#flow & plough

[flipchild]

2020-1 fragments of my pocket notebook

[1mlei]

Dead on Main Soulmate AU [Part 1]

Everyone has a soulmate. They can be either romantic or platonic, and the intensity of the bond varies, but everyone has a soulmate.

According to every person that has met their soulmate, the feeling of finally finding your special someone is unmistakable.

But to help you along, everyone is also born with a tiny red heart tattooed on the inside of their wrist. The heart beats if you're close to your soulmate, and when you meet them the tattoo turns golden.

It is also known, that when your soulmate dies the heart fades to black, and won't ever beat again.

Now insert Danny and Jason into this scenario.

This turned sadder than I intended it to be :')

-------

Next part | Masterpost

-------

Danny has a heart on his wrist like everyone else, and he has all but confirmed that his soulmate doesn't live in Amity, which he's secretly very happy about.

The thing is, Danny dies when he's 14 years old. Sure he comes back to life afterwards, but the damage is done. He'd looked into it to make sure, there are cases of someone very briefly passing away before being resuscitated. In each of these cases, their soulmate's tattoo would fade to black, regardless if they had met or not.

Danny knows that his soulmate believes him to be dead, and there's nothing he can do about it. He doesn't know what will happen when they meet, will the heart shift or stay black? Any reports he could find online about the subject didn't delve into what happens beyond the heart fading.

As for Danny's own tattoo, it remains mostly unaffected by his death. There is a fascinating side-effect of the heart changing from red to green when he goes ghost, most probably because he stops relying on his heart, switching to his core, which runs on ectoplasm.

But that aside, Danny doesn't notice a difference. His heart is still it's regular old red colour whenever he's human.

There's nothing he can do about any of it until he actually meets his soulmate, so until then it's a waiting game.

--------

Jason was 13 years old when his soulmate died.

It had been a regular afternoon, he was hidden away in the manor's library with a big stack of books he was planning to plough through.

It happened as he was simply turning a page. The red heart on his wrist caught his eye, and he froze in terror.

It just turned to black.

It didn't fade like what people have described, oddly enough. Instead, it flickered back and forth between red and black, as if unsure where to settle, before it stopped and stayed firmly black.

Jason just sat there, refusing to take his eyes off his tattoo.

That was where Alfred found him hours later, after the sun had set and the natural light in the library consisted solely of the dim glow from the moon.

The butler had originally sought out the boy to inquire about his absence at dinner, but could tell at a glance that something was very wrong. He approached carefully.

"Master Jason? Is everything quite alright?"

Jason numbly turned his head up to look at Alfred. He looked at the man that was always there when he needed him, even when Jason was damn sure he didn't deserve it.

He looked into the kind eyes of the man that had become like a grandfather to him, and he finally stopped holding back.

He wept silently, allowing his eyes to let out the tears he had been holding back. The tears flowed down his face, and had anyone other than his grandfather Alfred been watching he would have been embarrassed by the pitiful sniffling sound he let out as he wiped at his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand.

He wordlessly held out his wrist, showing the now firmly pitch-black heart stamped there.

The moment Alfred laid eyes on the tattoo his heart clenched, the older man feeling a pain that was beyond words with the realization of what his grandson was going through this early in his life. He quickly reached out and held Jason in a tight embrace.

For the first time in many, many decades he felt incapable of fulfilling his job.

After all, how do you comfort a child that has just had their one special person, their other half, cruelly ripped away from them before they even got to lay eyes on each other?

"I'm so sorry my boy."

As much as he loathed it, the words were all Alfred had to offer.

He wanted to curse the world, for doing this to the poor boy. Yet all he found himself able to do was silently pray for a miracle, that this wouldn't be the boy's fate.

-------

Next part | Masterpost

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

aftercare with miguel o’hara

(18+ minors dni, fem!reader) - filthy start then goes into aftercare

wc || 743

masterlist

was requested here :)

- the good stuff under the cut -

"I know, baby," he coos right under your ear, praising you as he pulls another orgasm out of you. He draws out your fourth release, talking you through it. "I'm almost there, querida. I'm right there," he mutters, his words shaky and breathless as he ruts into you.

His hands are desperate, clasping around your throat and breast like it was the only thing he needed. Ploughing into you urgently, his balls heavy and hard against your ass as he chases his release, insistently fucking you in the way he wants. He spews a few Spanish curses as he pulses inside you, murmuring while erratically twitching, spilling his warm load deep inside. His groans of pleasure are animalistic, deprived even.

He sloppily fucks his come into you, somewhat lazily, staring at the way his arousal leaks from you, drips out of you. He reluctantly drags his softening cock from you, looking at your pussy as he does so. Watching how you'd clasp and clamp around nothing, around his absence, how you'd visibly miss the consuming feeling of his cock buried in you. He reaches over your jolting naked body underneath him, kissing your lips as though it was his way of showing he cares, tenderly working over them to comfort and praise you for being so good to him, thanking you almost. "Cariño," he whispers against your lips, his words warm and tender, much unlike how they were before. "You're so sweaty," he lowly chuckles, pushing the damp hairs around your forehead to the side and placing a sweet, light kiss on the centre of it. "Come on," he whispers, extending a hand.

Miguel is often an enigma to you. How could someone so cold, harsh and mean be so soft, loving and sweet? He's always the latter with you. He would never treat you the same way he treats the others. You were special. You were his. 

He flicks on the water in the shower, and as he waits for it to get hot, he walks back to you, slowly stalking over to you, his softened cock hitting his thigh with every step. His frame is dominating and broody in front of you, but his expressions are delicate and gentle as he cups your cheeks. He gazes into your sweet eyes like you're the most precious and valuable thing, the one sworn thing he wants to protect.  

His big hand laces into yours, warm and gentle as he guides you to the shower, helping you in and following closely after. His hands are back around your face, cupping your jaw as he tilts your head back into the flowing water, being cautious not to push too far back or the water would get in your nose. Sweetly and silently wetting your hair, loosening the sweat from your hairline. "So beautiful," he whispers, watching the water bead around your face. 

He carefully twists you around so that your back is to him, picking up the shampoo bottle from the floor to lather into your hair, scrubbing your scalp with his strong fingers. He rinses and repeats, being mindful not to get the suds in your eyes, treating you like he's aware. Attentively and thoughtfully. He then judiciously combs conditioner through your somewhat matty hair, doing as he's seen you do a hundred times before.

He spins you back to him, smiling at the cute expression on your face, looking at you with nothing but admiration. He pulls your loofah from the hook, squirting your favourite scent of shower gel onto the netted fabric before gently scrubbing over you, cleaning you with a grin on his face, one that matches yours. 

After he washes you, he puts you under the flowing water to keep you warm as he cleans himself, washing his hair and body with eyes glued on yours, gazing at you. He joins you under the shower head shortly after to rinse the suds, kissing you tenderly in between.

Miguel slips from your touch, reaching outside the glass door to retrieve two towels. Turning off the water, he wraps you in the soft fabric, patting you dry before doing the same with himself, draping the towel over his bottom half, exposing his deep v. 

He ushers you to the bedroom, placing one of his t-shirts over you after blotting you dry. He throws on a pair of joggers before turning to face you, his features soft and compassionate, glimmering with charm. "Hungry?"

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[honeyflashbang]

My theory on Sampo's true identity...

(Minor Spoilers for 2.4) (also, I’m no expert in… anything, really, but these are just my ramblings).

So, this has probably been mentioned before, but I have a teeny-tiny theory about Sampo’s true identity, and it relates to Finnish mythology.

So, “Sampo” in and of itself doesn’t have a set meaning, but it has its roots in Finnish mythology, particularly the “Kalevala” which is a 19th-century compilation of epic poetry. In it, a blacksmith god by the name of Seppo Ilmari(nen) forges the mythical device known as “The Sampo”. It’s never quite explained what The Sampo really is; some versions depict it as a mill, others as a cornucopia from which bountiful creations flow from, and some even have it as being a world tree/world pillar, so what The Sampo really is, isn’t entirely known. But, what is known, is that it brought riches and good fortune to its holder (again, the same as the cornucopia from Greek mythology).

But why am I mentioning all of this? Why bring up the Kalevala? It could be that Hoyo just chose the name “Sampo” for some flavour—befitting of a character who magics up relics from seemingly thin air and is trying to create riches—and yeah, it’s a possibility…

Until I saw these two screenshots from the 2.4 story:

You know what this means, right? 

Kalevala is a real planet in Hoyo’s Star Rail universe, and I find it awfully coincidental that they would use this name for a planet and not have it related to a certain blue haired conman, especially since The Sampo is such a pivotal element in the plot of the Kalevala—there is no way this is a coincidence (I refuse to believe it).

This leads me to believe that Kalevala is Sampo’s real home world, and is where he originates from.

Now, this is all well and good, knowing where “The Sampo” hails from, but I want to focus on its creator—Seppo Ilmari(nen)—and his parallels to a certain blue haired conman. For one, Ilmari(nen)’s name is quite interesting as the ‘Ilma’ part is Finnish for ‘air’ or ‘weather’, and as we know, Sampo’s element is that of ‘wind’ (And also the fact that Ilmari(nen) is credited as “Godlike smith-hero and creator of the sky”. I could go into a whole spiel about Ilmari(nen) and Qlipoth swinging their giant hammers in tandem together for all eternity (Go Sampard! Geppie is Qlipoth's true heir, you can't convince me otherwise!), but that’s for another conspiracy theory lol).

So, ‘Ilma’ means ‘air’, and Sampo wields ‘wind’.

Cool.

If the parallels ended there, I’d just say I was being crazy… but there’s more.

Sampo’s 4th (and arguably best) eidolon is called “The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate”. Two out of his six eidolons refer to 'love', whilst the other 4 are to do with wealth and riches. The wealth and richest aspect leans towards The Sampo of mythology, whilst the ‘love’ aspect, well…

According to the story, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is the unluckiest bastard alive when it comes to love. Like, seriously. His whole storyline is that he can’t find a woman. For one, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is double crossed by his so called buddy, Väinämöinen, into creating The Sampo for the evil witch Louhi of Pohjola in exchange for her daughter’s hand in marriage (which, Ilmari didn’t even want in the beginning), but when the poor guy actually sees the daughter and falls in love with her (and subsequently creates the Sampo—after failing miserably a number of times, mind you—he creates a crossbow, a boat, a cow(wtf?) and a plough, all which are somehow either evil or flawed), she ups and just leaves him hanging! (in the original runes, however, he is successful in gaining a wife, as his ‘unlucky in love’ spiel was later added by Lönnrot in compiling the Kalevala).

As with any mythology and re-telling of it, there’s so many different versions of the same event. In “The Maiden of the North”, a 1898 opera written by Oskar Merikanto, both Ilmarinen and Väinämöinen compete for the chance to marry Louhi’s daughter, who is then mentioned as being “Ilmari(nen)’s first wife” and who later dies to Kullervo’s curse (apparently she was a bit of a bitch to Kullervo by taunting and tormenting the poor boy—who was a child slave mind you!). Distraught, Ilmari(nen) forges himself a wife of gold and silver, but he finds her to be too cold and callous—he forges her out of love but only finds hate—so he tries to gift her to Väinämöinen (who doesn’t want her either, lol), and suggests he cast her back into the furnace and to “forge from her a thousand trinkets”.

Here’s the accompanying poem:

Never, youths, however wretched,

Nor in future, upgrown heroes,

Whether you have large possessions,

Or are poor in your possessions,

In the course of all your lifetime,

While the golden moon is shining,

May you woo a golden woman,

Or distress yourselves for silver,

For the gleam of gold is freezing,

Only frost is breathed by silver.

It is apparently your standard Aesop’s fable of “money can’t buy happiness”, which is something else I see in our dear old Sampo Koski. During our time in Belobog, we see how different he acts with the Underworld and Overworlders. To the poor, he actually seems approachable (albeit a bit of a nuisance), going so far as to help the Underworlders (an example being the questline “Survival Wisdom” in which he and Peak set up a business together renting out his tools to help the miners make a decent wage to support their families). In contrast, we actively see Sampo being very hostile towards the Overworlders, scamming them and putting the nobles in their place or setting them up to be caught by the Silvermane Guards (an example being during the museum questline where you discover his identity as “Mr Cold Feet”. Sampo clearly states to who he thinks is his mark that ‘we are not friends’ in a very hostile manner, something which we’ve not seen from Sampo before as he is usually quite amicable). 

For all Sampo’s showboating and flashing his money around, he helps where it counts. He wants to make money, sure, but not at the detriment of the people who need it the most, only to those with excess.

Anyway, back to him being unlucky in love…

In another rune entitled “Kosinta”, Ilmari(nen) goes on a journey to compete for Hiisi’s daughter, and wins by completing various feats, one of them being “ploughing a field full of snakes”:

And as we know, Sampo is very heavy on the snake motifs (the head of the snake on his shoulders, the spine wrapped around him, the daggers are its fangs…etc.)

So that’s another interesting link between Seppo Ilmari(nen) and Sampo Koski.

So, why have I gone on this long winded tangent about Seppo Ilmari(nen) when I’m supposed to be talking about Sampo Koski?

Well, that’s because I think Sampo Koski’s real name is (or a variant of) Ilmarinen.

