#he's already planning her room in the citadel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hildergard · 3 months ago

Note

Could you do something where Aemond is already married/betrothed to a highborn lady that’s been approved by Alicent and Otto but he has a relationship with a low born woman (a brothel worker or any lowborn really) and once he becomes Prince Regent he starts bringing her around the castle, giving her a room to herself, treating her better than how a lowborn should be treated in Alicent and Ottos eyes and they don’t like it but Aemond doesn’t care.

MINE TO PROTECT ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader

TAGS | Suggestive content, swearing, possessive behaviour, classism

WORDCOUNT | 4k

NOTE | I have seen a lot of fanfictions where the Reader is a brothel worker so I made her a baker instead. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for this great request! I had so much fun writing it <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the seedy streets of Flea Bottom, rumours travelled in a precise order, memorised by all.

A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick⏤once the gold dragons were in her purse⏤to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.

Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread.

“Prince Aemond’s been made Regent," he said.

For a second, you did not move. The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture. It would have to be kneaded again. The sight of your dirty fingers woke you from your torpor. You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer⏤less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.

He had done it.

Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves.

A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the citizens of King's Landing in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams⏤the two were always intertwined, for Aemond Targaryen provoked fate rather than waited for it. His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words. Sordid tales of fire and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of the Citadel.

Even the Targaryens could not play with fire indefinitely. Aemond rose in the flames. For how much longer? You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you.

And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?

“What about his Majesty?" you asked.

Old Gerald tossed you three coppers, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth.

“They say he perished in dragonfire. Seems Targaryens are closer to men, after all. With all this quarrel for t'throne, it were inevitable. And, let me tell you, it'll happen again. Today, a brother sits on t'throne. Tomorrow, it'll be an uncle or a sister. Things like that never end.”

You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth.

“Wi' Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and his brother's heir dead, he’ll no doubt be crowned King. And the Lady Baratheon, Queen.”

You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment. You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded at you and returned to his shoes.

The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilt two sacks of flour and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Dorthy Porter, making you lose a silver stag and a customer.

When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped. The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them. You longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams⏤perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Gods were piling on his shoulders.

Tiredness weakened your knees⏤you dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom. In the middle of the room, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Gods that you would find sleep easily.

They ignored you.

The doorbell rang.

Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep paralysed them⏤it clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room. Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole shop seemed to shake.

“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled.

You gasped as two members of the Kingsguard appeared on your doorstep, their cloaks far too white to be dragged through the muddy streets of Flea Bottom.

“The Prince Regent, His Highness Aemond Targaryen, summons you.”

They did not care for your reply and seized you. You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of King's Landing, indifferent to your screams and struggle. Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket. You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done.

Already, rumours were spreading. The baker had been arrested. What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?

The dizzy shadow of the Red Keep loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl. For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings and Queens. You were being plunged headfirst into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you. One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm. You yelped. Why were they taking you there? Aemond always came to you, not the other way round.

Did someone know? You blanched. Impossible, you thought immediately. You had been cautious.

But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions?

Were they taking you to the Keep to put you to the sword?

A flash of fear stabbed you in the guts.

You finally passed through the large gates of the castle. They were still open, yet, no one was in the courtyard. The swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses were asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards in search of a dragon.

“Hurry up, girl. The Prince is waiting.”

A solitary, proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His long white hair fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his strict features and pale complexion. The mere sight of his face reassured you. You defied the guards and walked towards him.

His rough hand⏤hardened by duty and war⏤gripped yours before thin lips kissed it. The Prince pulled you towards him. Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you and your shoulders relaxed. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love. The smell of musk and leather soothed your body, but your head kept its wits about it.

“What's happening, Aemond?”

He closed his eye as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down and grasped your waist in a possessive embrace. You leaned into the touch.

“There are rumours that Aegon–”

You squeaked. His fingers had dug painfully into your flesh at his brother's name.

The mere mention of him brought back painful and humiliating memories, which your lover had confided to you, his head on your pillow. Even today, the wounds had not healed. They continued to transpire in every aspect of his life. You are the only thing he has not stolen from me, he had told you one night. Saying that name was like throwing his past back in his face and breaking your promise. He'll never succeed, you had replied, but today, Aegon was on your mind. What did his wound mean for the Crown, for you?

“Is it true?" you managed to articulate.

“The Council has made me Regent," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

But Aemond did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the kingsguards left. The clink of their armour echoed for long seconds, but the din faded with the tenderness of his gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest. They led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress. Aemond grunted⏤terribly offended by this affront⏤and pulled at the fabric but it held on.

Claere Linstar's work was reknown throughout Flea Bottom. You could not find a better weaver⏤today, you were thankful for the two silver stags you had spent. The garment would become the guarantor of your dignity, the bulwark against your desire.

When you realised that your Prince was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face.

“Aemond?”

He straightened up and held out his hand to you.

“Follow me.”

The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed. The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Aemond did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's used to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth.

On the way, maids dressed in red and white stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the Prince's... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Aemond tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin. This time, his touch only made you tense. You bowed your head, ashamed.

They knew.

The thought stayed with you.

You only lifted your head when Aemond stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the Prince's satisfied gaze.

“We've arrived," he announced.

Aemond opened the door with a confident gesture. Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes⏤an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before.

“Is it to your taste?”

You turned back to Aemond. Although his chin was up and his back was straight⏤proud as ever⏤red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours. He couldn't help it, you realised. His fingers always found yours⏤skin against skin to find what he had been deprived of all his childhood.

“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.

“Hmm. Good.”

He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest. Your pelvises collided. Suddenly, the room made sense. You let yourself drown in these familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Aemond kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips. Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs.

Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…

Aemond stopped you before you could take him in your hand. His hand grabbed yours. He kissed your palm and pressed it against his cheek.

“These will be your quarters.”

The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock. Your heart skipped a beat.

“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.

“Now that I am Regent, we will not have to hide any more.”

A new glare lit up his eye. Purple turned black and made you shiver. Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the second son he had once been. That Aemond was dead. In his place was a Regent who thought himself above laws and men.

“It's not proper, Aemond," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Dowager Queen or the Hand–”

“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”

“If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Aemond," you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding.

“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”

“You're engaged," you retorted. “The Lady Baratheon won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”

Alira Merchin's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of House Harte. The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover.

This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Chelsted.

She got rid of the merchant with disconcerting ease. The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards. That day, Lord Harte lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal.

Your heart dropped. What would happen to you if you tickled the stag? Ours if the Fury. Their motto was an ode to their rage, to their thirst for violence. If Floris Baratheon found out that Prince Aemond was bedding you... and in the Keep nonetheless…

The storm would come for you and you would perish in its eye.

“It's not a good idea, Aemond," you finally said.

“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”

The Prince pulled you into bed.

Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours.

Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days. It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart.

On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so. More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs.

You did not know how rumours got around in the Keep, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in Flea Bottom⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences even more dire.

The door to your quarters stood in the way of the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer?

Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Would you have to sell it? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in Flea Bottom, the cradle of the poor and the homeless.

You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Aemond did not seem eager to let you go.

Aemond.

Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to the Small Council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you. Your Prince needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself.

“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but the Gods will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you.

The moon brought him back into your arms. Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love. When the bells rang the hour of the owl, you indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, whispered sweet nothings or simply enjoyed the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed. Sometimes, Aemond, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would read you stories with his hand buried in your hair.

And then, the hour of the Nightingale would sound, its tranquillity burning away in the first rays of sunlight. The enchanted interlude would close and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you.

Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach.

The spectre of Floris Baratheon never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner. The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold.

She would come for you.

The Lady Baratheon occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat.

One day, Alicent Hightower stalked into your room.

You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling⏤this farce had gone on far too long and it would now end.

The Dowager Queen dropped a small leather bag on the table. Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second. Your heart was pounding against your temples. Soon, the air would run out. Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow.

“What is it?" you asked weakly.

“Five thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the Keep, far from Westeros.”

Away from my son, she meant.

“I won't leave Aemond.”

He needs me, you thought.

“The Prince Regent does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could heard your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Aemond? Your very presence here jeopardises this entire war.”

“I have tried to–”

“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”

You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly.

War transformed souls. It made them ugly. Alicent Hightower’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression.

She sighed and, for a moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman.

“I don't know what… hold my son has over you," she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”

The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal.

Aemond reached your side with a confident stride.

“What's going on here? Mother?”

When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his purple eye any longer.

It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.

“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice.

Silence stretched before Alicent Hightower relented.

“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Aemond. The girl must go.”

The Prince ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear as his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes. They wet your cheeks and his collar.

You should never have come here.

“Out.”

His mother protested.

“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Baratheon! For her house! If we lose Storm's End because of... because of this w–”

“Hold your tongue and leave.”

“Aemond, if you do this, we are lost!”

“Get out!”

Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Aemond sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before encouraging you to look at him.

“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you any more.”

The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words. You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath. Your Prince's fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak.

“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–”

“No," Aemond’s voice cracked.

His hands framed your face and pulled you closer until your noses were touching.

“You are not leaving me.”

His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, your warm cheekbones, your wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared. His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart.

“You belong here, with me. I do not care for blood or war. I only wish for your love.”

Aemond filled the space between your mouths. His hands reached down and grasped your breast. He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen. You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.

You didn't want him to stop.

The Prince shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress. Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Aemond took a step back. A petty smile stretched his lips as he heard you whimper. He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, now black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.

“Aemond, please…”

Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. You moaned. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart. His teeth nipped at the flesh, which his tongue immediately soothed. Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.

Suddenly, Aemond stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly and sat up on his elbows.

“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”

“I love you," you sighed.

Aemond smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul. Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs.

His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when the hour of the Nightingale struck.

You should have known that Aemond Targaryen would keep his promise.

Three days later, the Lady Baratheon was found dead in the Kingswood, impaled on a stag's antlers.

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Running On Sunshine (hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 3 || masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: You haven't spoken to Aemond. Tensions rise between the two of you and come to a head at the arrival of a disruptive patient.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: NSFW mdni medical terminology, use of needles, discussion around addiction (specifically alcohol, rehab, recovery), fighting, blood, punching, explicit sex (p in v) fingering, oral (fem receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, spanking, language

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

note: here it is! long-awaited, thank you for being so patient as my brain jumps around 😂 hope you enjoy it!!

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

It’s been a few days since your ultimatum with Aemond.

