eddie fights down a grin. This is serious. He, ugh. 

‘I’ve been thinking about uh, changing opinions’ Eddie tries again, folding his hands in his lap and squeezing the pads of his fingers with his nails. 

‘Oh yeah?’ Steve’s still wide open, still pleased and bright. 

‘Yeah, first is that maybe, ah, maybe I do want to try romance. Now, actually.’ Eddie forces. Holding his breath. 

Something flickers across Steve’s eyes. half hopeful, half guarded. He turns his head, but his eyes stay trained on Eddie. 

Eddie flounders, for a second. Aware suddenly of where they are, how this is maybe not the most romantic place to talk about it. Them. But, Eddie also doesn’t want to wait any longer. He’ll be able to leave soon, he just, he wants. Needs Steve to know, before everything changes again, while he’s between worlds and mostly healed and Steve it here. Steve was smiling. 

‘Maybe I’ve found someone who, who deserves it.’ Eddie takes a deep breath. ‘Who I couldn’t be there for before, but I want to be here for now.’ 

Steves eyes soften ‘Oh.’ he whispers, fighting down a smile, looking down at his lap. He fidgets, pulls at his jacket, takes another swig of his drink. 

He moves his chair closer to Eddie. Won’t look him in the eyes but he grabs Eddie’s hand that’s sitting on top of the bedsheet, linking their fingers together.

‘Wheel of Fortune’s almost on’ Steve’s says, looking ahead, still not letting his smile fully bloom. He’s squinting. It’s ridiculous. 

Eddie grins. ‘Yeah, right right, of course’ He squeezes Steve’s hand and grabs the remote. Vows to not let go unless he has to, vows to keep Steve safe, help his bruises heal. Show him romance and kindness and love. 

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written for Lex’s Spicy Six Winter Challenge! run by @thefreakandthehair and using the prompt: 'spiked eggnog'. it’s finished! ty again for organising!!!

Tag list (open): @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

Also tagging: @museumgiftshoperaser @kas-eddie-munson @ellietheasexylibrarian @sofadofax @i-amthepizzaman @estrellami-1

title from 'stick season' by noah kahan (edited slightly to fit better)

[levithestripper]

You’ll Always Be My Prince: Chapter Seven—Discovery

go to the previous chapter || go to the next chapter || back to the series masterlist

chapter summary: rhaella attends princess helaena’s wedding.

chapter warnings: rhaella waters’ pov, creator chose not to use archive warnings.

length: 9k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: lets pretend this didn't take over a year to write lmao. but big thanks to @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics for actually getting me to finish this chapter! i hope you all enjoy it :)!! and everyone thank her for letting me use her oc's alethia and edd!!

After months of planning, Helaena Targaryen’s wedding day is finally here. The day is one out of a fairytale, with not a single cloud in the sky and sunshine flooding through the windows of every room and hallway. It seems as if the entirety of the Red Keep came to life, every corner buzzing with excitement and every servant rushing around like bees to keep everything running smoothly and on time.

With Queen Alicent busy wrangling Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon, Aemond is left to his own devices, allowing him to stick with Rhaella and get ready with her in his chambers. “Rhae, can you help me tie this? I can’t get it.” Half facing the arched, floor-length mirror, Aemond struggles—and fails—to lace the strings of the back of his silken undershirt. 

Barely half-dressed herself, Rhaella drops what she’s doing to help him, quickly crossing the room, her reflection joining his in the mirror. “Your mother pick this out for you?” she asks, referencing the lavish outfit laid across Ae’s bedspread as she easily laces his undershirt. “It doesn’t seem like something you’d pick yourself.” Aemond’s outfit drips with elegance. It is a multilayered piece, with the outermost layer styled as a robe, made of black colored wool, woven to be light and breathable, and accented with strips of phthalo green leather. Dragon emblems are carved into the leather, branding the outfit with the pride of House Targaryen. Even the belt is luxurious, with thick black and green fabric twisted into a plaited design. 

“She didn’t trust me to pick something appropriate,” he says with a nod, hands raising in air quotes as he speaks. Rhaella giggles at him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, standing on her tiptoes to rest her chin on his shoulder, narrowly reaching it comfortably.

“You look nice, Ae,” she hums, squeezing him tight. 

Aemond smiles at her through the mirror, laying his arms over hers. “I’m not even dressed yet.”

“I know,” Rhae grins, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder.  

Aemond turns around in her grasp so they’re face to face now, his arms draping over her shoulders in a hug. Rhaella snuggles into the warmth of his chest, closing her eyes with a smile. Silence falls over them. They stand there for a while, just enjoying each other’s embrace. “You look pretty, Rhae,” he mumbles softly.

“I’m not even fully dressed yet,” Rhae giggles again, her face flushed an adorable shade of pink. She’s dressed only in her underclothes—a silken undershirt tucked into a flowy white undershirt and thin, partially see-through stockings underneath.

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Rhae leans back in his grasp to look at him properly, running her fingers through his soft, silver hair. “Is that so?”

“I like how you look regardless of what you’re wearing,” he grins, “Or what you’re not wearing.” 

She rolls her eyes at him before breaking from his hold. “Let me get dressed, you deviant. We have somewhere to be, you know.” 

“Well, what if I’d rather stay here with you?” Aemond hums, leaning against the end of his bed, watching Rhae pull on her doublet. It is similar to Aemond’s outfit, but more feminine and flowy. The doublet is mostly black with green highlights, accented with gold buttons. It doesn’t have any dragon emblems like Aemond’s does, but it still is incredibly regal in its own right. 

Rhaella rolls her eyes at him and steps into her pleated, floor-length skirt. “We’ll have plenty of time together later, Ae. And today’s an important day for your brother and sister, you have to be there for them.” 

He sighs dramatically but starts getting dressed as well, pulling on his pants and tying his belt into a fancy knot to keep his robe closed tight. “Has your father seen your clothes yet?” Ae asks, watching as Rhaella cloaks herself in his family’s colors. “I don’t think he’d be happy seeing you wear another house’s colors.” 

“He’ll get over it. He wasn’t here to decide what I should wear, so he doesn’t get a say.” Rhaella sits comfortably on the vanity stool, running her fingers through her soft hair. “Have you heard from your brother Daeron? Do you know if he’s returning from Oldtown for the wedding?” 

Aemond hums out an agreeing sound. “Mother said he should’ve arrived with my uncle Ser Gwayne this morning.”

“Why didn’t you greet them?” Rhae asks, sounding almost appalled that he would not do his brother and uncle the decency of greeting them after a long—and presumably hard—trip across the kingsroad.

He shrugs. “Didn’t think I had to. Usually, my mother tells me when I need to do something of importance, so I assumed I could just greet them at the wedding itself and that would be fine.”

Rhaella sighs. She doesn’t know why this bothers her so much, but it does nonetheless. “Ae, your little brother is only eight, you should put forth more of an effort to bond with him during the little time he spends here. You’ll regret not having done it when you both grow older.” 

Aemond doesn’t respond, so she decides it best not to push the matter too far. “Can you do my hair for me?” She asks, deeming it better to redirect to another topic for now.

He nods, standing behind her, clearly in a better mood now. “How do you want it? Or can I pick?” Aemond asks, combing through the silky silver and brunette strands, making her scalp tingle pleasantly. He looks at her through the mirror, shamelessly admiring her beauty. “You’re so pretty,” he says happily as if he wasn’t just on the brink of a terrible mood. 

Rhaella blushes prettily at his words. “You flatter me, Ae. You can pick whatever you like.” Aemond smiles and begins sectioning out her hair, his hands gentle in their actions. He plaits a thick braid down the middle, with smaller braids framing it. He fastens golden hair rings around the thinner braids, the light bouncing off them onto the walls and floor. “You’ve gotten good at braiding. You are much faster at it now than you used to be.” The hairdo Aemond picked was a half-up, half-down look, simple, but elegant, appropriate. 

“Thank you. I like doing your hair for you,” Aemond hums with a smile, continuing to look at her through the silver-plated mirror on her vanity. “Your hair is finished, Rhae. You look pretty, like always.”

She brushes off his words, trying to hide how flustered she is. “You said that already, silly.” 

“Don’t care. I’ll keep sayin’ it ‘till you believe it.” 

“How’re you so sure I don’t already believe it, Maester Aemond?” Rhaella retorts, a smirk spreading across her lips.

Aemond sighs dramatically but grins back at her. “I just know.” He breaks her gaze in favor of looking out the window, glancing at the sky to determine the time. “If we don’t finish up soon, we’ll be late. My father’s guards will be coming to collect us before we know it.” 

Rhaella teases him, poking him in the arm. “Look at you, being responsible for once.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Ae rolls his eyes and returns to the end of his bed, giving Rhaella room to scoot the chair back and finish dressing. “I’m always responsible.” Aemond is mostly dressed, only missing the accessories his mother had laid out for him the night before. Out of the accessories Queen Alicent left, the most intriguing of them were golden hair rings that mirrored Rhaella’s in design but exceeded hers in decadency, and a small seven-pointed star pendant meant to be worn underneath Aemond’s robes. He pulls the necklace over his head, waiting for Rhae to finish dressing before asking her to help him with his hair. 

She finishes tying her skirts, brushing the wrinkles out of the fabric with her palms. Before Aemond can open his mouth, she walks over to him, silently taking the hair rings in her hand, and braids them into Aemond’s hair. 

“Thank you…” His voice trails off, almost as if he is going to say something else, but he decides against it at the last minute. Rhaella picks up on it immediately.

“You cut yourself off.”

Ae makes a face at her, even though he’s not positive she can see it. She can. She doesn’t make mention of it. “Did not.”

“Did so. What were you going to say?”

“It’s not important. Don’t worry about it, okay?” His voice is far firmer than usual, so Rhaella drops it, sensing she shouldn’t push it farther than she already has.

“Alright,” she sighs. She’s braided a decent amount of thin plaits into Ae’s silky silver hair, the golden rings accenting them beautifully. Rhaella finishes his hair silently. They have yet to have an uncomfortable silence between them and despite Aemond’s firm tone, the hush that fell over the room isn’t uneasy. He’s been like this more and more recently, and Rhaella hasn’t a clue why. She’s heard that boys get this way when they grow older, but she hopes it’s not permanent. This coldness of Aemond’s is unforgiving and cold, new, and too harsh compared to the soft, kind boy she has grown used to.

Rhaella leans against his shoulder, her fingers playing with his closest hand, his right one. His palm is soft and warm, the feeling comforting. She laces their fingers together. “Thanks for helping me. I hope it’s not a burden to do my hair so often.” 

“I already said I don’t mind doing it,” Aemond says, perhaps more harshly than he would have liked. “You don’t have to thank me.” They stand there quietly. He squeezes her hand, almost like a silent apology. 

He’s never been good with words or emotions, that much Rhae knew. She sighs. “I know. I will anyways.”

Gently, he rests his head atop hers, careful not to mess up either of their hair. “Always?” he asks, his usual, softer personality shining through in his question.

“Always,” Rhaella replies, squeezing his hand back firmly. Before they can say anything else, guards knock on the door, announcing it’s time to leave for the wedding. “Will we be seated together?”

Parting from her to open the door, Aemond shakes his head no. “I doubt it. But I can try to get you a nice seat with the other high ladies and lords. You’ll blend in with your fancy outfit.” 

On the other side of the door was Ser Harrold Westerling, dressed in freshly polished Kingsguard armor. Aemond can almost see himself in it. For an old man, Ser Harrold looked handsome, and strong, like a knight she would read about in her books. “Are you ready, my prince? My lady?” Ser Harrold always respects Rhaella, regardless of her lack of station. Aemond liked that about him and considered it a sign of respect toward him, too. “We need to be going soon. My prince is required at the Sept early, by request of the Queen.”

Aemond nods, holding out his hand for Rhaella to take. “Thank you, Ser Harrold.” 

She takes his hand as he walks out of his chambers, smiling at the knight as they pass him. Ser Harrold closes the door and follows a step behind them, his armor clinking as he escorts them to the carriage in the courtyard. Servants bow their heads as they pass. The early morning sun filters through the tall windows, making the stone floor shimmer and sparkle. 

Ser Harrold sidesteps in front of them, opening the large entryway door. Rhaella raises a hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from the bright rays. The courtyard is bustling with people, lords, ladies, and servants alike. Carriages of every color and style are present, all owned by various high lords and ladies of the court. The Targaryen’s carriage is the fanciest of them all, as is expected of the royal family. The wood is painted red and black, with silvery metal accents adorning the windows. Stablemen hitch two draft horses to the carriage; even their harnesses are extravagant. The vibrant contrast of the maroon-colored tack against the horses’ shiny black coats guarantees to draw the attention of every onlooker they’re soon to pass in the streets. One of the horses throws their head back with a pleased whinny, their lip curling upwards as Rhaella and Aemond approach. 

The stablemen attending to the horses bow in reverence when the pair arrive. “My prince.” They only address Aemond, unsure how—or if—they should acknowledge Rhaella’s presence. Used to it, Rhaella nods her head towards them and makes her way to the horse, reaching her hand out to let the animal smell her before petting it. Once she is sure she won’t spook the horse, Rhaella strokes the gelding’s nose, cooing at him. 