In the Hoyo universe, I believe Ilmarinen came from the planet Kalevala and ‘created’ the persona of Sampo Koski, much like how in the Kalevala, Seppo Ilmari(nen) forged The Sampo.

As I’ve listed above, there’s so many links between the two:

“Air” as a name and “Wind” as an element.

Seppo Ilmari(nen) ploughed a field of snakes to win Hiisi’s daughter’s hand in marriage, whilst Sampo Koski relies heavily on snake motifs for his attire.

Sampo’s two eidolon names that relate to love (which are completely different from the other 4 eidolon names), whilst Seppo Ilmari(nen) is known to be unlucky in love.

I’m pretty damn sure Sampo creates his own bombs and tinkers with the old relics to bring them back to life, whereas Seppo Ilmari(nen) is a smith who created the dome of the sky! They’re both artificers!

And now the revelation that a planet by the name of “Kalevala” exists is no mere coincidence.

So, either Sampo is Ilmari(nen) - or! - Sampo is a puppet (like Herta) created by someone called Ilmari(nen). 

(I would love if his 5* version is him with this name).

Right, I’m finished rambling. Gonna go huff some copium...

[sluttysanemi]

༉‧₊˚.

POSITIONS

c/w: smut, oral (f and m receiving), brief descriptions of different postions yk yk..

a/n: everyone put on ur party hats we hit 100. while no love's serendipity yet- still very much in the works,, perhaps.. u can read a sneak peak of a chapter on my personal web here... (trust me guys hahaha!!! just an itsy bit of a flash warning. be sure to click on the little smiley face if ur on laptop!)

Sanemi, who invites you to sit on his face as he pleases your cunt, caressing his hands along your thigh and savoring the silky smoothness of your body.

He can't stop himself, laying a palm around the base of his cock. He slowly pumps himself whilst his tongue glides along your clit. 

Sanemi, who studies you through half-closed eyes as you slide your hips along his shaft. His chest heaves, and a flush emerges on his face. 

His teeth are sunk to his lower lip as he strains to control his satin whines of delight. 

Sanemi, who holds your torso and pounds his shaft into your cunt, watching from behind. His blunt fingers plough into your flesh as he throws his head back in ecstasy, delivering you both into a sinful nirvana. 

Sanemi, who embraces you tight, your chest pressing against his. His hips rocked softly, back and forth. His fingers tighten against the sheets, sensing how you clench and convulse around him. 

Beads of sweat flow across his face as he pants quietly against your ear, praising you lovingly.

Sanemi, who has his fingers tangled in your hair, whilst your lips are encased around his dick. His hips buck delicately into your mouth as he settles his head against the wall, groaning heavily. 

“Sweet girl– fuck.. Suck that cock..”

Sanemi, who delights in breeding you full of his seed, to establish his claim on you. He'll hold you close to his chest, as you fall slumber to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Sanemi, who loves you sincerely, in a manner that words cannot express. And, while he may struggle to express it on occasion, he will always convey it to you through acts of pleasure. 

[madammidnightsblog]

This isn’t my normal post or anything related to femdom BUT I HAD TO WRITE IT!! Call Of Duty Brainrot is real 😵‍💫

How I believe 141 are in bed:

John Price: he is a rough and hard lover in bed, almost never gentle because he is so pent up and frustrated due to missions and handling the constant stress as Captain, but don’t worry, does great aftercare. He is very experienced after all. Has safe words in place if it’s too much for you, big in DDLG/DDLB and has a Daddy kink. Something about you makes him wild and feel young so be a dear and get on daddy’s thigh and show him how good you are. He will make sure you’re all nice and dumb after the done and will draw you a bath and make you a snack after before letting you sleep. This man has been around long enough to know how to treat someone after a good fuck so you won’t have to worry about being neglected during and after it.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley: my personal belief on this scary Lieutenant, when it comes to sex he is soft and gentle. Don’t get me wrong, I feel like if asked or needed to, he will be hard but very aggressive. If it’s a simple hookup, he is aggressive, hard, and almost hateful due to all the anger and stress built up over time. He has been through some shit and needs an outlet at times that isn’t cracking skulls or working out. But, when it comes to falling in love, he is a gentle lover as he fears his large body and strength will crush them. He’s a man of few words but his actions show he’s emotions.

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish: Now, this man is rough and loud, he loves making sure you feel so good. He is the type to go at it for hours with lots of foreplay and even some tongue action, he isn’t afraid to get between those pretty thighs and tasting that sweet nectar. Petplay is his favorite kink as he loves to dress you up in such pretty puppy ears and tails and putting a pretty collar around your neck- you’re a good puppy, right? You’ll never know with this man though, one minute he’s cuddling you and calling you his sweet baby, then the next he has you ass up and face down while he’s ploughing into that sweet, wet hole of yours and calling you his dumb cock loving mutt :).

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick: Is a sweet mix of rough and gentle, he loves to go with the flow and allow you to choose what you’re in the mood for. He doesn’t care how it’s done, your pleasure is what he’s after and he’ll be damned if you went a night without him between those thighs. He has a high limbo, surprisingly higher than Soap’s, maybe it’s because he’s the youngest or maybe because you’re just so damn pretty- he’s not sure but he doesn’t care. He isn’t the type to care about titles but being called baby? Oh, you got him hooked. Kyle is another man of few words and shows his love and that’s him between those thighs, tongue buried deep in your sopping hole while you wrap your thighs around his head. Be a sweet girl/boy, make it hard for him to breathe, okay?

[rorydrawsandwrites]

One for joy and one for sleep, One for sour, one for sweet. You give and You give and You give.

Maggots nested softly in cotton, Eating up wrinkles of thought in your head. Pictures that crawl and fingers that reach and Tufts of entropy hanging by a thread.

They’re not a part of this world anymore. Not a part of any world.

One for edges, One for tears, One for haze and One for sleep.

You give and You give and You give.

Tears and tears and farce and fierce and Poking words and prying ears. Sharing eyes and sharing fears and Clawing on through all these years. (Still can feel those daggers pierce.)

The rot setting in, the discombobulated Failure, refused to comply, Jagged edges rearing their ugly heads once more And hatred, seething, unabating. Put it back together, tear apart and reassemble What never was whole. (Stop acting so selfish.)

Wet, viscous remembrance in veins Ever-flowing, hardly satisfied. Clinging like tinfoil, loosely bound, The very act of mourning deified. (It’s not helping anyone.)

An oakwood statue. A ghost. Relic of the times lost in fog. Staring, Unseeing. A place where we can’t reach. But does it exist? (I wish you’d speak to me again.)

They take and you give And you give and You give.

Bread and must and Wheat and wine, I forget it Every time. What you lose won’t Weigh your mind, Rhymeless tunes and Wordless rhymes. Dance your way through restless lives.

Making beds in Cheerful song, Spotless hallways, Standing strong. Patchwork, dishes, Wounds and stitches, Smiling stiffly All along. (Never let them tell you you’re wrong.)

The maggots turn up the Earth again, And you till it. Despite that it’s barren. If you didn’t sing and didn’t plough, Then why would you be?

So they take more and You give And you give And you give.

[emeritusemeritus]

Vulnera Sanentur [Weasley Twins x Reader]

Part 11

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Title: Vulnera Sanentur

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley {established relationship} mentions of Snape x Reader.

Timeline: DH1&2- Initially set during the battle of the seven potters. Canon and certain plot points have been altered for the needs of the story.

Summary: The battle of the seven Potters throws your world into chaos when one of your boyfriend’s is cursed. As Snape’s ex-potions assistant and previous protégée, you recognise the inflicted curse immediately and demand answers from your mentor.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of war and Voldy, descriptions of injury and blood, descriptive smut, p in v sex, shower sex, tension. Outside sex. Semi public sex. None sexual nudity. Crying. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Arguments. Probably some cursing. Mentions of nightmares. Reader is part of the Order of the Phoenix. Mentions of death (Dumbledore). Mentions of Tonks’ pregnancy. On it got a angsty. So much angst I can’t tag it all. Not spellchecked nor beta read, we die like Madeye.

Only a few more chapters left to go now. This one hurt my Severus loving heart🖤

It's cold and dark in your mind but your body feels like it's on fire, trapped in an inferno that won't end. You'd scream if you could but you're trapped, rendered silent and frozen as your insides blaze without reprieve. Your suffering continues though you fight through it, ploughing on even with a pain-clouded mind and blurry vision as the blood continues to pour from your body.

You try and focus your eyes upon your opponent, forcing yourself to look harder and be stronger, using what little power you have left to continue to fight.

Nagini is hissing wildly, her huge, thick body roiling on the floor as if she's under the cruciatus curse, pain consuming her. There's a sound emitting from her that sounds ungodly, a mixture between a hiss and a scream that makes you feel as if your own throat is burning through the awful sound. Her body vibrates, continuing to convulse on the floor and you take a moment to back away, stumbling backwards as you slide across the floor, not realising until that moment that you'd fallen to your knees. The sharp rubble slices at your hands but you don't feel it, your mind screaming at you knowing you needed to get a safe distance away.

You fix your wand upon the multiple, horrifying gashes in Nagini's body, leaking both blood and black liquid which had mixed together to form the most grotesque sight you could fathom. The skin around her wounds was quickly turning black and your consciousness was fading in and out though you fought to pull every ounce of strength from yourself to focus. Taking steadying breaths, you think of Severus, the dear friend you had lost, feeling more than ever that you needed him right now.

"Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur."

You drag your wand across her skin, watching at the lines on her body heal but not completely. It draws the black liquid out of her slowly, like pulling an invisible thread out and you watch in relief as the wounds begin to lose their black hue.

You were weak, much weaker than you hoped to be and you knew with little consolation that you might not be able to get out of this, your own blood still dripping onto the floor by your feet. Your eyes were closing on their own accord, exhaustion overcoming you no matter how hard you fought.

You dragged your wand over your own skin now, trying desperately to stop the blood flow, seeing the black venom infecting the deep gashes on your arm. The incantation was weak but you managed to draw the black venom out of your arm, just. The wounds were far from closed but the blood flow had slowed and that was all you could do.

It hadn't worked. Nagini was still a snake, not the woman you'd had seen in your mind; nothing you had done had worked. You forced yourself in your last moments to think of your boyfriends, their infectious laughter and gorgeous smiles. A loop of memories played in your mind, a montage of favourite moments together throughout the years. The first time you met, the first kisses, the last kisses and everything in between. They had each other, you reasoned, feeling a slither of peace at that very fact, knowing that whatever happened to you, they wouldn't be alone.

Your eyes briefly opened again upon hearing a haunting sound, a hissing that only increases with volume and intensity, immediately causing you to enter an internal fight or flight reaction though your body was still paralysed with exhaustion. Your mind takes a few moments to realise exactly what is happening as you register the figures of two people nearby, their outlines becoming clearer with each passing moment as your vision cleared, though you couldn't hold your eyes open for long.

Ron and Hermione.

You were encased around the large, wrapped trunk of Nagini's body, though you felt no pressure on your limbs, no constriction. The snake was wildly hissing at Ron and Hermione who were trying to approach you with horrified eyes, their wands fixed upon the snake with conviction. She was protecting you.

"Ron no! If you miss, you'll hit y/n!" Hermione wailes, tugging on his arm which had his wand aimed at Nagini. He looked furious, more angry than you'd ever seen him, a look in his eyes which showed he was out for revenge. The snake hisses in fury at Ron, sensing his intentions and gives a warning snap of it's head, showing the vicious fangs to warn them away. You can only see the side profile but even from your limited view, the blood covered fangs and healed but visible gashes across her body were a terror inducing sight.

Closing your eyes, you tried to connect to Nagini, finding nothing in the darkness behind your eyes. You're exhausted, both mentally and physically but you push harder, searching deeper and further in your mind for any sign of the snake, but there's nothing, the connection had been broken.

You open your eyes, feeling it easier now as the light no longer hurts your eyes, finding strength in the knowledge that something had changed, something must have worked.

You shift slightly, attempting to think of ways to get out of Nagini's hold and almost instantly she senses your movement. You reach blindly for your wand but feel nothing, preparing yourself for the imminent attack, but nothing comes. Instead, she unfurls herself from around you and with one last vicious hiss in Ron and Hermione's direction, she turns to you, watching you carefully as she peels her body away from yours, shifting to lie between you and your friends. You don't break her gaze, eyeing her carefully with the knowledge that she might attack the second you looked away.

You look into her eyes and see the woman staring back at you in your mind, looking frightened and lost, her eyes drawing you in. You feel compelled to explain, though she may not understand and there's no denying that the truth could cause her to attack, the uncertain nature of the serpentine creature only making you more afraid.

"You know don't you, what needs to be done," you say gently, still looking into her eyes. She continues to look at you and there's a momentary pause that passes where she doesn't respond in anyway, making you feel foolish for trying to communicate with the snake. She suddenly shifts her head and you immediately throw up your hand to stop Ron from moving forward as he prepares to lurch towards you, wand still aimed at the snake threateningly, his grip so tight you can see that his fingers have turned white. Her head slowly nods, though it's minuscule in movement.

There's a brief flash of embarrassment you feel at connecting this way with a creature but you sense that she can understand you completely.