No texts.

No calls.

You pass each other in the halls and avoid eye contact, brushing past him close enough that if you extended your little finger you’d be sure to brush against the back of his hand.

You weren’t going to chase him.

You’d told him what you wanted. Told him you’d wanted him. And he had stayed silent. If that was the end of you and him, so be it.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing you inside. Watching him day in and day out walking through the halls of Citadel General in those stupid blue scrubs that he somehow wore like he was strutting down a runway not the hallway of a hospital.

It didn’t help that observations often included surgeries he was a part of. Aemond was a model resident, often asked to assist the attendants. And he was hard to miss, always wearing his signature scrub cap with little dragons peppered all over it, mid-flight. You’d catch him glancing up at the viewing gallery, peering up over his mask every now and then. You never caught his eye, he was much too quick for that.

“Switch with me,” you’d begged that afternoon after Baratheon had informed you of the plan to observe Dr. Cole’s surgery. There was no way Aemond wouldn't be there, Dr. Cole had chosen him as an obvious favorite.

You’d been catching up on notes with Cory for the past ten minutes, the pair of you both trying to shove food in your mouths before your pagers inevitably went off.

Labs. Observation. Notes. Scut work.

The never-ending revolving schedule of your internship.

Cory reaches into her bag of salt and vinegar chips, clicking her mouse furiously, her brows pinched together in concentration.

“I can’t,” she says through a mouthful, “Besides, you’ve already done this lab. If I don’t get these hours by the end of the week I’m about to take Jace’s place as Baratheon’s least favorite.”

You groan in frustration, letting your head rest against the keyboard of your computer. Nettles pops her head into the room, frowning at you both, “What’s wrong with her?”

Cory shrugs and you turn your head to face Nettles.

Beep beep!

Cory groans, checking her pager, “Shit, I gotta go,” she says, crushing her chip bag and logging out of the computer before heading out of the room, “Sorry again, Y/N!”

You mumble something along the lines of don’t worry about it just as she disappears from sight. Nettles raises her eyebrows.

“McDreamy?” she asks, and you continue to pout, “Damn. Dick is so good we should change his name to McDick.”

“You suck,” you tell her, but you can’t stop your smile, “Definitely not your best work.”

“McOrgasm? I’m still thinking of one that truly encompasses the distress he’s causing you. Dr. Cum?” she makes a face, “Okay ew. Definitely not Dr. Cum.”

You groan, putting your face in your hands, “What am I going to do?”

Nettles walks towards you, slapping the back of your head. You lift your head, mouth open in shock, palming the place she slapped.

“Hey! I was recently concussed!”

“And apparently it scrambled your brains more than we thought!” she snaps, “See what you’re not going to do is spend your days moping over Dr. Sexy. I don’t care how good his dick was. You are a doctor. You are an insanely smart woman and you are in your internship.”

Nettles lowers herself to your height, taking your hands in hers.

“He is very dreamy,” she says, her brown eyes empathetic, “But this is your time to shine. Not his. He’s not this important.”

It hurts---gods does it hurt---but she’s right. And you know it. You’ve been through situations like this before. You’ve gotten through things like this, and worse. Smiling at Nettles you squeeze her hands.

“Thank you.”

“Mhmm,” she says, smiling, “Always here for a reality check. You’re the sun, babe.”

You smile back at her, “I’m the sun.”

“Damn right,” she says, chuckling, “How’s Cece doing?”

“She was discharged this morning,” you tell her, beaming with pride, “Just finished her last round of antibiotics and her labs are clear. I’m working on her note now.”

Nettles plops down in Cory’s seat, reaching into the chip bag she left behind. Her hand comes out empty and she frowns.

Jace opens the door, looking rather sweaty and discombobulated. He’s been running around the most, trying to get on Barartheon’s good side.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath, “Can you guys help me in the pit?”

“No can do,” Nettles says, “We’ve got observation soon.”

You nod agreeing, but become curious noticing Jace’s panicked expression.

“Why what’s wrong?” you ask.

“Just…five minutes,” Jace says, “Please, I need someone. And I can’t find Sara and Cory--I just need someone, please.”

You turn to Nettles.

“The pit?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at you, “Really?”

“Tell Baratheon I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her, “Besides, maybe it’s a good case.”

“Girl,” Nettles says, sighing and shaking her head.

“I just really need your help,” Jace says, leading you through the emergency room, weaving between nurses and patients, “It’s just that…I mean I didn’t know the other day but now…”

“Didn’t know what?” you ask as he stops outside a curtain.

“-- he’s back again and family members--,” Jace says, brown eyes wide, “We’re not supposed to work on family members.”

Your eyebrows concave together in confusion when suddenly the curtain pulls back. A man is lying in the hospital bed, a halo of platinum hair cascading onto the pillow he lays on. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, a lazy grin appearing on his face as he gives you a once-over.

“Nephew,” he sing-songs, giggling, “You brought me a present!”

Jace sighs, pulling the curtain from his grasp. Wait a minute. Nephew? Your eyes scan the giggling man as Jace snaps something at him. The silvery hair, the violet eyes. Seven hells.

How many Targaryens are there?

“Excuse me?”

“He’s kidding,” Jace says, forcing a smile and turning to his uncle, “You’re kidding.”

His uncle shakes his head, lower lip jutting out in a pout, “I’ve never told a joke in my life. She’s pretty Jacey, well done.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, at the way his eyes cascade down your body. You’ve never felt more exposed in simple scrubs.

“Stop calling me that,” Jace snaps, cheeks reddening.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Jacey boy,” he croons, “Thought Baela had taken your balls when she dumped your ass--”

“Funnier every time I see you, Aegon,” Jace interrupts, closing the curtain once more.

Aegon’s mouth drops open in surprise before he’s hidden from sight. You raise an eyebrow at Jace, folding your arms across your chest.

“He’s harmless,” Jace assures you, “Please, please just help get him out of here as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s sort of difficult when we don’t know what’s wrong--”

“I know what’s wrong.”

You frown, raising an eyebrow at him, “You know?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking drunk. He’s always drunk. Just give him a banana bag, let him sober up, and get him out of here,” Jace instructs.

“How do you know he’s drunk?”

“Considering the fact he hasn’t been sober since I was eight years old, it’s not hard to guess,” Jace tells you, “He’s been to more rehab programs than I can count. Trust me on this.”

“I’m still going to have to do some labs,” you tell him, not willing to go against protocol.

“That’s fine, do what you have to do just…keep him out of the way,” Jace pleads, eyes widening as though he’d just remembered something very important, “And don’t let Aemond know he’s here.”

Your gut tightens at the mention of Aemond.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t. It’s better for everyone if no one knows Aegon is here,” Jace finishes, “Thank you, I owe you big time.”

“Yeah you do,” you confirm, and then Jace hurries out of sight, eager to escape the pit.

The curtain opens once more and you turn, meeting the curious gaze of Aegon Targaryen. You try to stop the scowl that threatens to overtake your face as he grins widely, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Ow!”

“Will you hold still!”

“You’re killing me!”

“Stop being so dramatic!”

“It hurts!”

“It won’t hurt if you stay still, Aegon!”

Aegon throws his opposite arm over his eyes as you attempt to find a vein for the third time. He’s too squirmy, too anxious that as soon as the needle pierces his ivory skin he’s flinching away and howling.

“I’ve seen children do better than you,” you grumble, and he gasps in feigned shock.

“They let you torture children?”

“Hush!” you insist, and to your relief, he’s able to stay still as you start the IV, “There you go. See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Aegon peaks over his arm, glancing down at the tubes as you assemble them properly, making sure the drip is even. He frowns as you release the tourniquet.

“I bruise like a peach,” he mumbles.

“Sounds like you need more iron in your diet,” you tell him, walking to the other side of his bed. You need to take his blood pressure and begin wrapping the band around his arm.

“Can I have something for the pain?” he asks.

“No, you may not.”

“Not even Tylenol?”

“No.”

“Hells,” he mumbles, “You should know, I enjoy it when women are mean to me, it turns it on.”

“Of course it does.”

“Mhmm. I eat that shit up.”

You’ve been trying not to look at his face for too long. If you look at Aegon, you’ll start thinking about Aemond.

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about Aemond.

They don’t really look alike, despite the matching hair and eye color. Though he’s sitting down you can tell Aegon has none of Aemond’s height. He’s soft whereas Aemond is sharp. Their mouths may be the most similar thing about them, both awarded beautifully pouty lips made to be kissed.

“What’s on your mind, doc?” Aegon says, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying, I’m very perceptive,” Aegon insists, “Come on tell me. What is it? Doctor drama? Boyfriend drama?” Your face must give something away when he asks, because his eyes light up, “Boyfriend drama.”

It’s no use, you can feel your face heating up, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

Your head snaps up at him, and you remove the blood pressure sleeve. Discarding it in favor of your stethoscope you place the end against his chest.

“Breathe in.”

“D’you have a girlfriend then?” he relentlessly continues.

“No.”

“A fuck buddy?”

“Hells,” you mumble in frustration, trying to listen to his heartbeat.

“Please tell me it isn’t my nephew,” Aegon says, making a face.

“What?” you answer, far too quickly, “No! Seven hells, Jace and I are friends! And I do not sleep with colleagues.”

“Everyone sleeps with colleagues,” Aegon argues, “How else do you meet people?”

“That working well for you?”

“Oh I don’t work,” he answers, “That’s boring.”

You choke back a laugh. The man truly is ridiculous.

“Alright then. Well, you’re all set once you’re done with your fluids we’ll check your vitals again and send you on your way,” you tell him, making a note in his chart, “I can have the nurses reach out to some detox programs if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Look, I understand a bit of your history from what Jace shared. But you should know, recovery isn’t linear, and relapse is completely normal-”

“I haven’t relapsed.”

You blink.

“Your BAC was 1.06,” you inform him, “That’s more than a little buzzed.”

“I haven’t had a drink since Nyra birthed her last gremlin,” he insists, not elaborating on who Nyra was, “I’m just like this.”

Your eyebrows knit together. He could be lying, you know that. Addiction is one hell of a disease.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

You’re silent for a moment, just staring into his violet eyes.

“Your blood--”

“Fuck the labs,” he groans, “They always come back like that. I haven’t taken anything. I haven’t drank anything. Believe me, I’d be much more obvious.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t be so far away,” he comments, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, “I don’t know why this happens. I think my body got so used to being fucked up, it just does it on its own now.”