“Isn’t he beautiful, Ae?” She looks at Ae with an excited smile.

Aemond smiled at her brightly, in a way Rhaella did not understand, but it made her stomach lurch uncomfortably. Usually, she can read him quite well, so the few times she cannot are unnerving. “He is. I forgot you like horses. It’s unlike me to forget about something you enjoy.”

“I rarely talk about it, so it’s not all that surprising,” she hums, running her fingers through the gelding’s soft forelock. 

Aemond stands next to her, their shoulders bumping. “You should talk about it more.” 

“Yeah?” Rhae smiles as the horse pushes his face into hers, not so subtly asking for more attention. “I think he likes me,” she giggles.

“How could he not?” He smiles back at her. 

Ser Harrold loudly clears his throat. “My prince, we really must get going.”

Aemond looks like he’d been snapped out of a trance when hearing the knight’s words, quickly glancing at his feet before his gaze returns to Rhaella. “Right, yes, of course.” He outstretches his arm toward the carriage door, ushering Rhaella inside and clambering in after her. A servant closes the door for Ae, bowing their head as they do so. Hoisting himself into the driver’s box, Ser Harrold snaps the reins, commanding the horses forward through the courtyard gate.

Behind them followed a long line of ornate wheelhouses and wagons, all owned by the various high-ranking houses of the Royal Court. Unlatching the window cover and pushing open the curtain, Rhaella watches as the buildings of King’s Landing pass her by. Rhaella finds the square just outside the Red Keep isn’t dissimilar to the castle gardens; trees and flowering bushes border the dirt pathway. She couldn’t recall the last time she was outside the Keep’s walls. In the blink of an eye, the Keep’s square is long gone, and they’re halfway down the King’s Way. Droves of common folk rush to the edge of the road, keen to steal a glance inside the carriages passing them by. 

“Can you hear them, Aemond?” Rhaella asks excitedly with a wide smile spread across her face. She glances at him quickly, too quick to notice how Aemond’s cheeks had begun to flush. “They’re so loud!”

He nods, peeking out of the window with her. Looking up, Ae could barely see the sky, the sandy-colored buildings on either side towering over them menacingly. 

“Did they all come out here just for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding?” she asks again. 

“Not quite,” Aemond shrugs, their shoulders bumping. “They don’t truly care about the wedding; it does not affect them. I’m sure some care, but many are here only to get a look at us.” He changes his gaze to Rhaella, but she doesn’t notice, far too focused on the outside world.

Rhaella leans her elbows against the windowsill, resting her chin in her palms. Aemond sits back in the bench seats, still watching her. “I always assumed the smallfolk adored the Crown. The Crown provides peace and unity, and weddings bring festivals and food, so wouldn’t they be excited for all that?”

“It’s not that they aren’t excited for food and festival, most are, but the real event for them is the possibility of gazing upon their king, queen, and the princes and princesses. The chance of seeing royalty is few and far between for smallfolk. That is what excites them.” Rhae turns her head to look at him. Aemond extends a hand out to her, which she takes without a second thought, letting him pull her from the window to sit beside him.

As she processes the onslaught of information, she begins to nod slowly. “It makes sense when you put it that way. Your lessons with the maesters are proving their worth, huh?” she teases. 

Aemond chuckles softly. “I suppose you’re right.”

She leans her head against his shoulder, sighing. “You’d be a good king, Ae.” 

“You think?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nods. “You are kind, well-studied, nearly fluent in High Valyrian. You listen to what I have to say. You’re a good fighter.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d be a good ruler. And it’s not like I’ll ever be king, anyways.” 

“I know. But it’s a fun thought, right?” Rhaella runs the pads of her fingers across Aemond’s palm.

He nods. “You have big dreams for me,” he says with a chuckle. 

Rhaella nods happily before changing the subject, “Do all Targaryens get married in the Dragonpit?”

“I’m not sure. My mother didn’t get married there, but since Aegon is the heir, my father must be using it to show the power his reign will hopefully hold.” Aemond rests his head atop hers. 

She hums in acknowledgment, and they spend the rest of the ride down the King’s Road in silence, minus the commotion happening outside. They turn down the Street of the Sisters, and before they know it, Ser Harrold is pulling the carriage to a stop, and a servant is opening the door for them. Aemond lets Rhaella out first, and she thanks the man holding the door. 

“It’s huge!” Rhae exclaims, her head craning back to take everything in. The Dragonpit has been decorated top to bottom with the Targaryen banners and colors. People from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms were in attendance. Rhaella saw wheelhouses with almost every major House’s colors or flags, more than she’d ever seen before. Carriages are lined up along the front of the stairs leading up to the pit, with theirs near the front of that line. Behind them is a barricade of Gold Cloaks holding back the clamoring common folk, who will be let in to fill the remaining space once all the lords and ladies arrive. Rhaella turns in a circle, trying to see everything she possibly can. 

Aemond approaches from behind her, a pleasant expression on his face. “This is your first time seeing the Dragonpit, right?” She nods. “Is it everything you hoped it be?”

“Mhm!” She exclaims, turning to grin at him. “Do you think we’d be able to see any dragons while we’re here?”

He grins back at her. “Maybe.” 

Ser Harrold climbs out of the driver’s box and taps Aemond gently on the shoulder. “We must be going, my Prince. Would you like me to escort you?” 

Aemond shakes his head no. “I can find my own way, but I’d like for you to find a suitable place for Rhaella with the other noble houses.”

Ser Harrold nods with a bow. “Yes, my Prince.” Waiting for Aemond to leave, he motions for Rhaella to follow him as he makes his way up the cold stone stairway. With a wave goodbye, Rhaella bounds up the stairs behind the knight.

“Ser Harrold?”

“Yes, my lady?” 

“Have you ever seen a Targaryen wedding before?” she asks. She looks up at him, his shining, silver armor glistening in the sun like the tallest metal statue she’s ever seen. 

The knight nods, “Yes I have, my lady. I witnessed both of King Viserys’ weddings. His first wedding with the late Aemma Arryn was a beautiful affair; the Dragonpit was decorated very similarly to how it is now, with flowers and banners and everyone from across the Seven Kingdoms was in attendance.” Rhaella can tell Ser Harrold looks back on the memory fondly. 

Rhaella moves to walk beside him. “Why was his marriage to the Queen not in the Dragonpit, too?” 

Ser Harrold looks down at her tenderly, as a father would look upon his daughter. “That is a good question, little lady. I don’t know why. Perhaps I shall ask someone, and then I’ll tell you what they told me. Sound like a deal?” 

She grins at him. “Mhm! Deal!”

He smiles back at her and leads her through the giant wooden double doors of the Dragonpit. He walked up the middle aisle, watching as lords, ladies, and their children all took their seats in preparation. “Do you see any nobles here you are familiar with, my lady?” 

Rhaella scans the room, looking for any face that might be even remotely familiar. On the left, closest to the aisle, she spots Ser Harwin Strong, his family, and the same mysterious blonde woman from that day in the courtyard. “There! I recognize them, Ser,” she says, pointing at House Strong.

“Would they mind you sitting with them?”

“Ser Harwin used to be around the Keep all the time, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He seems nice.” 

Ser Harrold nods and brings her to them, bowing when he arrives. “Ser Harwin, Lord Larys, Lady Alethia. Prince Aemond wishes his guest to be sat with your family if you allow it.” Ser Harwin and Lady Alethia sat in the two seats closest to the aisle, their son next to them, with Lord Larys taking up the rear.

Standing to greet Ser Harrold, Harwin smiles down at Rhaella. “Of course, Ser Harrold. Any friend of the Prince’s is a friend of House Strong.” He kneels to be at eye level with her. “What is your name, child?” He asks. 

“Rhaella Waters,” she responds, subtly choking on her words, “m’lord.” 

He offers a hand for Rhaella to take, which she does, and he kisses her knuckles. A slight redness dusts Rhaella’s cheeks and nose. “Well, it is very nice to meet you, Rhaella Waters.” Harwin stands, his hand still enveloping Rhae’s much smaller one. “Let me introduce you to my family. This is my lady-wife, Alethia Stahl, and her son, Edd Snow. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe he is around your age.” 

Rhaella does her best to give Lady Alethia a proper curtsey and gives Edd a shy wave. “Hello, my lady, my lord.” 

Harwin continues. “And this is my brother, Lord Larys Strong. He can tell you anything you wish to know about the Seven Kingdoms, he’s an excellent storyteller, my brother.” He smiles at his brother, who responds silently with a knowing nod. “Scoot down, brother, make room for our guest here.”

Lord Larys shuffles further down the row and takes a seat, opening up a space beside Edd and Lady Alethia. Harwin ushers her inside the row and takes his own seat at the end of it. “Thank you, Lady Alethia, Ser Harwin.”

Lady Alethia responds for both of them. “Do not thank us, there is no need for it. We’re happy to have you with us, Rhaella.” Alethia sits down, and Rhaella follows suit, along with Edd. The woman’s dirty blonde hair is done in a half-up, half-down style; Rhae noticed it’s a popular choice among noble women. The top half is coiled nicely around an almost navy blue hair veil that ends slightly below her shoulders. The rest of her hair cascaded down her chest in gentle, flowing waves. 

“Your dress is very pretty, m’lady,” Rhaella compliments, in an attempt to find a way to keep the conversation going without being awkward. 

She smiles at her, her face shining with an aura of comfort. “Thank you, yours is beautiful as well.” Lady Alethia’s dress was a dark, vibrant shade of violet-blue, made of a costly velvet and silk fabric. The square collar of the dress—which sat just above the beginning of her bosom—was embroidered with white gold and green, the two remaining colors of her lord husband’s house. With long, flowing sleeves and gold jewelry to match, she looked every part of what a rich, noblewoman should be. “It was a gift from my husband for my name day.” 

“Lady Alethia?” Rhaella asks, her voice timid. She does not look Alethia in the eye, her nerves setting in suddenly, and with a powerful intensity. It was rare for her to have the opportunity to talk with members of noble houses, despite her living within the Red Keep. 

She smiles once again. “Yes?”

“Forgive my curiosity if it offends you, m’lady, but may I ask where you are from? I don’t recognize your family name.” 

Alethia’s face visibly softens upon hearing how nervous the poor girl is. She places a comforting hand on Rhaella’s lower thigh, near her knee. “You need not to be so formal, child. You have nothing to be scared of, you can’t offend me. It does not surprise me that you do not recognize it, for I come from a very small village in the far North that not even the most educated and well-traveled noblemen have heard of.”

“You don’t look like you’re a Northerner.” 

She chuckles, covering her mouth slightly. “I get that a lot. You’re right, there aren’t that many blonde women up north.” 

Before Rhaella can respond, a loud, trumpeted fanfare announces the beginning of the ceremony. The Gold Cloaks must have let the smallfolk in without Rhaella noticing, since as she swivels her head, the entirety of the Dragonpit is filled with people. Now, the Gold Cloaks line the aisleway, drawing their swords, and raising them high to create a tunnel. 

After the fanfare, a herald speaks into a horn onstage, announcing the royal family’s entrance. “All rise, and behold, King Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andels, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm! Following beside him is the good and honorable Queen Alicent!” 

The King and Queen walk down the sworded aisleway at a decent pace, with Queen Alicent holding King Viserys’ hand, helping to steady him on his cane. Rhaella cranes her head to see them, eager to lay her eyes on the pair. Once they climb the steep stairs onto the stage, the King and Queen ascend a second small set of steps to sit on either side of the High Septon Eustace, King Viserys on the right and Queen Alicent on the left. A small table on the side of the stage sits a vial of a blood-red liquid.

The herald speaks into his horn. “Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron Targaryen!” The boys walk down the aisle, each with a velveteen ringbearer’s pillow resting on their palms. They make it quick, eager to get their part in the wedding—and in the realm’s spotlight—over with. When they reach their parents, Aemond hands his pillow to his father, and Daeron hands his pillow to his mother. After handing them off, the boys stand on either side of their parents.

After another fanfare, the herald begins again. The audience shifts their attention to the aisleway once more. “Prince Aegon Targaryen!” 

Aegon makes his way down his wedding aisle seemingly without a care for what should be the most important day of his life. Rhaella can see his face is one of painful uninterest. Without the slightest hint of the traditional Targaryen colorings, it was undeniable that the Queen had dressed him that morning. However, not all Targaryen elements are lost within the boy’s clothing. The embroidered elements on the palm green doublet he wore are small, golden dragons, reminiscent of Sunfyre, surrounded by the dark green thread of sewn vines and other foliage. On his shoulder is a long, velveteen cape in the same dark shade as the embroidered leaves, fastened to his doublet with ornate, gold buttons. When he arrives onstage, he stands to the right of his father, but further downstage than the King was.

At this point, the crowd has remained seated since King Viserys had sat on his makeshift throne. The herald moves to speak into his horn, and King Viserys rises, along with the High Septon and Queen Alicent. “All rise once more for your Princess, Helaena Targaryen!”

