#episode: under the lake

[tardxsblues]

I like adventures as much as the next man -- if the next man is a man who likes adventures -- even so, don't-don't go native. What do you mean? I'm not. Look, there's a whole dimension in here, but there's only room for one me. Wait-wait a second, you just raved about ghosts like a kid who had too much sherbert.

[eliounora]

so merlin fell in love and was willing to leave his life in camelot behind to run away with her, but she died, so he's sad. arthur arrives and asks him about it. they look at each other like this and after he leaves merlin smiles to himself with sweet gentle music playing in the background. now they don't do queerbaiting like this anymore do they

[alackofghosts]

not me pining for my country house stay during my holiday, only for mom to tell me the bathroom ceiling collapsed 😭

[variousqueerthings]

but what about those things that aren't ghosts?

Under The Lake/Before The Flood. this is just a solid couple of scifi episodes honestly, plus I mean. a bangin Predator-like alien design (last season we had Facehuggers, this season we have this, I feel like someone was doing a little rewatch of those movies, but I'm not mad)

I actually didn't take cohesive notes for most of s9, unlike the seasons that came before it, because. just didn't wanna. I was enjoying the watch, so this will be more from memory from here on out (good luck me)

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 10/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 4/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 7/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 5/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 3/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 8/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 7/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 9/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 7/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 8/10

FULL RATING: 68/100 (if I can count….)

See? Solid! although I will be poking at that companion thing, because my main gripe about s9 -- now we've seen the whole thing and we know how it goes down -- is how little it managed to centre Clara on the whole, both emotionally and just... relevant to having the individual plots happen. this is not an issue in every single episode, but I'd say over the half of the season had Clara be largely irrelevant. the episodes where she is relevant show her off very well, but it's just a shame that in her final season she's not put front and centre

I just don't feel like I understand her, still. but, to the episode!

OBJECTIFICATION: As far as I can remember there's nothing in the way of this in this episode. there's three female characters (including Clara) and they're all quite different, Clara is the only one not dressed for the place, but then she's just hopping about in time, not preparing for being chased through an underwater base

Idk, it's been a long time since I last wore a skirt or a dress or heels outside of a little drag, and while I'm quite flouncy in my presentation, I just think if I knew that anything could happen I'd generally veer semi-practical and Clara is consistently not a practical dresser, just as-is, consistently. but maybe that's the pull of skirts and heels -- genuine question, because I'm so far outside of this living, because I just feel like Clara's expression of self outside of a couple of episodes (Time Heist my beloved, and tbh Zygon Invasion 👀) is often just... blandly fashionable in a way that doesn't say much about her character or work for the setting she's in

this isn't the worst episode for it, but it's something I really couldn't stop thinking about it by this point. I feel like every other nu!who companion -- tbh including Amy in her fist couple of seasons even though I didn't like that her wardrobe was often to show off that Karen Gillan was "hot" -- has a far stronger identity tied to wardrobe

anyway. enough rambling on one point, I didn't rate this lower, because she's not being objectified here, I just wish there were less bland choices being made

PLOT-POINT: Clara is largely unimportant to this plot. she doesn't really need to be there, in the sense that there are quite compelling stories for the single-episode characters, and for the Doctor, but she's just. there really

this is also a thing that s9 kind of brought to the fore, although it was an issue from the start, which is that Clara is a very ungrounded character for most of her run. there are episodes where she's more real, and where her interaction with the plot is about her in some way, and in which the tension between her and the Doctor make sense to me, but every season she's in she becomes a slightly different character without the journey being shown onscreen, and her tensions with the Doctor, which can be broadly divided into

s7: the impossible girl question s8: the "making each other worse" season s9: the duty of care

just... don't follow on from each other in my opinion. I keep looking for Clara as a connected character, and there are some things that follow through (which is what I hold on to), but for the most part she just shifts with the plot, rather than the plot in some way interacting with who she is. again, these episodes are not the worst for it, having a few episodes where the companion character is taking a backseat is fine, but this is her final season

there are 7 episodes this season, if we take the doubles each as their own (Sleep No More and Face The Raven being singles), and it takes place after the finale of Clara having lost Danny, having betrayed the Doctor, and having threatened to - and fully intended to - kill someone. there is a lot of potential Stuff to zero in on, but we're just not gonna do that. Clara is just not the character I care about in most of these episodes, because the episodes don't really care about her. she's a secondary or tertiary character in her own adventure a lot of the time

COMPLEXITY: this plot feels pretty Doctor Who, I enjoy it a lot. I like the bad guy, I like the melancholy, I like the scifi nonsense. could it have been done in one episode? maaaaybe, but I enjoyed spending time with these characters, so I'm okay with that. sometimes you wanna spend more time in the world, just cos, and this is one of those times for me. there's a couple of questions that remain, but again, I think that's standard for DW

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: this is pretty much a standalone story in the season. I didn't rate it lower, but maybe I could have, idk. it's Clara again, I wish Clara meant more -- it didn't need to further the Doctor's and Clara's relationship more, but I think because I don't understand it very well to begin with, I would have liked a... something or other that went beyond what was there. this is not an episode issue, it's really a Clara-era issue. I think I'll just never quite get what the writers were going for with her, and it's just that s9 is the season that confirms that for me

COMPANIONS MATTER: Clara spends most of her time running around and waiting for the Doctor to tell her what to do. there's the end of part 1 where they become stuck in different points in time, and I thought "ooh now Clara takes control of the situation on the base" and she... doesn't. the Doctor calls her and continues to give instruction, then the phone gets stolen by the ghosts and her big idea is "hey this guy could go fetch it for us"

she has a few neat lines, I liked her scene with Cass, where Cass is essentially telling her to go fuck herself for getting the man she not-so-secretly loves in danger, and insisting they go after him, but that is kind of my point -- Clara does not drive this episode at any point, except for that moment and it's... not a great look for her. she's the asshole, she convinces someone else to do something dangerous and then has to be convinced to go after him

I did like when she lost Cass and called out for her, before remembering Cass is deaf and calling herself an idiot. there are these neat little moments I hold onto with Clara's character and that's one of them

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: the Doctor sorts out the main Stuff and that's fine. I like that this Doctor is afraid sometimes and deals with things via their wits, but also with a bit of "well this might not work, let's fuckn see!" The Fisher King coulda just killed him, but the Doctor just crossed their fingers essentially and hoped for the best and then bluffed to win

also I mean. Fisher King kinda sexy. idk where else to put that. any big big alien that goes "lol Time Lords are losers" is right and sexy

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: there's quite a few little casual references in this episode which I liked. Magpie Electricals, ofc the fact that Prentiss has knowledge of the Doctor via UNIT (UNIT again... they're villains in my head honestly), the security protocol, etc. it just feels very grounded in nu!who canon in a way that's fun and doesn't overwhelm the episode with nostalgia references

“SEXINESS”: there's this bit at the beginning where Clara asks if they can go back to this one place they were where she left behind most of her dignity, and listen, I'm being peevish maybe, but it is a pet peeve, so. maybe if I dig at it more I can say why I don't like it, but in the end maybe I'm just tired of M*ffat-era's way of doing sex and sexual reference. that is also the only reference, s9 doesn't do this a lot, but it also just plays back into Clara as a character. who are you? why are you in space? just to fuck about and have a good time? are you the villain Clara? are you a Space Tourist From England That's Just In It For Yourself? or do you respect the places you go, does this mean anything to you?

overanalyses my pet peeve

but also. so much of Clara is just. quipping. gimme more than quips, gimme substance dammit!

INTERNAL WORLD: it's relatively simple. underwater spooky base. spooky base before it was underwater. did they really build nuclear sites like that in Scotland? genuine question, I have no idea

again, feels very grounded in Doctor Who, but casually

POLITICS: I complained back in *checks notes* s7? I think? whenever Centre Of The Tardis was. that M*ffat-era sucked at putting people of colour in his stories, especially men of colour, without them being villains or stereotypes. I feel like I need to go back and look over s8, and have more of a think about s9 as a whole, but I do note that this episode on the whole was having a much more fun time with infinite diversity in infinite ways than I have often felt M*ffat-era has had. it's not the bastion of representation in the sense that it's something that ought to just belong to DW as-is, it's just nice to simply see people

and obviously Cass is grounded at the forefront of the story, and is very important to the emotional core of the plot, as well as various tensions and plot concepts. I'm not deaf, but on the whole it seemed like it was doing a lot with this episode, obviously by having an interpreter who's also someone she clearly has a lot of chemistry with, and the whole idea that these two characters come as a set, not just because nobody else speaks BSL, but because they understand each other emotionally as well

there's also several parts that go untranslated for a non-signing audience, and I wonder how much swearing one is allowed if it's signed. so she's a great character. I kind of wish there hadn't been the early joke of the Doctor being like "aw yeah I can do sign language" and then... not being able to? Why wouldn't the Doctor speak BSL?

I understand there may have been extra logistics, but tbh they coulda just confirmed it in that scene, but had the interpreting happen anyway, because we know that Twelve wouldn't bother getting anyone else up to speed. just think that was an odd choice

perhaps a tad nitpicky, but I am nothing in this if not picking at nits

FULL RATING: 68/100 (if I can count….)

this is a good episode in my opinion. one of the most solid of M*ffat-era, thoroughly enjoyed myself. I wish wish wish Clara had been more than witty one-liners, I feel like there were several points where she could have been given more to do, but I really like the other characters, and The Fisher King design is... well. this blog likes monsterfucking so obvs it was great for me personally

[khruschevshoe]

My Hot-Take/Controversial Ranking of Doctor Who Seasons (excluding specials bc my special order is really unhinged)

3 > 1 > 10 > 4 > 5 > 8 > 11 > 12 > 9 > 7b > 2 > 6 > 13 = 7a

Disclaimer: I have favorite episodes that come from every single season on this list, including 7a. For example, even though Season 6 is low on the list, the God Complex, Almost People/Rebel Flesh, and Impossible Astronaut are some of my favorite of the show. I do really love the Power of Three. These are based on season arc/average feeling per episode/rewatchability on a subjective level.

[pinbitch]

if they do make new merlin content, what do you want it to be?? a new season or a reboot?? modern merlin and arthur just appearing at the lake?? reincarnation?

deeply seggsy ask to just hit me with completely out of the blue bestie. but i must confess: the character i am least invested in in merlin is……..merlin. the characters i MUST see again would be gawain, morgana, and gwen

so i’d probably go for reincarnation of everyone in the modern day (or in the future! merlin IN SPACE) with old man merlin who has been living and waiting all that time. they’d be facing some threat which has caused them all to come back, and it would address the fact that the prophecy Was Not Fulfilled the first time

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: October 3…

When an Underwater Base comes under attack, The Doctor and Clara must save the frightened crew and defeat an impossible threat. But what is behind these terrifying events? And can they really be haunted by ghosts? “Under the Lake” premiered on this day, 8 Years Ago.

[swampjawn]

Dungeon Meshi Episode 7 was super interesting from an adaptation standpoint - this'll be a little different from what I usually write about (though I do still talk about the animation in the full video).

Studio Trigger have never done a straight-up manga adaptation before - and led by Yoshihiro Miyajima, a big fan of the manga who pushed hard for the adaptation to get made, and who has never directed a full series before, it was unclear if they'd be able to find the right balance between a simple panel-for-panel recreation and making something that's completely different.

And in the first few episodes, you could really feel the tension between the influence of a cautious young creative with great respect for the source material, and a studio with a unique established visual style. It kinda seemed like they were ping-ponging willy-nillily between the two sides of that spectrum.

But this episode showed that Miyajima (and series writer Kimiko Ueno) can take 3 chapters, slice them up and rearrange them into a cohesive-feeling episode while taking into account the differences between screen and page, and using them to their advantage.

Starting with the way the water looks. This line from the manga describes a faint magical glow to the water in this lake and you can see that the cavern fades into darkness above, but Kui's illustration style doesn't really define lighting and shadows very much compared to the cel-drawing style of animation. So the animators took the opportunity to use the water as the light source, and make a whole episode that's lit almost entirely from below. It really gives an otherworldly feeling to this area.

Particularly when the Kelpie shows up, that under-lighting works wonders to define its anatomy within the relatively simple line art.

What do you do when you can't show the immense fuck-off scale of a monster with a beautiful full-page spread like this?

Well you use what you do have: the ability to move the camera instead. This is such a great way to communicate the scale of this thing, AND such a great way to show some of Senshi's anime-original butt-cheeks!

This is one of my favorite shots from this episode - this whole sequence is super hectic, cutting quickly from character to character, but they use tricks like this to keep you from getting confused. This is framed much like it is in the manga, but with the moving image, they're able to use the trajectory of the fish head in the background to lead your eye directly from Chilchuck, right to the point where Senshi pops up in the foreground and transition seamlessly from one character to another!

Now, it's not all good - I am a bit disappointed that they removed Marcille's own Senshi-style soap-making montage, which was the perfect visual representation of the culmination of the character development and understanding built between Senshi and Marcille.

It's a shame to see it go.

I get more into that, what else was cut, and much more in this video where I broke down the entire episode!

Check it out if you feel like it. If you don't, jump in a ditch, cover yourself in leaves and jump out at people as they walk by.

Thanks for reading!

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Shitty little unrelated AU doodles <3

Rambles under cut!

MORE FIDDS LORE BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE THIS MAN.

He's known in town as "That Nice Old Man" that lives with his son in the cabin near the lake.

What a regular guy, that man. Yup. Old Man Mcgucket. Totally normal, regular old man, haha. Yeah. Him? A cult leader? Ridiculous!

In my perfect world where this AU is an actual fully animated show, the episode when the mystery twins first officially meet Fidds would be called "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" because fuck yeah baby. It sounds cool as FUCK.