“You’re being serious,” you comment, and he nods.

It goes against everything you’ve learned in med school, and in residency thus far. Your pager beeps and you glance at it. It’s Nettles. You’re supposed to be joining her soon.

When you hear hooves, think horses, not zebras.

You chew your bottom lip. Aegon raises a brow, already looking better with the intake of fluids.

Fuck it.

You quickly page Nettles, and let her know you’re needed longer in the pit. Hopefully, Baratheon doesn’t kill you for this.

We’re going with the zebras.

“Okay so I’m going to send the sample to the lab and see what comes back,” you inform Aegon, “And if you’re being honest with me, we should have some answers for you.”

Aegon swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Why would I lie?”

You want to roll your eyes, but you’re sure if you do in his presence once more they’ll fall out of your skull. He gives you a cheeky grin as he notices your exasperation.

“People lie all the time,” you tell him.

“To you?” Aegon asks, snatching your hand is his, “Never, princess.”

You hear Nettles suddenly, her voice flowing through the ER and your stomach turns. Surely, it's Dr. Baratheon coming to reprimand you for missing observation to spend time in the pit ‘trolling for surgeries.’ The curtain opens then, and to your horror, it’s Aemond who has discovered you rather than Dr. Baratheon.

His eyes fall to your face first before he turns to Aegon. His gaze drops to your interlocked hands. Something washes over him, his expression cold and calculating.

“Out,” he says, voice quiet as death.

Aegon chuckles, but you can hear the nervousness he’s trying to hide. You can see it in the way he wets his lips, the way he pulls his hand from yours.

“Bro…”

“Out, now,” Aemond repeats, “Don’t make me drag you out in front of all these people.”

“Careful now,” Aegon says, standing, “you know how mummy feels about you getting your hands dirty--”

Aemond steps forward, hands fisting Aegon’s shirt and dragging him forward. Your eyes widen in shock and Nettles yelps as Aemond pushes past her, dragging Aegon with him.

The display has gathered the attention of several nurses and patients as Aemond continues to drag him through the ambulance entrance and out the automatic doors. You and Nettles remain closely on their heels as they exit the hospital.

Aemond releases his hold, sending Aegon stumbling into the road.

“Seven hells!” Nettles says, a shocked expression on her face.

Aegon laughs maniacally, bending over with his hands on his knees. He shakes his head several times, like a dog before looking up.

“Go home,” Aemond says, flexing his hand.

“Where’s that?”

“Wherever you’ve been staying I suppose,” Aemond quips.

Aegon is panting, staring at his brother.

“I’d like to see Helaena.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Helaena!” he yells at the sky, “She’s my sister, I know she wants to see me.”

“You’re not shaking her down for any more fucking money,” Aemond says, his voice louder this time, making you flinch, “Go home, Aegon.”

Aegon wets his lips, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours.

“You’ll call me? With the results?” he asks, and Aemond snorts.

“Another STI screening?” Aemond snarks.

Aegon’s tongue pokes his cheek, an angry smile on his face.

“Gotta make sure I’m all clear before saddling up with a fit bird,” he taunts, eyes falling on you as he says it, grabbing his crotch for emphasis.

Aemond lurches forward his hand connecting with Aegon’s cheek. Nettles and you both scream as Aemond jumps back, Aegon spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. He laughs again, smiling with bloody teeth.

“Get him cleaned up and get him out of here,” Aemond instructs Nettles, before heading back inside and leaving the three of you standing there.

Aegon’s lip is split, along with a cut on his cheekbone. He spits again, wiping his face and nodding at you.

“No boyfriend eh?” he says, grinning. Your face flushes.

“I wasn’t lying.”

His grin widens.

“One of us is,” he says, referencing your earlier conversation, “Guess we’ll find out who.”

Nettles approaches him, and he winces. She turns to you.

“You should go see if he’s okay,” she says, nodding to the doors.

You run back inside leaving Nettles and Aegon, your eyes searching for Aemond. Hurrying to the nurses' station, they inform you which direction he took off in. A nervous sweat breaks out on the back of your neck as you hurry down the hallway. You spot him then, taller than everyone else, watching as he ducks into an on-call room.

Quickening your pace you follow him inside. It’s quiet as you close the door, besides the sound of a noise machine echoing white noise in the dimly lit space. There are two beds in this room; truly the on-call rooms are in such sorry states. Small twin mattresses with paper-thin sheets and pillows that may as well be pieces of foam.

Aemond sits on the bed to the left, his head resting in his hands. You close the blinds on the door, flipping the sign that says “Both Beds Occupied” along with flicking the lock. You don’t think he’ll want to be disturbed.

“Aemond,” you say softly. He doesn’t move. The knuckles of his right hand are bloody.

Taking a step closer, you watch his shoulders rise and fall with the deep breaths he’s taking. Anxiety churns in your stomach, and you take a step back, placing your hand on the handle of the door.

“I’ll just leave you--”

“Don’t,” Aemond speaks quietly for the first time, raising his head. His gaze softens, his eyes somewhat glassy. “Please don’t go.”

Your heart starts to race, but you nod, stepping back toward him. Sitting beside him the bed creaks; you cross your ankles and place your hands on the edge of the bed. Aemond rests his chin on his hands, arms propped on his knees. The pair of you sit in silence for several moments. It begins to rain outside, fat droplets of water beating against the window.

“You should get that looked at,” you finally say, nodding at his hand.

Aemond merely hums in response, flexing his fingers.

“Seriously, you’re a surgeon,” you continue, “What are you thinking, throwing punches like that?”

Aemond glances at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, “He brings out the worst in me.”

“Your brother.”

“Mhmm,” he answers, shaking his hand. It’s not as bad as it looks, thankfully. He could have done some serious damage.

“I’m sorry. Jace told me…well I’m just sorry.”

“It’s alright. Someone has to treat him. I’m sorry if he was inappropriate to you.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, “We don’t get to choose how patients behave.”

“Aegon can be a lot. Take it from someone who knows him rather well.”

“Noted.”

You sit in silence some more. The sky outside has begun to turn dark as clouds roll in, the sound of thunder audible in the distance. A storm is looming.

“I’ve missed you,” he says so softly you almost don’t catch it.

Your hands dig into the side of the bed, your heart pounding against your ribs making your chest feel painfully tight.

“Don’t-”

“Y/N..”

“Please Aemond,” you cut him off, eyes watery, “Please. Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he insists, turning his head toward you, “It’s just…Y/N that day I didn’t give you an answer. And you deserve one. I like you. I like you so much. You’re an incredibly intelligent person, funny, adorable, and…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself.

“And what?”

“And that scares the shit out of me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. I wasn’t expecting you. When I moved here I just planned on keeping my head down and then….then there was you,” he looked away, his eyes lit up in wonder, “I saw you in that bar, and it was like the sun came out.”

Your lips part, your stomach flutters pleasantly at his words, and goosebumps erupt on your skin. He glances at you shyly, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“And then I saw you here and you’re an intern, at the beginning of your residency I just….I mess things up. I don’t want to mess things up for you. Or with you.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, “Okay.”

“But…I miss you. I miss talking to you, kissing you,” Aemond continues, the top of his cheeks turning pink, matching his ears, “You asked me if I’m in or out. I didn’t answer, and I should have. I’m all in.”

“Aemond…”

“If you’ll have me,” he adds, “If you…if you want to give this a try.”

You smile at him softly.

“It’s all I wanted from the start.”

Aemond smiles, leaning toward you and connecting his lips to yours. You sigh against his mouth, as his hand snakes around the back of your neck, keeping you from going anywhere. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, and you part them eagerly accepting the warm muscle into your mouth.

Your hands bury themselves in his scrubs as he turns his head, deepening the kiss. His opposite hand reaches for your waist, sliding down to rest on the meat of your thigh. He rubs soothing circles there for a moment, before gripping you hard and pulling you on top of him.

You straddle his waist as he scoots backward, pressing his back flat against the wall. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, tugging your blue scrub top over your head, before desperately chasing your lips once more. Shivering in the cool air, your nipples harden in your bra. You almost wish you’d worn something a little sexier, the plain black bra making you feel underdressed.

Aemond eyes your tits like a madman as his skilled hands eagerly unclasp your bra, pulling it from your torso.

“Should we be doing this--” you gasp, grinding against the hardness between his thighs.

“Yes, yes we should,” he says, kissing you once more before pausing, his eyebrows knitting together, “Unless you don’t want..”

“No! I mean--fuck, yes, yes we should and I want to,” you whimper as his teeth graze against your neck, “But I mean, here…” Aemond continues his attention to your neck, his perfect mouth nipping and sucking the sensitive skin.

“No one’s coming,” he murmurs, “You locked the door, yes?”

You nod, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, groaning as you clench your fists, tugging at his hair.

He catches your lips once more and you arch your back, pressing yourself against him trying to get as close as humanly possible. Moaning against his mouth he chuckles softly, the sound reverberating against you.

“Shh,” he croons, brushing some hair from your face, “You have to be quiet.” He nips your lower lip as he says it, smoothing his tongue along where he bit, “Something you have trouble with, I recall.”

Your cheeks warm at the memory of your first night together, the puddle he’d turned you into with such little effort. Lashes fluttering, you look up at him as he admires you.

“You’ll have to remind me,” you tease, earning a growl from him as he flips you onto your back beginning to pull your scrub pants from your body.

Eager to assist, you kick wildly trying to get the soft material off. Aemond catches your right calf in his large hand, trying to avoid being kicked.

“Careful,” he chuckles, pressing a hot kiss to your calf, helping you out of your scrubs, shoes, and underwear.

“Sorry,” you manage to say through your giggles as he tosses the ball of clothes toward the opposite bed, “We’re a bit uneven now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Grinning, Aemond pulls his scrub top from his body as thunder crashes outside. The sky has darkened considerably and lightning flashes, illuminating the room. Aemond’s hands travel up your calves, hooking against your knees as he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Better?”

Your eyes trace down his exposed front following the planes of his chest, the chiseled outline of his abdominal muscles. You swallow, feeling yourself clench as your gaze rests on the outline of his hard bulge.

Nodding, you take your lower lip between your teeth, dragging your gaze back to his face. Aemond’s breathing is heavy as he sits on his haunches, eyes raking down your naked body.

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he breathes appreciatively, “Gods…” He lets one hand move up your body, fingers dancing against the skin of your waist, up the side of your ribs to your breast. He explores higher and higher until with a desperate whine you reach up pulling him toward you.