A hush fell over the already quiet audience as Helaena slowly walked down the aisle. The only sound to be heard is from outside, where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre fly about above the Dragonpit, screeching at each other. The other dragons within the Dragonpit are surprisingly silent for once. Helaena’s dress is turquoise in color and tight-fitting, with a high collar around her neck; adorned with thin plated gold armor along her abdomen, chest, and separate pieces on her shoulders. The armor had small dragons welded onto it, the eyes of them sapphires. Past the waist, the dress was flowy, similar in style to Helaena’s everyday wear. The silk skirt was framed by lace embroidered with beads and geometrical designs. There was no train, so there were no handmaidens behind her. 

Rhaella watches as her friend passes her row, her mouth hanging open in awe. “She’s so beautiful,” she whispers to no one in particular. 

Beside her, Edd nods in agreement. “She looks like a goddess,” he replies. Rhaella turns to look at him properly for the first time since sitting down. Seeming to be the same age as her and Aemond, Edd has the same curly brown hair as his step-father, Lord Harwin, but the rest of his face resembles his mother. Alethia shushes them as the princess stands opposite her brother and husband-to-be.

Edd looks like Lord Harwin, but he’s not Edd’s father. Are there many Northerners who look like Lord Harwin? Rhaella thinks to herself. 

The High Septon Eustace moves from standing in front of his chair, approaching the couple to begin the ceremony. King Viserys sits, but motions for the audience to stay standing. His hands shake as he begins to speak. “Let us begin. The King has expressed a lack of desire for individual vows, so let us get on with it.” Rhaella cringes at the Septon’s informality, but she chalks it up to how close to death the man appears to be. The Septon motions for the King and Queen to approach. Alicent detours to grab the vial from the side table, but it doesn’t look out of place. “My King, My Queen, please hand the rings to your children for them to exchange.”

Alicent hands the simple black band to her daughter, and Viserys does the same to his son. 

“Very good. Now, my King, if you would like to take over in bonding the young couple in blood and fire,” Eustace says, bowing slightly before shuffling backward for the King to take his place. 

Alicent hands the now uncorked vial to her lord husband. Slowly, Viserys slicks his fingers with the maroon liquid. Handing the vial back to Alicent, he marks Helaena’s forehead first with a simple line between her thin eyebrows, then a line from her bottom lip running down her chin. Leaning heavily on his cane, Viserys does the same to Aegon, but with an upside-down ‘V’ between his eyebrows. “Hold out your hands, now.” They do, and he lines their palms with the liquid as well. When Viserys finished, Aegon took Helaena’s hand within his own. “Excellent,” Viserys compliments. Speaking a few lines of High Valyrian, he wraps their joined hands in a red and black ribbon. Alicent whispers words of encouragement to her daughter before she and Viserys step back to their seats. 

High Septon Eustace hobbles forward once more. “Now, let us continue. Exchange rings, and repeat after me. With this ring, I pledge my loyalty,”

Helaena and Aegon exchange rings and speak simultaneously. “With this ring, I pledge my loyalty.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband and lady and wife.” 

Aegon speaks first. “With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband,” Helaena responds, and without a second to think about it, Aegon kisses her, his unwrapped hand resting upon his sister’s soft cheek. 

The crowd cheers and whoops with praise, applause echoing throughout the Dragonpit. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre roar outside, screaming out the renowned power of the House Targaryen. 

The ride to the Red Keep for the reception seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. Rhaella rode with Lord Harwin and his family. She sat at their table in the Great Hall as well, since she’s not allowed at the royal family’s table with Aemond. Rhaella found that House Strong makes for some excellent company. They look like a real family, the kind that Rhaella has only read about in childhood fantasy books. Sure, she’s had Aemond, but as much as they care for each other, that can’t replace the feeling of having a mother and a father. Edd jokes with his mother, plays with his father, and even somehow manages to have fun with his weird uncle Larys. It makes her chest hurt and twist with jealousy, but she does her best to ignore it. 

Along with the feast in the Great Hall, a tourney is being held outside, filled with knights, hedge knights, and noble lords eager to make a name for themselves. Thankfully, they can’t hear the joust from inside the hall. 

The wedding feast served was the grandest spread of food Rhaella had ever seen in her entire twelve years of life. Serving plates filled to the brim with baked auroch roast with peaches, auroch joints with the skin still on, roasted with chestnuts, mushrooms, and onions, rack of lamb painted with a viscous, deep brown sauce, and suckling pigs paired with leeks, served with overflowing cups of honeyed wine, apple wine, and a strong blackbelly rum. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this much to eat in my life,” Rhaella groans, leaning back in her chair with half a plate of food left still to eat. “How is anyone supposed to eat all of this!”

Edd giggles next to her. “Yeah, but we can try!” Rhaella giggles with him. Brown sauce is smeared across Edd’s face, and his hands are covered. Alethia had given up on trying to keep him clean, and deciding to wait until he was finished was best. Bones pile up high on both kids’ plates, same with picked-over auroch joints and goblets emptied of apple wine. “Do you know if they’re serving dessert?” 

She shrugs. “If they do, I hope it’s pie. I love pie.”

“What kind is your favorite?” Edd asks, cleaning another lamb rib of meat. 

Despite claiming to be full, Rhaella continues to eat, snatching another roll off of a serving plate in the middle of the table. “I like most fruit pies. Cherry pie is probably my favorite, though.” 

“You should try pecan pie, my father loves it.” Edd has plowed through another five ribs. Rhaella will never know where he’s hiding all the room for all that food. 

“Edd, can I ask you something?” He nods. “You call Lord Harwin your father, but he didn’t introduce you as his son.” 

He sets his food down, looking down at his lap. “Do you remember what my last name is, Rhaella?”

She thinks for a moment. “It’s Snow, but that just means—” Rhaella cuts herself off once she realizes. “You’re a bastard,” she pauses before exclaiming excitedly, “You’re like me!” 

“You’re a bastard too?!”

Rhaella nods, a giant grin on her messy face. “My last name is Waters!” Edd reaches out to high-five her, which she returns happily. “Do you know who your father is?”

Edd shook his head no. “No, do you?”

“Mhm. I don’t like him very much, though.” She finishes off the remaining fruit on her plate and grabs another handful. 

“Who is it? Would I know them?” Edd asks, clearly finding the gossip just as delicious as dinner. “Is he famous? Do you know who your mother is, too?” 

Rhaella grins. “Prince Daemon.”

Edd yells, cutting her off. “Prince Daemon?!” The chatter and music playing in the hall went silent, and suddenly the two were extremely self-conscious of their loud conversation. After what feels like a decade but is only about a minute or two, the room returns to its previous state of laughter, music, and merriment. 

“Now, what are you two going on about?” asks Harwin, who’s gotten up from his seat at the end of the table to come investigate, his hands on his hips in the classic dad pose. 

“Nothing!” they both yell simultaneously, giggling afterward. 

“We’re not up to anything, Father,” Edd giggles, shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth, his smile reminiscent of a chipmunk. “Perfectly behaved.”

Rhaella nods, her expression mirroring Edd’s. They both turn in their chairs to face him.

Harwin smiles wide, his crow’s feet appearing beside his rich brown eyes. “Then what was all that racket about, hm?” Much to his son’s displeasure, Harwin picks a rib from Edd’s plate.

“Hey! Give it back!” Edd giggles, trying to snatch it out of Harwin’s grasp, but with no luck. 

“Nope, it’s mine now, kiddo.” Harwin tears into it, talking with a hand covering his mouth to keep his manners. “Now, is one of you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another rib to get it out of you?”

Edd guards his plate playfully. “We were talking about who Rhaella’s dad is,” he says, grabbing another fistful of grapes.

Harwin hums in agreement. “Oh, an interesting topic. Does it have an interesting answer?”

He nods, “Her father is Prince—!” 

Rhaella slaps her hand across Edd’s mouth before he can say anything more. “Shut it, Edd! It’s a secret, Lord Harwin. We can’t tell you.” Both kids giggle again.

Harwin squats down to meet them at their level. “Aw, you can’t let me in on the secret?”

They both shake their heads no. “Nuh-uh! You’ll tell people,” Edd accuses. 

“You wound me, son!” Harwin throws a hand against his forehead dramatically. “I’d never betray a little lord and lady’s trust so easily. For all I know, the fearsome lord,” Harwin pauses to ruffle Edd’s hair, “would have me branded as a gossip! And I can’t have that, no one would trust me ever again!” 

Edd and Rhaella look at each other, silently agreeing. “You must swear to keep it a secret from everyone,” she commands. Rhaella’s never been able to command a Lord before. A thrumming electricity rushes through her and out her fingertips. 

Harwin plays along, shifting to one knee and bowing his head. “Of course. You have my word, little lady.”

She leans in close to whisper in his ear. “Promise?”

He sighs, the smile on his face audible. “Yes, little lady. I promise.”

“My father is Prince Daemon.”

Harwin’s eyes widen with shock. “Prince Daemon? I didn’t know he had any children,” he whispers back. 

“I was a surprise baby. My mother didn’t know she was pregnant with me until she had me, and my father doesn’t talk about me,” she trails off, talking to herself more now than she was to Harwin. “I’m not even sure he remembers I exist.”

He takes Rhaella’s hands within his. She finds Harwin’s hands are rough but warm, just like he appears to be. “No father should treat their child like that. Thank you for telling me, little lady.” Harwin smiles at her fondly, and she feels her face heat up. He stands, ruffling Edd’s hair again on his way up. “Finish up, and I’ll take you both to watch the joust outside.”

Rhaella watches Harwin return to his seat at the end of the table, next to his lady wife. “I really like Lord Harwin.” Edd nods in agreement, his face full of food once again. “Now, it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

He swallows hard. “Okay, fire away.”

“If Lord Harwin isn’t your father, why do you call him that?”

Edd turns his body towards her, his knees touching the seat of her chair. He speaks softly. “My mother had me just before she moved south, so I never knew my real father. I don’t even know who he is; if he’s alive or not. Harwin’s the only father I’ve ever known, and he treats me like I’m his trueborn son. If he dislikes me calling him father, he hasn’t told me so.”

“Does Lady Alethia know who your father is?”

He nods. “I assume so. Whenever I ask about him, she gets this look about her, like she’s remembering someone who only lives in the far corners of her memory. I’ve stopped asking about him. All I know is he made her very happy.”

“Are you upset I asked?” she asks, absentmindedly picking at a hangnail. 

“No. I asked about your father, so it’s only fair you ask about mine, too.”

With both of them finishing up their meals, they stand and push their chairs in. “Do you want to watch the joust?” Edd asks. “I think my father is finished, too, so he can take us like he offered.”

Grabbing some snacks for the road, Rhaella nods. “I’ve never seen a proper joust, only knights training for one. Do you know any of the knights in it?”

He shook his head. “No, but my father surely does.” Edd turns to his mother, who’s sitting just behind him. “Mother, can Rhaella and I go out to watch the jousts? Father offered to take us!”

Lady Alethia looks to her husband, who only smiles at her. “Okay, just be careful, and stay together, alright?” She smooths Edd’s tunic with the palms of her hands, dusting off any lingering crumbs and wiping his still messy face with her napkin. “I don’t want you running off and getting yourself in trouble, you hear?”

“Yes, Mother, I’ll be fine! It’s a royal joust, nothing bad could happen to us there!” To bystanders, Edd sounds like he disdains Lady Alethia’s fussing, but in the little time she’s known him, Rhaella has found that Edd Snow is a surprisingly easy boy to read. Just watching him stand beside his mother, letting her fuss over him without a real complaint to be had, fostered a hollow pain in her chest. 

Alethia smiles softly, sighing. “Go have fun. And be sure to listen to your father, okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good.” Edd grins, leaning in to hug her, his arms wrapping around her neck. “I love you!”

She hugs him back tightly, kissing his cheek again and again. “I love you too, baby. Now, off you go, you don’t want to miss it now, do you?” Harwin stands, his chair scraping against the stone floor. Alethia catches his wrist in her hand, pulling him down. “Behave, you hear?” 

Harwin smiles, licking his lips. “Yes, my lady. You know how I love behaving for you,” he whispers in her ear before kissing the curve of her jaw. 

“Good.” Kissing his knuckles, Alethia lets him go. 

Oblivious to what is happening behind them, Edd and Rhaella practically run out of the great hall, bounding up the stairs and through the oversized double doors, then past the courtyard and into a clearing set up for the joust. Harwin can barely keep up, running behind them. The stands are filled with people, highborn and lowborn alike, all cheering for the hedge knights fighting for glory and honor in the prince’s wedding tourney. 

Edd and Rhaella finally stop to take everything in, which lets Harwin catch up with them. “Don’t go running away from me now, you two hear? I need to be able to see you guys.” They nod, huge grins on their faces. “Now, go find us some seats.” They run off to the grandstand, grabbing three seats in the front row. Harwin sits at the end of the row, with Rhaella in the middle and Edd on the other side. 

“Lord Harwin?” 

“Yes, little lady?”