When the twins meet Fidds, they somehow found someone with EVEN STRONGER cultist vibes than their grunkle.

"Come closer, kids! I don't bite."

"Tell me, children: How are you feeling? Anything... bad, happen lately? Anything you would like to forget? No? Well, don't hesitate to tell me if there's anything you would like out of your head, anything at all. I would hate for youngens like you to be forced to deal with such... unsavorable memories. Better to have them gone and out of your head. You know what they say: Out of sight, out of mind." *boop*

I'm making him a manipulative conniving little rat with good intentions but utterly ABYSMAL execution (babygirl, you can't just go around deleting people's memories)

Since Fidds is actually the leader of the Society of The Blind Eye, the cult is a lot more organized and covert, and actually do their job pretty well.

Tate knows. He knows his father is hiding something from him, something dangerous, but he can't remember what. He tries to get the twins to stay as far away from his father as possible because, while he's certain his father won't actually hurt them, there is no telling what the kids might be getting involved with.

During the cult fight "episode", Mcgucket would be chasing the kids, Ford, and Bill around, but mostly just for the latter two rather than the children. He would never actually hurt the twins.

"Please, I'm trying to help you, kids! Don't you understand? KNOWING is what cost me my eyes; KNOWING might be what costs you yours, or worse, your life! You can't remember any of this. And I cannot in good conscience let that- that demon stay inside your Great Uncle's head to rot him from inside out like- like some kind of PARASITE."

And then bada bing, baba boom, the twins defeat Fiddleford and his weird cult and they survive with their memory instact and their Grunkles not dead, yipeee!!

Fidds disbands the cult and chucks himself into jail willingly, and casually just becomes the boss of all the other inmates there with his natural old man charms. He gets the Gideon treatment for his ending <3

It's okay, tho because Mabel and the others visit him sometimes just to chat and keep him company.

[wintfleur]

so stella is anemic, what if one of her brothers finds her passed out bc of it

౨ৎ passing out spells and a misinformed quinny

°. — pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X brother! Quinn Hughes )

°. — details ( g; i honestly don’t know. w; Stella passing out, I think that’s all. wc; 1.6k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( thank you so much for requesting !!! So sorry that it took so long to get out, I’ve never written something like this before so I hope the passing out scene isn’t to cringe. I hope you guys enjoy it, please don’t be a silent reader !!! )

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

Stella loved how peaceful early mornings were at her brother's lake house, especially when she had the house to herself. Luke was staying with some friends for the weekend, Jack was out doing God knows what, and Quinn decided to wake up early and go to a rink close by to do some laps. After making sure Stella was okay with being home alone, she was having a rough week, her energy was low, and she was basically napping and relaxing all week. 

Stella was curled up on the couch watching Gilmore girls and eating, well more like picking at some cherries when Quinn kissed her forehead and said he would be back soon. Shouting out a ‘i love you’ before he left. Stella mumbled back an i love you as her tired eyes were focused on the big tv, watching as dean and Rory argue for what felt like the 10th time this episode. 

She was currently rewatching the show with Luke, so she was stuck rewatching the earlier episodes since Luke was adamant of them watching it together. Stella yawned and brought the blanket she was cuddled up in up to her shoulders, she honestly wasn't sure whose blanket it was, it was already on the couch. 

Stella watched 3 more episodes of Gilmore girls before she started to get stir crazy and hot under the blanket. She pushed the blanket off her legs and sat up from laying down, she searched for the remote and paused the tv in the middle of the theme song. She blinked a few times and let out a heavy breath, starting to feel a little nauseous. Maybe it was the smell of cherries? She thought as she looked down at the bowl filled with cherries on the coffee table. 

Stella always got really nauseous whenever she was on her period, like now. She grabbed the bowl and got up from the couch, too quickly as she saw white spots in her vision. Stella ignored the nausea and the dizzy feeling she was used to and slowly walked out of the living room and into the kitchen to put the cherries in the fridge. 

She held onto the corner of the island counter after she put away the cherries, the dizzy feeling was much worse and the pounding in the back of her head became unbearable. Stella winced at the pounding in her head, closing her eyes and hoping that it would help. She felt that familiar fear of passing out, she slowly walked back into the living room, her legs and hands trembling. 

She grabbed onto the edge of the couch as she tried to lean against it, but she felt her knees become weak and her grip on the couch slip, her eyes roll back as she collapses on the living room floor with a thump. The last thing on her mind was that she was alone. 

Quinn hums along to the song playing on the radio channel Stella had put on the last time she was in the car with him, he wasn't sure what the song was, but he had heard Stella listen to it many times. His car would almost always turn into Stella's whenever they were together, her things in the backseat, her ChapStick or lip glosses in the cup holders. He wasn't complaining though, he missed it when he was away. 

He drove into the driveway and shut off his car, sliding his keys into his pocket and grabbing the cherry ChapStick in the cupholder that he remembered Stella complained to Cole about her losing it. He slid it into his pocket before getting out of the car and going to the trunk to grab his hockey bag. He gets his keys out his pocket and locks the car as he walks up to the front door and unlocks the door, a sigh of relief leaving his lips now that he's home. 

Quinn closes the door behind him and drops his hockey bag near the front door, tossing his keys on the island counter in the kitchen. He was confused when he didn't hear the sound of the tv, but then again maybe she went up to her room. “Stella, I'm home!” Quinn shouts out and he gets no answer, he knows she could be sleeping but he got a weird feeling in his chest that something was wrong. 

Quinn set the water bottle he pulled out of the fridge on the counter and made his way out of the kitchen and into the living room. Quinn's eyes drop to the floor of the living room and his eyes widen in fear and worry when he sees his sister's heart patterned socks peeking out from in front of the couch. Quinn quickly made his way around the crouch, and he dropped to his knees at Stella's side when he saw her unconscious on the ground. 

“Stella? Estella, can you hear me?” Quinn frantically spoke loudly, his tone filled with worry as he quickly but gently rolled Stella to lay on her back, one of his hands on the back of his littles sister's head as he tilted it back to clear her airways. His heart was almost beating out of his chest as he tried to remember all the steps of helping someone who's unconscious. 

He turned his body to reach and grab a pillow off the couch to put under Stella's legs but quickly turns back to his little sister when he hears the weak groan leaving her pale pink lips. Quinn brought his hands to cup stella’s face, gently forcing her to open her eyes as he rubbed his thumbs on her cheeks “Hey, hey stella can you hear me ⸺ c’mon open your eyes.” 

“Oww” Stella sleepily whined out as she gained full consciousness. She was confused, she had no idea what was going on or what happened. All she knew was that her head was killing her, and her ass was numb. Stella slowly fluttered her eyes open, a wince leaving her lips at the bright light of the living room. Stella blinked a few times trying to get used to the light, Stella's hand gripped onto the fur of the rug, and she tried to flatten her palm to lift herself up from the uncomfortable floor. 

“Not so fast, it's okay just lay back down” Quinn spoke softly as he grabbed a pillow from the couch and slipped it under her head so she could rest it comfortably. Quinn kept his eyes on his little sister, they were still filled with worry. Stella groans and rests her head on the pillow looking up at her brother as she whispers, “What happened?” 

“Looks like you passed out ⸺ when were you gonna tell me you could do that hmm?” Quinn jokes with a weak smile, knowing that Stella would panic the more she thought of it. Stella sniffles and tries to smile at her brother's attempt to make her feel better, she was starting to remember what had happened. She replied quietly “Thought I’d surprise ya” 

“Consider me surprised” Quinn sighed, he gently moved some of Stella's hair out of her face before he stood up. “Don't move okay, I'm going to get your iron pills and something for you to drink.” 

Stella weakly nodded and watched as her big brother rushed into the kitchen. Stella waited for a few moments before she tried again to sit up, this time she was much more successful. Stella groaned quietly as she slowly stood up and sat on the couch, pulling the blanket over her lap and closing her eyes. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Stella chanted in her head as she did her breathing exercise, hoping that it would help with the pounding in her head. 

“I told you not to move ⸺ they say you have to lay down for 10 minutes” Quinn groaned as he walked into the living room to see stella snuggled up on the couch, of course she didn't listen to him. ‘They’ being the internet. Quinn had scoured the internet for as much information he could get about Stella's anemia and what to do if she passed out when she was diagnosed. 

“They also say you shouldn't put a pillow under someone's head after they pass out” Stella says matter-of-factly as she looks up at her brother who was holding out a cold glass of orange juice, the other hand holding two iron pills. 

“What? ⸺ and you're just telling me this now?” Quinn gaped as Stella took the glass and pills into her hands. Stella rolled her eyes and swallowed the two pills with a big mouthful of orange juice. She looks up at her brother who was giving her an unimpressed look, he took her health and safety very seriously. Stella gave him an innocent smile and just simply shrugged “It was a really comfy pillow.” 

“Where are you going?” Stella questioned him as he shook his head in disbelief and turned around to walk out of the living room, his hands on his hips as he dramatically walked out. All of her brothers were so damn dramatic . . . but so was she. She hears Quinn shout his answer from the kitchen and the sound of him unzipping his bag for his phone “Going to call mom and tell her you haven't been taking your pills.” 

“They also say you shouldn't put me through any stress or yell at me” Stella shouted back with a playful smile, she took another sip from the glass while she picked up the remote and started looking for something new to watch. Already feeling much better. 

“Now you're just making shit up!” Quinn shouted back with a roll of his eyes, knowing that his little sister was just teasing him. Quinn paused his movement of searching up their moms contact when he heard the faint sound of her laughter, a smile coming across his lips when he heard her sassily shout a reply. 

“It's completely true and reasonable!” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( THIS. IS. SO. BAD. IM. GONNA. SCREAM. 😄 )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @prettyboywoll @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it. 

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack. 

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s. 

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun. 

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best. 

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening. 

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him. 

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either. 

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins. 

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no. 

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

[tardxsblues]

Look, I have a duty of care, okay? You know what that is? Of course I know what a duty of care is. What are you suggesting?

[pizzaboat]

Lmao imagine

Bill, pointing at a standing corpse: That is so.. oh my god, that is sick. That is... I wanna go home. I'm going back to the tardis...!

The doctor: Oh, come on, it can't be any worse than boredom *sonics the corpses space suit*

Donna, disgusted: She's creeped out, I'm bloody creeped out, and why do you want her to stay anyway? This would give a mime nightmares! Is there something wrong with you?!

The doctor: I'd like to remind you all, there was a distress signal, we'd be abandoning people who need our help...

Donna and Bill:

The doctor: ...unless you want to stick around and lend a hand?

Donna: You need help. *stays anyway*

bill potts and donna noble should meet

[augustsprincess]

August Walker x Reader (Drabble)

Warnings: Daddy/little vibes, noncon/dubcon, violence...its August.

There's no plot I'm sick and possessed.

It was your fathers business, then it was your brothers business. You didn’t care for the details of it, you just looked after the gardens and made sure the house was in good condition. Talked to the servants and all that. Sure, you knew it was a dodgy business. Far too often you saw people going home in body bags in the dead of night. But you chose to ignore it.

The current guest….was a man named August Walker. You caught a glimpse of him as he was dragged in through the back door, unconscious. He was gorgeous in a demented, do not touch kind of way and that intrigued you all the more. So when your brother said he’d be away on business for 2 days and you weren’t to go into the basement…well. It was obvious what you would do. One peak wouldn’t hurt, right?

At first the man is terrifying, and even speaking to him is like dipping your finger into a lake of piranha and waiting for one to snap.

But eventually you realize his binds are painfully tight around the centre column he's sat against, which means you can tease and annoy the living daylights out of this poor guy. And hey, if he's tied up in your basement it's for a good reason. Maybe a bit of fun torture would do him well. Besides, you were dreadfully bored and the staff had all gone home for the weekend.

He can’t do a thing.

The more he calls you a slut, bitch, whore or worse, the more you giggle. It infuriated August to the point he almost welcomed death.

On the first day, you sit 10 inches from him with your drawing pad and sketched him. You made small talk, showed him your drawings. He'd even admit you're a decent artist, that is until you added the kitten ears and heart stickers to his illustrated face. After a few hours your curiosity grows. You've one pink heart sticker left and you want to see how close you can get to the lion before the lion rips your hand off.

"Don't..." He warns. You giggle. "I mean it, girlie. Don't you put that thing on me." He wiggles again and you pout, frustrated. “Get the fuck off me, dumb bitch!”

“Hey! That’s not very nice! I’m giving you my heart!” You giggle. Once he calms down you try again, ignoring his persistent complaints. The more he speaks, the more his warnings turn to a plea. "Hey! No!" He shouts, snatching his head away from your index finger.

"Hold still, Mister! It won't hurt." You gently press the sticker to his left cheek with your finger and smooth it over with a gentle kiss and a loud “Mwah!”

August huffs as he stretches his face muscles to try to get it to wrinkle but the damn thing won't come off!

"All pretty! Good night, mister." You blew him a kiss as you closed the basement door and left him alone for the night.

“Stupid girl…..” He mutters. Wait… Why was he so uncomfortably hard? “Fuck.”

On the second night, you feed him some bread and cheese by hand and reluctantly he actually lets you. You were finally taming him!

August sits with you in his lap, a firm and unwavering snarl painted on his lips. You begin to play with his curls with one hand, and his chest hair with your other. All the while August is growing more and more hard under you. You're so distracted by a specific lock of his hair that you fail to notice all but a sound when the rope finally snaps behind him.

With a stupid amount of bravery you climb into his lap and start to tell him all about your day as if he was a willing listener. You feel something solid beneath your skirt but choose to ignore it. Your nonsensical ramblings about the latest episode of your favourite TV show send him into a begging frenzy yet again, but what you don't realise is that those bindings are getting more and more loose as you yammer on.