"If there was another way," you begin to say but the rest of the words catch in your throat. Truthfully, you didn't know any other way of how to save her, of how to kill the Horcrux inside her without her perishing. Her head sinks to the floor, near your leg and suddenly she doesn't feel like a threat anymore. You sit there for some time, not knowing how to proceed, feeling like you'd reached an impasse.

All it took was a large bang out in the courtyard for the temporary armistice to be broken. Ron ran to the main doors just around the corner to look at what had caused the crash and he looked horrified as he explained with difficulty that Harry and Voldemort were duelling. It had to be now.

You turned to Nagini and noticed almost instantly how her demeanour had changed, her eyes no longer conveying any of the sadness or understanding, but instead looked cold and hardened. Her body had tensed and her tail had curled into her body tighter, all signs of alarming defensiveness. You understood immediately; the Horcrux within her was sensing her master only metres away. She could sense his danger, the treat to his life, which meant that the Horcrux within her, the slither of Voldemort's soul was also in danger.

Time seemed to slow as you realised too late the danger you were in, your proximity to the seemingly possessed snake putting you in imminent peril, especially without a wand. You ran, scrambling away until you backed up towards the wall, looking for some way of hiding, dragging Hermione with you so that she would be safe. It was like the predator in her had awoken, the last semblance of humanity drained from her mind as her body tenses, her body stiffening as she prepared to attack. You were defenceless and Hermione only had mere seconds to adjust to you throwing her back, as Ron leapt forward to protect her before Nagini lunged.

You watched at the snake flew through the air, her mouth wide open and blood soaked mouth hurtling towards you with an unstoppable force. You force yourself to think of your beloved boyfriends a s of your lost friend, desperately clinging to the love you'd received throughout your life as you waited for the attack.

But no pain came. Your eyes had closed on their own accord and you opened them tentatively to see a billowing cloud of black smoke rising in the air, clearing slowly to show the figure of Neville, bloodied and panting hard, the sword of Gryffindor in his hands. He'd done it, the very last Horcrux was dead.

Ron and Hermione held on to each other for the longest time, the near death experience pulling them closer together. You looked at Neville and leapt to your feet, throwing your arms around him. He stumbled briefly having not anticipated your embrace but held strong, wrapping his spare arm around you as you hugged him in both celebration and appreciation.

Then, you saw the translucent figure of a woman before you . It was the very same woman you'd seen in your mind, through the connection with Nagini. She was beautiful, the contrast of her dark hair and pale skin looked vibrant once again. The spirit's connection was brief, lingering just long enough for her to nod once at you, bowing her hair before she disappeared. You had done it, her spirit had been freed. The spell, your blood, mixed with hers and the venom really had worked.

You turned to Hermione and Ron, pulling away from Neville and found them to be staring at the exact spot where she hovered only moments ago, clearly having seen exactly what you had.

"Harry."

That one word prompted you all to run around the corridor and out into the courtyard, reminded that Harry was duelling the dark Lord with no assistance. You expected to see a myriad of lights and colour, the two powerful figures mid combat as each opponent fought for what they thought was right. Instead, you found Harry alone, stood in the crumbled courtyard clutching both his wand and the elder wand, staring down at the mythical hallow in amazement. He'd done it. He'd won. You'd all won.

Ron and Hermione ran towards him, embracing with triumphant glory, each of them pleased to be alive after facing their opponent head on. Neville fist bumped the air in celebration and limped quickly off back towards the main building, no doubt alerting the others that Voldemort had been defeated.

You stood alone, feeling suddenly overcome with emotions that you hadn't anticipated, conflicted to your very core. You felt a massive surge of relief of course, wanting nothing more than to celebrate alongside the trio and everyone else. But you felt sad and a little lost. You felt for everyone that had lost their lives in the battle, the damage that had been caused, for little teddy who had lost both of his loving parents in a single night and for Severus, who had died in your arms, a spoil of war.

But then you remembered the tear. The memory he had given you in his last moments. You looked upon the trio once more, seeing them rightfully still embracing and celebrating their win and with one last glance, you slipped back inside the castle and walked straight towards the headmasters office before anyone could stop you. You couldn't wait to get back to Fred and George, to be wrapped in their arms and back with everyone you loved, no longer having to feel fear or doom but this had to be done first, you needed answers and closure from the only person that could give you that.

Approaching the gargoyle staircase, you thought of that night so long ago when you'd slipped in to the castle and confronted Severus about George's injury. You thought of your anger, your resentment and your confusion that your friend and mentor could have done this to the man you loved, particularly as you approached the main doors, remembering how you had barged in the last time.

The office was largely undamaged, with only a few books and glass cases smashed on the floor from the attack. The pensieve pulled out automatically s you stepped further into the room, crossing the threshold with a nervous trepidation that made you pause, pulling the vial out of your pocket and holding it out with shaky hands.

You poured in the tear and watched as it swirled down, a bright white cloud of billowing smoke within the water, drawing you in. You took a deep breath and submerged your face into the tepid water,  watching as the cloud parted and dispersed, forming into figures that you recognised immediately. Severus and Dumbledore. They were in the very office your body was suspended in, Dumbledore sat at his desk with Severus stood before him, attempting to walk out.

"Don't ignore me, Severus," Dumbledore says, causing the potions master to pause in the doorway. "We both know Lord Voldemort has ordered the Malfoy boy to murder me. But should he fail, one should presume the dark Lord will turn to you."

Severus stands resolute, looking upon Dumbledore with a blank expression. "You must be the one to kill me, Severus. It's the only way. Only then will the dark Lord trust you completely."

You watch as Snape's face drops subtly, his eyes expressing a hesitancy and pain that is almost palpable. The vision flickers and you see Snape shushing Harry in what you know to be the astronomy tower before the image of Dumbledore's falling body briefly flickers across your vision, the killing curse uttered by Snape ringing in your ears. The vision then flickers back to their meeting in the office, Dumbledore's weak and tired eyes imploring Severus.

"There will come a time when Harry Potter must be told something. But you must wait until Voldemort is at his most vulnerable."

"Must be told what?" Severus' deep baritone voice calls out, a frustration and element of concern in his tone.

The vision suddenly changes again and you watch as Severus enters the broken house you'd recognised from your trip to Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve. You watched as he walked across the debris covered landing and caught sight of Lily dead on the floor, the infant Harry wailing in his cot only yards away.

"On the night Lord Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow to kill Harry, and Lily Potter cast herself between them, the curse rebounded."

You can feel the affection he felt for Lily with the sound of her name, and then the devastation and pain at discovering her body on the floor in the nursery. It's gut wrenching and crippling to feel everything he felt and you now understood that he had loved her, he had loved Lily Potter.

"When that happened, a part of Voldemort's soul latched itself onto the only living thing it could find, Harry himself." Dumbledore has begun walking down the platform steps in his office, his legs weak and his frame looking frailer than ever as you see his blackened hand, the curse from a Horcrux.

"There's a reason Harry can speak with snakes. There's a reason he can look into Lord Voldemort's mind. A part of Voldemort lives inside him."

"So when the time comes," Severus says, squinting at Albus who has reared closer to him now, the tension in the room growing increasingly denser and thick. "The boy must die?"

"Yes."

"You've kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment," Severus accuses, his tone suddenly much harsher, "you've been raising him like a pig for slaughter."

"Don't tell me now you've grown to care for the boy?"

Then you see him look out of the window, the darkness in the sky only further proof that this was conversation had late at night, in complete secrecy. You watch as Severus casts the patronus charm and a familiar glowing doe whips around the room before exiting through the glass, the illuminated spot fading as it disappears further into the sky.

"And y/n, you have grown to care for her too?" Albus asks. You watch as Severus becomes instantly more defensive, his eyes squinting and mouth opening before closing rather harshly, his chest puffing.

"That is none of your concern," he answers in a deadpan way, his eyes averted to a spot on the wall where the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black hangs.

"But Severus it is, do you not see that she is involved?"

Snape's head whips round quicker than a flash until he's staring back into Albus' eyes with a fierce glare, though beneath the stare is concern and worry.

Flashes of yourself appear in Snape's memory, a strange thing to have seen memories you yourself had but from the other perspective. You see yourself in your sixth year, singled out in his vision as he watches you work, creating a batch of what you remember to be Sleeping Draught in class. The next memory shows the following week, your meeting in his office, seeing you smile and laugh as his deep chuckle fills your ears. You see as different memories merge together of you working together, annotating his books and transcribing his notes, the visions of you shifting to memories you had never known, of Severus watching you and glancing at you when you weren't paying attention. You can feel a warmth again to these memories, feeling the affection he felt for you, as if you were able to experience it exactly how he had, much like the memories of Lily.

"You said that you would protect her! You said by making her my apprentice it would shield her from his notice!"

"The dark Lord may be unaware of her prowess but I fear her connection to the Weasley's will have attracted the attention of her peers." There's a flash of you, Fred and George sat in the great hall from Snape's perspective at the top table, he sees you laughing and resting your head on Fred's shoulder, though the memory is brief.

"There's little I can do, Severus. They will need her," Albus says with conviction.

The memory shifts again before your eyes and you see Severus sat alone in his office, his corporeal patronus dancing wildly around the room as he binds together pieces of what you recognise to be the Lebetum, the misted glass opened as he summons the doe inside. He thinks of you, your laughter playing like a melody in your own ears and there's a brief moment where you can smell the scent of your hair as you watch the words 'Expecto Dominum Meum' appear across the black device just as you had experienced many times before.

There's a brief memory that flashes and you watch as Severus pulls a book from his bookshelf in what you assume to be his home, followed by him using the book as a glossary as he translates his words whilst writing. The next memory cuts in of you receiving the book from him, his deep voice speaking over the memory that you will need this to translate and transcribe his newest paper, handing you the book of Latin phrases and texts.

"You love her," Albus' voice cuts through and you watch as Dumbledore and Snape are stood on a cliff top somewhere, the exchange between the pair is rife with tension.

"Yes," he says, his deep voice speaking matter of factly.

"You've protected her all you can," Albus says, perhaps slightly gentler now.

"It's not enough," he says, his black sleeved arms wrapping around himself, turning to look out into the distance. You know he's thinking about you, and of Lily, the two women he felt he'd lost, slipping between their fingertips. "It will never be enough." He reaches into his pocket and thrusts the black device of his own creation that he'd pulled from within the folds of his cloak into the older man's wrinkled hands, who gapes at it for a moment, a frown pulling between his eyebrows.

"Severus, you can't possibly," Albus begins speaking but he's cut off when Snape looks up from the Lebetum with an expression you had so often seen, the fixed, harsh stare that told whomever he was speaking to that he would answer no questions nor explain further, his word absolute.

"Until my heart stops beating. With hope, even after."

The memory fades and the smoke like memory disappears into the water until it's no longer visible. You pull out of the water and sink to your knees, sitting on the bottom stone step of the desk platform, gathering your thoughts.

You sobbed uncontrollably, chest and shoulders heaving with the effort as you let every bit of pain consume you, every emotion you'd tried to hold back from the moment you left Bill's wedding and everyone behind in your hunt for the Horcruxes, realising that you had been played like a pawn in a game of wizards chess. You cried for your lost friend, knowing now that he loved you. You cried for everything that could have been, for how he'd protected you the whole way through without knowing, for the pain you felt at being so close but so far away from Fred and George, for the months spent pining for them, for the horrors you'd seen and what you'd been through.

You gasped for breath between your sobs, clutching your arms around yourself as you rocked gently, feeling entirely consumed by pain. You should feel victorious and triumphant, celebrating with everyone else in the castle but you couldn't face it, not when you felt so far away from yourself.

Your thoughts were consumed with Severus and what you'd seen in his memories and you wondered if you'd loved him too. You loved Fred and George, that was evident to everyone around you and to yourself but you'd never considered the piece of your heart that had remained with Severus, realising much too late that you had loved him too. Maybe not in the same way that you did the twins but it was undeniable that there was something there much stronger than friendship alone.

Your sobs had subsided eventually and you sat on the cold stone with a vacant expression, gaze fixed upon an uninteresting spot on the floor. You felt drained in every sense of the word; your mind was slowly going blank, unable to string two solid thoughts together as the mental and emotional strain took its toll on you. Your body felt weak and broken, pain and soreness now evident in your injured body, feeling the full effects of your shoulder injury and the cuts on your arm. You look down at the deep gashes on your arm and begin to slowly peel your jacket away, cringing and wincing as the dried blood around the cuts rips away having connected your jacket to the broken skin.

You cast a healing spell on the cuts but it's weak, knowing that you couldn't perform the correct incantation as much as you wanted to, your body too exhausted and drained. You pondered, just for a moment, the irony of the cuts on your arm. The spell created by your mentor intended to inflict pain for those he hated, but instead inflicted upon the woman he loved to free her from her torment.

You sat for a while thinking of the memories he'd shown you, realising now that all his words had made sense. He'd asked you to forgive him, telling you that one day you'd understand. He'd protected you when you needed it most, provided you with his own guardian in the form of a patronus and saved your life multiple times even from afar. He'd given you all the clues, the biggest of all being the book of Latin phrases, somehow knowing that it would be the key to surviving, putting his faith in your ability to decode it. He'd loved you. He was never a true destheater but had been the bravest man alive to act as a spy for the order, for the sake of everyone who seemingly hated him.