“Do you know the knights jousting?” she asks. 

Harwin nods and points to the knight, who is readying his armor on the left, on the closest side of the list. “You see him there?” She nods. The knight in question wore no helmet, instead choosing to show off his fiery red hair and scrappy facial hair. He’s shorter than most of the knights Rhaella’s seen, but that only makes him look more like an underdog to her. “He is Ser Marion Darklyn. He’s a green knight, meaning he’s been a knight for under a year. Do you know where House Darklyn calls home?”

“Duskendale, in the Crownlands.” 

He smiles. “Very good. Being a green knight, he’s going to want to make a name for himself here, as he has a big shadow to step out of, due to his great uncle being on the Kingsguard and his grandfather being Lord of Duskendale.”

“Has he ever jousted before?” she asks, watching Ser Marion finish preparing his armor. His armor was simple, but decently expensive looking. His plain, cream-colored surcoat bore the sigil of his house, a fusily of black and gold, with seven white escutcheons upon a red tierce.

He nods. “It’s safe to assume that all knights have jousted before, little lady. For young knights like him, jousts are a good way to gain notoriety and fame, especially at a royal tourney like this.”

Rhaella points to the other knight preparing himself to their right, on the opposite side of the list. His surcoat starkly contrasted Ser Marion’s. His is fully black, minus the golden embattled sable surrounding a black heart with wings overtop his breast. Due to the expensive-looking helmet the knight wore, she couldn’t see his face. The helmet shines in the light, making it look like silver instead of steel. “So, he’s fighting for the same thing then? Fame?” 

Harwin pauses, studying the knight in question. “I don’t know this knight, little lady. His sigil is unknown to me. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” he smiles as he speaks, folding his arms across his broad chest, and leaning against the small back of the bench.

A fanfare sounds and both knights finish their preparations and mount their horses. The mystery knight rides a dappled grey stallion, his legs so dark they are almost black, with a short white mane and a matching tail. Ser Marion rides a chestnut brown mare, her mane and tail so bright it’s nearly Lannister gold. A squire hands them each a colorful lance, and once they step away, the Queen’s brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower, stands to address the knights from his seat at the top of the grandstand.

“Ser’s! You know the rules, the first man to be unseated from his horse is the loser! There is to be no dueling! Be a good sport and let your opponent rise from defeat with honor! Do you agree to these terms?” Both knights nod, readying their lances, and pointing them over the railing at each other. The Ser Gwayne raises his hand, then lowers it quickly, signaling them to begin. The crowd yells as if a fire was lit underneath the grandstand, filling the knights with vigor.  

Ser Marion starts quickly, his mare’s hooves beating holes into the dirt from the force of her gallops. If his lance was heavy, Rhaella doesn’t notice, as Ser Marion makes it look like the easiest thing in the world. She watches with rapt excitement as the knights make first contact, a loud clanging sound as the lances hit metal. Neither man fell, so the horses turned back, and the knights collected themselves. They run at each other again, and the mystery knight’s lance lands squarely in Ser Marion’s breastplate, knocking the wind out of him. 

The mystery knight’s lance is ruined, so when he regroups with his squire, he trades it for a fresh one. Rhaella watches both sides intently. Ser Marion inspects his armor and finds it dented, but doesn’t dismount to do anything about it. He rearms himself, and this time, Ser Marion’s lance hits the mystery knight in his shoulder, throwing the man off balance, but not out of the saddle as he had hoped. 

The next few rounds go much the same, but that does nothing to diminish Rhaella’s unfettered attention. Just as she was about to ask Edd who he thought was going to win, she got her answer. The mystery knight’s stallion rears his head back and digs his hooves into the dirt. Holding the lance hilt firmly, the knight urges his horse forward at a near-breakneck pace, heels pressing into the dappled sides. The lance hit Ser Marion’s collarbone, snapping it in half with a loud, sickening crack. He yells out in pain, dropping his lance, for his arm flails uselessly at his side. He barely hangs on in his saddle, legs clenching the sides of his mare, desperately trying to stay seated. There was no way Ser Marion was not going to unseat the mystery knight in this condition, but it was clear he wasn’t about to give up, either. In her excitement, Rhaella finds herself standing, leaning her palms against the grandstand’s borders. Recouping to the best of his abilities, Ser Marion rushes at his opponent, but his efforts are futile at best. The mystery knight’s lance hits him in the chest once more and he falls from his horse and into the dirt. His squire rushes over to him, first to check on him, then to calm his horse, which the squire leads away. Two other men, whose roles Rhaella didn’t know, help Ser Marion to stand up, guiding him to what she assumes is a sick tent. 

Being so caught up watching Ser Marion, Rhaella hadn’t noticed the mystery knight dismount from his horse and have his lance raised in victory. She watches as the knight removes his helmet, revealing to the crowd long, wavy black hair that falls around his shoulders, icy blue eyes, and a thick mustache, with a beard to match. He looks like a Baratheon, but the lack of hair on his cheeks says the opposite; no Baratheon has hair only along their jawline.

Ser Gwayne rises once more. “Congratulations on your win, Ser! Tell me your name so the King may award you properly.” 

The mystery knight bows his head in respect. “Ser Grenn Toyne, Ser. It is an honor to participate in the Prince’s wedding joust.”

Gwayne smiles slightly, his cheek creasing. “On the morrow, return to the Great Hall. King Viserys will be holding a ceremony for the winning knights where they may request a gift from His Majesty.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Grenn says reverently, bowing his head again. “May the Gods bless our King, Queen, and all their children on this special day.” As Ser Gwayne dismisses him with a flick of his wrist, Grenn remounts his stallion and trots a victory lap around the arena. 

Rhaella looks to Harwin. Her smile beams sunlight, her eyes glimmering as if they were full of the stars themselves. “Do you think I could be a knight one day?”

“I’m sorry, little lady, but girls can’t be knights. It just doesn’t work that way,” Harwin says, his voice thick with remorse. 

She looks down at the dirt in front of her. “Oh,” she whispers, barely loud enough for Harwin to hear. She isn’t able to wallow for long, however. 

Ser Grenn rides past her, and he catches her gaze, bringing her eyes up from the ground. Dismounting, he makes his way to Rhaella, his helmet underneath his arm. “Excuse me, my lady, but may I ask a favor of you?” 

Rhaella nods. Seeing him from far away is one thing, but up close was something else entirely. Her eyes rake over his face, looking at the small, white scars scattered along the exposed bits of skin. “Of me?”

He smiles, his teeth slightly crooked. “I’ve heard the Warrior grants knights good luck when they give away pieces of their winning armor. So would you do me a favor and keep my helmet safe?”

She looks at him with disbelief, and so do Edd and Harwin, although Lord Harwin hides it better than they do. “M-Me?” Rhaella stammers. “Why me?” 

Ser Grenn’s smile turned lopsided, making him look endearingly cheeky. “I saw no one in the stands as excited as you were, my lady. Will you honor me by accepting my offering?”

Rhaella nods so hard, it feels as if her head were about to pop off. “Do you need me to give it back?”

He shrugs. “If I ever have need of it again, you’ll know.” Ser Grenn hands Rhaella his helmet and bows his head, hair falling from behind his ears. He turns and climbs onto his horse to finish his victory lap, leaving almost as quickly as he came. 

Rhaella cranes her head to watch him leave, and as soon as he rides out of sight, she whips around to gush to Harwin. “Have you ever heard of such a thing before, Lord Harwin!? I can’t believe it, Ser Grenn gave me his helmet! You’re a knight, right? Have you ever given someone a piece of armor like this before!?”

Harwin’s smile is that of a proud father, only Rhaella isn’t his. “He must’ve seen something in you, little lady.” Rhaella squeals uncharacteristically, too overwhelmingly excited to care at the moment. “You’re correct, I am a knight, but I’ve never done something like this before. Perhaps it is a custom amongst tourney knights.”

She hugs the helmet close to her chest, reveling in the presence of it. Edd clamors to look at it, which she cautiously holds out for him to gaze upon. 

During the walk back to the Great Hall and the rest of the remaining festivities, Rhaella was surprisingly quiet for someone who was just gushing from head to toe. She’s too deep in thought, playing and replaying the interaction she had with Ser Grenn in her head, and what Lord Harwin had said to her. 

If girls can’t be knights, if they shouldn’t be knights, she thought, then why do I want to be one so badly? 

taglist: @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics, @hyojae99, @poisonedsultana, @schniiipsel, @moonlighttfoxx, @losstboi, and @eleniblue.

[spaceedd]

theres something about edd and tord in the zombeh attack miniseries that just hits. imagine your home is burning down and you fight alongside your best friend as best as you can but he dies to the zombies, you spend weeks mourning, wearing his black robe he wore when he died 24/7, until he comes back to you knocking on a window as a zombie one night, and asks you to help him to be at peace and no longer a zombie. and even though you know this means you can never see him again after this last night, you’re doing it without question because it’s what he wants, and this time you actually know this is your last time with him. on the way you carry him on your back and support him with your arm even though he can walk just fine on his own, just so you can feel him one more time

[owmylasagna-blog]

Hi! Edd AND Eddy 5, 12, 14, 25 :3

Thanks!! Sorry I wrote up an entire long answer and then uuuhhh my phone died 🤡 so let’s do this again!

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Not necessarily the songs of all time but recently it’s been

Edd:

Eddy:

And hell why not shipping music:

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Quickly, let me preface this section with the fact that I myself am white.

From the jump I’ve always thought Edd was not white, or mixed race, and had parents that were either first or second gen immigrants. And that it’s not very apparent in canon because his family assimilated really hard. I always felt this helped to explain a bit of his cultural sensitivities while at the same time adding some more depth to the intergenerational dynamics. Previously I’d imagined him as Filipino/white and more recently I’ve written him as mestizo/korean/white. I like seeing lots of other takes on this in the fandom throughout the years, like somewhat recently eddbedandeddy’s post that he could be MENA like his VA or gettingfrilly mentioning they see him as racially ambiguous. Recently the phrase “ancestral fruitcake” has been incessantly plaguing my mind (‘Tis the season/ is or is this not a hilarious stand in for the f-word slur please discuss among yourselves people) but that to me indicates that at least one line of his family is hwite.

Keeping on theme, I really cannot resist coding Eddy’s family as stereotypically dysfunctional Italian American (and let me elaborate on my opening statement by stating this identity IS my circus my monkeys 🙈). Memelzebub described his parents as Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman in the movie Matilda and I agree hard on that!

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Okay I looooove playing dress up with these guys so let’s get into it. I envision these more as they get into their teens and older.

Edd: a bit of grandpa (chunky thrifted sweaters), casual 90’s/00’s streetwear (long sleeve quarter zips, sneakers), specialized outdoorsy gear (like 100 pocket cargo pants, swishy pull over rain jackets) and he’s always kinda cold (puffer vests, layers, etc) uhhh and he still wears outrageously colored and patterned socks. I like to imagine he’d expand his hat selection. He prefers to dress practically and comfortably.

Eddy: SO MUCH STYLE POTENTIAL. He likes fashion so I could see him playing up lots of styles and having lots of phases through his teens and into adulthood. Other than 70s inspired fashion, I’d be lying if I didn’t shout out butch lesbians as a fashion inspiration. In high school I often imagine him wearing more casual 00’s clothing - baggy jeans and long jorts and skater sneakers and polos and bowler shirts. And then as he gets older he leans into more “slutty 70s” men’s fashion. I think for loungewear he has a huge selection of dramatic robes and kaftans like some old Hollywood diva.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Edd: idk this is classic but I had a crush on him as a kid. What can I say. Now I don’t have a crush on him but find him incredibly interesting and complex and fun to think about (: I think I always liked that he was a big nerd with sort of odd interests because I related to it. Now I relate most to his unmedicated anxiety 🙃

Eddy: also classic response, I found him grating and annoying during the original air time. But I didn’t flat out hate him or anything. I found his voice interesting and he was funny! Now I love love love Eddy. I only watched BPS in like 2013 and man did that really shift things for me in terms of being emotionally invested in this pink cube. What a guy!

[vosh-rakh]

madstone: chapter 2

- previous part -

Kassur at least made it out of the city before he fell apart.

Just outside the gates, he finally collapsed to his knees, and wept, and beat his head with his fists. He sat like that for what felt like hours, letting his rage run through him like a kagouti. 

Eventually, he started to recover himself. In the Mephalan tradition, he began to plot. Plots required steps. So he began to figure out his next steps.

First, he needed to stop hitting himself. Then, he needed to stop weeping. Then he needed to stand up. Then he needed to turn around. Then he needed to head back into the city.

Then he needed to join House Telvanni.

- - - - -

Kassur crossed the large fungal-root bridge leading to the Telvanni Council House, passed through a circular root gate like the one at the entrance to Vos, and went inside the large mushroom building. 

A Dunmer woman stood in the foyer, leaning against the opposite wall. She glanced up from a book at Kassur as he entered. She looked back down to continue reading as she asked, “What do you want?”

Kassur swallowed heavily before speaking. “Work,” he said. 

The woman swore under her breath. “Gotta be Telvanni to get work, ashlander.”