You could kiss him forever.

You want to kiss him forever.

The hand that rests on your leg curls inward, stroking the soft flesh of your inner thigh before inching higher. Your breathing has started to turn to pants as Aemond lets one of his long fingers part through your silky folds, spreading your arousal.

“Seven hells,” he groans, swirling his finger against your clit, “All this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, biting your lip and trembling against him already.

Aemond only smirks, that familiar look of confidence in his eye, “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you tell him, as the tip of his finger sinks inside of you, “Fuck-- just for you.”

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, pushing further inside of you, stretching you out on his forefinger. A second finger soon joins and he scissors the digits against your fluttering walls.

You’re trying to be quiet---really you are trying--- but it feels too good. He’s too precise with his movements, too insistent on bullying that sensitive rough patch that causes your eyes to roll back in your head. “Aemond…I can’t--”

“Shhh baby, I know, it feels too good to be quiet, huh?” he says, voice full of mock sympathy, “Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum really quick, let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nod furiously, a choked moan escaping you as Aemond presses a tender kiss to your forehead. Moving away from you, he keeps up his relentless pace with his fingers as he slides onto his stomach on the bed. Your eyes widen as Aemond glances up at you from between your legs, a cheeky smile on his handsome face.

“Aem----oh fuck!” your concern is short-lived as Aemond presses his mouth against you.

His tongue traces lazy circles over your clit, groaning, “Hells, I missed this sweet little pussy,” he mumbles, taking the sensitive button between his lips and suctioning around it.

Throwing your head back against the pillows, your back arches, and your mouth opens in a silent scream. The rain continues to pour outside, the drumming against the window matching that of your racing heart.

“Oh yeah, I know that’s so good, huh?” Aemond mumbles between licks of your clit, his free hand snaking upwards to grope at your breasts, “Fuck you look so pretty…all whiny and desperate.”

He curls his fingers as he says it, massaging the tender spot inside of you causing your pussy to spasm against his fingers. His tongue traces nonsensical patterns around your clit, his lips sucking and releasing causing lewd wet noises to echo through the room.

“Next time,” he murmurs a quiet promise, “Next time, when I’ve got lots of time…we’ll see how long I can keep you like this.” His fingers pinch your right nipple, tweaking it harshly.

Your belly tenses, muscles constricting against his fingers as he returns his sweet torture on your clit, and you finish with a muffled sob as you turn your head, pressing your mouth against your shoulder. Aemond murmurs soft praises, talking you through your orgasm as your legs shake around him.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you hiss through your teeth as he slowly pulls his fingers from your fluttering pussy, bringing them to his mouth.

You watch, wide-eyed as he sucks the lengthy digits, moaning at the taste of you.

“Turn around baby,” he says, sitting up, “Put your face in the pillow.”

Shakily, you turn on your hands and knees, before letting yourself fall to your forearms. Aemond slides his hand down your back, admiring the curve of your spine, spreading your cheeks wide.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, slapping your cheeks, causing you to yelp, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re an ass man?” you tease, looking back over your shoulder.

“I’m a ‘you’ man,” he argues, grabbing his length and sliding it against your folds, “Now be a good girl, and let me take care of you.” The fat head of his cock pokes at your entrance.

“Please,” you breathe as he starts to slide in. Aemond pauses, groaning slightly.

“Fuck baby, you can’t say that all sweet right now,” he growls, “We don’t have time.”

“Please, put it in,” you whimper, cheek pressed against the pillow, drool forming a wet patch under your cheek.

Aemond’s hand cracks down on your ass once more, “Be a good girl you little brat.”

You whimper, your begging ceasing as he slides fully inside your tight, wet heat. The stretch of his fingers was nothing compared to his thick cock. Your walls tense around him, pulsating around his thick length as he bottoms out. Rocking backward, he slides nearly all the way out before thrusting back in.

Electricity bursts through your veins, pleasure crackling through your limbs like the lightning outside of the window. The force of his thrusts sends your face deep into the pillow, muffling the sharp cries of pleasure you emit. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to, it feels too fucking good, the head of his cock rubbing ceaselessly against your g-spot as he ruts against you; he’s grunting softly, muttering praises all the while, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Fuck,” he gasps as your knees slide down, legs shaking so bad you’re unable to keep them upright, “It’s okay baby, just relax I got you.”

Your legs bend against the mattress, thighs splayed, hip flexors burning with the deep stretch it awards you. Aemond never relents, just continues to slap his hips against the softness of your ass, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out, in and out.

“Aemond,” you moan, “Fuck it feels--”

“Yeah?” he groans, “How’s it feel baby?”

“S-s’good, Aem, fuck, it’s so good,” you whimper, hands fisting the sheets, the bed shaking with every harsh thrust.

The bed grinds against your sensitive nipples and clit sending sparks of pleasure burning through you.

“Gonna make this pussy feel so good,” he says, leaning some of his weight on top of you, his face next to yours, “Gonna take you home after our shifts, you’d like that, yeah?” His arms hold him up, propped on either side of your head.

“Yes, fuck please,” you agree, turning your face, and feeling him press a kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Gonna have you ride my face,” he promises, dragging his nose between your shoulder blades, “Wanna make that pussy feel so good, till you can’t fucking take it anymore.”

“Fuck Aemond,” you shiver with delight at his filthy words, at the promise of a repeat of the first night you’d been together. A promise of more.

“Missed you too much,” he murmurs against your shoulder, sending warmth pooling in your belly, “Need you close to me.”

“I missed you,” you whimper, “Fuck, need you so bad.”

“I’m all yours,” he says, nearly whimpering himself, “Fuck baby, you’re so tight, feel so good clenching around my cock.”

“Yeah?” you ask, lifting your head slightly, and glancing back through hooded eyes.

Aemond maneuvers himself, leaning to capture your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss as he continues to pound into you.

“Fuck….c’mon baby, one more time,” Aemond encourages as heat winds a tight coil of pleasure in your belly, “Can’t have my baby only cumming once, now can I? Come on, that’s a good girl.”

The pitch of your cries increases and you slam your face against the pillow to muffle your strangled cry as your whole body tense, pussy constricting like a vice around his cock as you come. It’s intense, it burns with a brutal passion that paints stars behind your eyelids.

Aemond’s thrusts become sloppier and with a few more slaps of his hips, you feel his cock pulsate inside of you and the warmth release of his cum filling you up. You turn your cheek from the pillow, your body tingling with the remnants of your orgasm as you suck in a breath. Gently, Aemond pulls out of you, peppering kisses down the length of your spine as he does so.

You hum happily as he slides out, placing his hands under your thighs and maneuvering you out of the frog-like position you were previously in. Your hip flexors ache, but it’s a good pain--well worth being fucked into the mattress. Aemond turns you on your back, brushing some hair from your sweaty forehead.

“Hey there,” he says softly. The room is quiet, the rain has stopped. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever walk right again,” you tell him with a content sigh, “but that aside, I’d say I’m more than alright.”

Aemond chuckles, thumb smoothing your cheekbone, making you lean into his gentle touch.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, standing up, walking to the adjacent bathroom, and flicking on the light.

You watch him walk away, admiring his ass. He’s got a rather nice one. You hear him turn the water on and a moment later he returns with a washcloth. Not trusting yourself to stand, you simply spread your legs and let him clean up the remains of your combined releases. Your hips jerk as he carefully brushes against your swollen clit causing him to release a breathy laugh.

Beep beep!

The noise snaps you both out of your post-coital bliss bubble and you hurry to find your clothes. Aemond reaches for his pager, desperate to get his scrubs on.

Beep beep!

It’s your pager this time. Shit, Baratheon must be pissed.

Both of you scramble, switching scrub tops as Aemond accidentally tries to put on yours, causing you to erupt into a fit of laughter that is only stopped when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in for a heated kiss.

“Stop, stop,” you beg, pushing against his hard chest, “Shit we have to go.”

“One more--”

“You’re insatiable--”

“Oh I’ll show you insatiable,” he says, lips tugging upwards in a smirk, “You just wait until tonight.”

Your cheeks burn as you yank on your bottoms, fixing your hair. Sex hair is not an option, not when Baratheon will be up in arms about your disappearance. Glancing at your pager, you read what it says before clipping it to your waist.

“Okay, I gotta go,” you tell him, shoving your feet into your sneakers.

“Meet me in the lobby? When you’re done?” he asks, unable to hide his smile as you walk to the door on trembling legs.

“Okay,” you tell him, leaning forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “And we could get dinner?”

“Anything you want,” he says, cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, “Anything” another kiss, “At” and another one, “all.”

You hum happily, placing your hand over his, your entire body warming with his affection.

“I’ll see you then,” you tell him, unwillingly pulling away and unlocking the door.

You leave first, Aemond leaving a few moments later. Watching as he fixes the collar of his scrubs, you find yourself beaming. Aemond turns, catching your eye before turning down the hall, a small smile playing on his lips.

Gods, this is going to be a long shift.

note: hope you liked it!! LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

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phoward89 · 9 months ago

Text

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: Coriolanus leaves you in the care of his cousin, Tigris, while he goes about his day at the Citadel. Sadly, the pitiful look in her eyes when she looks at you doesn't go unnoticed.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Reference to prostitution, Talks of prostitution, Poison, Murder Plans

Story Masterlist

This chapter's a bit long.

Chapter 4:

The bright light of the morning sun shines thru the large floor to ceiling window in the master bedroom of the penthouse, causing Coriolanus to groan and blink his groggy eyes open. He craned his head down, only to see that you were still fast asleep and tucked into his side. The sight of you sleeping soundly with his arm protectively wrapped around you brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

He thought that you looked beautiful as you slept. Well, he thought that you were beautiful no matter what, truth be told. You could be wrapped up in his silk sheets, in the most expensive designer dresses, or in a sack dress and he'd still think you’re beautiful.

To Coriolanus you were more beautiful than any of the rarest diamonds in Panem. Hell, the world. And you were all his. His precious gem to polish and cherish.

To own.

He was disappointed that he couldn't see the love bites and bruises he left on you due to the sleeping position you were in. He really wanted to see his marks on your radiant skin. Just thinking about it made his morning wood even harder than it already was.

If you weren't having so much trouble sleeping due to nightmares, he would've waken you up and had you suck his cock. Of course he also wanted to feast on your cunt for breakfast as well, but sadly he couldn't. He had to let you get some rest, plus he needed to get to the Citadel.