"Did you hear that?" You ask, curiosity lacing your words

"Must be the pipes. We are in the basement, girlie." He lies.

You snort at him. “I like you. You even have a cute nickname for me! I’ve never had a nickname before.”

You start to comb your hand through his hair and you're suddenly taken aback by the look he's giving you. Like the cat who got the cream. Was he...enjoying you stroking his hair? You tried not to think about it and continued but his unwavering stare and….lustful eyes? Well, you were drowning in them.

You're gently pulled closer by his left hand and in your naivety you give him a sweet smile before the penny drops.

And boy does it fucking drop.

You gasp. His fangs show in a sinister grin and you launch yourself from his lap, snatching his hand from your hip. He only has one hand loose so you take it as your opportunity to escape, slamming the door behind you to slow him down.

You sit in the cloakroom, cowering with the cobwebs and long forgotten coats of the guests who never had the chance to leave this house. Hoping and praying your brother would be home soon to save you. But the truth of it was, superheroes don't exist.

The heavy sound of the prisoners bare feet on your father's old wooden floors beat in tandem with your heart as he chases you through your home. Eventually you lose him and as quietly as humanely possible, you climb into the cloakroom and hide.

Nothing was coming to save you.

You stayed silent for what felt like hours before you were alerted to a dull creak and a loud slam as the cloakroom door was almost ripped off its hinges.

"Found ya!". You screeched as you were physically dragged from the cloakroom by your ankles.

"No need to squeal, little pig. It'll only hurt a bit." You clamber to your feet, the harsh carpet making your ascend slow enough for August to catch you first. He sticks his foot out, tripping you to the floor again, toying with you. Like you were food.

"Oh stop crying, girlie. I thought you liked to tease?" You try to stand and run again but you're thrown over his shoulder in a split second and no amount of hitting him is helping. There’s nothing else to do but to watch his feet as he carried you up the stairs, straight to your bedroom.

With one swift movement and a harsh grip of your hips he has you pinned, chest down to the bed.

"That's a good girl, stay still for Daddy." He purrs, pulling your bright pink stockings from your legs. He tosses them to the floor as he climbs onto the bed, the mattress deepening under his heavy body.

"Please! I'm sorry, I was just bored! I didn't mean to upset you-" You try your best to help yourself, but it’s like a switch just been flicked and he turns from excited, to pissed the fuck off.

"You were 'bored'?!" The man flips you to your back and yanks your body towards him, as he leans on his calves. "No, no, no. You're a slut. A dirty brat and you thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Thought I wouldn't break free and catch you. Well I know just what you need, just what you asked for."

If you could, you would laugh at the situation. Here was this gorgeous, dangerous and absolutely insane man. Kneeling at the end of your bed, hard as a rock and all the while with a heart sticker attached to his cheek. And he was so pissed!

It was the reappearance of the rope binding in his hand that brought you back to the severity of the moment. Fear turned to manic terror as you shuffled backwards.

"No...no! Please don't!" August climbs on top of your body, thick thighs trapping you to the bed as he deliberately presses his hard crotch into you.

"Ah, ah, ah, shhh." He presses his index finger to your lips. You can't stop him, he's twice the size of you at least. So you watch as he ties your hands to the headboard of the bed.

Once he's done, he leans down....covering your entire body with his own...

"I fuckin' hate a tease." He snarls into your ear, before your pretty pink skirt is ripped clean off.

You’re pulled back to the office with a sudden wave of guilt and shame. Your face felt like it could light a match and your coffee cup almost slipped from your sweaty hands.

“Are you alright, Miss? You look like you just remembered an embarrassing dream.” Mr. Walker teases, before he walks on past your desk and towards his own. Fuck. How could you have forgotten that dream until now? How could you have even dreamed something like that up, and with your boss. And that look on his face, it was as if he knew.

You shake your head and face your computer, determined to continue your work and get on with your day. Maybe you could look into therapy later or talk to your best friend about it. Surely there was a completely normal reason for dreaming about your boss being tied up in your basement and then chasing you for some depraved, frustrated sex. Right?

“Ms. Y/S/N, Mr Walker would like to see you in his office, it's urgent.” Fuck.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 18 A little high, a little low

Chapter 18 of Moonlight

A/N- Cregan would’ve danced with you

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, hunting, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode & or Chapters- 438-440 (kinda hopping around pages in the book for this chapter)

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*2 YEARS AGO. WINTERFELL*

Deep breath. Steady aim, and shoot!

The arrow shot from your bow whizzes between trees, and skids under hanging greenery that threatens to knock the wooden arrow down, but the speed carries the arrow toward a dark brown stag unaware of the threat hurling his way as it feeds on twigs on the ground.

Yet just as the arrow comes close to piercing the dark eye, the stag moves his head and the arrow instead crashes on a trunk behind it, causing the stag to go stiff and become wary of your looming threat with such an impressive survival instinct that he seems to find you hidden amongst the drooping branches.

His brown eye caught under the beams of sunlight reflects your menacing figure, study the way puffs of your breath are drawn in the chilly air, the way your eye closes before a soft glimmering sunbeam catches the color of your eye, and sends him running off for its life when he realizes you're after him.

“Damn it!” You hiss and quickly throw the bow around you before you run off after the stag in hopes you will win the bigger trophy and beat Lady Arra, and Cregan in your makeshift hunting game.

They do have the advantage of knowing the woods like the back of their hand, but thanks to Cregan bringing you to teach you how to hunt or escape where no one would see you, you do have some knowledge, but not enough compared to their years of experience. The only advantage you have is the fact that you found the stag first and that you have him in your sights.

No matter how tactical the stag is by prancing through the wild woods and avoiding obstacles with his sharp eyes, you are not far behind, and speed is not a problem; you’re fast because of the blood pumping through your veins and unsettling your heart. The snow on the ground does make things harder for your human vulnerability, but you try hard to run over the marked trail the stag is leaving behind while also shoving aside long and drooping branches. You barely miss large rocks the stag has no problem hopping over, but you are never far behind.

Actually, there comes a point where you get near the stag, causing you to be hit with a spark of courage that makes you yank the bow off your body and pull an arrow out of the satchel. When you sloppily align the arrow you slide down on your feet and let the arrow fly toward the stag.

Nevertheless, you miss your target and the stag decides to make a sharp turn.

“Great,” you grumble and return to your given height before you continue your hurried chase. When it comes to making the sharp turn you almost run into a large fallen-over trunk, but luckily your mind manages to work out a quick plan and makes you hop over the large trunk, letting you spot a frozen lake in the distance once your feet hit the ground.

Is that where the stag went? You look at the ground and see tracks directing down toward the frozen lake.

It could use the lake to its advantage, you won’t run over the ice without skates, but you can’t imagine he’d have an easy time either.

Still, you proceed to slow down in your pace and stalk after the stag with sharp eyes, and open ears to be wary of any sound that could lead you toward the stag you now lost sight of. You also slowly pull out another arrow in case you find it resting in one place.

However, in your silence where your footsteps quietly crunch through soft snow, a splash breaks through the air before a sharp cry from the stag follows suit, setting you after it at a much faster pace than the one you used before as if the helpless cry of your trophy broke away any sort of hostility you held for it.

And once you reach the edge of the small hill you see why the stag’s cries sound so broken and desperate, he fell through the ice and is barely managing to keep afloat with the large piece of ice pushing him down to the depths of the icy water.

Now you could shoot an arrow from here to put it out of its misery and let the lake claim the trophy for itself, however, his cries hit your heart and a small twinge spreads to full-on concern for its life.

“Cregan!” You call out, knowing he’ll hear your call in the silence of the forest and come in search of you thinking you're in peril, or you want to gloat. Either or, he won’t hesitate coming after you, nor will Arra hesitate to let your call bring her towards the lake, so with that in mind you slide down the hill and land on the bank.

The stag hears the sound of your feet hitting the earth and his eyes dart your way, but unlike the fear it felt before, now he finds solace in your presence and fills with desperation to be helped. And luckily, it didn’t fall too far into the lake so he’s easy to reach, but you can’t lift the piece of ice off him alone. You have to wait, and while you do you leave your bow and satchel on the ground to lose additional weight that could weigh you down when you walk on the ice.

Meanwhile, the stag keeps crying out whilst never losing sight of you as if calling out to you specifically.

“Just hold on buddy,” you whisper and wait and wait until finally Cregan appears out of the line of the forest.

“What?” He asks between heavy breaths. “You found it!”

You don’t match his enthusiasm and as you get closer to each other he finally sees the dullness in your eyes made by your own desperation.

“We have to help it,” you say and don’t actually surprise him, but his eyebrows still knit together as his eyes dart between the stag and you. “Come on, we can't let it drown.”

“The ice is thin,” he points out and stares at the helpless stag. “That’s why it fell, and we could fall in the same situation.”

You snap your gaze to the stag and when you do you lock eyes and that call for help only heightens, aching your heart that much further.

“But,” you argue and return your gaze to grab his arm and plead softer, knowing he has a hard time resisting you. “It could be quick, we just lift the piece of ice and let it crawl out.”

Cregan’s grey eyes fall on you with a heavy look, making your stomach knot.

“Darling,” he sighs.

“Cregan,” you mock him and press your pleading look that makes him draw out a deep breath. “We’re the reason it fell in the lake because we were after it, and now that his life is in danger why should we let the lake take him?”

Cregan parts his gaze from you and steals a glance at the drowning stag before he lifts his hands to pull off his sheath and then unclip his cloak, making you flash him a tender smile.

“Tread slowly,” he warns you. “And if the ice cracks under our feet we’re turning back and letting the lake swallow it up.”

You nod eagerly and then face the lake, before you can take a step on it though, Arra finally walks out of the forest and joins you.

“Look at that, you found it!” She mirrors Cregan’s initial excitement, and like him when she takes a closer look she’s left confused. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to help it,” you answer for Cregan and take your first step on the frozen lake. “Stay there, you’re with child, I don’t want to put you and the babe at risk.”

Arra scoffs. “Neither of you should put your lives at risk either. Stags getting caught in a frozen lake happens.”

You ignore her and slowly make your way toward the stag along with Cregan. Arra tries to follow regardless of her previous arguments, but the moment Cregan hears her foot hit the ice he whips his head back and presses strictly.

“Arra, stay there.”

You take a peek back and see her huff before she steps back on the bank of the lake. However, she doesn’t stay quietly. “Why not have your dragon melt the ice?”

You scoff in amusement. “Astraea’s blast is too wide. She will burn us all the moment she tries. If she had been smaller then it would work, but alas, she’s too big now.”

Arra hums and watches you and Cregan reach the stag with a nail in between her teeth.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you as he slowly makes his way across from you to hold the piece of ice from the other side. “Use your legs when you lift the ice.”

You meet his gaze and nod in comprehension before you look at the stag and speak to it like you speak to your dragon. “It’s okay, we’re gonna help you.”

Unlike your dragon, the stag has minimal understanding of your language so he keeps crying out sharply and squirming, splashing cold water over your legs, and making the piece of ice on him hard to grab, but you take a daring step toward the edge of the broken ice and reach out.

“Careful,” Cregan warns you again and this time you snap your gaze to him and shoot him an annoyed look.

“I know.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer before he reaches out and grabs the ice cap. You slowly do the same and want to start lifting, but as the stag feels the cold cap brush over him he jolts, making the ice cap shift down under your grip, and causing the icy edge to cut through your glove and leave your palm exposed to the bitter surface.

Luckily, the edge didn’t cut your palm, but instead of sharp pain, you’re greeted with stinging pain as the cold ice bites at your skin. Not nips, bites. It’s fucking cold.

“Ready,” Cregan announces. “1. 2, 3!”

You both strain your muscles to lift the cap off the stag. It doesn’t manage to move up too far, but the stag finds some relief as some weight is lifted off him, and takes this to his advantage to try and push himself up shakily.

Albeit, since the ice is slippery and his feet are wet he slips in his attempts, making the stinging pain now burn your skin to the point your face twists with pain, and your breaths turn heavy.

“Are you okay?” Cregan asks as he’s quick to notice your breathing pick up.

You lie and nod before pressing your exposed palm harder on the ice to lift the cap just an inch higher, giving the stag more freedom to find a good grip, and finally yank himself out of the water.

Once he throws himself on the ice you let your side of the ice cap go and clench your hand in reaction to the burning pain torturing your palm. Cregan proceeds to drop his side of the cap and immediately focuses on you, whilst your gaze drifts to the stag walking out of the frozen lake. When he finally finds himself on solid ground he finds it himself to turn around and face you. Not Cregan making his way to you as you cradle your wounded hand, the stag looks at you.

His large brown eyes forget the panic he just felt, the fear he had for you just chasing him, and instead a twinkle glimmers in his eye as you alone are reflected in his eye. All while you are completely washed over with awe and relief that he’s standing there so perfectly calm. And before he disappears into the thickness of the forest he almost seems to bow his head.

You like to think that’s what he was doing before he left anyway.

“Let me see,” Cregan pulls you from your stupor, turning your attention away from the spot the stag left empty to find him before you now with his grey eyes worried over the wound that is now visible to him.

“It hurts,” you don’t hide your pain and groan as he brushes his thumb over the wound.

And rather than consoling you, the corner of Cregan’s lips tug to an amused smile before he looks at you and shares a much more charming smile with just his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble. “It hurts, and it’s red!”

“Come, Arra has bandages to treat your wound, Princess,” he teases and tries to grab your wrist to pull you off the ice with him, but you snatch your arm away and take a large step away from him, making him share a breathless chuckle that gets lost in the bitter wind.