Kassur ignored the intended insult and persisted. “I’ll join.”

The woman lowered the book to evaluate Kassur completely. “And why would we take you?”

Kassur didn’t know. He thought for a minute before snapping a small flame onto his fingertips. 

“Parlor trick,” the woman scoffed. “Anyone can light a small fire.”

“I can learn,” said Kassur, desperate. 

“Whatever. Your funeral. Go in and talk to one of the Mouths.”

Kassur walked past the woman, making sure to keep a wide berth around her, and went through the next circular door. 

The ensuing chamber was massive, and interpenetrated with giant, azure-violet crystal growths. Seven raised platforms ringed around a larger central crystal, smoking from within its fungal sconce. Some of the platforms were empty, but mer stood on the central five. 

Kassur took the steps down to the walkable platform around the central crystal, by which one could access the people on the platforms. He started on his right and addressed the first mer he came across, the only one in mostly plain dress rather than elaborate robes. “Hello.”

The mer seemed distracted by the wisps of smoke hissing from the central crystal. He looked down at Kassur and said, “Hello. Archmagister’s Mouth, Edd Theman, at your service. How can I help you?”

Kassur tried to twist the Dunmeris from his dry tongue, but to little avail. So all he said, again, was, “Join Telvanni.”

“Ah,” Edd said. “That can be arranged.” He pulled out a small book from a back pocket and flipped through it. “I hope I don’t need to give you the whole spiel about rules.” Kassur looked blankly up at him; he was speaking too fast, and he barely could make out what Edd was saying. 

“Ah, here,” Edd said, pulling a pen from another pocket. “Your name, son?”

“Kassur,” Kassur answered.

“Uhhhhh-huh.” Edd started writing some sloppy Daedric, and then showed it to Kassur. “Did I spell it right?”

From what Kassur could tell - it was very sloppy Daedric, and he struggled enough to read proper Daedric - Edd had written “Casser.” Kassur closed his eyes and nodded. Maybe the curse he was bringing upon himself by joining this House wouldn’t take effect if they got his name wrong.

“Alright,” Edd said, putting away the pen and book. “You’re now a hireling of House Telvanni.”

“Work?” Kassur said.

“Ah, you require a chore,” Edd said. He pulled out another book from another pocket and started flipping through it. “Well, there is something I need somebody to do. I was going to get somebody higher-ranked to do it, but you seem capable enough. Plus I’m running out of time.” From yet another pocket he pulled out some kind of amulet. “In an hour or so on the east end of town, down the road past the cornerclub, there’s going to be a little meeting between a couple of important people. I want you to wear this, hide nearby, and report back to me on what they talk about. Understood?”

Kassur took the amulet from Edd’s hands. It had an ordinary leather strap but a rather enormous sapphire embedded in the six-pointed talisman. He wrapped it around his throat and clasped it behind his neck. It felt warm to the touch as it activated.

“Well then! Where’d Casser go?” Edd said. “Haha! I know you’re still there. It’s quite an exceptional necklace, so do bring it back. Archmagister’s property.”

Kassur looked at his hands and could barely see them. All that remained of his body was a faint shimmer, like a mirage on a hot ashland day. He took off the amulet, and his form returned to normal. He put it in his pocket, waved Edd goodbye, and left to cross town again. 

- - - - -

The sun was hanging low when Kassur hid behind a rock, put on the necklace, and waited. This side of the island was devoid of civilization, besides an abandoned ancient Daedric ruin like the one Kassur had passed on the ship. The boulder he chose to hide behind was large and mossy and covered in racer droppings.

Eventually, two people did show up. One was Helende, the enormous mer from the cornerclub, armored with netch leather. The other was the Mage’s Guild Argonian, Skink, who wore commoners clothing, but had a glass dagger on his belt. Kassur leaned in slightly to listen to what was said. 

They were speaking Cyrodiilic. 

Kassur pressed his palms into his eyes and suppressed a sigh. This obviously wasn’t going to work. He waited for the two to leave before he removed the amulet. 

What was he going to do? He had nothing to report to Edd, because he didn’t understand a word that was said. He needed to get the hell out of this town.

But right now, he was exhausted and needed a bed to sleep in. He pulled out his coinpurse and counted out his seven coins. Suddenly, he remembered the small book in his other pocket, the one Yakin had given him, and he had an idea.

Kassur crossed the town again and made for the market. There was the strange short mer from earlier, seemingly closing up shop. Kassur approached, but the mer saw and shook his head. “Closed for the day,” he said in shaky Dunmeris.

“Just want to sell something,” Kassur said.

“Too bad. Wait until morning.” The little mer finished packing up his goods and left for his home.

Kassur sighed. He decided to make his way to the inn where he’d purchased his Hospitality Papers, and hoped he could beg his way into getting a room for the night.

He went up the spiral stairs to reach the front door of the inn and went inside. There he saw the Prefect again, dozing at his desk. “Hello,” Kassur said, carefully shaking the Prefect from his tenuous slumber.

The Prefect straightened his back and looked up at Kassur. “Ah, need Papers?…Oh, of course not. What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” Kassur asked.

“Ah,” the Prefect said. “Talk to the publican, Ery, two stories up. She can get you signed in.” He waved Kassur off, presumably so he could resume his half-sleep at his desk uninterrupted.

Kassur went up the spiral stairs, first passing a floor with a couple of empty but candlelit tables, then up another flight to a bar. At the center was a dark-skinned woman in a brownish-green robe. “Ery?” Kassur asked tentatively.

“The one and only,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Bed?” 

“Ah. That’ll be ten gold.” 

Kassur frowned and held out his hand, filled with his last seven coins. “Enough?”

Ery took the coins and counted them out. “No, not enough. It’s ten gold.”

Kassur rubbed his forehead. She was really going to make him do it, huh…He pulled his book from his pocket and handed it over as well. “Enough?”

Ery took the book and flipped through it. “I don’t buy books, sera.”

“Please,” Kassur said.

“Don’t look so desperate, sera,” Ery said. “I’ll take it, and your coin. I happen to like books like these. But you’re getting the shit room, just to let you know.”

She took down his name in a logbook and gave him directions to his room, and he followed them. He probably could have gotten more for the book than three drakes at an actual bookshop, but he didn’t have the luxury of selling it at one at the moment. He closed the door to his room behind him, and, having nothing to put away, he simply threw himself on the bed, and tried not to fall apart again. He was completely out of gold, stuck in a foreign town, with no way home. And this room reeked, like the smell of burning shock magic. It gave him a very uneasy feeling. He didn’t know how he was ever going to sleep here. Much less how he was ever going to get home, and even much less how he was going to save his tribe.

As he stared at the high ceiling, tied up with fungal roots, he was unable to close his eyes for sleep. But suddenly, he had an idea.

Tomorrow morning, he was going to go back to the docks.

- - - - -

Kassur made sure Gals Arethi wasn’t around before he carefully stepped onto the boat, warmly magical amulet around his neck. He made an effort to do it more gracefully than he had yesterday. Crouched low, he nearly crawled upon the planks, trying to be both steady and unseen. Of course, with this necklace, no one was going to see him, anyway.

Thankfully, the hatch to below the deck was propped open. Kassur approached and was just about to make his way down when Gals Arethi’s head poked out of the trapdoor and looked around. Kassur crouched even lower, sitting perfectly still.

But Gals didn’t seem to see him. He went back down the stairs into the ship.

Kassur waited for a moment before following him down. This level of the boat was stocked with barrels and crates and chests and sacks. He decided to take a spot behind the stairs to hide, and hoped Gals had no reason to come down there to that particular place. Anxiously he waited for Gals to go back up the stairs and close the hatch behind him before he began to relax.

Eventually Kassur heard some creaking of the deck above him - had Gals heard that when Kassur boarded? - and soon felt that uneasy feeling of movement through the water. Gals should be busy above-deck until they arrive in Vos, and then Kassur could sneak back out when they get there.

Suddenly, the trap door opened again, and Kassur saw two furry feet descending the stairs. It was one of the cat-men, which he’d never seen before. He took a look around, and, seeing something nearby Kassur, his feline eyes lit up. He came behind the stairs - Kassur held his breath and stayed perfectly still - and picked up a lute leaning against the hull of the ship. He gave it a strum, adjusted the pegs on the head of the instrument, and took a seat on a nearby stool.

He was just about to start playing when he said, in strangely-accented Dunmeris, “Do you have any requests, invisible man?”

Kassur���s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He held up a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Ah,” the cat-man said, “S’Bakha sees. Or, doesn’t see. Maybe you will like this song, anyways.”

Then he began to play. He didn’t strum the entire collection of strings, but instead plucked them in a style of claw-picking Kassur had never seen or heard before. The instrument, although somewhat ill-tempered by the salty sea-air, still produced a beautiful sound with every note, playing a foreign song. Eventually S’Bakha began to sing, which wasn’t as good as the lute-playing, and Kassur didn’t understand the words. But Kassur relaxed as he listened. It helped to keep his mind off of things, such as his people’s plight, and more presently, the rocking of the ship.

It barely registered to him that the amulet was growing colder and colder.

- - - - -

They finally arrived, but seemingly much too soon. Did Gals take a shorter route? Or did the cat-man’s music just make the time seem to go by faster? S’Bakha set down the lute and rose to make for the deck. Kassur quietly followed after a moment or two.

The morning mist had mostly cleared, and the sun hung high in the sky. Crouched low on the deck, Kassur saw Gals conversing with his legitimate passengers. To Kassur’s surprise, it was the Argonian from Sadrith Mora’s market the day before, and one of their earlier compatriots, a Dunmer man. S’Bakha went to join them, which caused Gals to turn his head. 

He saw Kassur.

“You!” he said, marching up towards Kassur, who stood up straight, knowing there was no escape now. “Ashlander! What are you doing on my ship?”

Kassur was too paralyzed to speak. 

“What’s going on here?” asked the imposing Argonian.

“It seems to me,” Gals said, “that this low-life has stowed away on my ship without paying fare!”

“Gals,” the robed Dunmer next to the Argonian said, “if that is the worst thing that happens to you today, consider yourself very lucky. Young man,” he said, addressing Kassur now, “Where were you hoping to go?”

“V-Vos,” Kassur managed through trembling lips.

“The poor chap didn’t even get where he wanted to go. Shame.” The Dunmer turned back to Gals. “Let him go. See if he finds Tel Aruhn any better a place than Sadrith Mora.”

“Wait,” the Argonian said, sauntering up to Kassur. They took hold of the amulet around his neck and plucked it off forcefully. “This is mine. How did you get it?”

“Edd gave it to me,” Kassur croaked. “For a chore.”

“Typical,” the Argonian said, pocketing the amulet. “And you’ve drained it, too.”

“Wait,” Kassur said, realizing. “You’re the Archmagister? He said it was hers.”

“Yes, despite all challenges,” she said. 

“I need your aid,” Kassur said. “Ahemmusa needs your aid.”

“Again?” the Archmagister laughed. “Do they need me to clear out another shrine?”

“No,” Kassur said. “They’ve gone mad. They need help.”

“Aryon’s jurisdiction,” she said, glancing at the Dunmer at her side. “And we’re both busy at the moment.”

“Meet me at Tel Vos tomorrow,” Aryon said with a polite smile. “We’ll see what can be done.”

“I can’t get there,” Kassur said. “No money.”

The cat-man, S’Bakha, stepped in. “Gracious Archmagister, S’Bakha believes there is the small matter of payment for his humble aid in your recent quest?”

“Hmph,” said the Archmagister. She fumbled around in a pocket of her robes - which Kassur just now noticed had a great gash in it, which hadn’t been present yesterday, revealing her armor underneath - and handed S’Bakha a bag full of coins. “Not sure how much that is. But you can have it.”

The cat-man, shrewd as Kassur had heard his kind to be, opened the bag and started counting. “Most gracious Archmagister,” he exclaimed, “this is nearly a thousand drakes! Are you sure?”

“Take it,” the Archmagister said with a nod. “You’ve earned it.”

“Well,” S’Bakha said, turning to Gals, “How much fare for a mer to get to Vos?”

Gals grumbled. “Fifty septims.”

S’Bakha casually grabbed a hearty handful of coins and handed them to Gals. “That should be enough, plus a tip, for you being such a compassionate man. Take this young man home.”

Kassur stared at S’Bakha, wide-eyed. “But…I barely know you.”

“You were a good sport, listening to S’Bakha play and sing,” S’Bakha said. “A good audience, even when you were invisible. Usually the performer is paid by the audience, but, well. The performer has suddenly encountered a great windfall.”

“Thank you,” said Kassur. 

“Archmagister,” Aryon said, placing a gentle gloved hand on her armored shoulder, “We have our…bloody business to attend to.”

“Yes,” she said, and the three turned to depart the ship, leaving behind Gals and Kassur.

“You’re lucky the Archmagister’s pet intervened,” Gals said. “Now get below deck. I don’t want to see you until we get to Vos, or I’ll throw you overboard.”

Kassur smiled and nodded. He was just glad to go home.