He had a busy day ahead of him, so despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't spend the entire day in bed with you. Damn his duties. One day when he's all powerful (the President of Panem) if he wants to spend his entire day in bed fucking you then he will.

Hell, maybe he'll even make a national holiday where all citizens get a day off in your honor just so he can stay in bed having his way with you once he's Mister President. Yes, that's a lovely idea. He'll make your birthday a national holiday; name it Darling Rose Day.

With a heavy sigh, Coriolanus gently untangled himself from you and went to take a shower. It doesn't take him long before he's back in the room he shares with you, towel wrapped around his waist and a smirk plastered on his face as he takes in the sight of you snuggled into his pillow. Seeing you long for his scent, for him, in your sleep gives his already inflated ego a boost.

He doesn't want to disturb you by turning on the lights, so he uses the sunlight streaming into the room to help him see what's in his closet. He didn't have much in there, just a few suits and dress shirts, but it was enough to ensure he looked presentable on the days he chose to seek refuge in his penthouse from his bitch on a wife.

A bitch of a wife that would be no more after tonight's dinner at Avelina’s.

A lush that would choke on her own blood after eating a couple bites of their appetizer.

Their seafood appetizer.

Yes, he had everything planned out perfectly considering he literally concocted the plan last night (around midnight or so).

Coriolanus’ smile went from ear to ear as he thought about how he was going to be running the Cardew (now the Snow) bank since Livia was the only one in her family left (damn those deadly shellfish allergies) along with having you. And if that wasn't enough to make him happy, well he’d soon be announcing that he was putting his name in the hat as one of the men running for president (President Ravenstill would be getting a bit sicker within the next few days and his cabinet along with the ministry would have to announce a campaign season and voting season for a new president.).

Deciding to pull out a white jacket to pair with the white shirt and black pants he wore last night to pick you up (they were perfectly clean given he only had them on for roughly half an hour or so), he quickly dressed and left your room.

Once in the main room, he called Tigris on the video phone and told her to come to the penthouse to watch over you while he was at the Citadel. The response expected wasn't the one he got.

No…

What he got from Tigris was a sour look paired with the question of, “Why did you sign her out of the hospital if she's not ready to be alone, Coriolanus?”

He let out an aggravated sigh. Why couldn't his cousin just say yes and leave it at that? Did she have to push back about this?

“Tigris, she's perfectly capable of being alone.” He told his cousin, not wanting her to think that you were a basketcase when you weren't.

Tigris was about to say something, but Coriolanus beat her to it with the long-winded remark of, “It's just that I don't want her to be alone in the penthouse after everything she's been through. I thought a friendly face might make her first day out of the hospital easier for her.”

Once you felt more comfortable in the Capitol, Coriolanus planned on introducing you to Clemmie. He felt that she'd be a good friend for you; could help you navigate the social circles of the Capitol housewives and socialites.

Clemensia Dovecote was known for serving cunt everywhere she went and that was just the kind of friend you needed in the Capitol.

Between him being your lover, Clemmie being your friend, and Tigris being your personal stylist (and friend as well) he was sure you'd quickly learn how to fit in.

Then, another reason for Tigris to come see you popped into his head. “Plus you do need to work on both her exit interview and crowning dresses.” Smirking, he finished his thoughts with the rhetorical question of, “What better way to start working on her dresses than to spend the day with her?”

Tigris' warm blue eyes turned frosty as she disdainfully bit out, “You're concerned about her being alone after what she's been through as if it isn't your fault that she experienced all those horrors in that beautiful deathtrap of an arena you designed special for that Quarter Quell?” Giving him a look full of judgment, she said, "Oh, that's rich coming from you, the head gamemaker.”

Oh how Coriolanus wanted to reach into the video screen and smack Tigris upside her light blonde and black highlighted head. How dare she speak to him like that?

If it wasn't for him being head gamemaker she wouldn't have a fucking job since he's the one that made her into one of the most sought after stylist in the Capitol.

Hell, bitch should be grateful.

But no…ever since he got back from his summer stint as a peacekeeper in District 12 she's been cold and offish to him.

One day he's going to say enough’s enough and cut her off, but today isn't that day. He needs her to be your friend; to design your dresses and be your personal stylist. Hell, he still needs her to be his stylist.

She knows all his measurements and inseams; he doesn't want to have to deal with somebody new learning all of that.

“Tigris, I need to go to the Citadel soon so just come here with Y/N’s clothes and spend the day with her.”

“Why do you care so much for Coriolanus? She's just another district gutter rat that won those barbaric games you design.”

The platinum blonde’s icy eyes turned hateful upon hearing his cousin call you a district gutter rat.

How dare she?

You weren't like the rest of the people from the coal district. You were different.

A diamond made out of the pressures coal undergoes.

His rare diamond that was too good; too beautiful for district life.

“She's not a district gutter rat; she's going to be my wife. Now, are you going to come over or do I have to have somebody go and fetch you?” Coriolanus snapped, feeling rage consume him.

Tigris’ eyes (which were heavily lined with too much black eyeliner and made her look like a cat if you asked him) went wide. “Your wife? But, Coriolanus, you're already married!”

“Well, I see I'll be sending somebody by to fetch you. Make you to bring your key, I'll be at the Citadel when you arrive.” He told his cousin in a clipped tone before hanging up and ending the call.

He ran a hand thru his flawlessly slicked back hair and let out a long sigh. That call was worse than some of the ones he has with political sponsors and that's saying something.

He turned his head and looked down the hall, to where you were still sleeping soundly in his bed, before rising from his chair and making his way over to the foyer. With a smirk on his lips he walked out of the penthouse. He knew that the next time he walked thru the door he'd be free to be with you.

Forever and ever.

When you woke up it was alone in the large king sized bed. You were still in the same spot that you fell asleep in, the only difference being that you were clutching onto Coriolanus’ pillow. Your nose was buried into it as well, breathing in his scent that was a mix of roses and musk.

You let out a groan from how brightly the sun was shining thru the window; burying your face deeper in Coryo’s pillow. The strong scent of roses was intoxicating; nearly overpowering your senses, as you hid away from the bright sunlight.

You didn't have the opportunity of using the platinum blonde man's pillow as a shield from the sun for long.

The door opened followed by Tigris' cheery voice proclaiming, “It's nearly noon, Y/N. It's time to get up.”

“Close the drapes, it's too bright in here.” You complained.

“My cousin doesn't have practical drapes, just decorative curtains that don't close.” Tigris told you, a suitcase full of your clothes from your time as a Hunger Games tribute rolling behind her as she walked further into the room. “I brought your clothes; I figured Coriolanus wouldn't have any for you here.”

“He let me borrow a shirt last night; said he'd have you come over with my things.” You explained while lifting your head from the rose scent pillow it was buried in.

Tigris' brows furrowed. You said Coriolanus gave you a shirt, but your back was bare. Surely he didn't…

As you sat up in bed the blanket around you shifted, causing the stylist (whose blonde and black striped hair along with her heavy lined eyes were similar to her feline name) to gasp.

Her hand shakily covered her mouth as her eyes took in the bite marks on you. Silently, she counted them. A large one on your collarbone that seemed deep. Looked as if it went down to the bone, as if her cousin sunk his teeth in deliberately to brand you. Then you had a one on the side of your breast left breast. It was plum and dark purple; it looked angry and ugly.

And if that wasn't enough, the left side of your cheek had a purplish-reddish bruise on it.

A bruise that was a large imprint of a hand.

She looked at you like you’re broken while rushing over to you. “Sweetheart, did he hurt you?” Tigris asked, sitting next to you on the bed and reaching out to gently touch your swollen cheek.

Your brow scrunched up, wondering why she asked that. Then you realized the blanket had shifted and she probably saw the marks Coryo left on you last night (err this morning?) when you were fooling around.

Oh how embarrassing.

“No.” You quickly shook your head. “He didn't hurt me.”

“But, Y/N, it looks like he did.”

“But he didn't, Tigris.” You protested.

“Did he-” You knew what she was going to ask and the question disgusted you. So you cut her off.

“God no, he didn't make me do anything!” You quickly shouted at her.

Despite being a bit dominant and slap happy, Coriolanus did respect you enough to ask you what you wanted. To tell you to use your words; tell him what you wanted to do.

He knew how far to push and when to ease up. You felt that your first sexual experience with him was breathtaking.

It was an experience you'll never forget.

The fact that Tigris could think her own cousin could do something so horrible to you pissed you off. How could she think so low of him? Was it because he had marriage problems or was it because she knew he liked you?

The stylist shook her head, only to sadly say, “He did something with you, sweetheart or you wouldn't have a bruised cheek and such painful bite marks on you.” A look of pity flashed in her eyes. “He's too old for you and you're an innocent girl. Coriolanus should've never coerced you to do whatever happened last night.”

“He didn't coerce me into anything. Whatever happened between me and Coryo was consensual.” You told Tigris, taking her aback since you used her cousin's nickname.

Coriolanus never let anyone call him Coryo anymore. Him telling you to use it meant that things were worse than she thought. That he was probably going to keep you held hostage in the Snow penthouse to earn your trust and break you in before he turned you over to the highest bidder.

Oh yes, Tigris knew all about her cousin's disgusting side hustle of pimping out desirable victors to rich capitolites for cold hard cash.

She hates that he does it. Every time she tries to confront him he just tells her that she has no room to judge since she sold herself to buy them half rotten food and outdated ill fitting clothes.

That at least he was doing something useful with the money.

She never asked him what he was doing with the thousands if not millions of money he made being the biggest pimp in all of Panem. She was too hurt that he cruelly threw a very painful part of her past up in her face.

Tigris honestly should've cut him out of her life years ago. Sadly, despite all of his evil deeds, she still loves him. Also, she feels that she sort of owes him for her stylist job so she deals with him occasionally.

He does have the power to get her fired; take away her boutique and condo if he wished.

Tigris couldn't help but think that Coriolanus was full of shit this morning when he told her that he wanted to marry you. She thinks he just told her that so she'd come over and make you look pretty for him.

You didn't like the way Tigris was looking at you as if you were a wounded animal. She wasn't giving you the same warm and friendly looks she did before you went into the arena.

Now she looked at you as if you should've died back in the games.

Her eyes held so much pity in them that you couldn't handle it.

Coriolanus didn't look at you as if you'd crumble so why was Tigris looking at you like that?