One thing had always bothered you, once singular piece of knowledge that had plagued you since the moment you'd been bequeathed with the Lebetum.

You stood slowly, throwing your jacket back over you to cover the scars and the wounds that littered your body and dusted yourself off, though it was a pointless effort as your clothes and skin were still stained with Severus' blood. You stepped towards the littering of books on the bookcase and tried to find the off-white leather book amongst the rows of text, hoping it was there. It wasn't. It was, however, laid on the desk, already open.

You searched through the glossary of words, alphabetically listed as you turned to the section you needed.

Lebetem, or Lebetum (noun) translates to Cauldron. A large metal pot used for brewing potions over an open fire. Can also refer to a situation characterised by strong emotions.

You felt gobsmacked by the revelation, realising that it was most likely a joke played by Severus, a little twist of humour he'd integrated in the the situation.

You then thought of the translation Mr Ollivander had given you of the text on the device, Expecto Dominum Meum, and his little chuckle when you explained that it was a Lebetum, realising now that it all made sense. He’d recognised you as Snape’s apprentice and had only chuckled when he pieced it all together.

Lebetum, Cauldron, a necessity of brewing potions.

Expecto Dominum Meum, I await my master.

I await my potions master.

You laughed out loud; an honest and very real laugh that you felt hadn't happened in such a long time. You'd been blind to it all this time, his intricacies never failing to amuse and astound you. You felt an immense sense of gratitude erupt from you and though you were naturally devastated that he was no longer here, nor were you able to thank him for everything he'd done, the Lebetum had done the trick to make you feel a little better, giving you humour in a time of sheer upset.

You wanted a shower desperately, a hot cup of tea and the comfort of your loved ones around you. You looked down at the book of Latin translations and smiled, touching your hand to the old pages before you walked away, feeling calmed.

You closed the doors to the office as you exited, casting one last glance at the intricacy of the wood and walked down the staircase, back towards the great hall where you hoped everyone was still gathered.

Bill spotted you first and leapt up from his seat to close the distance between you, pulling you into his chest. The unlikely friendship you'd forged during your time at shell cottage was entirely unexpected but welcome, his ability to make you feel at ease and protected was unparalleled, his role of big brother extending to you.

"Stop scaring me like that," he mutters and you can hear the slight smirk in his voice, making you chuckle. "Told you you were tough, wouldn't find me dead near a snake." You chuckle again and start to snark that Werewolves were fine but not snakes, but you're stopped as you see two near identical and very welcome faces waiting anxiously behind Bill. You pull apart, giving him one last smile before he slips back to sit beside Fleur at the table, allowing you to properly reunite with his brothers.

There's a singular beat that passes where you stand still, looking at them with a trepidation to your gaze. You felt guilty for leaving them alone, to fight your own battles without considering theirs. They both looked disheveled and dirty, eyes dark and tired and for the first time that night you no longer thought of your own exhaustion or torment.

Fred moves first and pulls you in for the tightest embrace he'd ever given, his hand holding your waist close to his body and his left hand cradling your head. He kisses you without abandon, uncaring and unashamed of anyone nearby as your emotion pours into the kiss, a thousand apologies and comforting words said silently between you. A tear falls from your left eye, overwhelmed by your official reconnection but he doesn't miss it, moving his thumb to swipe it away as he pulls his lips away from yours reluctantly, savouring the feel of your lips against his.

"I love you so much," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as he begins to rock you gently side to side. "You're never leaving again, you hear me? I can't ever be apart from you again." Another tear slips at his words and all you can do is nod in agreement, blindsided by the emotion and conviction of his words.

"Never again," you reply, reaching out to grab the material of his jacket, feeling as if he'd slip away if you let go. He senses this and presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling away and stepping aside, allowing George to scoop you up.

Fred and George were different in many ways but it was never more obvious to you than when you were in their arms. George always seemed taller somehow, your head not reaching as far up onto his shoulder as it did with Fred but it was equally as comforting to be pressed into the centre of his chest. His arms caged you and held you tightly, shoulders and breasts smushed against the hard plains of his body but you didn't care.

"Tell me it's over, Angel, please don't leave again."

His voice sounds broken and like a little boys, lost and afraid, a sound that breaks your heart. You pull away firmly, looking up into his gorgeous face.

"I'm staying right here, forever," you say, reaching up to touch his cheek as you lean up, making it clear that you want a kiss. He obliges immediately and kisses you with a passion and intensity you hadn't quite anticipated. His hand find yours and he holds on to you tightly, one large hand grabbed around your back as your right hand stays on his face.

Once the kiss ends, Fred steps back to join you both as both twins grab for you, your small frame between their much larger once's making you feel safe and secure. Eventually you are pulled away by Molly who can't wait any longer and you're smothered by her fussing until Arthur pulls her away with a knowing smile before he embraces you. Each person embraces you as you're passed around the group, feeling every ounce of love they give.

There's a moment where you and Harry look at each other before you embrace, a wordless question about your shared connections to darkness. You shake your head with a smile, telling him that your connection had been severed and he nods his head with the same mirrored look, both of you smiling widely as you realise that it was now just you, no longer plagued by another's emotions or memories. You throw your arms around his neck, both laughing as you finally feel the celebratory mood everyone else felt, now that you were back with the people you loved.

Ginny brought you a hot cup of tea from one of the little reserves that had been set up and you thanked her kindly, taking a seat in between Fred and George, in your rightful place. Instantly, their arms lock you into place with George's arm extending around your back and Fred's large hand covering your thigh, keeping you anchored to them. Everyone was laughing and joking, telling their own stories and as you looked around at your loved ones, though missing one important person; you felt happy.

Next

Taglist request:

@missryerye

@football1921

@rk-ceres

@weasleywheezer

@lotusloisstuff

@c0comichi

@xthatpottahfanx

@aigowen

@fandom-taylor

@weasleyluver85

@mariamkhaled87

@jewelsrules

@ledger-kaos

@bucksdonkey

@clara-carpenter-morgan

@jinxxangel13

@darkrozesblog

@slytherin4536

@crookedwerewolfobject

@chipscanbeevil

@justromaaa

[fatehbaz]

Because tuatara are very long lived - between 100 and 200 years by most estimates […] - the founding of Aotearoa/New Zealand as a modern nation and the unfolding of settler-wrought changes to its environment have transpired over the course of the lives of perhaps just two tuatara [...].

---

[T]he tuatara (Sphenodon punctatus) [...] [is] the sole surviving representative of an order of reptiles that pre-dates the dinosaurs. [...] [T]he tuatara is of immense global and local significance and its story is pre-eminently one of deep timescales, of life-in-place [...]. Epithets abound for the unique and ancient biodiversity found in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Prized as “Ghosts of Gondwana” (Gibbs 2008), or as denizens of “Moa’s Ark” (Bellamy et al. 1990) or “The Southern Ark” (Andrews 1986), the country’s faunal species invoke fascination and inspire strong language [...]. In rounded terms, it [has been] [...] just 250 years since James Cook made landfall; just 200 years since the founding of the handful of [...] settlements that instigated agricultural transformation of the land [...]. European newcomers [...] were disconcerted by the biota [...]: the country was seen to “lack” terrestrial mammals; many of its birds were flightless and/or songless; its bats crawled through leaf-litter; its penguins inhabited forests; its parrots were mountain-dwellers; its frogs laid eggs that hatched miniature frogs rather than tadpoles [...].

---

Despite having met a reassuringly temperate climate [mild, oceanic, comparable to western Europe], too, the newcomers nevertheless sought to make adjustments to that climate, and it was clear to them that profits beckoned. Surveying the towering lowland forests from the deck of HMS Endeavour in 1769, and perceiving scope for expansion of the fenland drainage schemes being undertaken at that time in England and across swathes of Europe, Joseph Banks [botanist on Cook's voyage] reported on “swamps which might doubtless Easily be drained” [...]. Almost a century later, in New Zealand or Zealandia, the Britain of the South, [...] Hursthouse offered a fuller explication of this ethos: The cultivation of a new country materially improves its climate. Damp and dripping forests, exhaling pestilent vapours from rank and rotten vegetation, fall before the axe [...]. Fen and march and swamp, the bittern’s dank domain, fertile only in miasma, are drained; and the plough converts them into wholesome plains of fruit, and grain, and grass. [...]

[The British administrators] duly set about felling the ancient forests of Aotearoa/New Zealand, draining the country’s swamps [...]. They also began importing and acclimatising a vast array of exotic (predominantly northern-world) species [sheep, cattle, rodents, weasels, cats, crops, English pasture grasses, etc.] [...]. [T]hey constructed the seemingly ordinary agronomic patchwork of Aotearoa/New Zealand's productive, workaday landscapes [...]. This is effected through and/or accompanied by drastic deforestation, alteration of the water table and the flow of waterways, displacement and decline of endemic species, re-organisation of predation chains and pollination sequences and so on [...]. Aotearoa/New Zealand was founded in and through climate crisis [...]. Climate crisis is not a disastrous event waiting to happen in the future in this part of the world; rather, it has been with us for two centuries already [...].

---

[T]he crest formed by the twinned themes of absence and exceptionalism [...] has shaped this creature's niche in the western imagination. As one of the very oldest species on earth, tuatara have come to be recognised [in Euro-American scientific schemas] [...] as an evolutionary and biodiversity treasure [...]. In 1867, [...] Gunther [...] pronounced that it was not a lizard at all [...] [and] placed the tuatara [...] in a new order, Rhynchocephalia, [...] igniting a frenzy of scientific interest worldwide. Specifically, the tuatara was seen to afford opportunities for "astonished witnessing" [...], for "the excitement of having the chance to see, to study, to observe a true saurian of Mesozoic times in the flesh, still living, but only on this tiny speck of the earth [...], while all its ancestors [...] died about one hundred and thirty-five million years ago" [...]. Tuatara have, however, long held special status as a taonga or treasured species in Māori epistemologies, featuring in a range of [...] stories where [...] [they] are described by different climates and archaeologies of knowledge [...] (see Waitangi Tribunal 2011, p. 134). [...]

While unconfirmed sightings in the Wellington district were reported in the nineteenth century, tuatara currently survive only in actively managed - that is, monitored and pest-controlled - areas on scattered offshore islands, as well as in mainland zoo and sanctuary populations. As this confinement suggests, tuatara are functionally “extinct” in almost all of their former wild ranges. [...] [Italicized text in the heading of this post originally situated here in Boswell's article.] [...] In the remaining areas of Aotearoa/New Zealand where this species does now live [...], tuatara may in some cases be the oldest living inhabitants. Yet [...] if the tuatara is a creature of long memory, this memory is at risk of elimination or erasure. [...] [T]uatara expose and complicate the [...] machineries of public memory [...] and attendant environmental ideologies and management paradigms [...].

---

All text above by: Anna Boswell. "Climates of Change: A Tuatara's-Eye View". Humanities, 2020, Volume 9, Issue 2, 38. Published 1 May 2020. This article belongs to the Special Issue Environmental Humanities Approaches to Climate Change. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Text within brackets added by me for clarity. The first paragraph/heading in this post, with text in italics, are also the words of Boswell from this same article. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[flipchild]

Pics from garden & walkies

[asnowfern]

The ways you say my name, have me running on and on

A/N: A little angsty porn for day 7 of @cassianappreciationweek because we just know Cassian wanted to cuddle just as much as Nesta did, yeah?💗

CW: NSFW, WC: 692

Read on AO3

It’s just sex.

Cassian chants in his head as his calloused fingers press a bruising grip into her hips. He drags his cock along the silky entrance, before snapping it back forward, setting a punishing pace.

He moves his gaze up from where they are joined and admires the sweat glistening on the dark eight point star-marked back. It marrs the smooth alabaster skin yet he remains enamoured, with the sight of dripping sex, the moans he drags out of those wicked lips.

His fingertips are sure to leave a bruise.

It’s carnal and purely physical.

*

It’s just sex.

He pulls her across the soft sheets so that he is able to lick a clean strip down the centre of her folds, relishing in the shudders that the motion elicits. He sucks on the nub while plunging his fingers deep into her. Her thighs, so much stronger now, clenches around his head.

He doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever. Lapping on the folds, he feasts on the juices of her arousal, relishes in the quickening of her breaths, the stutters as she cries out his name. He quickens his pace, sensing her impending climax, and commands, “Be a good girl and come for me, Nes.”

It is a crushing hold around his head as she falls over the edge, calling his name. It is a sound pleasing as a chime and a taste so syrupy sweet.

Even if it’s just sex, he could do this forever.

Afterall, there could be no one else for him.

*

It’s just sex.

He is still buried to the hilt in her, her back held flushed against his chest, his arms circled around her, soft breast firmly in his palm. The evidence of their combined release flows down their thighs, mixed so completely it is impossible to tell whose is whose.

He should let go.

He can’t.

He holds her in his arms and feels her breathing begin to even out, exhausted beyond reprieve. Sniffing into her hair deeply, he lets his eyes fall shut and tightens his hold just the slightest.

Not much time has passed when he wakes. Nesta, by Mother’s mercy, still remains asleep. He drops his head to those beautiful shoulder freckles and lightly brushes his lips across them.

As gently as he can, he extricates himself, flaccid cock and all. He makes a quick trip to the bathroom and returns with a cloth and a small basin, half filled with water at the most soothing temperature.