The moment you’re back on stable ground Cregan grabs what he needs and takes you to the tree trunk that you had jumped over earlier ago. At first, you try to take your own torn glove off your hand, but he places his hand over it to stop you and instead pulls the glove off himself, finger by finger; ever so slowly as if trying not to add more pain to your throbbing hand, or as if trying to seduce you. Maybe both.

Either way, he’s careful with your hand, and when it comes to returning your gaze, he’s precise. After feeling your gaze burn into him as you watch every detail of his face rather than the glove he was pulling off, he looks back at you.

Albeit, you don’t hold his gaze, you beat down your skipping heart, and instead watch him dip his finger in some strong-smelling ointment. Not because you feel flustered, well you do feel flustered under his heavy gaze, but that’s not what makes you look away. You look away because your heart is racing madly and your five years are coming to an end soon, you’ll return to King’s Landing where you’ll marry your estranged uncle Aemond, who was once your best friend.

You can’t return home still getting hot when Cregan steals gentle touches, you can’t face Aemond when the mere thought of Cregan makes your heart pound like crazy. You perhaps don’t owe Aemond anything; he stopped returning your letters and made you feel alone for a long time, but you can’t think of another man when you’re with him, so that’s why you try to stop dwelling on these passionate interactions so they’ll sizzle to simple nostalgia when you return to King’s Landing.

Yet…fucking Cregan makes it hard. His silence is deafening, but there’s no need to speak what he feels when you look between your lashes and see his lips pulled to a faint sweet smile. He especially doesn’t need to say anything to make your heart skip a beat when you catch him stealing glances, or letting his gaze linger on the simple way your lashes kiss your skin when you blink.

You try not to give into his yearning, but your heart is hopeless and it moves your mouth before you have the chance to intervene. “What?” You probe and bat your lashes as if fanning the passionate flames, and meet his gaze.

Cregan parts his lips, but a single breath escapes before he focuses on his finger rubbing the ointment on your wound.

“Is it stupid that I was just burnt by ice?” You mutter and watch what he’s doing. “Out of all people, of course, it’s me.” You scoff and the corner of his lips tug a smirk.

“Was it stupid? No,” he assures you and lets his eyes flicker to you before he grabs the cloth bandages. “It happens. We’re in the North where it snows in the summer, ice burns are common, but is it amusing that it happened to you? Yes. Very much.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him away, making him share one of those rare chuckles.

“But I will say,” he continues and sways his body back to his previous spot. “It’s admirable that you chose to save that stag.”

Gods.

“You did not have to risk your life, stuff like that happens. It’s not nature, but you saved him anyway.”

You draw out a deep breath and fight hard with yourself to not look at him, to keep looking at your hand that he starts to wrap.

And you do manage to not give in to your most wanting desire, but your breaths grow heavy at the strain of your refusal, and your face burns hotter than the sun as you feel his eyes taking you in with hot desire and a need to express what his heart is bombarded with every single time he looks at you, and every time he sees you get flustered.

You know he's not one to hold back what he wants to say, you know him well, so as you feel his actions come to a halt, and feel his breath brushing over your cheek shudder, you warn him. “Don’t. Don't say it.”

A smile flickers on his lips as he’s left impressed by your senses, and regardless of what you told him he parts his lips to say something less daring but with the same meaning behind each word.

“Did you know, darling, that you…are like the morning and evening star?”

“That…” you trail off and let yourself look at his charming face that's decorated with a faint but smug smirk. “Is from my book.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugs. “But it applies doesn’t it?”

You can’t help but flash him a giddy smile before you look back at the wound that is getting covered.

“Will it scar?” You swiftly change the subject.

Cregan nods. “Aye, but it will not look terrible. Do not worry.”

You hum and now steal a longing glance at him as he’s looking down.

——

*NOW.*

It's gone. The ice scar that once marked your palm is now replaced by a new scar that's raw and red, and reminding you of the assassins who almost took your life and that of your children.

Instead of thinking of Cregan and the North when looking at the scar now, you’ll forever think of that traumatizing day.

“Who…hm,” you go quiet and shift your hand to play with the sunbeam cast on your scar, making it look more raw than it really is. “Who do you think sent those assassins?”

Aemond shifts his face down against your exposed back and groggily mumbles his response. “Well they entered through the secret tunnel, and Larys left with Aegon the same day those assassins tried killing you. Who else would it be?”

Even Aemond knows your own mother wouldn’t be capable of such a malicious act. You…well…deep down you know she would never be capable of it, but your anger keeps insisting she had something to do with it. But that’s all it is. Anger.

“He’s a traitor,” Aemond grumbles.

You close your hand and drop it back on the thin bed before finding comfort by cradling Aemond’s empty hand and pressing it against your chest.

“It feels weird,” you point out and take a glance at your bland new beige perimeters. “Not waking up to Aerion. I miss him.”

“We will not be gone long,” Aemond tries to assure you. “We’ll return to the Red Keep with Daemon’s head on a spike before he even notices that we’re gone.”

That doesn’t actually heal any longing you feel to be close to your son, but can any words really help?

No. No matter how long or how short you’re gone, nothing will ever help you miss Aerion any less. Especially after someone tried to kill him.

“I do not understand why you brought Ser Jason along though.”

And there it is, he ruined a sweet morning by finally getting his jealous complaint across after itching to talk about it since you left yesterday evening with Ser Jason to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne.

“<Did you go to sleep thinking of Ser Jason?>” You tease him in High Valyrian just in case the knight is outside the tent.

Aemond groans and pulls his hand away from your grasp before he peels his face away from your back, making you eagerly flip around to face him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, darling?”

Aemond pouts in annoyance and flips around to give you his back, so you quickly rebuttal by leaning over and looking at the side of his face with a teasing smile. “Do not pout,” you speak to him in a sweet voice as you reach for his chin and tilt his head your way.

Aemond’s eye flutters open and his gaze pierces on you, so you quickly reassure him. “<I just prefer Ser Cane to be watching over Aerion while we’re gone, but you’re not worried about that, are you?>” You mock his pout and press a light feathered kiss on his lips before you pull back, making him slowly turn back around to face you.

You take advantage of his attention, of the fact that no one has disrupted your quiet morning with calls to meetings, or beckoned his attention, and press your hand on his cheek with the gentlest touch to feel the warmth of his face on your palm. You then trail his cheekbone with the soft pad of your thumb before you slowly bring your thumb over to his nose and trail it over that aquiline nose you love so much.

Aemond’s breath shudders, and his gaze stops following your gentle touches as his gaze is now solely drawn to the depths of your soul that he can see through your eyes; whilst his pink lips move with a mind of their own as they mirror the faint smile that decorates your delicate features, as if your bliss was contagious.

“Perhaps,” you fill the silence and drift your thumb back to his cheek. “I do miss sharing our mornings alone,” you say above a whisper because he lay so close that you could practically share each other's breaths that your bodies expose. “When we weren’t needed at early war meetings. Before all this shit unfolded and it was just you and me. And Aerion in my belly.”

Aemond lets out a soft huff and his gaze flickers down to your lips. “You would sleep a lot then,” he brings up, brightening that smile that you held. “Perhaps that’s why it was calm.”

You giggle and his lips spread to a wider smile.

“Do you,” you see between laughs before you sigh and your lips twitch to a frown. “Do you think we’ll go back to those calm mornings?”

Aemond’s smile slowly falls and his gaze remains focused on your lips. You expect him to assure you in some way but his lashes flutter, even the ones over the sapphire, and then when he finally has the courage to meet your waiting gaze he lifts his hand and cups your cheek to press your forehead against his.

He doesn’t share his grim fate Helaena foresaw, he keeps denying it as a scare tactic for what he did to Aegon, so what would be the point of telling you something that won’t happen and only worry you?

That should mean that it should be easy to come up with words to comfort your yearning heart, but still, that fate leaves him unable to form any comforting words he badly wants to share. That’s why he just presses his forehead against yours; that’s his way of showing his comfort in ways his words can’t. And you don’t complain or question him, you lean in to his gentle touch and close your eyes to cherish your moment in the depths of your mind, making that ache tormenting your heart ease just enough for your smile to make a reappearance as you’re easily consumed with bliss and passion.

If only you could have more time to stay consumed by this sweet bliss on the thin and uncomfortable bed with him, but alas your presence is needed now more than ever that you’re in the encampment just days away from reaching Harrenhal. Besides, Aemond is proper, he doesn’t like being late, especially now that you’re surrounded by an army of men.

“If only I could have brought Vanessa,” you interject with hints of complaint as you slip on a silver fitted breastplate over a grey-purple gown. “Aemond,” you huff. “Could you help me?”

Aemond presses his foot in his boot before he walks over to replace your fingers with his on the buckles on the side, and captures your attention. He’s too focused on tightening the buckles to notice you though, but you watch him with a gaze that softens as you see how delicate he is with his movements, how his nostrils fall and rise with each breath, the way his small lashes fall with each blink, and the way he keeps trying to shrug away his hair.

Perhaps it’s the newfound attachment to him after all that happened a couple of days ago, but you can’t stop yourself from stealing longing looks to admire his mere presence; as if keeping your eyes away from him, and him from you for too long will somehow result in either of you being gone.

As to your heart in this newfound attachment? Well, your heart dances to a new beat every time you catch the smallest glimpse of him and he looks at you.

Like now for example, Aemond did not think you were looking, he was too focused to feel your gaze so he looks up and catches your eyes already him, causing your lips to spread to a tender smile, and making him slowly look back at what he’s doing with a timid smile; as if this is the very first time spending time together.

When he’s done with one side he goes to the other and does the same with the exact same amount of carefulness he used to secure the other buckles.

“I would help you with yours, alas,” you click your tongue, and his eye snaps to you.

“I’m not the one carrying children,” he retorts, making you scoff and let out a soft snicker.

“Like that matters,” you counter lightheartedly. “But…we already talked about this,” you breathe out heavily, and he scoffs as he drops his eye back to what he’s doing.

“Yet you will still find a way to comment on it,” he says because he knows you all too well.

“Only because I’m worried, my love,” you rebuttal and look at him with a pointed glare he doesn’t catch. “I…have lost enough. I need you. We need you.”

A small breath escapes his nose and you watch his eyebrows slowly furrow while a small storm of conflict seems to brew behind his eye.

You take that as him comprehending your concern but being too prideful to respond, so you then brush his long hair over his shoulder so it’s not in his way. He passes you a thankful hum in response and you can’t help but smile before you try to ease that furrowed brow with sweet words. “Thank you for helping me.”

He finishes what he’s doing and then looks over at you with a gentle half-smile that makes you lean in and slowly take him in for a lingering kiss.

Nevertheless, a voice then proceeds to cut through the moment, causing you to brush your lips over his as you drift your head to the side to look at the flaps that are meant to be your doors.

“My Prince, Princess, breakfast will be served in ten!”

Without waiting for a response their footsteps recede and the moment no longer returns to what it was since you’re then driven outside your tent not much later. You just finish getting ready and walk out to join Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne for breakfast before it’s time to gather for a much-anticipated war meeting.

These meetings, unlike the council meetings, are far more captivating. These meetings don’t threaten to lull you to sleep like the others do.

Yes; you did long to be a part of those small council meetings, but they still were a damn drag! However, you doubt one thing will change; that being this group of men not taking what you say under consideration.

You’ll have to wait and see if they do or don’t though.

“What come of the search parties for his Grace?” Ser Criston Cole directs at Aemond.

Aemond presses his palms on the top of your chair and leans over. “Nothing yet. We’ve checked the harbors, but no one spotted any suspicious boats leaving the docks. I scouted what I could on top of Vhagar, but I caught nothing.”

Not like he searched thoroughly or pressed critical urgency. And why should he? Aegon seemed to have left by will with Lord Larys. There was no sign of struggle, and Grand Maester Orwyle mentioned Lord Larys frequented Aegon a lot and grew interested in his healing process. Which is why the theory so far is that they left willingly together. As for the reason?

No one knows, and it’s not like Aemond cares all that much. He benefits with Aegon being gone, and the entirety of the RedKeep, and you can let out a sigh of relief without his stench or wandering fingers.

“If this had been a ransom we would have heard of it by now,” Aemond adds and moves away from behind you to start pacing around the table. “We all knew Aegon, he had no taste for ruling or responsibility, this perhaps is one of his whims. He will return when he’s out of coin.”

Ser Criston’s chest raises high before he drops it heavily as if holding back his argument over the fact that Aemond doesn't care as much as he should.

“Princess,” Ser Criston calls you out. “Has…Rhaenyra sent a word? We cannot rule out the fact that she may have snuck in the same way those assassins did both times.”

You clench your jaw and dart your eyes down to the marked map on the wooden table. “No,” you deadpan, and don’t even try to mention that you doubt it was her who took Aegon, ravens would have been sent already if she had, and this war would have turned a lot more bloody.

“What of Sunfyre?” You change the subject away from the sore subject. “If anyone can lead us to Aegon it’s him.”

“Still gravely wounded,” Ser Criston reports. “He has not moved since Aegon went missing.”

You hum and add, “well if he takes flight, have men follow his flight path. It could give us an indication of where his rider might be.”

Ser Criston Cole nods in comprehension without looking at Aemond for confirmation, probably so he wouldn’t hear any protests after Aemond’s lack of care.

“What of the Lannister forces on the western front?” Aemond changes the subject and stops on one side to take a look at the lion markers. “They reached the Red Fork?” He points to the lions.

“Yes,” Ser Gwayne says and slides markers to face the wooden lions. “But as predicted, the Lords of the Trident have gone out to meet them. Now the Western forces may have the advantage of numbers, but,” he sighs. “This the land of the Riverlords. They have the knowledge of their lands to their advantage.”