[prettyswellaus]

(Splatoon AU) Edd's Crew's Lockers

(More to probably be added and soon)

Edd

Color: Green

Stickers

Inkbrush Sticker

Inkbrush Holo Sticker

CARBV Poster

Bacon Cola Poster

SM-SM Character

SP0P-INK Graffiti

3TSCRM Character

Decorations

Comedy Comic

Pop (12 Cans)

Monkey Crab in Silly Land

Octo King Country

Super Squid Collection

Purple Loose-Leaf Binder

Sea Snail Man (Ghost)

Lucky Can

Eddsworld Cereal

Tom

Color: Blue

Stickers

Krak-On Splat Roller Sticker

Krak-On Splat Roller Holo Sticker

Krak-On Logo

OKTRVNG Poster

PTYSQD-B sticker

SQDSN-B Character

SQSK Graffiti

PXSQD-B Deco

SQSQD Poster

Decorations

Susan (His bass)

Blue Candy-Drop Can

Record Player

Rockin' Music Quarterly

Contain the Kraken

Tomee Bear

Smirnoff Bottles (3 of them)

Black Dakronik (Specifically one shoe)

Small Amp

Aqua Water Bottle

Rusty Blue Harpoon

Matt

Color: Magenta

Stickers

Splat Brella Sticker

Splat Brella Holo Sticker

FRGL Sticker

INKWR Poster

PRL Poster

King Matt Poster

BWTR-SPRGS-MR0R Graffiti

Decorations

Mirrors (2 of them. One hand mirror and one taped on the inside of the locker door)

Inkopolis Illustrated

Drip Squad

Surveyor Tripod

Pink Squid Friend

Cymbal Playing Monkey ("Little Tom")

Photos of himself (4 of them)

Micro Shelter

Japanese Umbrella

Sakura Paper Lantern

Old-School Radio

Tord

Color: Red

Stickers

Splat Dualies Sticker

Splat Dualies Holo Sticker

MNA Poster

Robot Blueprints

Red Army Insignia Graffiti

Zekko D1MND logo

Zekko MLTY logo

Decorations

Ink & Splatter

Love-and-War

Commander Cephalopod

Fangirl Comic

Romance Comic

Sci-Fi Comic

Sharktooth Comix

Sharktooth Comix-Double

Sharktooth Comix-Special

Ultra Squid

Schoolyard Scrap Jack

Tordbot Action Figure

Octoleet Goggles

Pickelhaube Helmet

Blaze

Color: Black

Stickers

Blaster Sticker

Blaster Holo Sticker

Firefin FFN-R Logo

Firefin CH0 Logo

Squidforce Logo

SQDWV-TDP Sticker

SG-BNHPHN Graffiti

Decorations

Cheesy Munchy Snacks

Ginger Ale (6 Cans)

Fiery Squid Friend

Chocolate Cereal

Orange Candy-Drop Can

Crunchy Snacks

Crusty Snacks

Processed Cheese

Salted Munchy Snacks

Tentacle Nights

Squidlife Headphones

Enchanted Robe A

Enchanted Hat

Enchanted Boots

Dusk

Color: Pink

Stickers

Aerospray MG Sticker

Aerospray MG Holo Sticker

N-Zap Sticker

Decorations

Dancing Flower

Ice Cream Box

Pink Squid Friend

Fangirl Comic

Nostalgia Power

Romance Comic

Purple Squid Cushion

[antisolanum]

"The Fates"-ass gender, three women piled into one robe trying to buy a ticket to an R-rated movie but the ticket counter worker tells them it is unnecessary because all three of them are old enough to buy a ticket. "Ed, Edd, and Eddy" but they're ancient wisewomen

@funnier-as-a-system

[ededdneddy-artrefs]

[sailorshadzter]

a whole bunch of random jonsa moments from the reunion to their happy ending. :)

When the call from the gate comes, he rises up, sharing but one quick glance with Edd before he departs out the door. Somewhere in the distance, Ghost is howling, not the lonely cry of the last direwolf, but of one finding a missing piece. Jon’s heart overturns, his stomach in his throat, the feelings rushing through him unlike any of the other ones that had come before. The cold, Northern slaps him in the face as he steps through the door and onto the top step that would lead him down into the courtyard, if only his feet would propel him forwards. 

In a single instance, he’s rendered useless, breathless. 

There she was, lowering that hood from her auburn hair, revealing to him a memory he’s kept locked inside, one of summer sunshine and laughter on the wind. For that moment, it is like he’s always dreamed- coming home to Winterfell, with his family around him, with warmth filling him up until it threatens to overflow. But, now that he looks just a little bit closer, now that he stops, he sees this girl who’s come through his gate is more like a ghost. So, his feet take him down the stairs, the snow crunching beneath his boots as she turns around, their eyes locking for the very first time. 

Those blue eyes unnerve him and he hears his breath catch, sees her knees weaken.  

When he opens his arms, she’s already rushing into them; she is cold and frail as his arms wind around her, the force of the embrace sweeping her off her feet. She is not the Sansa he remembers, but that hair... It is as he’s dreamed of. Her name is soft on his lips as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, holding onto him as if he is all that anchors her to this world. And truth was, he swears in that moment, she is all that anchors him. It does not pass him by, the realization of her appearance, so suddenly after his revival in this life. It means something, that much he knows. 

And so, when he sets her back onto her feet, he holds her at arm’s length and smiles, noting not the pallor of her cheeks, but the rush her smile brings. “Let’s get you warm,” he says, though there’s so many things he might say, so many things he wishes he could say. She nods and together, they make their way back into Castle Black, into the place he’d only just sworn he would leave. 

[ x x x ] 

In the firelight, she’s rosy cheeked and smiling. “Forgive me,” she’s asking in earnest, leaning forward, his furs draped over her shoulders.  

“I forgive you,” he gives in with a chuckle, warm not just from the drink he’s had this night with her.  

“I didn’t know where else to come,” she says softly, a few moments later, her smile fading as a memory he’s not privy to takes root. Jon swallows, shaking his head as if he means to argue. “Where will you go?” She asks, instead, offering him the bait to take. 

And he does. “Where will we go,” he clarifies, reaching out for the first time simply so he might touch his hand to hers. “We can’t stay here.”  

“Let’s go home,” she replies, her other hand coming up to cross his, her touch once cold is now warm and soft. “Winterfell belongs to me and to you. It belongs to Bran and to Arya, and Rickon, too.” Their beloved little siblings, lost to them, uncertain if they lived or died. “We must go home.”  

Something about hearing her say the word home is enough. It’s all he’s ever wanted.  

“Home,” he agrees, nodding his head as a smile spreads across her face. 

[ x x x ] 

On their first night in Winterfell, she comes to his rooms. 

“Sansa,” he greets, taking in the sight of her in her white nightgown and dressing robe. Of course, he steps back, allowing her entrance, turning around to watch as she settles before the hearth, hands out, warming over the burning fire. “It is late,” he says the obvious, bringing the softest of laughs from her lips.  

“Ramsay is dead,” she announces without preamble, not looking at him, those blue eyes staring deep into the flames. “I killed him.”  

“I left him for you,” Jon reminds her, thinking back to the courtyard scene, when it had been her presence alone to stop him from killing Ramsay Bolton with his own two hands. “To do with as you pleased,” truth was, he had not expected this from her, but then again, she was not the same Sansa he remembers from childhood. She was someone entirely new, built from grief and heartache. Even now, his knuckles throb with the pain, but it had not been his fight to finish, so he will live with the pain, just as she does. “Drink,” he encourages, when he’s poured her a goblet of wine, pouring himself one only as she drains hers.  

“I don’t wish to be alone,” she whispers, those blue eyes staring back at him. 

“Neither do I,” he says, the truth, and she smiles. 

[ x x x ] 

“Come back to me,” she whispers and Jon laughs, his palm cradling her cheek. “I mean it,” she adds, pulling a face. “Come back to us,” she amends, speaking aloud the words she’s yet to admit to anyone at all. His hand falls into place against her stomach, still yet flat, no sign of the life that was still to come. But he knows that when he returns here, she will be large with his child. He’s grinning, torn between laughter and tears, knowing what this means for the both of them. He recalls every night they’ve spent together in these last few months, knowing deep down that it was wrong, but really not caring. After all they’ve been through, would the Gods not spare them for their ill-fated love? 

“I will,” he promises as her hand slips over his. “Keep my son safe, until I return,” he doesn’t know how, but he knows the child she carries is a boy. And from the way she smiles, so does she. “We will call him Robb,” his whispered words send a shiver down her spine- for that had been the very same name she had thought of. “The Young White Wolf,” Jon predicts, thinking of the son that would follow in his steps as King, the protector of Winterfell.  

Sansa closes her eyes, imagining for a single moment the son she carries, not as an infant, but as a man grown to his full height. He would be built like her, but he would look just like Jon- there would be no denying his Stark heritage. “I will keep him safe, and the North, too,” she says softly, her own single vow to keep until his return. Jon nods and then he must go... So, she slips from his grip and watches in silence as he backs from the room, pausing for just one moment before he’s gone.  

And so, her watch begins.  

[ x x x ] 

When the ships are spotted on the horizon, she knows he’s come home. 

It takes just a few short hours before the screams of the dragons can be heard, before the long line of Dothraki soldiers begin to file into the North. But there they come, with Daenerys Targaryen at the front, her silvery hair like a beacon in the cold, morning fog. And at her side is of course Jon, who despite his calm demeanor, is trembling with anticipation beneath his furs.  

Riding through the gate, he let’s go of all propriety and drops from his horse, rushing across the courtyard to where his family stands. It’s Bran he must greet first, stooping down so he might embrace the little brother he thought surely lost to him. With emotions welling in his eyes, he holds onto Bran as tightly as he dares, listening to the stoic voice that speaks back to him. It is not the voice nor the gaze he recalls, but like Sansa, like himself, they are not the same as they had once been within these walls of Winterfell. 

And then... He stands upright and Sansa is all he sees.  

She’s glowing like the setting sun, her ivory cheeks stained crimson, her blue eyes damp as she takes in the sight of him. He cannot wait another moment and so he must embrace her, too, choking on his own breath as he feels the slightest swell of her body beneath the cloak she wears. It is a secret smile they share as she pulls back, her gaze sweeping then from him to the young woman approaching them. “Your grace, might I introduce my sister, the Lady of Winterfell...”  

[ x x x ] 

He throws open the door to her chambers and there she stands, still yet tugging her cloak from her shoulders as he comes through. “Look at you,” he rasps, falling to his knees before her, hands stroking the slight curve of her belly, hidden quite well beneath the folds of her gown.  

“I have grown fat,” she complains, though she is smiling all the same.  

“You are more beautiful than I thought ever possible,” he says as he rises up, unable to help himself from kissing her, one hand still yet firmly placed against her belly. Beneath his palm he can feel it, the slightest flutter of the life within, a sign of the life they’ve created. “You are well?” He questions when he has pulled himself from her, holding her at arm’s length now, marveling in the beauty she is. Marveling at what they have done, at what she has done while he’s been away. “And the babe...?” 

“Grows stronger every single day. He wakes me early each morning,” she laughs, absently running her own hand over the swell of her stomach. “He will be a fine boy.” She does not tell him that Bran has confirmed he will be a prince of princes, a boy that will grow into a man with the brightest of futures. “Tell me of Dragonstone, tell me about... Her...” She trails off, reminded again of the beauty that was the dragon queen, though there was something cold about her that left Sansa feeling more uncertain than she’d ever been before.  

And so, when they’ve settled on her bed, Jon begins to talk, telling her of everything and anything, though not once does his hand leave her belly. 

[ x x x ] 

The night of the celebration, there is no more hiding her condition, and so it is with her belly on display that she appears in the great hall. A cheer goes up among the Northerners- they are loyal folk and it is to their pleasure that their lady has an heir on the way, regardless of how he’s been conceived. It is only the dragon queen who does not congratulate her, though she supposes she would not, regardless of the circumstances.  

As it was, there was far more to celebrate than just their survival- but the truth, as well. 

The truth that it was not Daenerys that was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, but Jon. The truth of his birth had come to light only a few days before and it turns out, word travels fast, even there in Winterfell. And so, it was not just Winterfell’s heir to celebrate, but the heir of Jon, the boy who would unite the Seven Kingdoms in peace, without a doubt, without worry. If only they could get so far.  

And so, she holds her goblet in the air and smiles, catching the attention of those around her. The chatter falls quiet and the Northern lords and guests all turn to where she stands behind the head table, Jon and Bran to her either side, Arya in the corner looking on.  “For the North,” she calls out and all the voices in the room but one chant it back. Over and over, it reverberates on the walls, the sound sending chills down her spine as she puts her goblet to her lips.  

She turns slightly and catches the gaze of the violet eyed dragon queen, staring down at her from the far end of the table. Daenerys narrows those eyes and Sansa cannot help but to smile in her direction, watching as she pushes her chair back from the table and stalks from the room, only her ever loyal attendant following after her.  