He suppresses a wince as he wipes her down as carefully as he can. Smiling slightly when she stayed asleep the entire time. With a light touch, he sweeps a stray strand out of her face.

Unable to hold himself back, he drops a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

It’s still just sex.

*

It’s no longer just sex.

Not when their souls have become so intertwined, entangled with a thread of gold.

Forever forever forever. There is to be no one else for either of them.

Cassian wakes up with Nesta still nestled in his arms. The sun peeks from beneath the horizon, casting the most gentle glow into the room. Her face is completely relaxed as she nuzzles into his chest.

She is incandescently beautiful. A goddess, really.

His cock twitches. A primal instinct demands for him to continue the frenzy, to wake his mate up in the most enjoyable of manners. To plough deep. Again and again until there is nothing more left to give.

But he can’t.

Not when she isn’t yet ready for all of what it encompasses — to finally have to face the truth of their bond.

So he feigns an urgency to leave when she awakes, mumbling excuses on their annual snowball fight (while important, could never, never measure up to her) and inspections in Illyria.

Every fibre of his body screams at him not to leave. The drag of resistance of frigid wind against his wings is a desperate plea for him to return. Back to the warm bed, back to his mate.

He can’t.

It’s not just sex anymore.

It never was.

[lovejosephquinn]

"You look so good with my hands around your neck."

I am BEGGING 😭😭🙏

Congrats on 2.5k!!🥰

Joe's hand seized itself against your throat as he rutted into you at a hard pace, balls slapping up against your ass cheeks as you lifted your face upward slightly to regain some oxygen flow from your lungs. Chanting out profanities, Joe was towering above you, his eyes burning through your irises in a real intense stare, he had already told you to keep his eyes firmly planted on his, to look at him as he fucked you into tomorrow.

"God damn it." He panted onward. "You look so good with my hands around your neck." Joe whimpered, his cock twitching against your walls which tightened around him with every thrust.

You couldn't quite catch your own moans flying out of you as tears escaped from the corners of your eyes, each pounding you received better than the last which had snapped your core into submission at least three times in the last twenty minutes. You were almost spent, unable to take anymore and he enjoyed forcing it upon you to give him that little bit extra each time. Each tear represented a feeling that was being ploughed into your system, sending your heart rapidly beating out of time, the blood inside of you heating up, your back arching partially from the ache and sensitivity but also the sheer pleasure.

"Aw baby, are you crying because I fuck you so good?" Joe bit down on his bottom lip, almost getting a kick from the way you continued to stare whilst you physically sobbed in his grip which with pure excitement was tightening harder, fingers moulding through to the veins bulging at the sides of your neck.

"You take me so well darling, letting me use you until I want to stop." It was true, you looked like a rag doll used essentially for his own sexual frustration, you didn't mind, it really got you going when he had his dominant head on and you were happy to oblige with how or whatever he wanted to do in that moment.

"You like it when my cock fucks you this good love?" You nodded quickly, trying to sweep an easier answer in silence rather than trying to even muster up a vocal one, after all your chords were practically being strangled by that of a familiar large hand, he was using you as leverage to be able to go as hard as he could, picking up his speed until he found a pace that felt the best. You were sent into a wave of shock, your multiple orgasms sending you into a beautiful oblivion.

"Fuck-" Joe cursed the profanity over and over and over again, your eyes trained against the darkened brown eyes that watched over you.

His thrusts became sloppy, your walls tensing around him making every muscle in his cock throb inevitably, his hand released from your throat making your own hand come up in its place to relieve yourself of the pressure put against it. The hand that once occupied one of your body parts fell against your left breast as he squeezed and brought his finger tips to pinch against your nipple, falling forward to plant a fierce kiss onto your lips.

Your eyes remained open as he pressed his body up, arms caging you underneath him, you could hear every squelch, every slap of his balls, every groan that rose from his throat, his demise was all to close and you ate every part of his enjoyment of it up, the tears still falling from your eye lids; glistening beautifully and clouded over.

He came to a stand still shortly after, emptying his seed inside of you, you could almost feel the way his cock pulsated, softening slow and collapsing almost his full weight on your body, chest falling and rising rapidly in attempt to ride out his own orgasm and calm down. Seconds passed and you felt his soft lips making a sweet job of giving a silent apology for causing the red restrained marks from his hand that was once wrapped around your neck, he left beautifully soft slurpy kisses against each bruised looking part, caressing you adoringly like he hadn't just been fucking the life out of you.

Joe fucked you well, but he looked after you even better.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

sweet and soft aftercare with miguel

(18+ minors dni, fem!reader) - filthy start then goes into aftercare

wc || 743

masterlist

was requested here :) this is a repost*

- the good stuff under the cut -

"I know, baby," he coos right under your ear, praising you as he pulls another orgasm out of you. He draws out your fourth release, talking you through it. "I'm almost there, querida. I'm right there," he mutters, his words shaky and breathless as he ruts into you.

His hands are desperate, clasping around your throat and breast like it was the only thing he needed. Ploughing into you urgently, his balls heavy and hard against your ass as he chases his release, insistently fucking you in the way he wants. He spews a few Spanish curses as he pulses inside you, murmuring while erratically twitching, spilling his warm load deep inside. His groans of pleasure are animalistic, deprived even.

He sloppily fucks his come into you, somewhat lazily, staring at the way his arousal leaks from you, drips from you. He reluctantly drags his softening cock from you, looking at your pussy as he does so. Watching how you'd clasp and clamp around nothing, around his absence, how you'd visibly miss the consuming feeling of his cock buried in you. He reaches over your jolting naked body underneath him, kissing your lips as though it was his way of showing he cares, tenderly working over them to comfort and praise you for being so good to him, thanking you almost. "Cariño," he whispers against your lips, his words warm and tender, much unlike how they were before. "You're so sweaty," he lowly chuckles, pushing the damp hairs around your forehead to the side and placing a sweet, light kiss on the centre of it. "Come on," he whispers, extending a hand.

Miguel is often an enigma to you. How could someone so cold, harsh and mean be so soft, loving and sweet? He's always the latter with you. He would never treat you the same way he treats the others. You were special. You were his.

He flicks on the water in the shower, and as he waits for it to get hot, he walks back to you, slowly stalking over to you, his partially soft cock hitting his leg with every step. His frame is dominating and broody in front of you, but his expressions are delicate and gentle as he cups your cheeks. He gazes into your sweet eyes like you're the most precious and valuable thing, the one sworn thing he wants to protect.  

His big hand laces into yours, warm and gentle as he guides you to the shower, helping you in and following closely after. His hands are back around your face, cupping your jaw as he tilts your head back into the flowing water, being cautious not to push too far back or the water would get in your nose. Sweetly and silently wetting your hair, loosening the sweat from your hairline. "So beautiful," he whispers, watching the water bead around your face.

He carefully twists you around so that your back is to him, picking up the shampoo bottle from the floor to lather into your hair, scrubbing your scalp with his strong fingers. He rinses and repeats, being mindful not to get the suds in your eyes, treating you like he's aware. Attentively and thoughtfully. He then judiciously combs conditioner through your somewhat matty hair, doing as he's seen you do a hundred times before.

He spins you back to him, smiling at the cute expression on your face, looking at you with nothing but admiration. He pulls your loofah from the hook, squirting your favourite scent of shower gel onto the netted fabric before gently scrubbing over you, cleaning you with a grin on his face, one that matches yours.

After he washes you, he puts you under the flowing water to keep you warm as he cleans himself, washing his hair and body with eyes glued on yours, gazing at you. He joins you under the shower head shortly after to rinse the suds, kissing you tenderly in between.

Miguel slips from your touch, reaching outside the glass door to retrieve two towels. Turning off the water, he wraps you in the soft fabric, patting you dry before doing the same with himself, draping the towel over his bottom half, exposing his deep v.

He ushers you to the bedroom, placing one of his t-shirts over you after blotting you dry. He throws on a pair of joggers before turning to face you, his features soft and compassionate, glimmering with charm. "Hungry?"

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[writingdotcoffee]

Writing Challenge: Fast Drafting

Fast drafting, or vomit drafting, is a pretty self-explanatory approach to writing. You try to get the first draft down as fast as you can. Contrary to what the name suggests, it's not all about speed (or, well, indigestion).

In this post, we'll go over the benefits of fast drafting and why you should try it at least once.

Why Fast Draft?

Although you write faster than usual when fast drafting, speed isn't the point. For most writers, speed isn't a concern at all. Who cares whether it took you three, six or nine months to finish your book?

The problem many writers face is getting bogged down and never finishing at all. You probably heard the stats before. Nine out of ten writers who start working on a book will never finish the first draft.

Often, the issue isn't time or energy. These aspiring authors are paralysed by self doubt, second-guessing everything.

I still remember my first attempt at writing a novel. I spent weeks writing and rewriting the first few paragraphs — about 700 words. And that's it. I never got beyond that.

It starts by going back to edit stuff — rephrasing a few sentences here and there. Any bigger issue you can't fix right away will gnaw on you. Suddenly, you've got this feeling simmering inside of you that the story won't work.

You go back to your outline and start moving things around. Maybe you killed the sidekick too early? Isn't the build-up too predictable? Ugh! The whole thing is a mess, and you don't want to be working on it anymore.

How Fast Drafting Works?

The goal is to keep your mind focused on making progress. You don't want to give it a chance to second-guess anything until you've finished the first draft.

It's surprisingly difficult to do if you haven't done it before.

Your first draft will be a mess. All first drafts are. But you will have to ignore that and keep ploughing ahead. Your inner perfectionist will be in agony.

To stay disciplined, many writers don't allow themselves to fix anything. Mistyped a word? It stays in. No exceptions.

Editing is a slippery slope. You fix a typo here and there. Next, you're fixing the odd structural issue, moving a few paragraphs around. Before you know it, you're outlining again, wondering whether you should rather kill the sidekick in chapter 24.

That said, a messy first draft can be a blessing. Instead of seeing your first draft as this seemingly polished thing, you see it for the mess that it is. No matter how much you edit during the first draft, it will never be perfect.

When you start editing, you'll fix the typos and obvious issues. That will help you get into the flow and be ready to tackle the big things next.

The Editing Lock

Writing Analytics (the app that I built) has a thing called the editing lock. When you enable it, you won't be able to delete anything from your draft.

Every time I use it, I'm surprised just how much I go back to edit stuff. It's so helpful.

It was a suggestion from one of the readers of the blog a while ago (massive thank you 🙏).

If you'd like to try it, the app is free for everyone for the first two weeks.

The Challenge

Spend an hour or more this week fast-drafting a story. Come up with an idea and stick to it until the end — no matter what. Put the editing lock on if you're struggling and crush all the self-doubt that comes up with a steamroller.

I set up a challenge where you can write along with me (and others):

https://app.writinganalytics.co/challenge/646c860be7b6ddfbda016a9c

[poppiesandpromises]

There are dreams I never will attain

For time still leaves an awful stain

But it's ever true and will remain

That pleasure lives to kiss the pain

There are places I will never see

People that I'll never be

Still I am here and I am free

I am always, always me

Things that are gone for good

A pain often misunderstood

But there is light in the wood

That flows as I never could

There are those I'll never see again

But I hold them so close within

They follow everywhere I've been

& I'll remember with a grin

All that's left is right now

A listing ship, a damaged prow

A broken tractor, idle plough

We carry on, some way, somehow

[neonlight2]

Jaehaera Targaryen (oc)

Masterlist

Part 1

How did everyone react to her growing up and becoming more… scandalous? (Part 2)

Warning: again, small intervals of smut, mentions of step-cest??, death and a dash homophobia (also some of these parts are just fucking long as hell, sorry?)

***

Aegon

He learned from the best.

It would be a lie to say the boy didn’t learn from Jaehaera’s actions. She was practically his idol, and when he got old enough to know better, he used her example.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out that Jaehaera’s magnetism was like no other, for it drew him in as well.

The prince would copy her mannerisms around women, studying the affects it would have on them. He noticed how they blushed at the way she spoke, how their thighs clenched by her lustful gaze, and how they shuttered whenever her body merely grazed their skin.

After weeks of watching and practicing his demeanor late at night in the mirror, Aegon tried it out on a beautiful lady. A married lady.

He’s cocky, but we knew that already, and the woman gladly falling into his embrace didn’t help anything.

A part of him thought that she was just desperate to fuck a Prince; he was very aware of his status. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him, but the easiness of it all wasn’t satisfying for him.

He’s greedy and vain. Again, he knows.

So one night he decided to sneak away from the palace— something else he can thank Jaehaera for. If she hadn’t taught him such good balance he would have never been able to run the wall as it thinned toward the outskirts of town. Aegon wanted a real challenge— or rather he wanted something real. He wanted someone to want him.

Everyone always wanted Jaehaera, him included. He badly wanted to know what that felt like, for he barely knew what it was to be admired in the first place.

This meant he’d have to go somewhere where women who did know who he was wouldn’t give a shit. Women that couldn’t care less if you were royalty because if you didn’t give them something in return, they couldn’t give a fuck. You might as well kill them cause you won’t get what you want if you don’t pay the price.

He went to a brothel… without any coin.

Prostitutes, or whores as most like to call them, were some of the most honest people in the land. They knew it was highly unlikely for a high standing man to marry one of them, and most were orphans, which meant no family money to take care of them. Their best chance was to do their job, save up their coin, and then live the rest of their lives out in peace.