A nauseous wave hits you as the twins seem to start reacting to your breakfast, so you take a deep breath to try and clear the ache before you get up and stand on your feet instead.

“Hm,” Aemond hums and studies the map for a long time, letting Ser Criston Cole interject.

“We should wait and have Ser Jason come out triumphant before we head to attack Daemon and Harrenhal,” he suggests, making Aemond pick his gaze off the map to glare at him—“He has the numbers with the Riverlords taking arms under him. Whatever is left of the Western force will still give us more strength to challenge them without getting crushed.”

You glance at Aemond, and he looks over at you, but you kind of agree with Ser Criston. You don’t want to give Daemon the advantage, you want his pride crushed, along with his very soul, and you can’t do that if you lose, so you begin to wander around the table yourself and look at the map. Mainly you focus on the marker that represents Daemon.

“No,” Aemond argues. “We still hold the advantage with Astraea and Vhagar. We will move forward, whatever remains of the Western forces can join us in Harrenhal when they have won the fight.”

You glance at the south side of Harrenhal and cross your arms over your chest as you tilt your head to study the markerless spot.

“That would not be wise, nephew,” Ser Gwayne tries to argue against Aemond before Ser Criston can utter what he thinks. “It's best if we wait now so Ser Jason can go as planned and attack at the west to surround them. They would have heard about the battle at the Red Fork and would not suspect them to attack so soon. We can use that.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond retorts and moves down as if following your figure whilst Ser Gwayne begins to walk toward you. “But how much time before they send scouts and find Astraea and Vhagar? We came a day early so we could catch them by surprise, I will not waste it. We will attack as it was planned. At first light.”

A tension grows in the silence that Aemond’s stubborn persistence brought, but neither man in the tent dares to break it knowing how quick Aemond is to anger. And you, well your focus is set on the south side of Harrenhal.

There’s no markers there, or plans to move men towards there to attack on that side, so your attention focuses there and helps your mind brew an idea. An idea Ser Gwayne seems to pick up on.

“What is on your mind, Your Grace?” He probes as he steps closer to you, making you glance at his close proximity and then look over at Aemond since you know how he feels about his uncle, catching his gaze slowly grow ice cold and threatening.

Yet Ser Gwayne doesn’t seem to care or doesn’t have a clue, his eyes stay on you and try to unravel your growing thoughts, only infuriating Aemond even more. To the point, his jaw clenches tightly, and his nose flares as if he’s ready to pounce at the man.

You find it cute for once and tilt your head to the other side to catch his gaze and shoot him a faint taunting smirk before you share your thoughts. “What of the south side of the Harrenhal? I notice there’s no markers, or intention to have men attack from there. It leaves us vulnerable for any party of scouts to sneak through, or for men to surround us from there.”

“Hm,” Ser Gwayne is the first to interject. “Nice catch. Alas, we would have to go around the God’s Eye. That would add a two or one-day ride. More if it’s on foot.”

You drift your focus to Aemond and see his lips curled and his chest puffed out, and you can’t help but smile down at the table. In doing so, catching Ser Criston look between Aemond and Ser Gwayne in annoyance.

“Hm,” you hum and drop your arms back to your side to slowly throw them behind you and clasp your hands together before you start swinging them back and forth against your grey-purple cloak. “Then I will scout the south side on top of Astraea. Just for the afternoon, it’s cloudy and Astraea can easily hide amongst the cloud bank. No one will spot us.”

“That could give us an advantage—”

“No,” Aemond cuts Ser Criston off bluntly. “It’s too much of a risk for you and Astraea alone. Daemon could spot you and he would not hesitate meeting you in the sky. And Astraea is no match against Caraxes.”

You snap your eyes up to him and drop your arms to your sides with a thud.

“That's the point,” you’re quick to sneer through your teeth. “I am not going to be seen. I am just going to report on their numbers from a side they won’t suspect me to be in.”

Aemond shakes his head. “No. You will remain here with me until the day of the attack. I will not put your life at any unnecessary risk.”

Unnecessary risk?

There’s no such thing! You were almost killed in your own chambers! You’re here even if you know you’ll be at risk, being in this tent so close to Harrenhal is already a high risk, so what the hell does he really mean? Does he just want you to stay put until you attack? Do nothing but fiddle your thumbs and think of what your life has turned into?!

He’s supposed to respect your strength, your willingness to fight. He’s supposed to put faith in your wishes to fight, to be on that battlefield, and on Astraea the same way he’s on Vhagar. That’s why you’re here! That’s why you came because you had a purpose, a goal!

“No,” you counter bravely and all too easily get caught in a brewing storm of anger where fact nor logic actually pass through. “I will go scout on top of Astraea. What if I can catch something significant that can help us?”

Aemond presses his hands on the surface of the table and leans forward to snap back in frustration. “I said no. Argue all you want, the answer will remain the same.”

You challenge his gaze with a glare as you nod along in comprehension. When you see that he won’t budge you rip away from your spot and storm away with the intention to disobey him.

Aemond knows you well though, he saw the defiance growing in your eyes like a dark cloud and doesn’t care that the meeting is ongoing, he storms after you calling out your name, but you ignore him and continue striding toward Astraea in your growing storm he only worsens by following you.

And no matter how fast, or what twists and turns you make to try and lose him, he never loses track of you. He actually ends up finding a shortcut to cut you off in your path and finally capture you by your arms in a more secluded part of the forest where no men wander around.

“Let me go Aemond,” you bark and try to pull his hands off you, but he only tightens his old, making it hard for you to challenge his strength. “I will not just stay here and be your accessory in this war!” You’re quick to spat out as you’re blinded by your rageful storm. “You can’t just parade me around to flaunt me like you did when we were with my family! Because I saw you, I saw how you looked at them like I was some trophy to be won, but I am much more than that!” You remark and try to push him away, but he keeps reaffirming his grip so you’re just thrashing against his hold, like winds of a hurricane in a storm.

“I am capable too!” You throw out and push him, but he doesn’t let go, he presses you against a tree to keep you from fighting. “I am strong! I am brave! I can fight too!”

“I know! I know!” He exclaims over your rage, making you look at him with a trembling lip and teary eyes that are quick to release a stream of tears that come from the depths of your chest.

“Then?” Your voice quivers even if you don’t want it to, even if you try to fight the stupid tears. “Why do you want me to stay here when I can go out there and be useful?”

Aemond parts his lips but before he can form a word he catches you start to sob unwantedly, as if your heart had been broken all over again.

“I-I,” you stammer and slip your arms from his grasp to try and wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry. I do not know why I’m crying. Stupid,” you gasp as you weep again.

This time clouds in your mind begin to clear as a realization begins to penetrate through.

Since you learned the truth about your father, since your mother admitted the truth that day in Dragonstone, your sorrow comes and goes. You can go on thinking you can get over it, you can distract yourself with other matters, but then when you least expect it the sorrow, the need to cry out your heartache springs up on you. And other times you managed to calm down, but right now as you face Aemond after he rejected your offer you can’t seem to stop crying and thinking of one thing that leads to so much more agony.

“I know you’re all those things,” Aemond tries to explain to assure you, and so you know he doesn’t think any less of you. “I admire all of it, but my love,” he talks softly and grabs your shoulder to pull your eyes up. “With us being so close to Harrenhal, I can’t have you risking your life for a simple scouting mission. He could spot you and challenge you, and I would not be able to be there to help you.”

You shake your head. “I will not be caught,” you repeat yourself, and those tears don’t stop flowing. “We will not be caught, I swear. I assure you just…let me have a purpose,” you whimper. “I know what my brothers are. You know what they are and they do too, and even if they did not know their father long, even if they didn’t spend a lot of time together, he still loved them. And Daemon loves his children in his own way, and-and my father?” You cry and clutch onto your chest.

“I was not good enough for him to stay,” you reveal what’s tormenting you. “He left, and she lied to move on and have more children while I was gone, so where does that leave me? Why am I even here if he was going to leave to be with someone else? Why fight so hard to keep me alive to have me replaced? Why did they even have me if they didn’t even love me? At least before I knew the truth, my purpose was to prove I was worthy enough to my mother, I wanted to be a good daughter, or simply live,” you explain through tears, missing the pitiful look that takes over his face as your breakdown aches his own heart.

“And now?” You say between a sob. “I don't know why I was even born, I don’t know why I’m even here?!”

You fall to your knees before he can catch you and drop your head in your hands in an attempt to stop yourself from crying, but nothing can stop the stream from flowing, leaving Aemond unaware of what to say to console you.

What can he say to make your pain less? Wanting to be worthy in the eyes of someone to have them love you is something he knows, but your feelings go so much deeper than that, and for a while, he doesn’t know what to say.

At least not until his heart can’t stand seeing you hurt a moment longer. After that, he slowly goes on his knees and gently grabs your wrists to pull your hands away from your face so you have no choice but to look at him.

“You…are worth something to me. To our son,” he starts to mutter words that spring to mind. “You…are the best thing that happened to me. When we were kids you were the most important person to me, I would always look forward to spending time with you, hearing your stories, and sharing what we liked. And now?” He speaks softly. “Now you’re worth so much more. More than the air I breathe.”

You bat your eyes and sniffle as his words fill your weeping heart.

“I love you, Aerion loves you. You…” he trails off and smiles with a tender grace. “You mean something to me, and I’m sorry if I have done things to make you feel otherwise,” he admits and swallows thickly. “But you do. You mean something, and without you life would be a dull affair.”

Your lips twitch to a smile and when he catches that he moves his hands up to cup your face and wipe away your tears.

“I…” he trails off and pulls one hand away from your face to dig in his pocket. “I was going to give you this for your name day, but have it now.”

Your gaze lingers on him for a moment before you can’t help your curiosity and look down at his fisted hand, catching him right in time as he opens it and reveals a silver chain necklace with a small white-wooden siren hanging from it.

“I,” he scoffs timidly. “I started whittling it when you and your family left for Dragonstone, but I was never able to give it to you because you left.”

“You whittled it?” You croak and brush your fingers over the soft wooden siren.

“Having no dragon left me with a lot of time to spare,” he whispers and lets the chain fall so he can grab it between his thumb and pointer finger. “And more when you left.”

A smile trembles on your lips and your eyes scream the thousand I love you’s that you cannot express with words.

“Whenever you feel like you did now just…look at it and know you mean the whole damn world to me,” he whispers shyly with the kindest and most timid smile that he hides by leaning forward and hooking the necklace around you.

“<Thank you,>” you whisper in High Valyrian as you grab his arms before you slide your hands up to grab the sides of his neck. “<I'm sorry for being difficult.>”

Aemond pulls his head back to face you and strokes your chin before pressing his forehead against yours and whispering against your lips. “<I love you.>”

The corner of your lips spread to a sweet smile and you don’t hesitate to return those words with affection oozing in your voice. “<I love you too.>”

He hums and leans in to press a gentle kiss on your lips, making you lead him to a much deeper kiss that’s fueled with a soft burning passion.

When you pull away he breaks the string of saliva that connected you by giving in. “You can go scout.”

You scoff and pull back to question him excitedly “Really?”

He groans and nods stiffly. “But if you see Caraxes out, or if you catch even a whiff of Daemon fly back. Don’t challenge him,” he presses harshly.

You start to grin and nod in comprehension. “I’m just scouting, that's all.”

He nods. “That’s all.”

You press a juicy kiss on his lips before you get up to your feet and rub your face as if that will get rid of your swollen eyes. Aemond stands up after you and grabs your arm before you can think of walking over to meet Astraea.

“Any sign of danger. Leave.” He presses.

You draw out a deep breath that comes out shaky after crying so hard and nod eagerly. “I know. I understand. I’ll be back soon.”

He cups your cheek and holds it for a lingering second before he drops his hand and lets you go. Before you can turn to leave you press a chaste kiss on his cheek and then go and join Astraea in some clearing where she and Vhagar keep each other company.

At first, when Vhagar sees you mounting Astraea she probably thought she was going to leave this wet forest, she seemed almost relieved, but when she didn’t catch her rider trailing behind you she threw herself back on the ground.

“<Sorry girl,>” you direct at Vhagar. “<But we will be leaving soon. Swear.>”

Vhagar lets out a loud huff that blows away the greenery before her, and you can’t help but laugh softly whilst you hook on your restraints.

Once you're secured, you command Astraea to ascend into the grey sky. And it's once you feel the cool breeze brushing over your face, offering you fresh and crisp air to breathe that the cruel aching weight that set over your chest completely blew away. This is why having Astraea, flying on her in the endless sky is something you will always love. You can’t imagine not having her by your side all of your life. Without her, you would not be able to ever find an escape when you’re at your lowest.

Sure you work out your problems on your own, and other people like Aemond also comfort you; they forbid you from getting lost in the dark, but there’s something that Astraea offers that no one else ever can, and that’s being able to find an escape where all that exists is her, you, the sky, the shining sun, and the twinkling stars.

If only you could wander the skies and explore the Riverlands without having to be on task, but alas there’s a duty that you do want to do, so once you approach Harrenhal, you sit up straight and lean the handles down to nudge Astraea down.

When your dragon leaves the cloud bank she hovers just below it in order to find a quick escape if you need it, while also trying to blend in with the thick clouds so you’re not easily spotted. You loosen your restraints, lift your feet off the footrests, and secure them in the footholders to be able to stand up and narrow your gaze like a hunting hawk to spot anything out of the ordinary in the green lands below.