Sansa supposes a war of a new kind was soon to follow, but she’s battled worse than dragons, and so she is not afraid. For once, she has something to protect far greater than herself and she will never forget the vow she made to Jon that night he left for Dragonstone: she would protect their son and the North as well. “For the North,” she whispers again, her free hand pressing against her belly as she drains the last sip of her wine. “And for you.”  

[ x x x ] 

“You must come back.” 

They’ve been here before, but somehow this time feels different. There is a new sense of dread that fills her up as she thinks of him riding off into battle, this time one for a throne he doesn’t even really want. She knows as well as he does that this is what he must do, to keep them all safe, but it does not make it any easier to see him off. “I promise,” he whispers as he leans in to kiss her one last time, hands sliding into place against her cheeks. He holds fast to her, feeling the same uneasiness as she, but knowing he must be the one who is strong in the moment. “I will return and we will be happy.” They’ve spoken of this dream for weeks now- of his return after this final battle for the Seven Kingdoms, when they would finally be able to find peace and happiness. When they could finally be together as a family, without the threat of war and death looming overhead.  

It is his vow of the future that brings a smile to her face; she nods, allowing him to take a step back, though his one hand remains in place against the curve of her cheek. “I will be here waiting,” she says, swallowing down the last bit of emotions welling within her. Jon smiles and he let’s go, hoping with all of his heart that he can fulfill this last promise to her.  

When he’s gone, she pulls on her cloak and walks the ever familiar path down to the godswood, where she takes her usual spot beneath the heart tree. For a moment, she stares up at the canopy of weirwood leaves, before she closes her eyes and she prays. She prays for the first time in years, asking the gods to protect those she loves from harm in the coming battle. She prays for Jon and for Arya and Brienne, too.  

She can only hope they will listen to the prayers of a woman who has long since lost her faith.  

[ x x x ] 

“My lady!”  

It’s one of the only men left behind in Winterfell, barging through her solar door without even a knock. “The soldiers are returning!” He nearly shouts in his excitement, watching as she jumps to her feet, a smile slowly spreading across her lips. “Lord Snow was seen at the front, with your sister as well!”  

“You are certain?” She asks, not daring to believe it. But the man nods and her stomach turns over, relief rushing through her entire being. “Tell the kitchens and the staff, ensure there is a feast prepared for their return, they will certainly be cold and hungry. Have Agatha oversee the preparation of rooms for as many as we can house.” The man nods and bows, before he backs from the room, leaving her alone once again. Slowly she drops back into her chair and wraps her arms around her belly, where beneath her touch the child squirms, surely running out of space within her womb as he grows. “Your father is coming home, little one,” she whispers as the tears begin to fall, offering silent thanks to the gods for answering her prayers. 

[ x x x ] 

It is Arya that rides through the gates first, her face bruised, but she was otherwise unhurt. Sansa wraps her little sister in her arms and holds on tight, again thanking the gods for hearing her pleas for her safety. “Welcome home,” is all she can manage to say between her tears, and though Arya’s face is passive, she too holds onto Sansa a moment longer than she had before. And then she’s gone, moving past one sibling for another, for Bran has come down to the courtyard as well, to greet those who have returned home. 

And then as Sansa is turning around from watching her youngest siblings embrace, she sees him. It’s Jon come through the gates on his horse, looking as battered as Arya had, but he was alive. And he was home. The moment their eyes lock, Jon is sliding from the saddle, shoving the reins at the nearest soldier, before he’s rushing towards her. His arms come around her and she’s laughing, crying, happier than she’s ever been in all of her life. “You’re home,” she says as he wipes the tears from her cheeks, though they only fall faster.  

“I promised, didn’t I?” He replies with a chuckle, though his Stark colored eyes are damp with the emotions welling within him. “I’m home,” he says a moment later, leaning in his forehead to hers, breathing in her familiar scent, reveling in the feel of her arms around his waist.  

He was home and he would never leave her again.  

[ x x x ] 

First comes her coronation as Queen in the North, followed by his as the King of the Six Kingdoms the following month. And that same day, they are married in a small, but lavish ceremony in the Red Keep. Upon returning to Winterfell, they marry again, this time with only their family present, beneath the heart tree in the godswood.  

They spend much of their time in Winterfell, though his duties call him South every few weeks, and until she feels her body changing to prepare for the impending birth of their child, she’s always rode with him. Returning to King’s Landing had not been something she ever expected to do, though, it is not the same place she recalls. No longer do the ghosts of the past there haunt her. Rather, she’s happy to build new memories in the place she once feared. It would become a home away from home, a place their children would know as well as they know Winterfell.  

On this morning, she wakes with a dull ache in her back, though not something she’s unused to, considering the advanced state of her pregnancy. It is the day before Jon is to return South and he snores in the bed beside her, one arm draped comfortably over her own body. Carefully as she can, she slides out from beneath the furs, thinking she might call for a warm bath, the one thing that might relieve the ache of her body. But before she can even tug on her dressing gown, the babe twists sharply within her and there comes a gush from between her legs. She does not realize it, but she must have called out, for Jon’s sleepy voice suddenly breaks into her racing mind. “Alright, sweetheart?”  

“I think my time has come,” she says and if Jon was not awake yet, he certainly was now.  

[ x x x ] 

On that very evening, as the moon began its ascent into the sky, their son was born. 

He came into life screaming, with a head of dark hair that would certainly fall into the same curls as his father and namesake. Robb Stark, he would be called of course, a name they’d chosen from that very first day she had told Jon she was carrying him. When all was over and the babe was wrapped securely in linen and handed off to his mother, his cries had quieted, and it was with the most inquisitive dark eyes that he did stare up at her. Even at minutes old, he was his father’s son, there was certainly no denying his Stark heritage. “He is beautiful,” she whispers, marveling over his delicate features, his skin feathery soft when she presses the first of many kisses to his forehead. “Look at him, he is perfect,” Sansa cries softly as she strokes the dark hair, wondering for a single moment if she could ever feel more love than she felt right then.  

But then Jon takes their son into his arms and her heart melts.  

“Hello son...” Jon murmurs softly to the babe, before he leans over him so he too might kiss him upon the forehead. He was, as Sansa said, perfect, and truly beautiful. A handsome boy he would grow into and already his heart aches with the knowledge that he would never again have this moment with his first born. But there would be so many more moments to come and he supposes those are what he must look forward to.  

And so, he passes the baby back to Sansa, watching as she snuggles him close to her chest, nuzzling against his dark head of hair. This was the happiest of moments, the best one of his entire life, and even now he cannot believe it is real. Leaning over, he places a kiss against the top of her head and vows to himself that he will always keep this little family of his safe.  

That was his new promise.  

[dragonmuse]

I’ve been struggling a bit and have found major comfort in this universe. So i would love something about when when eddys depression crops up, and how stede supports her during them.

(I'm so sorry you're having a hard time anon. I hope this is what you were imagining)

“Ah,” Stede came home with a soft click of the door. “There you are, honey. I brought home some dinner.” 

Eddy had not been hiding. They may have become one with the couch, but they weren’t that good at camouflaging. It had been some time since they’d oozed out of bed and made it this far, curling in one far corner, but they couldn’t say how long. The television was on, prattling voices ringing through the air. 

“I’ll make you a plate,” Stede decided. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, so I just got some soup with the little dumplings that you liked.” 

Soup was always okay. Sometimes when she got like this, eating became irritating, but soup was fine. It was warm and stayed in its little container while she sipped at it and fishing the dumplings out with her bare fingers always made Stede give that little high-pitched whine that she enjoyed. Mildly scandalizing him was as good as she got these days. He was more resistant to her chaos or maybe just enjoyed it too much to protest. 

Eddy didn’t get up and Stede didn’t make her. They ate and the tv went blabbing on until Stede was done. 

“Can I read to you?” 

“...yeah.” 

“Any preferences?” 

Eddy shook her head mutely and waited for Stede to choose something. When he came back to the couch, she rested her head on his thigh, curling up under her robe. His free hand landed in her hair. He didn’t say anything about the tangles, just slid his fingers through the locks to rub at her scalp until her eyes were half-lidded. 

“Lay your sleeping head, my love,/ Human on my faithless arm;” he read in slow, solemn tones. It was more restful than the tv, easy to follow. “Time and fevers burn away/ Individual beauty from/ Thoughtful children, and the grave/ Proves the child ephemeral:/But in my arms till break of day/ Let the living creature lie,/ Mortal, guilty, but to me/ The entirely beautiful.” 

“S’nice.” Eddy palmed Stede’s knee cap. “What is it?” 

“Lullaby by W.H. Auden. Would you like to hear the rest?” 

“Please.” 

He went on, finishing that poem and then onto the next. The words poured over Eddy and sank into her skin.  

“It’s a nice night,” Stede said eventually. “Not too cold. Would you go for a walk with me?” 

The idea was exhausting, but they had been here for some time. Their knee was stiff with disuse which would be annoying soon.

“Yeah,” she decided and heaved herself upwards. Getting dressed was out of the question, so she just pulled on sweatpants and belted the robe tight. Shoes were slip-ons left at the front door. 

They didn’t go quickly. Stede had learned to keep up with the ground-eating stride Eddy still practiced on days when her body wasn’t actively stopping her, but they were at slower gear today and Stede seemed happy enough to ratchet it back. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddy said to the air. 

“What for?” Stede squeezed her hand. 

“For being like this sometimes.” 

“I don’t need apologies for that,” Stede said softly. “I worry because you seem so unhappy, but honey, you could be the saddest girl in the world and I would still want to be right by your side.” 

Eddy shook her head, “But it’s miserable. And I can’t do all the things you like to do.” 

“So I do them on my own for a bit. What do you think marriage is? It’s taken me two rounds to learn, but I assure you that the sickness and in health bit is important.” 

“We didn’t say that part.” 

“I meant it anyway. Didn’t you?” 

“Course I did,” they said quickly. 

“Then no apologies are needed. We’ll see each other through, won’t we?” 

They walked around the block twice and then back into the apartment.  

“What if I did up your hair?” Stede offered when shoes and sweatpants had been viciously shucked off again. “Just take care of the tangles and braid it?” 

Eddy wavered. It would feel good, probably. And she wouldn’t really have to do much.  

“Yeah, okay.” 

She sat on the floor and let him do his thing, the hypnotic weave of his fingers, so careful not to break up the curl made her sleepy.  The braid was getting longer, the tail falling nearly halfway down her back now. It was probably ridiculous to let it get so long, getting in the way and shedding everywhere. It made putting on wigs a trail and a half that was certain.  

But it was a cape of black and silver. A comfort even when everything else felt faded and distant as the moon. 

They slept as they always did, Stede curled around them, his lips just shy of touching their neck. Things would be a little better in the morning, then even better the day after that. Her dark mood no longer sank her for weeks on end nor did it curdle into the white hot anger that had once defined her. 

Instead, they would go for walks and listen to poetry and go to the bar. They’d play darts with Jim and Lucius would make them something disgusting or amazing to drink depending on how irritating they’d been that week.  They’d practice fire eating with Pete, still not a Stede approved act, but they’d get it down one day. 

But for tonight, there was Stede warm at her back, his hand resting over their heart. The world went on around them. None of it was a cure, but all of it was good medicine and she swallowed it whole.

[muses-of-the-memory]

"Neither will I!" Eddy shouted. "I'll roll him out of here." Ed said tossing Eddy like a bowling ball.

The competition is now in the woods. The competitors stand in front of brambly, entwined bushes, Rolf sporting a robe as Jimmy speaks. "For the third test, wearing only your birthday suits, you must crawl through:"

"The Bramble Bush of Bellyache!" Jonny shouted. "Birthday suits?" Eddy asked surprised. "Nudge nudge, wink wink!" Ed said to Edd as he nudged him thinking birthday suits meant having to be nude.

Hikari was helping Double D with the chick egg project in the science lab. She decorated hers with a bow and a diaper.

@hoshi-neko-hikari

"Greetings, fellow Cluckers!" Edd shouted using a megaphone. "The Happy Cluckers Club is now called to order." He said examining an egg under an incubator thoroughly.

Jonny sweats as Edd looks it over. "Egg-ceptional progress, Jonny." Edd congratulated.

"Right on! We're gonna have us a family, buddy!" Jonny shouted to Plank, happily. "And what do we have here?" Edd asked about Hikari's egg. "Your egg looks adorable as you, Hikari. A perfect match." Edd smiled.

[jadescribbles]

@septimusheapevents for the 2022 Septimus Heap Big Bang

My art piece for @arcane-clown's lovely fic Jenna's First MidSummer As Princess. (I know I promised another drawing, but I won't be able to get it done for this event, so I'll get it to you another time!)

[Image ID: A digital scan of a landscape-oriented watercolor piece. Edd, Jenna, and Erik, from left to right, sit around a campfire. Edd is leaning against a large grey boulder, Jenna sits on a fallen log, and Erik sits criss-cross in the grass behind her, braiding her hair. The twins are both wearing pale green shirts with brown pants, and a grey wolverine pelt over their left shoulder. Jenna is wearing a red dress with gold trim and her circlet. All three of them have braids with colorful beads in their hair. Sam and Silas can be seen in the background. Sam is dressed similar to his brothers, but the fur is draped over both shoulders, while Silas wears his Ordinary Wizard robes. The artist’s signature (Jade) is in the bottom right corner. /End ID]

[kira-bitz]

EW Triwizard Tournament AU - Part 1/3.