He knew of a good, clean one that Jaehaera often went to. She always said it was to go see a friend of hers, which confused him because other than Edeline, Jaehaera didn’t have friends. You were either family, or you weren’t. At least that’s what she would tell him as they trained with wooden swords when he was a boy, reminding him that blood relation meant nothing but stains and harm.

When he arrived there, in a cloak two times the size of himself, he could see why she liked it so much. People gathered in groups, pleasuring one another as if it were to save them from damnation. Men ploughing into various women and other men, whilst bystanders touched each other intimately. He could only hear that of skin slapping and the wetness of sweat and slick. And smell… well let’s just say it made him hard enough to make him worry of soiling his trousers.

For a moment he was in a trance. He’d never seen such debauchery. Gods how he loved it.

It was only until he saw long flowing black hair that he snapped out of it. Aegon watch as it swayed freely, exposing its owners bare behind as she sauntered away from him. In a brief moment, the prince swore he saw her wink at him, and that her eyes were a deep amber.

He scurried through the crowds after her, not minding the limps touching him along the way. Once he’s made it to the other side, he could no longer see her. She had vanished, and that made his heart plummet.

“Is there something I can help you with sir?”

Aegon almost pissed himself.

“Seven hells!” He turns around to see the girl; her eyes were not amber, but a pretty blue. Swallowing back his embarrassment and ignoring the growing red of his cheeks from her naked frame, he replied.

“I was just browsing.”

Humming, the girl feigned belief, letting her hands wander the fabric of his cloak.

No matter how hard he tried, the Prince couldn’t help his eyes flickering to her breasts, noticing the way her nipples perked up at him and the chills that followed along the rest of her skin.

Peeling off his cloak, the boy placed it around her as if it were second instinct. What he didn’t expect was the action to shift his flushed state to her. As he tied the strings around her shoulders he watched as pink ran about her collar, up her neck, till finally meeting her face.

She was slightly taller than him as well, so when she looked toward the floor as if she were shy, he could still see most of her face. He found it desirable, and the more he let his mind drift, and the longer she had her eyes closed— Aegon could imagine her.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to caress her face.

Scoffing, the girl shook her head. “There’s no need for compliments if you’re going to pay me to get your cock wet.”

Laughing genuinely against her hair, she can feel his smile. “You can’t pay for my flattery,” Aegon whispers, “And I don’t pay for a good fuck.”

That’s all it took for her to grab him and lock them in a private room together.

When Aegon thinks on this memory, he was both grateful and disappointed with the pace. He was filled with slight regret of the fact the interaction lasted half an hour at most, and after that night he never saw the girl again. He also felt a sense of sympathy over cumming so quickly. Even when the girl chuckled and said it was a compliment to her services.

He couldn’t bare to tell her that he was a virgin.

Yet everything he found embarrassing was only worsened by what he loved and treasured about that night.

It started simple, her bare cunt grinding on his clothed cock— making the wet spot of his pants even more noticeable. As she made work of his shirt, hoping to kiss down his happy trail, which made him quiver like a cold child. He rarely watched her during the process, preferring to keep his eyes closed with his head thrown back while she had her way with him. But he could help glancing down when he felt her sucking the tip of his cock through his soaked cotton.

Aegon could have came right there if he had no shame at all. The sight of her hollowed lips around his bulge, hair falling around her face and her eyes shut as she moaned around him— if he allowed himself to the Prince could envision—

“Quite eager are we sir?” She asked, looking up at him with a smirk as she palmed him.

Shutting his eyes quickly, he pleaded, “Don’t call me that, please.

Apparently she found his demeanor cute; she often chuckled at him.

“If you wish…what should I call you then?”

Aegon hesitated, scrunching up his face as she pulled down his pants, feeling his prick hit the bottom of his stomach.

“Call me— ah.”

Her lips wrapping around his cock broke Aegon’s words, along with any train of thought he had managed to muster.

Humming against him, Aegon had to push her away in fear of cumming in her mouth too quickly. His fingers crept to her hair, bunching it along her scalp before tugging up. A loud pop from the loss of connection practically made his legs shiver.

“If you do that, I’ll finish,” he panted, eyes still closed as he caressed her face, occasionally slipping his thumb into her mouth as his head dug into the mattress. His imagination was running wild, and her comments did nothing to help.

“I thought that was the idea?” She quipped, kitten licking whatever she could touch. ���Now—,” she laced their hands together in order to free herself, shifting upwards— “what was it you wanted me to call you?”

Aegon could feel her weight, pushing on either side of him until her heat followed. She was burning, almost as much as he, and her skin was unbelievable soft. He could feel the push of her thigh, pressing against his own as she used him as a seat— one to relax upon and make whatever pleasure she could derive.

“Speak little Prince.”

In any other state, Aegon would have shot up, eyes wide, ready to ask her how she knew him. Then he’d probably ridicule himself for being naive enough to believe he could escape his identity. However, the boy was under a trance. Her bare cunt was resting on his leaking cock and the only thing the young Targaryen could do was moan.

At the title. At the demanding tone of which it was said. And how much it sounded like Jaehaera.

“That.” Aegon whispered.

“What was that, I need you to be a little louder for me—?”

“Call me that! ‘Little Prince’,” he mewled pitifully, “‘Spoiled Little Prince’.”

The whole night they spent fucking. She used him until her body grew tired, and Aegon had not yet gotten his fill. So he did what she asked, following her direction to perfections. And he kept his eyes closed the whole time, imagining another.

And the girl wasn’t clueless.

She knew the moment he refused to call out her name, even when she told him it twice within the same hour. But she couldn’t be bothered to care, nor would she take the time to ponder why the name ‘Jaehaera’ sounded so familiar when it fell from Aegon’s lips as he slipped inside of her. No, this was one of the rare times that she got to actually enjoy herself. So selfishly, she would enjoy it.

He’d never go to that brothel again. In fact he’d forbid himself from doing so, denying himself from the ultimate pleasure. Limiting and furthering him from his wishes, the deepest running from heart to mind every night. That girl gave him what he dared not even whisper when as he touched himself, for he trusted not the nosy walls within the castle.

Yet he could not control his impulses. No matter how hard he tried, nor how many light haired maidens threw themselves into his arms with fluttering lids and sensual touches— he ended the nights of his youth with a dark maned lady in his bed. Of course they’d always leave in the morning. Coincidentally, of their own accord. Aegon assumed they were ashamed or thought he’d banish them if he awoke first. However, despite his reputation, he found the mornings cold. His arms were left lonely, empty— a perfect parallel to his heart one may say.

But that’s nothing more wine could not fix… right?

Aegon’s “shameful” habits would cease anytime Jaehaera came home. And he always had a doorman tell him the moment she arrived on royal grounds, for the first and only time she had caught him in the act with a lady of well standing— he was horrified beyond believe.

He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was shame? Even though he knew there not need be, she’d never judge him even given his despicable thoughts.

But perhaps it was guilt? For using her image? And withought her permission. Not to mention that night…

Aegon often saw Edeline and Jaehaera together. Frequently linked at the arms or touching on another in order to be aware of the others whereabouts. He grew up with it that way, and he thought nothing of it for that was the way Jaehaera lived. Forever passionate and unabashedly so.

She praised his mother, and he’d watch as the woman that had raised him smiled like she were his age.

She’d laugh and tease Rhaenyra, making the sister he barely knew somewhat familiar to him.

So Edeline was no exception. There was no questions when he noticed her touch the woman, whisper close to her ear, and constantly give her suggestive glances.

Which is one of the reasons he had no malice toward fluid sexuality because he had loved Jaehaera for far too long, and Otto hadn’t got to him fast enough to change his mind about that.

As for how he felt about Edeline… he neither liked nor disliked her. To be honest she barely interacted with him. He predicted that to be because of his mother and grandfather, neither being too fond of her for differing reasons. His mother green with envy and his grandfather all the same only mixed with a brown muck of hypocrisy and mutiny.

But when she had, she was kind and rather funny. She didn’t have a filter, much like Jaehaera. Instead of taking offense to her rashness, he found it refreshing and slightly amusing. Not to mention her youthfulness blended well with his own. She always looked so happy.

Aegon would laugh at her antics, picking up a few as habits along the way.

However, there was one memory of her he could never erase. Something he dreamt about while in the light of the sun or moon; he couldn’t escape it.

He was young. He knew that much, yet he could not remember the exact age. But he knew for certain he would always wonder about the castle, sneaking about, searching for mischief, for fun, maybe even trouble.

He remembers finding his way into a room, one yellow in light of thousands of candles, all dripping to the floor. No doubt giving the maids plenty of work to do in the morning.

His head would peak through and see a shadow— of her. Hair pulled up with loose strands of ringlets falling down toward her face and shoulders. She was a sight to be seen, beautiful simply. There was nothing particular about her. Anyone else within the court would have thought her plain, calling her matching brown hair and eyes dull, comparing the color to the muck and shit along the common streets.

But in that light they shined, a pool of gold matching that of Rhaenyra’s dragon— a likeness to his own in the short future. Aegon understood why Jaehaera took such interest in her, and he remembers wondering whether she were simply basking in the life bestowed upon her by Jaehaera, or if she were waiting for her. The ladder made him weary and scamper to a darker corner in which to hide.

He should have know better. If Jaehaera was to walk in, mere seconds would pass and he’d be caught. Maybe scolded, for Jaehaera had taught him that ‘one’s room is a sacred place of safety and should be respected’.

He was greeted with much worse.

He could tell by the sound; it was not Jaehaera. Certainly because he would have never heard hers, unless she were in a skipping mood— but she was always light-footed in the night. However, it was the clinking of armor that gave it away.

She thought it a waste of time to wear any.

So when the sound surged through the entryway, his eyes grew wide as he scampered away from the door, hoping to sneak under the bed before anyone saw.

He could only watch as Edeline’s scrunched up in confusion, trying to cover her bare bodice as they approached her figure. They had little politeness for her. One grabbed her arms while to other swept through her belongings, as if searching for something.

Finally, there was silence. No more of her yelling, demanding to know what they were doing, not her cries as the guard holding her grasped her jaw harshly in order to stop the noise. That’s when he noticed the green peaking in out from the back. And he dared to lean forward, catching sight of the man. He felt his lip tremble as he watch Sir Criston Cole holding Edeline without any care. And he almost gasped after seeing the earrings that the other had found in Edeline’s dresser. Green Emeralds in the shape of tear drops.

His mothers.

The last he saw of Edeline was her screaming profanities, squirming against hoping to break free of Sir Cole’s hold, before finally shrieking out what he’d never forget—

“Jaehaera! She will kill you all, I swear it! Jaehaera!”

He hid under that bed for what felt like hours, maybe it had been, but those last words remained loud in his words. And it was only until the door opened again, this time without footsteps, and booted feet coming into view. Not taking in the consequences, he started crying, wriggling from out under the bed until he jumped into Jaehaera’s arms. She had barely asked him what was wrong when he cried out,

“They took her!”

Jaehaera didn’t need to be told who was taken, nor who had taken. Her eyes grew a shade deadlier than the magma that rests beneath the earth. She was quick to grab him, hoisting him on her hip as she ran though the halls, caring very much to awake a maid to take Aegon from her.

“Take him to his mother, and tell the Queen that she is not allowed to leave her chambers by order of Princess Jaehaera.”

That was the last time Aegon had seen her for years. After that night it would seem everything would change.

Jaehaera would be gone more than she would be at Kings Landing.

His grandfather would be banished from castle grounds until he was well of age.

His father, Viserys would be cold to them all, for a long while.

And his mother would cry that night, upon hearing each decree of Jaehaera departure and Otto’s banishment— he could not tell which upset her more.

Aemond

Let’s not pretend that this man wouldn’t be a tad bit of a hypocrite. I mean… he would resent Lucerys but love Jaehaera. I think we all know who’s more “illegitimate” here. Anyway—

I strongly believe Aemond and Aegon both have abandonment issues, and not in a literal sense per say, but they definitely feel neglected. And while Aegon drifts away and acts out, Aemond definitely seeks approval. He is obsessed with it. Whether it be from his mother, his father, or Jaehaera.

*cough cough* explains the praise kink *cough*

Seriously though, he really is obsessed with being perfect.

And this gets worse every time Jaehaera leaves.

I just imagine him as a child at “peak perfectionist” in his studies and practices, especially because of his dragon fixation. He wants to make up for what he lacked at the time. So when he met Jaehaera for the first time his standards skyrocketed. Not just for himself, but for everyone else.

This is where the hypocrisy comes in.

I don’t think Aemond is homophobic or sexist, but I do think he believes in tradition. Which makes zero sense but let me explain.

He definitely believes in blood status, no shocking, but he also thinks that means each class has its own rules. Meaning anyone beneath his station has no right to sully their name without consequences. He has no respect for those who are found guilty of cheating, wedlock, or affairs. That’s their problem. It doesn’t affect his family.

They have no limits.

Unless of course you’re Rhaenyra’s kids. But hey, that’s where the flaw in his logic shines through.

Don’t worry, Jaehaera will call him out on it later.

Basically— if anyone ever thought of slut shaming Jaehaera, they die. In fact he’d be so disgusted by them it would be as if they had just admitted to the debauchery.