At first, it all seems calm, there’s just a lot of fresh green plains, trees littered everywhere, and streams. It all honestly makes you believe that you’ll be able to return without anything to report, but then as you get closer to the grand dark castle in the distance, you spot lines of marching men leaving the grounds of Harrenhal. And from what you can see they’re all marching towards the direction of Blackwater rush, away from the army you’re with.

Does it mean Daemon is moving all the army toward your mother now? Or just some.

From what you can see before the trees block your sight, the numbers aren’t of high concern, so maybe it’s just some men going to Dragonstone?

You can’t fully circle the castle or you will most likely be caught. You can only scout the south side, so you can’t know for sure, the only thing you can do is count the heads that you do see now. You would try to follow the line, but the woods are too thick, you’d have to fly just above the treeline to see clearly and you can’t do that without being caught by someone keeping a watchful eye.

You’ll have to tell Ser Criston and Aemond to send a discreet scouting party on horse to know what’s really going on. As of now, you squint your gaze as you keep your head tilted down, and in doing so miss something that Astraea doesn’t. Your dragon immediately catches sight of something worthwhile and alerts you with a soft call, but you give her your attention first before you follow her line of sight and catch what she’s alerting you of; Daemon on top of Caraxes.

It’s…Daemon.

He’s on dragonback. He’s a few miles below you, he’s there…

The man who planned with your mother to send your father away. The one who schemed with your father to marry your mother. The man who sent you to Kings Landing for his own benefit is there just below; in shining dark grey armor, unaware of you or your dragon.

He’s there. Daemon.

Daemon is there. You see him, you're piercing your glare at him, and a raging storm of anger brews quickly and dangerously. You want to ignore it, not give it more fuel to ravage, you’re just here to scout not take action after all. Aemond told you not to act if you see Daemon, but he’s there in your eyeline! Alone! A man you hated for six years. Six years! All because you thought he killed your father—but it turned out he didn’t…but! He still schemed with your mother, he still lied too, and all to be her consort.

He’s careless and cruel. He’s given his daughters the cold shoulder, he killed baby Jaehaerys and hurt Helaena in the process. He used you and shoved you in the jaws of the enemy. You can’t just swallow all that anger, and you can’t forget it. You can’t ignore the boiling of your blood, you can’t stop your breath from growing heavier and heavier, and you can’t avoid the storm raging within you, blinding your judgment second by second until there’s not a single thought or instinct that keeps you from directing Astraea to torpedo toward Daemon and Caraxes.

And your dragon is obedient, she shares your anger, and her rage blinds her too, so she tilts down and tucks her wings at her sides to shoot toward Caraxes and Daemon at a quick and dangerous speed.

Neither man nor dragon spots you right away, they don’t hear your dragon as she penetrates through layers of the sky. You have the advantage, thus you grab your bow that you keep hooked on your saddle and pull out a single arrow you have tucked under the side of your seat for easy access.

When you align your arrow your blood thumps violently in your ears; thump, thump, thump. And with each thump, your rage only burns hotter, your jaw clenches, your lips curl to a scowl, and you bend your knees. With each thump, the only word that you see, that you hear is kill, kill, kill.

Shoot. And kill.

There’s no clearer than that thought. You have to, you need to get rid of him. Even if he finally tilts his head up as Astraea's shadow casts over him, you have to do it. You have to kill him.

Caraxes also proceeds to spot you and Astraea and lets out a shrieking roar to warn you away, but Astraea snaps back with a much louder and guttural roar, and you don’t drop your aim. You only pull the string back further and pierce your glare into Daemon, making your intention to him very clear.

Yet he doesn’t move, he doesn’t block his face with his hands protected with his shining armor. He doesn’t open his mouth to command Caraxes to move, his lips part in surprise because you’re going toward him, but he remains still and leaves the unprotected spot between his eyes a clear shot.

Yet as your menacing figure in his eyes reflects back to you, growing larger and larger the closer you get, that screaming need to let your arrow go is slowly diluted. Unlike when you shot that stag two years ago, this time the arrow doesn’t slip from your fingers. It doesn’t break through barriers of air to hit your target, you remain crouched over your saddle and watch Daemon with a trembling lip as one other person penetrates through the raging storm. Her very face disperses what clouded your instincts and your judgment, and it’s the mere thought of your mother that makes you lower your arrow.

And thus with no need to be told what to do, with the simple connection you share, Astraea swoops up hard before she can ram through Caraxes, and you lose sight of Daemon.

“Damn it,” you hiss and return your bow and arrow to where they were before you sit back down on your saddle. “Damn it! Damn it!” You bellow over and over again as you hit your saddle.

Tears cloud your eyes, and that built-up anger slowly seeps out, leaving your body trembling as if coming down from an adrenaline high that you did nothing with but build up.

However, even as tears do well in your eyes, they don't come out. You press your hand over your face and leave yourself in darkness for a moment before you rub your face and take a deep breath to have those tears go back where they came from.

Now there was no way to go back and scout so you head back to camp thinking of what you did not do, not with regret in your mind, but more so why the very thought of her made you not do it.

It runs in circles in your mind.

——

*LATER*

What should you tell Aemond and the others? The truth and send them after Daemon to foil his plans?

Do you stay quiet and let Daemon do whatever it is he’s doing?

Aemond did say not to pursue Daemon, but you did, and Daemon, and or anyone who witnessed what happened won’t keep quiet. Eventually, somehow, word will spread and he will find out, which will only make things bad, or worse.

Hm.

Then again…whatever plans Daemon has, why should you be the one to help him achieve them? You can’t hold in your anger for the sake of him or your mother. And the truth is you don’t think of your brother’s sakes, nor that of your cousins because the anger for your mother and Daemon clouds you. No matter what, everything goes back to them.

Thus you’ll tell Aemond and the others—Actually, it’s surprising that your overbearing husband hasn’t come to meet you the moment Astraea was spotted descending. He must be caught up with Ser Criston, or scheming a malicious plan. Whatever it is you approach the campgrounds alone with only the singing crickets spread around the forest keeping you company. And considering you are close to enemy lines you keep your eyes out for anyone suspicious hiding between the trees while you hum a sweet song.

That is until you hear some bushes rustling moments before a slow clap startles you and sends your hand reaching for a hidden dagger. Yet much to your surprise, the person who comes out from the bushes is Ser Gwayne.

“Ser,” you greet between heavy breaths and pull your hand away from your weapon. “You startled me.”

He raises his hands and a small apologetic smile grows on his face. “Forgive me I did not mean to. I heard you humming and I could not help myself.”

You glance around and do not notice any sign of tents or life besides the plants, the trees, and him all by his lonesome, so you grow insanely curious. “What brings you so far from Camp Ser? Keeping an eye out? Or has your nephew scolded you?”

Ser Gwayne chuckles and shakes his head as he meets you halfway before turning on his heels and walking by your side back to camp. “No, none of the sort. I came to find privacy and I could only find it this far.”

You nod and don’t care to poke around for more. That’s all the information you need.

“How was your scouting? Find anything worthwhile besides dull grey clouds?” He probes.

You can’t help the small amused smile that slips on your face before you summarize what you saw, so you don’t have to repeat yourself. “It was…eventful.”

“How so?” He probes.

You sigh and your lips form to a deep frown. “I caught an army of about sixty-five men marching away, and Prince Daemon on his dragon.”

Ser Gwayne’s eyes slide to you and he slows down in his pace to study you head to toe. You can feel his eyes examining you carefully before he pulls on the right damn thread. “Did you pursue the Prince?”

You fiddle with your rings and leave a short silence, but it’s still too long nevertheless for him not to figure out the truth.

“I was angry. I let my rage control my judgment,” you confess in the silence of the forest. “And do not worry yourself, Ser, I will tell Aemond.”

Ser Gwayne scoffs. “I was not going to run and tell now. If it was a secret then I would have kept it.”

You let your fingers slip from your grasp and slowly drift your gaze to the charming knight to pass him a softened look, and a faint smile before you drag out a deep breath and look ahead. “It is not a secret, but people would have run to Aemond and ran their mouths for some kind of praise or prize, so.” You shrug.

Ser Gwayne nods. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, people like us cannot trust so easily. You think you have made an honest friend but the moment you turn your back they run off and spill your secrets so the world may know that they were in your presence. As if that would benefit their lives.”

You hum and he steals a glance at you before he continues running his mouth with something else. “Tell me why you felt such rage at the mere presence of Prince Daemon? Not that it’s not deserved, he has a quite distasteful reputation, but he is your stepfather, correct?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust at the mere sound of those last words and quickly rebuttal as if reminding you of such a link offended you. “As if that has anything to do with anything,” you grumble and shake your head. “But if you must know…he,” you pause. You’re about to tell him the reason why you have hated him for six years of your life, but that’s not the truth anymore, is it?

He did not kill your father.

But the rage is still there. You can’t let it go.

“…what is there to like about Prince Daemon?” You avoid spilling out the entire list of why you hate the Rogue Prince. “And do not repeat that ever again. By law, he may be my stepfather, but he is nothing of the sort. He never will be.”

Ser Gwayne nods gently and doesn’t press or interject, he lets the silence grow between you until you can’t help but utter, “he’s cruel. And so was my father.”

That word is like bile in your mouth. Never in your life did you ever imagine you would view your father in a negative light. He was always a memory you cherished, now all those happy memories are tainted with anger and hate, making your words about him vile.

“Fathers are…difficult,” Ser Gwayne adds in a much softer tone than you’re used to hearing. His voice is always usually dripping with this cocky ego. “Is Aemond any good?”

“Aerion is only five months so we have yet to see, but so far…he’s good, attentive, and everything his own father was not,” you share with a growing smile. “As of late he has been distant, but this war effort takes a toll on everyone.”

“Well,” he sighs. “He will have a lifetime to do better, and I’m sure when the twins are born he will rejoice. He seems very fond of you. It’s rare to see.”

The corner of your lips tug a wider smile on your face and when you catch Ser Gwayne notice it you offer him a smaller smile, but one still from the heart.

A silence proceeds to fill between the two of you, but it’s in that silence that you hear loud celebratory commotion, singing, and cheering coming from camp.

“What are they celebrating?” You have to ask, turning Ser Gwaynes' attention away from you to focus on the spot of a campfire that you can now notice.

“From what I was told, it’s the name days of a few soldiers, so it seems they have made a bit of a ruckus and filled the air with terrible singing.”

You chuckle softly and he turns suddenly to look at you with his eyes widening.

“Why do you not share your talent? It will be good for morale support to have you seen amongst your men,” he suggests with growing excitement. “And well, your voice will bring our ears some relief.”

You part your lips to throw out an excuse, but in truth, you cannot think of a quick excuse to use to refuse him, so you gape like a fish out of water.

“That is if you really are the Siren of Driftmark,” he taunts you.

As you approach the campgrounds you see men gathered around a campfire, forgetting what tragedy lies beyond the treeline, and why they’re away from home in the first place. And you can't imagine this commotion must settle right with people like Ser Criston and Aemond, and the men must know that, but they do not seem to care. They’re completely unfazed and lost in the moment.

You want to forget too. And most of all…holding their approval and their praise is important. To you at least.

Aemond won't very much like you being caught in the middle of a group of drunk men, he especially won’t like seeing you so close to Ser Gwayne, but he can throw whatever tantrum he wants. He cannot control you, especially when it comes to something so mindless as laughing, singing, and sharing stories with men who are supposed to fight for him and his family. Besides, it all looks so fun! How can you just watch from a distance and long to join them when they’re in the safety of your camp?

You can tell Aemond and Ser Criston what you saw later, right now you want to be amongst the fun as well!

“Well,” you give in reluctantly. “I am good with a lute.”

A charming grin spreads on Ser Gwayne’s face. “There you go. That’s the spirit!” He exclaims.

You smile giddily and without a second thought you follow him towards the happy and drinking group of men who welcome Ser Gwayne with open arms, but when they see you they slowly all go quiet and murmur amongst themselves whilst they make sure Prince Aemond isn't lurking in the distance ready to attack them for even looking at you.

“Now, now, there’s no need to quiet down,” Ser Gwayne assures them. “The Princess is here to join in the celebrations and sing us a song or two. So everyone please welcome The Siren of Driftmark!”

There’s no timidness holding you back, no hesitation, or thought of Aemond disapproving, you offer them all a charming grin that makes them all start to clap, and slowly untense.

“Now this would be more fun if I could drink,” you interject to break the tension, “but alas I am with child, so you all will have to show me that you’re having fun.” You’re quick to turn on your charm as if you were born to perform in front of many. And as if enchanted by your words alone the once tense men start to ease and grow comfortable, welcoming you instead of just tolerating you.

“Now could I borrow that?” You point to the lute a young man is holding, and without question, he hands it to you. “The rest of you,” you direct at the other men with the other instruments. “You will know this song, so just follow me.”

They nod, and without any concern of judgment, you twirl back to stand in the middle of the gathered group. “This song here is one of my favorites, I learned it from a famous pirate my grandfather knew. You all better dance and sing along!”

A hoot sounds from the crowd, and without further delay you slowly start to strum the strings on the lute before you quietly start the song at first, to lure them all in. When the other men start playing their instruments around you, you pick up the speed on the lute and stop singing just for a moment.

After picking up the beat on the strings you start singing again along to the beat, and with a great joy that makes your once dull eyes glimmer.

The men around you are quickly and deeply charmed with your singing, with your enthusiasm, and your beaming joy that they don’t hesitate to stomp their feet and clap their hands along to the song, forgetting the tension and bursting out with even more excitement than before. All because of you.

And it's because of you that the heightened commotion doesn’t go unnoticed. It has all become much grander because you’re amongst the men, so Ser Criston and Aemond walk out of the tent to silence the men and end their feast. Albeit when Aemond catches you in the middle of the crowd, fueling the men’s excitement with your song he slows down in his raging storm and makes Ser Criston hesitate snuffing out the celebration.