“He's a married man, Y/N. He's also heavily involved in politics.” The stylist reminded you, making you feel sick to your stomach.

How could you forget about his wife, Livia?

Now you feel bad. Oh no, you're the other woman. Even though he said that he was getting rid of her it didn't stop you from feeling guilting about being an accomplice in his infidelity.

Feeling dirty, you looked at Tigris and asked, “Can you show me where the bathroom is? I'd like to shower.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

After opening the bathroom door and giving you a gentle push inside, Tigris told you she'd bring you a change of clothes and left you to your own devices.

You felt so small in the large, navy blue tiled bathroom. Hell, the bathroom was larger than your bedroom back home.

Why was the bathroom so big?

You slowly moved your head this way and that, taking in the large layout of the room.

One wall was lined with shelves; you assumed they were for towels. Also against that wall was the toilet, a marble topped vanity, and a large mirror.

A vanity in which the sink looked a bit lost in the middle of it.

Oh…

This was Coriolanus’ private bathroom.

And the reason you knew that was because of the shaving kit, jar of shaving cream, and bottles of aftershave and cologne stacked on the vanity- neatly below the bathroom mirror.

Of course, he has the biggest bathroom in the penthouse.

Shaking your head, you placed your focus on the large shower in the far back corner of the room. It looked to be an octagon shape, which you thought was weird. The door to the shower was frosted and larger than the front door of the mayor’s house back in 12.

Wow…just…wow…

And alongside the shower stall was a large claw bathtub. It baffled you how somebody needed both a shower and a bathtub in a room larger than some people's houses back in District 12.

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd be in the large and over the top bathroom of Panem's head gamemaker, Coriolanus Snow, but here you were.

Should you pinch yourself to make sure this is real?

Nah. The aches on your body from the activities you and Coryo had partaken in are enough of a reality check for you.

Hearing the click-clanking of Tigris' heels coming from down the hall, you rushed into the shower and turned on the water.

You weren't used to hot water flowing out of a showerhead (having lived in the Seam your entire life you, sadly, were used to time tub baths with lukewarm water that was heated on top of the stove) so when the water hit your body, you jerked in surprise.

You also let out a hiss, but that was because of how the scalding hot water felt like daggers piercing the deep teeth marks on your collarbone.

Teeth marks that Coriolanus left last night when he got a little carried away with his nips and suckling on your neck and chest. Or at least you think he just got carried away because he always seemed like such a put together and reserved man.

Or at least that's the image he portrayed publicly for the media.

A knock sounded on the door, followed by it slowly opening. “I'll put your dress on the vanity.’ Tigris told you while walking into the room. “There's a towel on the rack by the shower door.”

You already knew that. You saw it.

“Thank you.” You called out while reaching for the nearby bottle of shampoo.

A pink bottle with roses printed all over it.

What the hell’s with Coryo and roses?

You noticed though that the bottle of conditioner was purple and couldn't help, but wonder what that smelled like.

You heard Tigris leave the room as you began to lather up your hair with the strong floral scented shampoo.

The scent of roses.

Coriolanus’ scent; a scent that you'd share with him til the end of the line.

After leaving your clothes on the vanity, Tigris laid out her sketch book and sample swatches on the dining room table. Then, once her impromptu work space was set up to her liking, she went into the main room and called her cousin on the video phone.

After about 3 or 4 rings Coriolanus' face appeared on the phone's tv screen. “Tigris, how is Y/N this afternoon?”

Tigris just gave her cousin a disgusted look. “She just woke up and she's in your shower right now trying to scrub off all the filth leftover from your unwanted touch last night.” She bluntly told Coriolanus since she felt she needed to be your voice.

That since you were so young and innocent that she needed to try and stop her dark souled cousin from corrupting you.

From ruining your life.

Coriolanus’ icy blue eyes went wide at his cousin's words. Was she implying- fucking hell! “I didn't touch her in any unwanted ways, Tigris. Believe it or not, I am a gentleman when it comes to such matters.”

“I saw the bruises and the bite marks you left on her, Coriolanus! Don't tell me she wanted you to do that to her, no woman in her right mind wants that done to her!”

Ah, so this wasn't about you and him, but about the stylist’s past demons haunting her. Oh, she just has to let go of the past. Whatver happened to her, well, she was paid for it.

Projecting her feelings onto his darling rose wasn't the answer tho. It wouldn't make Tigris’ shame go away.

Why couldn't she just be grateful that he made her a fashion icon and just befriend you like he asked? Why does she have to make everything so complicated with her soft ways and overly compassionate feelings?

That quality is going to get her hurt one day…

“Did you talk to her about it? If so, then you should believe what she told you.” The head gamemaker told his cousin while looking over the paperwork on his desk for his darling rose’s Capitol residency permit.

A permit that was a K-1 Visa.

Better known as the 90 Day Fiance Capitol Citizen Sponsorship Immigration Form.

Yes, he was going to marry you to keep you tied to him forever.

It was the only way to keep you safe. To keep the rich and vile creatures of the Capitol from trying to steal you away from him.

Nobody would dare try to steal his wife. Everyone was afraid of him; knew trying anything with Mrs. Coriolanus Snow would get them a certain date with death.

One that he'd personally send them on with the aid of his many poisons.

Tigris looked towards the hall, checking to see if you were still in the shower, before telling Coriolanus, “That girl”s too sweet and innocent for you, Coriolanus. She's been thru so much at your hands already; just let her go.” Feeling her resolve grow, she added in, “Don't use her as your mistress because your bored with Livia; don't break her in for your clients either. Just send her home to her family.”

The head gamemaker looked up from the paperwork in his hands, only to let out a dark chuckle. “I see you don't listen to me anymore. I told you this morning that I'm going to make Y/N my wife.”

“Coriolanus, you can't divorce Livia to marry the latest victor. It’ll sink you politically.”

Coriolanus knew that. It's the reason why he's slipping some poison into the wine glasses at dinner tonight.

He needed Livia dead and buried so he can spin a second chance love story narrative concerning you and him to the Capitol.

“Tigris, as much as I want to continue this conversation, I need to complete some important paperwork.” He told his cousin before abruptly hanging up on her.

Tigris just stared at the black screen of the video phone. She couldn't believe how insane Coriolanus was acting over a girl he barely knew.

Oh god, she hoped he wasn't obsessed with her because she was the first victor (and a female) from District 12 in the last 15 years. The first being Lucy Gray, who she assumed he loved. Who, as she understood, mysteriously disappeared around the time Coriolanus was discharged and returned to the Capitol to study under Dr. Gaul at the University. Around the same time he became the heir to the Plinths fortune.

Oh no…

She hoped her cousin didn't hurt or kill Lucy Gray. She hoped he didn't have a hand in Sejanus' death as a traitor either.

But somewhere deep inside of her soul, Tigris knew that Coriolanus did something horrible to both his first love and the true heir of the Plinths fortune.

“Coriolanus, what are you doing going to your study? I thought you were taking me to Avelina's for dinner?” Coriolanus heard his wife's screeching voice ask as he walked down the hall, away from where she was in the main foyer.

She was sitting on an entry bench, dolled up and waiting on him to take her to dinner.

She'd just have to wait a little bit longer.

“I need to put away some paperwork, Liv. Then I'll be right there to take you to Avelina's.” Coriolanus told his wife because he couldn't tell her the real reason he was going to his office.

Poison.

He kept a case of poisons and antidotes locked up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Tonight, he was getting a vile of sweet, but deadly tasting poison to dump into their drinks.

Both of them will choke on their own blood tonight, but only one of them's dying.

And it ain't him since he's built up a partial immunity to this specific poison he'll be using.

“Hurry up, Coriolanus! I don't want to get stuck at a table by the kitchen door like last time!” Livia shouted as Coriolanus entered his study and made a beeline to his desk.

She acted like it was his fault that her favorite restaurant was a hot spot for every fucking socialite under 40 in the Capitol; that seating was hard to get and wait times were atrocious.

Oh yes, everything that went wrong in Livia's life seemed to be Coriolanus’ fault. Or at least that's how her endless nagging made him feel. Like she was blaming him for dumb, petty bullshit.

Whatever. It didn't matter anymore because she'd be dead within an hour.

Quickly, he pocketed his vial of poison, locked up his bottom desk drawer, and exited his office. “I'm on my way, Livia. Car’s outside with Bentley; just have him let you in.” Coriolanus called out to his wife as he started walking down the long hallway leading to the main entrance of the house.

Livia didn't reply back to him, but Coriolanus knew that she heard him since he heard the front door slam shut. He couldn't help but chuckle manically. For once in her life the shrew actually listened to him. And it was on her last night breathing too.

How ironic was that?

Oh, he was going to enjoy dinner tonight. Maybe he'll sue Avelina's for a wrongful death suit; bankrupt the owners and take everything they have?

After all, everything that's going to happen tonight's only business.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri , @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies , @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1, @tatumrileyslover

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oswildin · 2 months ago

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Debated making this, but oh well, here we are…

I rewatched the Loki series.

Going to add here quickly that I have been a fan of Loki since 2012/2013, and I personally relate to his character for a multitude of reasons.

Now, I enjoy the series, but I wish they made it more character focused than they had. I do feel like they prioritised story in terms of making it fit the next phase over exploring and expanding on Loki’s character to some degree (a lot of it was surface level).

For example, I would’ve loved to have seen:

Exploring Loki’s Jotun heritage, even if it was a variant of him in the void that embraced it, dropped his aesir form, a conversation between Loki and his Jotun variant as they explain why they chose to embrace it, giving a different view to maybe how our Loki sees himself/the Jotuns. If ‘What If’ could have a frost giant Loki variant, why couldn’t the show?

Expanding upon what happened to Loki during that year after his fall from the Bifrost. The reason for this is self explanatory really, it would add more lore/depth to his experiences/actions during the Avengers. Maybe address the trauma he has from it.

Loki fighting with his so-called ‘desire’ for a throne more. By this I mean, I felt he flipped pretty quickly from his plan to overthrow the time keepers to just following along with Sylvie - which is fine, but I kinda thought there would be more push back from him. I get it was a life or death situation and Loki’s whole thing is ‘survival’, but it would’ve added to their dynamic and the fact the writers clearly wanted to push how Sylvie was different to other Loki’s.

Exploring Sylvie’s backstory more. It really did feel like it was an afterthought, which is a shame. I suppose they left it ambiguous for certain reasons, but I think they should’ve had more flashback scenes of what Sylvie could remember. I think it would’ve helped people understand and relate to her more. (I do love her though).