Jaehaera herself could have said the same thing, he wouldn’t blink an eye. Anyone else… they die. For they had no right to speak of her in such away, even if she had made it public information.

However, in all, he is a gentleman. It’s what he prizes himself on.

He’s a good academic, a talented knight, and a dutiful Prince.

And while he enjoys the affects of his behavior, he despises that half of it isn’t truly him. He revels in praise, but he cringes away at his reflection very evening before he sleeps. Not just because he can’t stand the sight of what he’s physically lost, but the will of what he had as a young boy.

The shitty part of it all is, he knows that he doesn��t need to be this way for her to be proud of him. But he takes that as a reason to continue, because he wants more. He wants to surprise her, impress her so much that she couldn’t leave him behind again.

She’d either have to stay and watch him grow even further, or take him with her.

Alright— now let’s address the obvious:

Aemond would act as if Jaehaera’s more “scandalous” behavior didn’t bother him, because he always says she is free to do as she wishes. And he does believe that, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it, or approve of her partners.

He’s a jealous bastard, and he knows it.

Aemond will take each interaction Jaehaera has with someone other than him personally. He’ll hold a grudge against the other person, and feel insecure that he’s not doing enough to keep her attention. And depending on who it is, Aemond will react differently.

If it’s anyone below his rank, it’s a easy fix. He’ll threaten them to never speak to her again, and it works like a charm because the few that had the balls to not do as he said were punished severely, either locked up for the rest of their days, executed, or sentenced to servitude.

You might ask, how does Jaehaera allow this?

Well— half the time she’s not in kings landing. When she leaves, Aemond makes his move, and the individual Jaehaera was interested in has suddenly disappeared.

However, Aemond is not a monster. Aemond would never harm someone simply because they have Jaehaera’s affection.

The only reason he ever does the number of things listed is because they’ve…

1. Bragged about having her favor or speaking crudely of her

2. Tried to use her affection for their own gain

3. Made her displeased

He also doesn’t discriminate so it doesn’t matter, lord or lady— just don’t make Jaehaera sad.

Now, time to discuss how Jaehaera’s behavior affected his own display of sexuality.

Aemond is demisexual. (It’s my headcanon, you can disagree, but it just makes sense to me.)

So while Aegon (personally I think he’s bi-sexual), is more overt with his sexual preferences, Aemond usually keeps those things to himself.

This is because he has trust issues, and he has always viewed sex as a transaction growing up.

He knew the system of social hierarchy, lords selling out their daughter for fortune or status, and the irony of the relationship between his own mother and father. Though he’d never say anything of the sort out loud. If he were honest, the thought made him sick, but it was all he’d ever known.

And he knew that pleasure existed, but for a cost as well.

Men would seek a carnal release, and women in the darker parts of the city would give them what they wanted for a fixed price.

Nothing had ever been free.

Until of course, Jaehaera spoke of pleasure.

“Byka zaldrīzes?” Little dragon

Aemond’s head snapped up quickly, having been stuck on the same word for the past hour or so while laying out in the library, studying while Jaehaera read whatever she hadn’t already. If he were truthful, he’d admit that his mind was clouded with what Jaehaera was wearing.

It was nothing out of the ordinary persay; she often wore clothing out of fashion or from another kingdom, gifts from her many travels. Yet, this time was different. This time she came back from Dorne.

She had come back from the kingdom before, always happier for it because she got to share her findings of her “favorite culture”. Always promising that she would be back there next voyage if the weather permits.

The weather always permits.

But this time was different. Aemond was in the midst of “becoming a man” as his mother and Otto would say. He prided himself with not acting rashly through all the changes, not wanting to be like his brother. Furthermore when he felt his whole body go flush at the sight of Jaehaera leaping off her dragon, barely covering her breasts with a beaded blouse and loose fabric around her exposed hips, straight into his father arms, he couldn’t help but few embarrassed. Even more so when she commented on it.

“Oh no! You poor thing— did you all stand out here for too long? My poor little dragon is burning to a crisp!”

Aemond wanted her dragon to eat him alive.

So here they were, as Jaehaera insisted to bring back his wellness, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. I could look up just once…

It was a battle he only won with her mercy of saying his name.

“Yes?” He responded in a high pitch than he meant to.

Smiling at him fondly, she tilted her head, leaning the bun atop her head against the leg of a chair— and he knew that her scalp was beginning to ache.

“Would you like me to help you take down your hair?” He asked, not even thinking of the rejection that may follow.

“Would you?” She asked, humming at the idea, “Braid it for me?”

His hands shook slightly at the thought of running his hands through the smooth strands. He had played with her hair before, knowing it was a privilege, for she found great pride in it. She hadn’t cut it in decades, claiming she liked the tradition of the Dothraki. The last he’d seen, her hair landed at the beginning of her calves. That was two years ago.

Apparently she knew his answer for she had begun to turn as his lips parted to speak. “Your brother sent me letters while I was away.”

Gulping down his nerves, he uttered a brief hum of recognition, before teasing the ties holding her hair. Aemond watched as it uncoiled and twirled until pooling at the ground. The sight filled him with joy, for her knee the braid would take time, but also made him weary…

He did not want to talk of Aegon, or anyone else for that matter. Not while he had her to himself, finally.

Shaking her head to even out her hair, Jaehaera continued, “Yes, and I was quite surprised.”

“That he can write?” Aemond quipped, allowing himself to slot both his hands underneath her hair before drawing it out towards him. He’d let the black wires drown his very being if she’d wish it.

Jaehaera her head back in a laugh, making Aemond freeze when her scalp brush against his fingers. “You’ve become quite quick my little dragon, but no, I was surprised he was the one to send me letters. Not you.”

He could hear the teasing smile creeping through her voice. “Too busy for me—?”

“No!”

Aemond voice made both of them stir, Jaehaera’s head quirking to the side in order to showcase her raised brow. All while Aemond’s hands dropped to the floor, softly brushing the hair fanned around his legs.

“I mean— I just haven’t had anything to write about.”

I don’t have anything I want you to know, he meant.

Nodding slightly, Jaehaera faces forward once again. “Alright.”

Sighing, disappointed at his choice of words, for how he came across, for the change of tone in her voice. It hated all of it.

“I only mean that nothing interesting happened,” he mumbled, moving closer to her and plopping her hair in his lap so he could gently part through it, “Everything is dull when you’re not home.”

It was a guilt trip, and Aemond wasn’t proud of his methods, but he’d do anything to convince her to stay.

Jaehaera hummed again, the way she had before but without a nod, feeling Aemond’s hands coiling her hair into three. She knew what he meant, and she knew it was true.

“Aegon told me something interesting,” she said, her voice turned gentle and comforting, “but now I think he shouldn’t have.”

Aemond’s brows creased together, trying to figure out what it could be. Aegon had done numerous of things since Jaehaera last left, he’d know, he had to hear every time their mother reprimanded him. But what he couldn’t figure out is why Jaehaera wouldn’t want to know. Not only did Aegon tell her everything, beyond what was appropriate, but Jaehaera was known to want to know everything.

“Why is that?” He asked meekly, starting the trend of the braid, making quick work from all the practice he had from helping his mother and sister.

Jaehaera didn’t say anything for a while. They both just sat there as Aemond braided her hair, listening to each others breathing, and sometimes Aemond believed that she could hear his heartbeat.

“He told me something that wasn’t his.”

“Oh? Did he gossip about mother?”

That would be a reasonable explanation, Aemond thought. Jaehaera’s demeanor always shifted when his mother was brought up, let alone if she entered the room.

“No.”

“Father?” That one was less likely, they barely spoke to their father.

“You,” she said instantly, “he told me about something about you, well I suppose the both of you.”

Aemond froze, and Jaehaera knew he couldn’t be finished already. Even with his agile fingers, the most skill maid couldn’t even do her hair that quickly.

“Aemond?”

He knew what it was. There was nothing else that the boys had done together, anything that Aegon would have felt Jaehaera should know.

All he could feel was shame.

“Whatever he said is a filthy lie.” He claimed, voice now dark, surprising Jaehaera enough to turn around. She was almost taken back by how his eyes mimicked such destain.

Staring for a moment, Jaehaera let her thumb swipe over the middle of his brow, trying to release its tension. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of—,”

“It is foul,” he spat, no longer able to keep eye contact with her.

“I’ve been gone too long,” she whispered with an air of guilt about her. “They’ve already taught you shame.”

She tilted her head one last time, hoping to catch his eye once again, but Aemond refused. He’d rather die than her see the tears welling up in his eyes. Jaehaera brushed his cheek before turning back around, inviting him to continue.

“Pleasure is only a sin when it comes from a place of cruelty Aemond.” This time her voice much more firm. “Remember that for me please.”

The boy bit the inside of his cheek hard, as to squeak out a sob, instead replacing it with a faint hum. It took the rest of the time to finish braiding her hair before either of them spoke again.

“It was not pleasurable,” he confessed, now allowing himself to peer up at her eyes. “Only wrong.”

“Did you not want to go to the brothel?” She’d ask, not falter of amusement or confusion.

Aemond shook his head. “Aegon won when we were sparring, and his prize was that he got to take me there. To “make me a man”, he said.”

There was anger festering in her eyes, and a part of it made Aemond terrified and happy all at once. He knew his brother was in for a rude awakening now. He just hoped he’d be there to witness it.

“Don’t ever bet on things like that again.” She demanded. “And promise me you’ll only ever do things that you wish, and if the other person wishes as well.”

“I promise.”

“And don’t go to anymore brothels.”

This time Aemond was curious. “Why?”

“They’re not made for souls such as yours.” She stated, as if it were to be a well renowned knowledge.

“What about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your soul. Why is it fit for such a place?”

Jaehaera smile to herself, a new distance within her pupils as she looked beyond him. “It was born there and is a part of me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but be confused. He had only a brief understanding of her past, as much as anyone else, but he could not figure why she would be nostalgic. Of all the terrors and torture she was brought forth from, why does she harbor it so fondly?

“Is it because of Edeline.”

The woman he only had a glimpse of as boy.

Jaehaera’s eyes were sharp as they quickly returned to him, bringing a hand to his jaw. “Don’t ever speak of her,” she lightly warned, her touch soft yet there all the same.

Her voice grew acidic, like the words she uttered was a soured poison. “These walls have eyes, painted green, and I will not have you be a subject of one of there inquiries.”

Only a second passed before she arose to her feet, ready to leave.

“I’m sorry!” Aemond sputtered, terrible worry filling his stomach.

Jaehaera stopped, looking back at him with a glint of intrigue. “Whatever for?”

“For- for,” he stuttered over his tongue, even more confused by her behavior.

She smiled at him, “Thank you for braiding my hair my little dragon.”

And as she left he could hear her yell, “Tell your mother I said hello.”

Last thing—

While he acts like he’s better than his brother, Aemond has definitely fantasized about Jaehaera. But I don’t think he copes with it in the way Aegon does. In fact I think he finds the though disgusting and treacherous. Like he would be betraying he in a way.

So he keeps her in his mind, imagining her, and if ever he finds it to unbearable, he’d be left with his hand and the mere thought of her. For it was enough.

Heleana

The babe is precious.

Obviously, she knows what sex is. She has children.

But I don’t think she really knows, if you get what I mean. I think Heleana just thinks it’s a thing that happen, or has to happen, and at least she gets children that she adores out of it.

Sad, I know, but I think it’s true.

So, she knows that Jaehaera has sex as well, but as she gets older, she picks up signs that Jaehaera is getting something else out of it. Because she’s not checking any of the original boxes set when she was growing up.

For one, Jaehaera wasn’t married.

This fit of course for Jaehaera’s character and everyone else in the family being so on edge about her hand and all.

But still, it’s a big topic.

Secondly, Jaehaera never had any children, nor did she express a want for any of her own.

And finally, if she ever did in fact use sex for procreation, then why did she sleep with women?

Basically, Heleana knew something was up, she didn’t know what it was, and honestly she didn’t care.

And as much as I would love for someone to actually give this sweet girl true love and adoration in the bedroom… she doesn’t need it.

Heleana could live her whole life without having sex and be perfectly happy.

She found pleasure and delight in other things.

What I’m trying to get at is… she could care less what people say or think of Jaehaera. Heleana never doubts Jaehaera for a second, for she admires her honesty and free spirit.

Within her gift she also suspects that the gods hold favor for Jaehaera, proving even more that her trust is not misplaced.

Do I think Jaehaera gave Heleana the talk? Because Alicent sure as hell didn’t.

Yes. But in a way Heleana would understand.

Jaehaera would uses spiders and other animals as reference, casually making a joke about how she would even get away with ripping off her lovers head if they deserved it— Heleana would never think to do so, but she’d laugh anyway.

Jacaerys

Jaehaera didn’t have to give Jace the talk because Daemon ran his mouth enough for him to pick up on innuendos. But Rhaenyra envitably gave him the talk.

I imagine that Jace would get as mad when people called Jaehaera a whore as he did with his mother. In a sense, he can relate to Aegon and Aemond in that sense. However— Jace would rather not hear about that stuff.

Not because it bothers him that she is more… promiscuous, but because it’s like hearing his mother talk about having sex. It can just be uncomfortable, which is why he’d also keep those types of things more to himself.