Does that mean he didn’t want to stop you? No. He sees all the men drunk, or drinking around you, and right away he wants to storm over there and yank you away, tell them all to stay away, and threaten them. He wants to put a stop to all the commotion, but…as bothered as he is he does notice your beaming grin, he sees how happy you are and how can he be the one to diminish that?

Sure his stomach is twisting with jealousy because he hates that his uncle is near you, celebrating, and only egging you on, but he doesn't ruin your fun, he actually trusts his uncle more than Ser Jason in the back of the group smiling like some enchanted idiot. Aemond does approach the group but doesn’t join the commotion, not even if his uncle is not leaving your side in the group of men that only grows. Aemond just stands close enough that he has a clear view of you in case someone’s hands wander where they’re not supposed to.

He actually thought you wouldn’t notice him, but you do, you find him there behind the sea of people as if he was the bright moon amongst the dark canvas of the night sky, and nothing in the world proceeds to matter but him and you. It all disappears, leaving only two souls dancing in your plane; his and yours.

Nothing shines brighter than him and you; except maybe that smile in your eyes that only shines for him. It shines so bright in fact that the giant shining star in the sky would be envious. While the smile on your face is backed with so much joy, and your voice is so charming, that you're able to tug the faintest smile on Aemond’s hardened features.

It’s faint, but you see it. You’re the only one he lets see. And you cherish it, your heart actually swoons because he’s outside watching you. You would have liked it better if he would dance with you, but you take what you can get and store his lovely appearance and his faint smile in the chambers of your heart.

And much to your surprise, Aemond continues watching over you. He doesn’t interfere as an older soldier pulls you to dance as the music continues. He watches over you as you completely infatuate the soldiers to your side with your voice and the fact that you’re spending time with them, proving to him why people flock to you, why they remember you; like that man from the Night's Watch.

He likes that about you, he likes that people are not scared of you, that you are so easygoing with them and you have their respect, but at the same time he also doesn’t like it. He wants you to be at the bottom with him.

Nevertheless, as those thoughts swirl in his head he continues watching over you, he would continue watching you until you grew tired and withdrew from the commotion, but from the heart of the crowd, you notice Ser Criston pull him away.

You know that nothing would have pulled Aemond away from his “guard duty” if it wasn’t significant. He would have stayed against the tree until you left the crowd, but he’s pulled away and you can’t help your curiosity. Even if you’re high by all the excitement, you manage to find an escape and follow Aemond to the tent Ser Criston took him to.

However, just as you’re going to follow him in to be a part of the significant conversation, what comes out of Ser Criston’s mouth stops you right behind the entrance, turning you into that spy you once were when you worked for your mother.

“We just received word from Ser Tyland. He and the Triarchy have hit Driftmark, setting fire to the harbor of Spicetown, and ships sent out to counter them.”

Your lips part in surprise. Regardless, if your grandfather plans to have one of his bastards be heir over your own son, Driftmark is still your home, and hearing that pirates and low-life sailors have begun to sack Driftmark is upsetting.

“What about it?” Aemond remarks with sass. “It's what they should do.”

Ser Criston clears his throat and then adds what he really wants to share. “Scouts have spotted a small cog ship sailing from the Eerie, and right directly toward the Triarchy fleet. It’s said that the Cog, the Gay Abandonment, carries Prince Viserys, Prince Aegon, Prince Joffrey, and Lady Rhaena. The sons of Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.”

Your heart drops to your stomach at the sound of that news. No matter your feelings towards your mother and Daemon, your brothers are not between that. None of them.

“Have Ser Tyland and the fleet doing something worthwhile and capture the cog,” you hear Aemond suggest, making your breath catch. “But do not injure any of them. They will be priceless hostages.”

You back away until you’re completely covered by the shadows of the night and let out a shaky breath as you go over what you just heard, as you begin to realize that you cannot for any reason let Ser Tyland or his fleet of pirates take your brothers and Rhaena. You can’t just hear what you did and willingly let anyone take them captive. No matter your resentment, and no matter the rage that has you giving your back to your mother.

Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are still your brothers, and Rhaena is your cousin.

You can’t—

You know what you must do. Aemond won't like it, he would forbid you from going if you asked considering he already didn’t want to let you scout, but he can’t stop you if he doesn’t know you left until you’re gone. Besides, you’ll return, you can’t just sit here and let anyone take your brothers and Rhaena captive, and if you send a letter it might be too late. You have to go yourself.

Thus before Aemond could walk out and catch you, you rush to your shared tent and hurryingly rip off the breastplate you had been wearing to quickly just throw on different armor; one that’s not bulky but lighter, and slimmer in design so it’s a more feminine fit, like the way you saw Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror wear in books.

The gown under the armor is no longer your grey-purple gown. You changed it to a very pale grey that almost blends with the new silver armor, but it stands out since it flows over your legs, covering the shining silver greaves over the bottom half of your legs.

The pauldrons on your shoulders are shaped like dragon scales, much like the one you wore just moments ago, and beneath it lies a fringe of forged silver dragon wings. You stay away from wearing gauntlets and anything on your arms, besides leathered armguards, showing off the beautiful embroidered sleeves of your gown instead. When it comes to your head and face, you leave out the helmet because you never had one made in the first place, instead you opt for a thin chainmail headpiece that connects with an intricate veil of dagger-like chains, and a delicate but protective silver chain mask caging over your mouth.

Albeit none of what you’re wearing can be seen by any pair of eyes just yet. Even if a lot of the men are drunk or tipsy, some aren’t and others will still share what they saw no matter how intoxicated they are, so you throw a dark crimson-colored cloak over your cape, covering the dragon scale bodice that protects your chest and the twins growing inside you, and blends you with the shadows of the night.

Yet before you can rush out of the tent you snatch more arrows from your trunk, and then just before you're going to open the flaps, you spot Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel sword resting against a wooden pillar, and debate taking it, but not for long.

With a faint smirk tugging on your lips, you snatch the Valyrian steel sword, Blackfyre, and sneak out to your dragon Astraea to leave toward the Gullet in the cover of night.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Daeron and you would have been the bestest of friends with the lute and singing.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[midnight1nk]

EPISODE CONCEPT #4

What if... SMG3 had the courage to confess his feelings for the real SMG4?

[more below cut]

For context, this is part two of my Episode Concept #3 [link], which many have asked for! @starcrossed-prince this is for you! (this is somehow longer than #3, holy shit.) Now, without further ado…

I promise.

He could never forget the feeling of tangible pixels leaving his arms. What once skin and clothes turned into mere 0’s and 1’s.

Those eyes, the ones he was willing to sink in its depths for hours, they cried. Of apology, of bittersweet farewell. He promised a lot of things, and one was to never let Four cry.

But it was never your Four.

At the time, a thousand thoughts passed through his mind. That this was simply a nightmare, or he had gotten too drunk. Or he ate a Wonder Flower by accident. Somehow, some way, this can’t be happening. He wanted to deny it all, but he knew. Why deny the truth when he fading away in your arms?

Goodbye, Three…

“SMG3?”

Three jumped at the mention of his name, turning to Tari who looked back at him with concern.

Tari: “Oh, sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re okay. You’ve been staring at Lil’ Spot for a while.”

He blinked at her, and then looked down at the gray-feathered duckling nestle in his cupped hands. Ah, yeah, he was.

SMG3: “I was just daydreaming, that’s all.” [*looks around, recalling where he was*] “It really is a nice place. It’s not far from the Showgrounds, right?” Tari, smiles: “Yep, I always like to come down here, it helps me clear my head. Plus, I get to hang around with the duckies!” SMG3: [*nods and with a finger, he soothes the duckling’s head*] “You were right before, I could use the fresh air.” “Eh, Tari, a little help here?”

Three looked across the way to see a couple of yellow ducklings climbing all over SMG4, who was standing by the edge of the lake. All over on his arms, his shoulders, under his blue cap. As Tari ran over to help, Four trying to not let any of them fall while giggling, tickled by their fluffy feathers.

Three began to smile, and perhaps he could let his heart feel that missing warmth.

Have courage.

But the cautious part of him didn't let him. He should've known better, he apologized to his heart.

Not yet.

Four and Tari came back with the tamed ducklings lined up in their arms.

SMG4: “If I spent a little more time with these little guys, they're gonna think I’m their mom.” SMG3, hums: “You always did have a thing for being the center of the universe.” SMG4: “Hey, it's not like I do it on purpose.”

And yet, you managed to become mine. But Three kept that thought to himself.

Tari: “It's getting late, and I told Meggy I was making dinner tonight. I should probably get them back to their mother.” SMG4, handing the ducklings from his arms to hers: “Yeah, we should head home, SMG3.”

Three said goodbye to Lil' Spot before handing the duckling to Tari, who promptly went to drop them off and returned. While Four was distracted, folding up the picnic blanket, Three leaned towards Tari while keeping an eye on Four.

SMG3, whispered: “Tari, could you please do a simulation check?”

Tari looked at him, her concern reflecting once again. He has asked that everyday. Any chance he was with her, it was the same. The first few times, she tried assuring him, telling him, “It's okay, SMG3. There's no need, you’re safe now.”

But it never seemed to calm his nerves. As much as she wanted to protest, she knew that it wasn't an unreasonable exaggeration. Whatever the simulation did to him must've been really horrible for him not to tell anyone what happened. To think he was back.

Tari nodded and programmed a command on the floating screen projecting by her arm. A window popped up saying, No detection of simulation.

Tari: “All clear.” SMG3, letting out a sigh of relief: “Thanks. I owe you one.” Tari, letting out a small smile: “No worries, we’re your friends after all. Though, I wouldn't mind having one of your cookies again once you’re healed.” SMG3: [*chuckle*] “That I can do.” SMG4, swinging the backpack over his shoulder: “Alright, ready to go?”

SMG3 nods. After saying goodbye to Tari, SMG4 pushed SMG3’s wheelchair on the path towards the Showgrounds.

It’s been over a month since Three was freed from the simulation. The Crew wasted no time bringing him to the hospital. The rest, well, it seemed like a blur. To Three at least. The doctors and nurses, what they said, he never caught it. He was lucky that his friends were there to remember for him. Three wasn’t exactly sure what to feel. Should he grieve? Should he be grateful that the Crew found him and his son?

What he did know was the promise that he kept.

The Crew was naturally relieved to see he was in good hands, but anyone could tell that they were exhausted from the stress of the search. So, while Three was going through recovery, they took turns watching over him. The rest, who didn't have the shift, took the chance to rest.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

One night, Tari and Saiko were walking down the quiet hospital hall, Saiko holding a gift bag and Tari a duffle bag with colorful patches all over it.

Tari: “Do you think SMG3 will like the card?” Saiko: “He’s a big softie on the inside, of course he will. Let's just hope we can pry SMG4 away from him.” Tari: “You can't exactly blame SMG4. I mean, don't you remember? He didn't sleep for days, or even eat. He was worried sick.” Saiko: “But he needs rest too, not just us. SMG3 is rescued, he should let us take care of it, if he wasn't so stubborn.” Tari: “Well, that nurse did say SMG3 would be better soon. Maybe we convince SMG4 this time.”

They reached to Three's room, but they found an unexpected sight when they opened the door:

Four fell asleep on the chair beside the bed, his head resting on Three’s lap like a pillow. A sleeping Three had a hand gently on Four’s hair with all the tenderness and quiet reassurance in the world. What was free, their hands were intertwined. It was certainly a rare sight, and they seemed so at peace with each other.

Tari and Saiko shared a glance, a gentle smile.

Tari: “Aw, that's so cute.” [*snaps a picture for the group chat*] Saiko: “C’mon, let’s them be.”

Saiko tiptoed into the room and left the gift bag on the nearby table. Peering at them one last time, she gently closes the door. They could always come back tomorrow.

There, what awaited in the gift bag, were reminders of home. A bomb from his cafe, a mini-plush of Eggdog, a record of jazz music. A homemade card, one side filled with heartwarming messages and the other a drawing of all the Crew with the Castle in the background, one of the best works Melony has ever done.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG4: “I bet I can drink a thousand cans of Monster Energy.” SMG3: “Nah uh! You’re lucky I can’t drink that stuff yet because I would’ve totally beaten you!” SMG4: “Oh, really? Well, I can’t wait to see you try.”

The two laughed as they reached the Castle. Eggdog greeted them at the door, happy to see his dads (And yes, I know what I said, shh) after Three's physical therapy session and jumped into his dad’s arms for a quick hug. Beeg4 slowly followed his brother, only letting out a pufferfish noise as a small “hello”. He isn’t usually the affectionate type. Four went to get Three’s customized cane leaned against the wall, and helped Three get to his feet. (The cane was a gift from the Crew but Bob was the one who added neat little secrets for Three to use. Though, Bob wants it to be off the record that it isn’t because he’s gone soft or anything.)

Ever since Four proposed the idea for Three to stay at the Castle, this has become second nature for them. They switched out the wheelchair with the cane at home so Three would be more comfortable walking around. Plus, he would usually hold Four’s arm to lean on. After his physical therapy appointments, Four would cook up dinner for the whole family. Or see if there’s any leftovers or takeout on special occasions. Three recently got the approval to eat solid food again, and Three couldn't be more glad. He was honestly getting sick of the same old soups day after day. Well, even if they tasted good. And they all sit at their usual seats at the table, not that they assigned seats or anything. It felt natural.

And today was pizza night.