Actually showed Loki’s gender fluidity & shapeshifting ability more. Again, self explanatory really & important to his character, plus the whole implied only ‘woman variant’ thing with Sylvie should’ve not been a thing, like at all.

They should’ve given Loki more time to process everything. This show really should’ve had 8 episodes each season, I get that’s not the writers fault, likely Disney/marvel’s doing. Perhaps then the shift in his character wouldn’t have felt so jarring, especially considering he’s 2012 Loki. I do agree they wrote him as if he was Ragnarok!Loki, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it just felt jarring considering the last we saw of this Loki was Avengers. But then I could also argue that maybe he thought ‘what’s the point of it’ because the TVA know everything about him, but I digress.

Used Sylvie more in S2. It did feel like they didn’t quite know what to do with her, her and Loki clearly just needed to sit and discuss the citadel fight, but the closest thing we got is in EP3 where Sylvie says ‘this is all rather familiar, isn’t it?’, referencing their different/opposing opinions on the TVA/He Who Remains. And also maybe the pie room scene, but it’s very vague/not directly addressed.

Explored the fact that Mobius is not a good guy more. Because, he isn’t. And that’s okay. To me, the whole point of the show is based on Loki’s quote of ‘no one good is ever truly good, and no one bad is ever truly bad’, and whilst they do reference Mobius’ own morally grey actions/traits, they don’t particularly make it clear and most just see him as this ‘happy go lucky old man who likes pie and loves Loki variants’. In fact, I actually really liked the scene where Sylvie confronts him - which is a very unpopular opinion to have it seems, lol.

Delved into the psychology of Loki further than surface level/what we already know about him. Yes, we know he’s the God of Mischief. Yes, we know he isn’t evil. Yes, we know he is redeemable. Yes, we know he’s cunning, manipulative and selfish. We get that he projects this ‘illusion’ of himself, but it was only really mentioned in S1 EP1, maybe slightly EP2, before it’s never really mentioned again. I suppose S2 does this to a degree with the bar scene and EP5 of S1 in the time cell with Sif - also I think they tried to take the narcissist angle from the pov that it’s because of his low self-esteem as to why he needs validation and it’s a defence mechanism, but they didn’t particularly make that clear and made it seem like he just thinks highly of himself.

I know it seems like I have a lot of issues with the show, and I do, but I still enjoyed it. It’s okay to be critical of a piece of media and still enjoy it.

I do prefer S2 to S1, mostly because I prefer the direction they took it in and whilst I, of course, wanted better for Loki, I can’t deny S2 EP6 is a stunning finale. I sobbed so hard during the ending and still feel the grief that I actually lost someone I knew personally. But I also have hope that this means Loki is now a main player in the next phase (am I delusional? Maybe).

I enjoyed the dynamics, the back and forth/chemistry, the story was interesting, the set & costume design, the acting, the directing/colour grading, the music (Natalie Holt, you are genius), the emotions, the fun, the characters…

So this is not a hate post by any means, I will once again state, I enjoyed the show. But, I do have issues with it, and that’s okay too.

Please, dni if you’re just going to be argumentative or confrontational. I also don’t want to hear that just because I enjoyed the show that I’m ‘not a real fan’ lmao. I’m sorry, but I’ve been a Loki stan for over a decade, and I will not have someone tell me I’m not a real fan because of a piece of fictional media. Also, please do not mention anything regarding ships on this post, I do not care for it because it always ends up in arguments and I am a multishipper so I don’t tend to fight for any side. Thank you! :) /gen

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki series #media critique #marvel #mcu #loki disney+

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ezziefae · 11 months ago

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Thoughts on Chap 2 of The Prisoner's Throne.

"Oak takes the stairs, careful now. He has the surreal feeling of being in a video game. He played enough of them, sitting on Vivi’s couch. Creeping through pixelated rooms that had more of the appearance of Madoc’s stronghold where he grew up than anywhere they went in the mortal world. Leaning on Heather’s shoulder, controller in his hands. Killing people. Hiding the bodies."

Okay, starting off strong already. I squealed when I read the part where Oak has his head leaning on Heather's shoulder. The "Killing people. Hiding the bodies" part was an obvious reference to Oak's blood thirst.

This is a stupid, ugly, violent game, Vivi said. Life isn’t like that. And Jude, who was visiting, raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

JUDEEEEEE

a few selkies hang around at the edges, no doubt gathering news of a rising power to take back to the Undersea.

These selkies are snitches. Holly did confirm that we were gonna see many familar faces from TFOTA, so I am definitely expecting to see Nicasia or Orlagh.

But after he and Vivi and Heather had to carry bags of laundry to the basement of their apartment building and feed quarters into a machine, along with detergent and fabric softener, he realized that someone must have been performing a related service for him in Faerie.

AWEEEE! how humble Oak has become. I'm so happy we're not only getting more Jude and Cardan but also Vivi and Heather.

He feels a bit foolish as he wades into a vat, naked. Should he be discovered, he will doubtless have to play the silly, carefree prince, so vain that he escaped his prison for a bath. It would be a crowning achievement of embarrassment.

LMAO! I can just imagine how hilarious this would be.

Oak knows it’s ridiculous, and yet he can’t help feeling as though they have an understanding of each other

Oak had the bridle placed on him, he was imprisoned for three weeks, he was starved and neglected, and he still thinks this way of Wren. This boy is soooo in love.

Nor is he sure what it means about him that he finds hope in the fact that Wren has kept him. Fine, not everyone would see being thrown into a dungeon as a romantic gesture, but he’s choosing to at least consider the possibility that she put him there because she wants something more from him.

Oak is absolutely DELUSIONAL, DE LU LUUU. LIKE BOY FINDS BEING IMPRISIONED A ROMANTIC GESTURE. THAT IS VERY CONCERNING. IM CRYING

since Hyacinthe was the one who stole Damsel Fly

NO! NOT DAMSEL FLY TOOO! Oh a war is definitely coming.

Hyacinthe is now Wren’s second-in-command

oh this will not be a fun discovery for Tiernan.

Either way, he’d be free. Free to not need rescuing. Free to attempt to talk his sister out of whatever homicidal plan she might foment against the Citadel. Free to return home and go back to performing fecklessness, back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup, back to being an heir who never wants to inherit.

The way Oak believes he can talk Jude out of battling with Wren. Like does he not know his sister?

"Back to sharing the bed of anyone he thought might be planning a political coup" WHATTT!!! okay this is a huge deal, Oak has been sleeping with people to find out if they are a threat to him or elfhame. My poor boy, does oriona not watch over him??? or jude?? how did it get so bad that he had to start doing that???

Not that he knows how to stop either of them if he remains here. He’s not sure anyone knows how to stop Jude. And Wren has the power of annihilation. She can break curses and tear spells to pieces with barely any effort. She took apart Lady Nore as though she were a stick creature and spread her insides over the snow.

Yeah so when I finished The Stolen Heir, I feared for Jude and Cardan. Oak is right, Jude is dangerous and she will try to fight ANYTHING that gets in her way, but Wren is horrifically dangerous as well. I fear for both Jude and Wren. This is gonna be chaos.

Then he sees Wren, and longing shoots through him like a kick to the gut. He forgets about risk. Forgets about schemes.

OH OAKKK STOPPPPP.

“Not my future.” There is a hollowness to Wren’s cheeks, Oak notices. She’s thinner than she was, and her eyes shine with a feverish brightness. Has she been ill? Is this because of the wound in her side when she was struck by an arrow?

Oh no.

Bogdana does not contradict her this time. “You have need of my strength. And you have need of my companions if you hope to continue as you are.” Oak stiffens at those words, wondering at their meaning.

so wren is not doing so well, and bogdana hope she listens and gets help from her companions. the real question here is what is the problem?????

Mother Marrow does not seem discomfited in the least. She walks to Wren and deposits the white walnut in her hand. “Remember these words, then. To conjure it, say: We are weary and wish to rest our bones. Broken shell, bring me a cottage of stones.”

So wren can make a cottage appear and dissaper with the shell she received from mother marrow. Im assuming that this shell will be used in the story somehow. But what would get to that point? wren already lives in a palace of her own, so why give her a shell that can make a cottage house appear? will Oak use it when he escapes? will wren run away and use it???? im guessing this cottage house will be used significantly.

And yet, Oak notices that she sways a little before gripping the arm of her throne. Forcing herself upright. Something is very wrong.

Yikes.

The man steps forward. “Though I do not like to be outdone, I have nothing so fine to give you. But Bogdana summoned me here to see if I can undo what—”

So from what I'm getting, there's something more about wren we don't know about. something that's hurting her or affecting her deeply. Her power? stress and anxiety? I might need some time to crack this one.

Her eyes move restlessly under their lids, as though she doesn’t even feel safe in dreams. Her skin has a glassy quality, as though from sweat or possibly ice. What has she been doing to herself ?

I'm starting to feel very overprotective of Wren. With Jude and Cardan coming to the citadel to save Oak I fear for both sides.

But as though she can sense him, Wren opens her eyes.

SERIOUSLY THIS IS HOW THE CHAPTER ENDS??? At this point Oak is asking to be killed, he could've had the oppurtunity to escape, yet he chose to follow wren to her room. This chapter made me feel very empathetic of Wren, she looks like a villain, but she's really not. She has been betrayed, tortured, abused, neglected for many years, her actions of becoming queen and imprisoning Oak all come from hurt.

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sleeplessdreamer123 · 2 years ago

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Fanfic Idea! (Very Pre-Lucemond or not, where Aemma, lives, but Alicent is pregnant) *warning: dark. And also, Aemma snapped here, so OOC is a possibility.

Also: Alicent is 17 here, the age in the books, and she is also as power hungry as she was in the books. Rhaenyra is, however, the same age as the show. Ignore my plotholes, this is just a long-winded prompt.

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Aemma survived, holding her dead son. Already she knew this would be her last attempt. She would not go through all that again. And she isn't going to.

Apparently, while she suffered through her last trimester of pregnancy, her husband, the king, decided that he was so stressed that he would lay with any harlot that enters his chambers. And it seems this harlot in particular comes in the form of her daughter's handmaid and (former) friend. And it seems their multiple unions have bore fruit, because now the bastard Ott Hightower is pressuring him to take her as his wife and "deposing" her, for she is old, and could only give birth to a girl, meanwhile his daughter was young, and has many chances of giving him a son. They even went so far as to suggest finding a husband for Rhaenyra, someone like the Lannisters, for instance.