Jace would definitely ask questions if he couldn’t find the answers from any other source. He’s not scared of Jaehaera or his mother teasing him or making a big deal over it. He just rather not have the two women who raised him know he’s having sex, and if they do— that’s all they should know. No details.

I also think Jace believes firmly in the sentiment that “what happens in the comfort of one’s own home is their business.”

Basically, he hates when the Lords and Ladies of court try to talk about his mother, of his conspicuous decent, and anything or anyone Jaehaera chooses to do.

He wishes everyone would mind their own damn business and shut up.

Speaking of shutting up— he hates crudeness.

A casual joke every now and then? Sure; it’s bound to happen when he’s serving in the royal army anyhow. But he dislikes excessive dirty humor and crass talking. He thinks it somewhat disrespectful and has a bad past with it.

This explains why he gets so mad at Aegon at the dinner, when he makes a comment about him “knowing where to put it”. Not to mention he disrespected his fiancé—

Oh, and this boy is head over heels for Baela. Holy shit this boy is whipped. I’m talking, he would have married her the day of their betrothal if he could have.

They have known each other since they were children, comforted one another in times of sorrow, and watched/helped each other grow. They share the same hobbies: dragon riding, sparring, and love for adventure. And even in their differences, Baela being more rash like her father, and Jace like his mother— they are able to overcome.

I can imagine the few times anyone did joke with him or tease him a bit about sex would have been after they got betrothed.

Anyone with at least one eye could see that Jace was putty in Baela’s hands, and because Baela takes after her father she’s more forthcoming with her advances— more bold.

She would have always been more physical— with anyone— than her sister. Constantly using her arms as she spoke, hugging, nudging, slapping someone’s shoulder as she laughs, etc.

So when they get engaged, she takes that as a sign that she can further her advances. It would start a little innocent, she’d hug Jace in every greeting and goodbye, then she’d kiss his cheek, take his hand… leading to eventually initiating their first kiss.

Daemon would be proud of his daughter, if we’re being honest; he’d totally say something like, “well…she is my child.”

Rhaenyra would be glowing with happiness because of how in love they are.

And Jaehaera would be all of the above but also would make comments like, “You mustn’t leave them alone now, or else you may have an urgent reason to speed along the wedding.”

Jace would be red as his houses color, while Baela would laugh and scream,

“There are other ways to prevent that!”

Everyone would have practically fallen to the floor with shock or laughter.

Lucerys

Too precious.

Jaehaera knows he’ll “do the deed” one day. Not only because it’s his duty to produce heirs, but he also adores Rhaena.

And by the way the boy peaks over at his betrothed when he believes no one is watching, she knows that even his shyness could not trump his longing to cherish her in any and every possible way.

However, I would describe their relationship more of a friendship lover type. Rhaena and Lucerys aren’t in love the way Jace and Baela are: passionate and adventurous. They’re soulmates in a way that they don’t have to profess their undying love for each other to understand.

They’re more affectionate in a softer sense. They listen to each other without having to be asked, step into each others habits, and link the others hand with their own to keep them safe from wandering.

They reason before they fight, and they prefer to read and speak of other things than politics, succession, and war.

Numerous topics varying from music and art to cultures and even agriculture.

Basically— they’re a perfect match.

I also think that Jaehaera would give Lucerys a book on anatomy— which she annotated because let’s be real, the men that wrote them didn’t bother to learn everything— instead of speaking to him about it, just to spare him an hour of flushed cheeks and anxiety. And while she’d make sure both him and his brother knew that pleasure was important and natural, she wouldn’t feel the need to go over all the bases with Lucerys. Jaehaera knew and trusted that he would be delicate and gentle with Rhaena. He never gave her a reason to believe any different.

That being said— Lucerys is similar to his brother in not wanting to hear of Jaehaera’s sexual conquests. Of course, growing up he had the firm knowledge that there was no shame in the act, but he couldn’t help that anytime the subject was brought up his ears turned red.

The family has an unsaid agreement to try to keep such talk to a minimum around him, for once his face stayed pink until the next day.

I do think that Lucerys is more intuitive or empathetic than his other family members though. He may not necessarily know the most, but he can tell by someone’s voice, expression, or body language how they feel about someone else (or just in general).

So no matter how many partners Jaehaera took, he could clearly feel and see the difference in how she spoke of them to… others.

He noticed Jaehaera and Daemon.

He noticed Jaehaera and his mother.

He even picked up on how his uncles felt about her, which made his stomach turn every now and then.

But above all he noticed Jaehaera shift in behavior when a woman named Edeline was mentioned.

Whittling away at a piece of wood he had been for hours, trying to create something that somewhat resembled a ship, Lucerys sighed deeply to himself. He was ready to throw the damn thing into the fire, never to look at its bumpy surface again. The heat of the fireplace was not helping his frustration, only making the young dragon grow hotter, but he knew he only had himself to blame. If he had simply chose to sit next to his mother, rather than at her feet, he would have been contented to the coolness of the leather bound chair.

However, as he felt her hands come down upon his head, petting it gently, he could find no solace in his complaints.

“What is the matter my darling,” Rhaenyra’s cooed, heart warm with the vision in front of her. Her second oldest, resting at her feet as if he were her youngest child, yet with a face more grown than she had remembered.

Twisting around the boy groaned lightly, hugging his mother’s leg as he propped his work onto her knee. “She made it look so easy,” he whispered, dismayed by his lack of progress.

Laughing, Rhaenyra picked up the wonky boat, brushing her fingers over the ridges. “Well… firstly, you know you shouldn’t place your standards on Jaehaera’s abilities for your own,” she mused, “None of us should.”

“Secondly,” she chuckled to herself once again, “Jaehaera’s first couple looked just like this.”

Lucerys’ eyes widened at the news, “Really?!”

“Yes,” she combed her fingers through his brown curls. “That’s why she practiced so often. She’s a perfectionist.”

Lucerys could see his mother’s mind wandering, her eyes looking at him yet seemingly finding a way to see something else. He noticed that happened quite a lot lately; this has been the longest Jaehaera had been away from them.

She had left kingslanding suddenly, angered by something Lord Hightower had done, or at least that’s what his mother deemed as an appropriate explanation for him to know. She wouldn’t exactly tell him or his brother what he had done to upset Jaehaera, and he supposed she never willingly would.

Jaehaera had only sent them a letter, promising to visit briefly in a couple months. Lucerys just hoped this month would be the final within her absence.

He wasn’t surprised to hear that there was rivalry between the two. Jaehaera openly held her disregard for the hand of the king, even whispering little snide remarks under her breath, allowing him and his brother to partake in the joke alongside her and Daemon.

What Lucerys couldn’t understand was why Jaehaera would leave… when Otto was the one to be banished in the end.

Which is what made him curious of this third party he had heard of by many gossiping whispers…

“Mother, who is Edeline?”

Rhaenyra practically flinched at the name. Her eyes finally resurfacing to acknowledge him. “Where did you hear that name?”

Lucerys straighten his posture, creating space as his mother leaned forward, hands ready to keep him in place. The size of her eyes frightened him. “I-I heard a few ladies say it and something about Jaehaera—,”

“Who my child?” She got closer, her voice more that of a queen now than his mother. “Who said such things?”

“I- I don’t know- I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if that’s why Jaehaera was sad.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, eyes empty with something Lucerys swore he’d never gaze upon again if he could help. “Alright,” she softened, hand caressing his cheek, “Such a sweet boy you are.”

She cooed at him like a new born babe, and he couldn’t help but melt at it. “Don’t worry so much my love, all will be well. Jaehaera just has business of her own to take care of.”

Smiling she hugged him to her chest, “When she’s done she’ll join us here. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Nodding, Lucerys blinked at the door, watching as Daemon walked through. And his body felt solid once more.

Rhaenyra broke her hold and kissed Lucerys head before standing, greeting her newly wedded husband. Lucerys watched at how tenderly Daemon peered down at her, letting his hands smooth over her arms, before settling on her stomach. He kissed her forehead, whispering something that Lucerys though inconceivable to hear.

That’s how he found out he was to be a brother again.

Rhaenyra was quick to work, giving Lucerys one last kiss, then walking out to attend to whatever was happening. She was practicing her royal affairs, and she never missed them.

“She’s someone Jaehaera loved very much.”

Snapping his gaze from the doorway to Daemon, Lucerys’ eyebrows perched. “What?”

“Edeline,” Daemon mused, “that’s who you asked about right?”

“Yes, but— Jaehaera never mentioned a lady that she—“

Daemon laugh loudly, “She was her hand maiden. But I suppose she was treated like a lady…”

“I don’t remember a—,”

“Boy,” Daemon stepped closer, towering over him with a cheeky smirk, “she hasn’t visited us in quite some time, and even if she was Edeline’s stomach cannot withstand the fly here. You have not been to kingslanding in a couple of moons. Of course you can’t remember her.”

“You barely met her,” he tilted his head at the thought, almost giggling to himself. “And now you never will.”

“Why- what do you mean?” Lucerys asked with beady eyes, mocking that of his mother’s Daemon thought.

Leaning down to his level, Daemon placed his hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, as if giving grave news. “Otto had her executed.”

Lucerys gasped, making Daemon laugh despite his effort in trying to keep composed. “And now Jaehaera has left kingslanding, no doubt to plot that cunt’s fate.”

“Which means,” Daemons tone lowered as he brushed off Lucerys clothes, “we must all be ready to aid her if and when she’s in need.”

His eyes bore into Lucerys’, “Do you understand boy?”

It took a fraction of a second for Lucerys to nod, and less time for Daemon to remove himself from the situation. Patting the boys head, he turned and marched out of the room with a happy tune about him.

It was then that Lucerys understood how dangerous Daemon was. That he fed on chaos, and that whole conversation wasn’t just to warn him of what to come, it was to threaten him as well. To not ruin his entertainment.

Lucerys could also feel his eyes begin to water. Not because he was scared of Daemon, or what was to come. No, the boy realized that Jaehaera was out there, not just plotting Otto’s demise, but weeping over a loved one.

His heart ached at the thought of hers broken.

Baela

Idolizes Jaehaera

That’s enough said really… but I’ll continue.

Baela admires Jaehaera’s strength and autonomy over everything. She adores the pride in the way Jaehaera stands, the confidence in her demeanor, and the assurance in her voice.

If someone was to ask who she wanted to be when she grew up, it’d be Jaehaera.

So basically, is super proud of how fluid Jaehaera is in her identity, sexuality or not. She loves how Jaehaera doesn’t allow herself to be constricted to standards of court, and it gives her hope that she does not have to follow that path either.

And don’t get me wrong, Baela doesn’t want to sleep around per say, as I said, she and Jace are smitten. But she doesn’t feel guilty when she does find herself attracted to other lords of court. Just like she doesn’t feel ashamed for her affinity for swordsmanship. She’s not afraid to be different, and she’s not afraid to be adventurous.

She would definitely openly talk about her attractions with everyone she trusts. She’s an open book about things like that, because she likes to share. She believes it makes her closer to those she loves. Of course she keeps specifics to herself if it’s her father or Rhaenyra— she knows that they wouldn’t exactly want to hear that she (when she’s older and closer to a marriage appropriate age) wants to ride Jace like he’s her personal dragon. Or that she dreams of kissing him against the edge of the walls of Driftmark.

But she’s a totally open book when around Jaehaera and Rhaena— even to Jace. She often thanks Jaehaera for her boldness when she whispers dirty secrets and ideas into Jace’s ear as they train.

And while the idea of having children doesn’t overwhelm her with joy, Baela cannot help but feel happy when thinking of Jace with a child of her own. Their heir, by ways of their choosing.

She feels most liberated like this, and she thanks Jaehaera every day for giving her the role model to look up to.

Rhaena

Rhaena knows everything. Let’s get this squared away. She knows about sex, not just anatomy but everything else that’s should come with it.

Why you may ask?

Cause she asked Jaehaera about all of it, and Jaehaera answered every single one until her heart was content.

She’s curious. More so than even her sister, the difference between the two being that she’s more kept to herself with things of that nature. She’s not outspoken like Baela, though she admires her sister for it, Rhaena likes having secrets of her own.

She find power in her elegant sensuality when she wishes to use it, taking after her mother in that regard.

Rarely does she discuss it as she gets older. Occasionally she may giggle and share with her sister or Jaehaera, but she’s much more reserved.

However, she would still discuss matters like these with Lucerys, claiming it’s important for their future. But secretly she also loves the blush that overcomes his voice.

She tells him what she likes to do on her own, she she likes him to do, guiding him gently— differing from Baela who all but orders Jace around (it’s okay he likes it).

She also confessed that she feel attracted to both lords and ladies, confiding in Jaehaera first before telling Lucerys.

She knows there’s nothing wrong with it, growing up watch Jaehaera and her mother, and any other women surrounding them. And since she’s watched her fathers acceptance of the behavior her whole life, she’s held a standard in her heart for the man she would be to marry. Luckily, she was overjoyed when it turned out to be Lucerys. She felt no fear around him.

She’s never forget the confusion on his cute face when she first told him.

“That’s fine. You know it’s fine right? You weren’t scared of telling me we’re you? I’d never—,”

She shut him up with a kiss and told him she loved him.

Lucerys smiled with pink cheeks for the rest of the day.