SMG3: “Y’know…” SMG4, setting the pizza down: “No.” SMG3: “Oh, c’mon. You haven’t even tried it, you big baby.” SMG4: “And I already know that your ‘Ultimate Pizza’ is a disgrace to culinary art. To your tastebuds. Who the hell puts baked beans on pizza?” SMG3: “Well, Eggdog likes it.” Eggdog, helping set the plates: [*happy bark*] SMG4: “Oh, so now you’re bringing the kids into this? C’mon, Beeg, help me out here.” [Beeg doesn’t respond] [*acts dramatically, like someone stabbed him in the heart*] “I’ve been betrayed. Pleh.” SMG3, shakes head amusingly: “Shut up and eat, idiot.” SMG4: “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.” [*taunting*] “Forever.” SMG3: “Oh no, whatever should I… do.”

He… said this before, hasn’t he?

SMG4, mouth full of pizza: “Uh, SMG3, you’re good?” SMG3: “Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” [*eats his slice somberly, looking away*]

Four kept his gaze on Three. He wanted Three to tell him what was in his mind. He wanted to reach out and hold his hand. Comfort him. They have been there for each other at the worst of times. At each other’s worst.

There were two things they shared with absolute certainty: (1) they’re both stubborn, and (2) they would put up a brave face for the people around them.

Four did, when he discovered Three and Eggdog missing from the cafe. He would put on a determined smile, telling the rest of the Crew that they would rescue Three. But he supposed they could see right through him. That he was crumbling. Three was the one who saved him when he went insane and was possessed by the demonic keyboard. How could he not be frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t do the same?

Biting into his pepperoni slice, Four thought to himself, if only there was a way to take away all the pain Three was feeling right now. If only Three would let go of the front he has and let him show his pain in front of Four. To let Four be his safe space.

There isn’t much he can do, other than to let Three come to him on his own terms. When he is ready.

After finishing up dinner and washing the dishes, they all went to Four’s room. Eggdog and Begg decided to play Jenga, Three sat on the bed scrolling through his phone, and Four went back to editing videos since there was a lot of catching up to do. The record player was playing jazz music, the LP cover was signed “To SMG3”. Three bobbed his head while Four hummed the notes, admittedly it was a great disc that they could both enjoy. After a while, Three reminded Four to take a break from the screen, to which Four immediately complied and sat next to Three.

SMG4: “How’s your legs?”

SMG3: “Tired. But not as bad as last time. Could you pass the pills?”

SMG4, grabbing the bottle and handing it to Three: “Well, you are getting better in today's therapy session. Just wait a bit more.”

When SMG3 grabbed his medication, they briefly touched. It normally wouldn’t mean anything, but there was a tingle. Of curiosity, of warmth. The two lightly blushed, which they quickly brushed it off. They sat in silence as Three swallowed the pills.

SMG3: [*held his jaw by the hand*] “Do you know what I miss the most?” [*looks at Four, who nods as a sign for him to go on*] “Dancing.”

Three didn’t lie, it was one of the things he loved to do. That, and one other reason...

After some thought, Four stood up from the bed. Three didn’t even notice until Four stood before him. Four cleared his throat, a tint of pink on his cheeks, and held out his hand.

SMG4: “Wanna dance?” SMG3: [*puzzled, looking at the hand to Four and back*] “SMG4, I think we should get you some glasses.” SMG4: [*amusingly rolling his eyes*] “’It doesn’t have to be perfect.’ Isn’t that what you always told me?” SMG3: [*starstruck at the remembrance of this memory, lightly chuckled*] “And you dare to use my own words against me.”

Four helped Three up to his feet, his arms being his only support instead of the cane or wheelchair. At first, it was naturally awkward, being that Three is still recovering. Their dancing, if you would even call it that, was more of them shuffling their feet around the floor. They didn’t care.

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars

Slowly, they melted in each other’s embrace. Oh, how easily it was to be lost in the other’s eyes, pools of ruby and sapphire. Secretly, they wished they could be like this forever.

Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In the back of Three’s mind, alarm bells were ringing loudly. It isn’t real. He just wants to be friends. Somehow, Three ignored it all the moment Four gave him a smile.

In other words, hold my hand In other words, darling, kiss me

What Three didn’t know, Four was lost in his own mind. The romanticist that he is, he’s freaking out in the inside like a high school girl. It felt like a scene in the romcom movies he watches. But it was real. Three taught him how to give second chances. Perhaps there was a chance now.

Fill my heart with song Let me sing forevermore

Three ran his fingers on Four’s sleeve. It’s real. He’s real.

You are all I long for All I worship and adore

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

In other words, please be true

His hope.

In other words, I love you

As the song ends, the two came to a stop, but they didn’t part. Once again, they were lost in each other’s world.

SMG3: “…We’ve stopped.”

SMG4: “We did? Then, why is a room still spinning?”

Being so close to the other man, the tension was high. Have courage.

Even then, it wasn’t enough. He’s not your Four. Three cleared his throat, looking away before any temptation got hold of him.

SMG3: “I’m… pretty tired, SMG4.” SMG4: “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” [*reaching to hand Three his cane, hiding his disappointment*] SMG3: “Thanks anyway.” [*walks out the door, preparing to go to bed*]

SMG4 stayed where he stood, his heart skipped a beat. It felt like a dream. He danced with his… Well, ‘friend’ was never the right word for him to label Three. Partner? Maybe.

Crush. Yeah… that sounds about right. Ever since Four was saved by Three, he never looked at their relationship the same way. “Just friends” was the stability for the longest time. The “safe” term. And yet, it was selfish to wish for something more. So much so that Four had dreams of a domestic life with Three. Holding hands, to lean to his touch. To…

Four shook his head. Three didn’t seem ready, or even interested. It was just part of his imagination and nothing more.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

The concrete halls were dark, cold by the touch. All was silent except for the dripping coming from an overhead pipe leak. Light shined through, daring the shadows to confrontation.

They didn’t think they’d be back, but here they were.

Mario, Meggy, and Saiko walked down the abandoned building, remembering their way to a specific room.

Meggy: “We’re getting close, guys. Keep your eyes peeled.” Saiko: “I seriously don’t see the point of us coming back here. Whoever did this is long gone.” Meggy: “Tari was telling me how SMG3 was, and… Look, whoever did this really messed him up. But they must’ve had some big plan for them to involve SMG3 in something. We gotta figure out what it was.” Saiko: “If you think it’s gonna help, fine. Like I said, I’m only here as backup.”

Finding the right door, they entered what was once the simulation room. The group split up and searched for any clues.

Saiko: “Looks like they didn’t come back here.” [*examines the monitor and finds a file of plans in creating the simulation*] Meggy: [*picks up the simulation machinery*] “It’s completely busted. Find anything, Red?” Mario: “No.” [*trips over a hidden box, spilling its contents*] “Ow, my ass.” Meggy: “Are you alright?” Mario: [*rubbing his head*] “Yeah.” [*looks at what he tripped over*] “Hey, I found SMG3’s clothes!” Saiko: “Clothes?”

Indeed, there was a pair of black overalls, a dark blue long-sleeve, and a familiar cap. Meggy picked up the cap, spinning it in her hands. Seeing the “M” emblem, she recognized it immediately. SMG3 wore this getup before the redesigns, and she knew why the “M” was attached.

Meggy: “The Youtube remote. They were trying to make SMG3 into a villain again.”

Mario and Saiko exchanged a glance, seeing the situation at hand. To force Three into a villain again…

Saiko: “You guys get out of here.” Mario and Meggy: “What?” Saiko: “The simulation machinery may be destroyed but it doesn’t mean another one can’t be built.” [*presents the file to them*] “That person’s going to come back and get their things, maybe continue with their plan. They already hurt one of us, it can’t happen again. You guys get out of here, I’ll take care of it.”

Mario and Meggy looked at each other before giving a nod. Saiko was right, the culprit always comes back at the scene of the crime after all. The two left, leaving Saiko alone in the room. She picked up a lighter and lit the file blueprints, watching these plans of cruelty burn to a crisp. She was lucky to buy one of Three’s bombs just for a moment like this. She lit up and ran out, letting the explosive destroy it all. The clothes, the plans. The building itself. Every single bit to a crisp.

No one messes with the Crew. No one.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

“Three?”

SMG3 opens his eyes, widening as he recognizes his surroundings. The white void.

SMG3: [*heavy breathing*] “No, no, no.”

He turned his heel, ready to run, when he was stunned to see…

SMG3: “…SMG4?” SMG4: “God, you really are pathetic.”

Three is left stunned.

SMG4: “I mean, did you really think I had feelings for you? I’m only taking care of you because I feel bad.” [*walks over to Three*] SMG3: “I thought—” SMG4: “Oh, you thought? Please, get a grip on what’s real here.” [*harshly grabbed onto Three’s arm*] Villains don’t get happy endings.” SMG3: “Four, you’re hurting me. Stop it. Just stop!”

Suddenly, Four went limp, starting to fall over.

SMG3: “Four!” [*catching him*]

Three turns Four over to see his face half of it was pixelated, fading away.

SMG4?: “You… couldn’t keep your promise.” SMG3: “No… I… I’m trying. I really am.” Digital SMG4: “I got a chance to live, to experience love of all things.” [*his voice quickly distorting*] “And you ruined it all.” SMG3: “No, it’s not true. It’s not!” Digital Four: “Why, Three? Why did you have to be so cruel?”

In that moment, Four faded away, its code in the wind.

SMG3: “No, no no!”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

SMG3: ”NO!”

Three jolted up from the bed. A hand clutching at his shirt, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Four, who slept right next to his partner, also woke up.

SMG4: “SMG3. Three. It’s okay, that dream isn’t real. It’s not real.” [*his hands gently cradled Three’s face*] “Easy, easy, easy.”

Three finally came to his senses, grounded by Four’s reassurance. His heavy breathing settled until his panic was no more.

SMG4: [*his thumb caresses the other’s cheek*] “See? It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

From the calmness and comfort of his hands, Three leaned into his touch. What he dreamed of, that wasn’t his Four. They stayed like this, the air becoming heavy. Until Three reached to grab Four’s hand from his cheek, but he didn’t shoo the other man away.

SMG4: “Three…” SMG3: “I can’t. Sorry…”

SMG4 sighed, once again unable to reach him. But there still had to be a way to help Three.

SMG4: “Hey, do you think you can sleep again?” SMG3: [*shakes his head*] “No.” SMG4: [*gets up from bed and grabs Three’s shoes*] “C’mon, I wanna show you something.”

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Three had no idea where Four was taking him, but here they were: walking through the woods still in their pajamas, in hoodies, and shoes. They weren’t in a rush but Four was seemingly eager to show him this mystery. He looked at Four without the other noticing.

Me, the Crew, everything, it's an exact copy of the real thing.

The Four in the digital world was a mere copy. But even a copy could never show him what he was about to see:

Beyond the woods, there was a field of white flowers. Open to the beautiful stars above. The two sat down and looked at the view.

SMG4: “Whenever I get a nightmare, I always come here. I just happened to stumble upon this place by accident. But it somehow clears my head. Especially after… the ‘perfect’ incident.” [*small chuckle*] “I guess there are some things we can't get over.”

Three looks at him, hanging on to every word.

SMG4: “I care a lot about you, SMG3. More than you could ever realize. But it hurts to see when you’re trying to keep it all together. I know that feeling all too well. I can’t force you to tell me what happened in the simulation, but know that whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”

Their hands got closer together. Their pinkies touched, they noticed but didn’t show.

SMG3: “I don’t know if you should. All the people I care about don’t stay for long. I’m unlikable, SMG4. I’m a villain and always will be.” SMG4: [*shakes head*] “You’ve changed. Besides, I like you. All of you.” [*their pinkies intertwined*] SMG3: “Four…” SMG4: “No, I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t leave you. Whatever you wish me to be, I will be it. A friend, a partner. Someone you can talk to. Anything.”

The air felt heavy once again, and everything became a blur. The silent wind passed through their hair. Have courage.

SMG3: [*gulping*] “…Then, let me ask: are you real?”

A free hand from Four held the other’s face.

SMG4: [*briefly looking at Three’s lips*] “As real as you want me to be.”

Whatever stopped him several times before, Four cut those ties loose. He leaned forward, his eyes slowly closing. He was patient and ready to see if Three would reject him. But Three didn’t and let Four close the gap.

A soft kiss, it was brief. It was tender. It was real.

Three kissed back, letting the other know he reciprocated. They parted for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move.

SMG3: “Then, be true for me.”

They went for a second kiss, this time with passion and longing. This. This cleared every doubt they had before. Their insecurities, whatever held them down. Three wrapped his arms around Four’s neck while other did the same, around Three’s back. If this was a dream, screw it, let them dream. This time, nothing was going to take it away from them.

A single tear rolled down Three's cheek. It's been a while, hasn't it?

SMG3, talking in between kisses: “I love you, Four. I always have.” SMG4, doing the same: “I love you too, Three. I wanted you for so long.” SMG3, parting from kiss: [*laugh*] “Oh? Did you now?” SMG4, turning bright red: “Uh.. c’mon, dude, don’t ruin the moment. It’s not my fault you’re attractive.” SMG3, mischievously leaning to Four: “Really?” SMG4: “Shit.”

Three nuzzled into Four’s neck, kissing all over and leaving Four laughing at how ticklish it was.

SMG4, bursting in laughter: “Three, s-stop!” SMG3, whispered: “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one who thought the same.”

Oh, how wonderful was it to listen to the sounds Four makes.

His shooting star, his sweet prince.

His Four.

After a while, the two catch their breath. They leaned onto each other, held hands, and looked back at the stars.

SMG4: “I promise I’ll be true for you.” [*gave Three's hand a squeeze*] SMG3: [*hums, returning the gesture*] “Well then, I’ll do the same for you.”

Three held many promises, one was to never let Four cry. Now, there was another: to be his truest self.