I don't know how to make panels in comics but I was dying to make this mini comic. Hope you guys like it. (I think drawing robes is not my thing, though).

Regarding my choice of houses, Edd and Tom are both Slytherin because I think their way of being, especially in pre-legacy, fits with this house the most (but it's just my headcanon): Determined, resourceful, good leader, ambitious 🐍💕 .

About Eduardo... in Hammer & Fail he helped Edd even though he's his eternal rival. Enough evidence that he is Gryffindor to me xD 🦁. And Ravenclaw Mark because why not? If Matt is kind of silly in canon I guess Mark is super smart 🦅 .

-Next Part-

Español bajo el “Seguir leyendo”.

P1- Edd: No puedo creer que solo queden un par de semanas. ¡Estoy muy emocionado! Y ahora podremos encontrarnos con Matt y conversar mientras estudiamos potenciales rivales.

Edd: ... Es una lástima que no pudiéramos reunirnos en las vacaciones.

P2- Tom: Seh, pero no nos pongamos sentimentales. Ya sabes... Si me dan la oportunidad en esto patearé su trasero.

P3- Eduardo: Espiar a tus oponentes antes que ellos a ti. ¿No es así, perdedor?

P4- Edd: EDUARDO...

P5- Eduardo: *Música dramática* Qué inteligente... Lástima que eso no te servirá de nada ¡Yo soy el número uno! Tú puedes dedicarte a observar cómo obtengo toda la gloria.

P6- Edd: *Suspiro* No tengo tiempo para pelear contigo ahora... ¿Qué haces aquí solo de todas formas? ¿Dónde están tus secuaces?

Tom: ¡Sí!

P7- Eduardo: Sí, ellos... ellos iban a venir conmigo... peeero...

Flaaashback...

Jon: ¡Lo siento mucho! No puedo faltar más a esa clase o reprobaré y mis padres me matarán.

Mark: Audaz de tu parte creer que me perderé una clase para eso.

P8- Eduardo: ¡Pero soy un lobo solitario para este tipo de circunstancias! Así que les dije que vendría solo. Sin embargo, ya que ustedes están aquí no tengo otra opción que dejar que me acompañen, supongo.

P9- Edd/Tom: ...

P10- Edd: ¿Sabes qué? Tienes razón, no tienes otra opción. Así que deja de retrasarnos y terminemos con esto... 

Edd: Nuestro amigo debe estar aburrido de esperarnos.

[scvrllet]

UNEXPECTED

Tom chooses his partner for dueling club, clearly underestimating the abilities of the unassuming Hufflepuff

A Tom Riddle x Reader Oneshot

contains: Fem!Reader, Hufflepuff!Reader (905 words)

tags: @stressedraco @cleopatera @jellybeanduck99 @coldlilheart @thiccheerioss @hsummers777 @charlottieellis @summer-writes @lunaralpha270 @tinylumpiaa @slytherin-chaser @bloodblossom73 @peachesandpinks @mischiefsemimanaged @accio-rogers @iamak20 @klaus-m-trash @obsessedwithrandomthings @susceptible-but-siriusexual @masterofthedarkness @lupins-sweater @hariosborn @vernon-dursley​ @slytherinwriter618​ @missmulti​@sleep-i-ness @emmaloo21 @62442-am @imintoodeeptostop @un-limit-edd​

It seemed as though a new club was formed every few months at Hogwarts. Just last month Tom could’ve sworn he overheard a group of second years discussing a Wizards Card Collector Club as he walked to his Common Room. Now there were posters of a dueling club being formed for students to practice their dueling skills. 

Tom never liked the idea of clubs. Even back in the orphanage when Mrs. Cole would try to set up small clubs in hopes of him joining and making friends, he would just excuse himself back to his room. This was what he wished to do until he heard that students would be allowed to duel each-other. While it was intended for academic purposes, Tom saw it as an opportunity for possible new recruits. As of now, there were only six of them, including himself, and if he were to achieve his goals of pure-blood dominance, he would need an army, not a group.

“Welcome students! Today is our first meeting for Hogwarts Dueling Club. To start, let’s have a few pairs demonstrate.” Professor Merrythought announced before looking around the room. 

Her eyes landed on Tom and she smiled, gesturing for the boy to come on up to the platform. A chorus of groans and cheers echoed through the crowd of students as they watched him step up onto the platform. It was no surprise that he was chosen for the demonstration, he was one of her brightest pupils and was taught everything she knew. This earned him very high marks but it now also made it harder for any students who had planned to volunteer. 

“Now why don’t you pick a partner Tom?” Professor Merrythought told him. 

He scanned the faces of those standing below him. Some showed expressions of fear and worry while others looked at him calmly, almost as if they were challenging him. He was going to settle for a Gryffindor in his year who was mocking him until he heard someone laughing. Whipping his head in the direction of the laugh, his eyes landed on a Hufflepuff girl who wasn’t even paying attention. 

An interesting, maybe even cruel, thought came to his mind as he turned back to Professor Merrythought and pointed at the Hufflepuff. The Professor’s eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of their sockets as she asked: “Are you sure?”

Tom nodded and she seemed to hesitate before calling up the student. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you please come on up and join us here dear?” 

The Hufflepuff, who Tom now learned goes by the name of (Y/N), paused her conversation with her friend and smoothed down her robes before making way towards the platform. Professor Merrythought was quick to join her side and whisper something in her ear but the Hufflepuff’s response caused her to frown. 

“Very well then, wands at the ready and remember, this is just a demonstration.” Professor Merrythought seemed to have directed that last bit towards Tom, eyeing him carefully before continuing the rest of the Wizards Duel. 

Tom smirked at the girl, expecting her to look scared or even nervous but instead she mirrored his expression before raising her wand. Caught off guard by this, he just barely deflected her stunning spell. 

“Not bad.” He mumbled under his breath before aiming his wand at her. 

The two went back and forth shooting basic defense spells at each-other with neither of them getting hit. Frustrated, Tom shot a stunning spell in the Hufflepuff’s direction before quickly casting a fiendfyre. 

Just as a small flame had escaped from the tip of his wand, a jet of water had put it out. Before he could even look up to the caster, he was hit by a stunning spell and he flew back into the air. 

Students cheered and applauded the Hufflepuff for her victory in the duel while Tom’s goons were quick to be at his side. Professor Merrythought smiled at her and gestured for her to go back to where she was previously standing with her friends. 

When the group of boys were back on the ground and the Professors were looking for more volunteers, Tom couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the Hufflepuff girl who had beat him in the duel. 

“I’ll take care of her.” Lestrange growled, stepping in the direction of the platform to probably force her to duel again. He had barely made one full step when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. The boy turned around to see Tom looking at him with a stern look. 

“None of you will touch her. Got it?” He asked in a low voice and all five boys nodded. All traces of anger and thirst for revenge now replaced by fear. 

Maybe he had underestimated her when he decided to pick her. Admittedly, he thought it would have been an easy feat for him but she quickly proved him wrong. Perhaps his view on those Hufflepuffs have been wrong all along. 

For the rest of the club meeting Tom kept a watchful eye on the Hufflepuff girl. He stood from afar, occasionally actually practicing a few spells on one of his goons before returning his gaze onto her. He didn’t end up doing anything and though he was ready to shoot a hex at her partner at any given moment, she seemed very capable of taking care of herself. 

He didn’t even know where this new sense of care over the girl came from. Had it been anyone else than he wouldn’t have stopped his goons from going after her but for some reason, she intrigued him. She was different and Tom liked that. 

What other secrets are you hiding, little one?

[owmylasagna-blog]

A (Like Me Still), B, H, P :3

Thanks for the ask!! Let’s do it B)

A: How did you come up with the title to insert fic?

It’s a play on the song Like Me from May I Have This Ed. The lyrics are disgustingly saccharine with the key phrases being:

I know that you like me

I know that you do

But honey you could love me too

…

And sweetie you could like me still.

I just felt like it was fitting for a story that is equal parts about rekindled romantic feelings as it is about trying to keep a childhood friendship afloat in your 20s.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

Oh absolutely. Not like complete plots but details for sure. In high school I ate a joint like Ed (as described in ch 3 of LMS) and fell in torturous young gay love and had to hide it. I’ve been to a good number of the road-trip destinations or hope to visit some IRL one day. The Ed Must Go On was a commentary on my dynamic with my partner, me being Edd and she Eddy (she owns like 6 silk robes): but we are generally far less confrontational I think lol. The list goes on…

H: How would you describe your style?

I was chatting with doubledyke about this recently: I try to construct really vivid images that capture the expressions, mannerisms, places, and personalities of the characters the way that I see them in my mind. I think in some instances I could find less words to capture the same feelings (or let the readers use their imagination) but haven’t quite figured out how haha

And depending on whose POV it is I will change up the style to match their vocabulary and speech patterns. If I’m writing all three Eds at once I play with who I want to be the main POV depending on who’s perspective I think will be most interesting given the scene/events.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?

I’d say I start as an architect but I work slow and then the building gets over grown with ivy and honey suckle and all this other fluff that hadn’t meant to include but it makes it sort of pretty in the end so 🤷

[riseofthespacecats]

Rise of the Space Cats

An Eddsworld Fan-Script: Part 3

THE CAT SPACESHIP - TELEPORTATION ROOM

EDD rematerialises on a TRANSPORTER PAD.

EDD

(SHAKY)

Whoever you are, don't come near me. I'm no good for probing. Take Tom instead!

A SHADOW looms across the ground.

???

I don't want to pwobe you...

The SHADOW steps right up to him, entering the light. It's RINGO.

RINGO

I want to bump you!

RINGO bumps her head against EDD’S leg.

RINGO

Bump!

EDD

Ringo? But, why are you here, and why can you talk, or, why do you talk like a baby? And can someone get me some trousers?

EDD crouches down to RINGO’S level.

RINGO

Aw, is he cuwious? Is he a cuwious boy?

EDD

Hey, don't babytalk me!

RINGO

But all de Engwish I wearned, I wearned off you!

EDD

Oh.

(BEAT)

Oh. Well, at least you didn't learn it off Tom.

RINGO

Howy-

EDD sprays RINGO with water.

EDD

No! Bad cat!

 RINGO hisses.

RINGO

Aah! Okay, okay, I won't!

EDD

Good. Now answer my other questions. Why are you here? Where is here? And please can someone get me some trousers?

RINGO

Oh. Dat is vewy simpwe.

RINGO holds up a LAZER GUN. EDD screams and covers himself with his arms. RINGO shoots at EDD - ZAP! - his whole outfit is turned into COZY LOUNGEWEAR.

EDD brushes cat hair off it.

RINGO rises up from the ground into the air. She TRANSFORMS. GREY fur becomes PINK and GREEN. EARS grow ANTENNAE. SPINES grow from her BACK. She becomes LARGER, overall more ALIEN.

RINGO

Dis is my space ship! Yes it is, yes it is!

EDD

You were an alien, all along?

RINGO flies around EDD

RINGO

Yes. You have wooked aftew me for so many yeaws, it is time for me to wook aftew you!

EDD

But- but what about Matt and Tom? We have to go back for them!

Ringo looks unimpressed.

RINGO

Hm. No.

EDD

But they're my friends!

RINGO

Dey're kinda bad fwiends.

EDD

No they're not!

RINGO

Name one time either of dem was a good fwiend to you.

EDD

Fine! There was the time when...

EDDSWORLD HOUSE - PAST

TOM

Hey, Edd! I got you a surprise gift!

EDD (OFF-SCREEN)

Oh boy!

TOM sticks a POLO MINT into the lid of a COLA BOTTLE, laughs to himself.

THE CAT SPACESHIP - TELEPORTATION ROOM

EDD

Uh, wait no. Okay there was the time when-

EW UNIVERSITY - PAST

EDD is in GRADUATION ROBES. MATT is holding his PHONE up.

EDD

Did you get a good one?

MATT

Don't worry, they're all good!

The CAMERA ROLL displays all MATT selfies.

THE CAT SPACESHIP - TELEPORTATION ROOM

EDD

Okay, there’s is the time-

EDDSWORLD HOUSE - PAST

EDD grumpily cleans up the wreackage of his BIRTHDAY PARTY. TOM and MATT are passed out on the furniture.

THE CAT SPACESHIP - TELEPORTATION ROOM

EDD

Uh.

RINGO nods, unimpressed.

EDD

That's not the point! Friends don't need to prove themselves! Some friendships are below the surface.

RINGO

Edd, Matt made one of his movies on your bed. Dats a wittle twoo bewow da surface.

EDD

Still. I can't just abandon them.

RINGO

Suwe you can! Wet me show you what a bettew wife you could be wiving out here!

RINGO exits through a large CAT FLAP. EDD rolls his eyes, crouches down, and awkwardly squeezes through.