Aemma has suffered at the hands of men, at the hands of Maesters bought by the citadel, and now they wish to depose her? Her and her daughter? No, she would not allow it. She is an Arryn, but so many people seemed to have forgotten she too was also Targaryen. And since people keep forgetting that she too was a Dragon Queen, it seems she needs to remind them that.

So she spoke to Viserys, and with every word she used to stab him in the heart, she knew she had him in her palm. Guilt was a powerful thing, and Viserys, oh, Viserys has a lot to be sorry for.

In the end, despite Otto's insistence that his daughter be made his wife, Alicent did not rise to status. She was given a room in the palace, yes, but it was simple, one befitting a visitor rather than the person carrying a dragonseed. She was given guards and servants, yes, but they are not ones loyal to her, but to the Queen. She has no title given, nothing that could command respect. She was treated like nothing. And that in itself has ruined Otto's plans.

Otto honestly thought Aemma would die, so for her to be alive, a breathing obstacle, it has ruined his plans. He tried desperately to keep his daughter's pregnancy a secret. It cannot be revealed until Viserys gives her the title of Queen, even second wife would be a better option than no title at all. A woman with a child out of wedlock, no matter who the father was, would lead to their destruction. Viserys was usually so easy to control, but this time he is the one who feels powerless against Viserys, who refused to even allow him a private meeting. Time was running out, his daughter's belly was growing.

But he couldn't hide it for long. It was easy for Aemma to ask Daemon to do something for her, if it could destroy the Hightowers, he would do it, no questions asked. So the rumors spread. While the good Queen Aemma suffered in pregnancy, Otto decided to send his daughter to the King's bed. This sparked outrage, where even the Faith of the Seven did not hide their disgust. How dare you send a maiden to a married man's bed while his wife suffers in a difficult pregnancy, until the girl got pregnant herself? The Maiden weeps, the Mother is angered, and the Father greatly judged their actions.

It was not long before Otto was fired as the Hand, and Lyonel Strong replaced him. Alicent was still living in the palace, and the people began to wonder what the wife, what the Queen, what Aemma Targaryen will do to the woman who seduced her husband.

Aemma entered her room and acted so kind, so gentle towards her, to make her guilt eat her up alive. She recounted how her daughter often told stories about her and their adventures, how they talked about flying through the skies on top of Syrax, of eating nothing but lemon cakes. She smiled inwardly as she watched the girl cry. She had asked for forgiveness, that she only did her duty (she scoffed inwardly. A duty to spread your legs to whoever your father points at, then? Enough to get pregnant and refuse to take moon tea in hopes you replace me, then?).

And Aemma was so kind, of course she would help, how could she not? She knows the pain of pregnancy, of how ruined Alicent would be once the people would find out what she has done (they already know, she just doesn't know they do). She promised to talk to her husband to give Alicent something at least. And Alicent was grateful for that, so eager too. She can see it, the greed in her eyes. Maybe she believes she would be the second wife in the behest of the Queen? Keep dreaming child. For breaking her daughter's heart, for trying to take her crown, for fucking her husband as she suffered in pain, she would not let her have an easy life.

Soon, an announcement was made. The King was to bestow a title to Alicent Hightower. The title of concubine. Mockery and jeers left everyone's lips at that title. Concubine. A legal mistress, a legal bedmate with no power to control anything, always under the wife's control. And her children would remain as bastards.

Oh, her screams could be heard from all over the palace. She broke plates and cups, cursing the good Queen Aemma for lying to her. Stories of her raging was again told all throughout Westeros, and she was immediately judged for it. She was at least given a title, she would be well cared for in the palace, living luxuriously until the end of her days, yet she still complains? She curses the legal wife, the Queen? Is she insane? The Queen could have killed her and it would have been her right. Instead, she gave her a better option, and she calls it betrayal?

Queen Aemma still acted kind, inviting her to dinners, acting sad when she disagrees, showing the whole of Westeros that it was not she that was making it difficult, rather it was Alicent.

Alicent held hope, however. The child in her belly was a boy, she was sure. Soon, she will replace Aemma, be crowned Queen, her son would be legitimized, and she would punish Aemma in the name of the Seven for making her a concubine instead of a wife. She, a highborn lady of the Faith.

When the child was born, a boy, thank the Seven, she expected the king to grant her the title of wife, to name him Heir, to visit her and his firstborn son. Instead, it was guards and a servant who came, and took the child away. The Queen wished to see the boy. Alicent was too weak to refuse, and she was afraid, afraid that she would kill her son, she is still of Targaryen blood, she would not hesitate to kill.

She was not the only person who thought this. They watched as they brought the child to the throne room, with Viserys cautiously watching Aemma's reactions. Even if the child was a bastard, he was still his flesh and blood. When they handed the child to her, the court breathed in, waiting for her command.

Instead she smiled and caressed his small cheek. "The gods have finally given me a son."

And with those words, Queen Aemma adopted little Aegon II, legitimizing him and claiming the child hers and only hers. Alicent and her father could not go against her, despite Alicent's desperation.

Again, Aemma visited her with that kind look in her face. Alicent cursed her, tried to tear her apart with her nails, only to be held back by her guards.

"This is to save you, dear. No one would wish to marry a woman with a bastard. Think of the future, I will find you a good husband, and the child would be treated well. Isn't that the duty of the mother, to wish the child a good future? I'm giving both of you the best possible option."

Alicent won't hear it. That child was hers, her son. Not this woman cursed by the gods to only give birth to a spoiled girl! Her birthing a boy showed that she is more capable, more worthy, and that woman dare say that she would adopt him? Take away her chance? Take away her son and send her away? She won't allow it!

So she heavily paid the servant to bring wine, and another servant to call for the King. Unbeknownst to her, they all headed to the Queen first, and she told them to do as she says. When the King asked what she was planning, she simply told him that he had always wanted sons, and now he can make as many as he wished. As long as that woman calls, Aemma would allow him to go, pretending not to know.

When the King entered Alicent's chambers, she handed him a drink of wine, and the rest was history. Soon, she was pregnant again, and gave birth to a girl. Again, it happened, Queen Aemma took her and adopted her as her own.

Alicent was getting desperate. Her father kept sending ravens secretly (they were not a secret, Aemma and Rhaenyra already knew of it, and allowed it to go to Alicent) urging her to capture the king's heart. She was able to have king Jaehaerys' trust during her old age, she should be able to seduce this one. She was young, she was learned, and she can still give birth. Alicent is tired, but the hope was there. The King was still kind to her, and would give her whatever she wants. She was sure that once she showed her brilliance, showed what she could do for him, she would be free from the concubine title, and be given the title of Queen. She would be able to have her children then, and free them from whatever horrors Aemma must have put them through.

And so, she tried one more time. Again, she gave birth, another boy, and again, Aemma took him away. She begged the king to give her her children, to stop Aemma's cruelty, but Viserys acted awkwardly, saying that Aemma was taking great care of them, raising them as proper Targaryens. She snapped and screamed at him, asking if he was blind, that the Queen was stealing her children away from her. When she tried to see them, they refused to let her, and Aemma calmly explained that it was so she won't form attachments once she's ready to go. Alicent was beyond pissed.

And it was Rhaenyra's wedding to Daemon, in accordance to Aemma Targaryen. Alicent was invited, as always, but this time she deigned to accept, and wore the greenest of dresses to slight them all. She even stood next to the king.

The next day, she was placed into a ship and sent to be one of the saltwives of one of the Greyjoys, leaving her children to Aemma, who raised them with Rhaenyra, and also reminded them that Rhaenyra was their future Queen, and that they should defend her at all costs. When Rhaenyra gave birth to her children, Queen Aemma told them to protect them too.

When it was time for Aemma to leave the world, she smiled, knowing that her daughter's reign would be long.

#lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #aemma targaryen will not allow this shit #alicent is book alicent #Rhaenyra is show Rhaenyra #Pre-Lucemond or not

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void-ink-studios · 1 year ago

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The Higher Ups in Wrath of the Wishmaster

So, just wanted to dump my brain worms here, and talk about the OC gods that just got introduced in the 3 part instalment of Wrath of the Wishmaster that I posted.

I'd like to introduce the Higher Ups. They're basically the upper management of the pantheon, only answering to The Boss themselves. Their power and rulings override pretty much everyone else, unless the Boss intervenes. They cannot be removed from reality, stripped of their titles, demoted, or even harmed.

You've already met one, the Organizer but there's two others: the Observer and the Judge! So, let's go through their deal one by one.

The Organizer

Let's start with the one y'all have officially met, the Organizer. As the name would imply, she is the goddess in charge of the organization, planning, and paperwork of the entire pantheon. She's the one to deal with write ups, complaints, requests, and record keeping. She has a file on pretty much everything to have ever lived in the multiverse, all perfectly sorted in an infinite records room. She's always super busy. She's also Orbo's direct supervisor, and by extension Scarab's. She's the one who sends the official orders for Auditors to go after rule breakers.

The Observer

The Observer is a rarely seen god, but he works closely with the Organizer. He is in charge of overseeing all activity across the multiverse, particularly with anyone powerful enough to jump between universes, and the other gods. He has seen everything that has ever happened (and rumor says ever will happen) in the multiverse. He hands off this information to the Organizer for storage, and is the primary source of information for sentencing cosmic crimes. He also is the one to confirm or reject complaints and write ups from the Organizer. He commands any and all gods responsible for gathering information within the cosmos.

The Judge

The Judge is the main authority of what is and isn't a cosmic crime. It is them who decides what punishments are delivered to what write ups, who does and does not belong in the Citadel, and is the one to mark individuals as cosmic threats. If someone is marked a target, the information is given to the Organizer to then give the order to Auditors. Of the higher ups, they're the one most often seen, both by mortals and by other gods. It is them you must plead your case to if you're demanding help or mercy from the gods. Unless the Boss intervenes, the Judge can grant or strip any of the lesser gods their title and immortality. They ultimately created the Citadel and the guardians. Not surprisingly, they were a bit salty after the whole Lich fiasco.

Other notes:

Some gods don't directly answer to one of these three. Gods like Prismo and the Cosmic Owl pretty much only answer to the Boss, as it's their power they're tapping into to grant wishes and make dreams prophetic.

All three of the Higher Ups are able to pass down punishment to gods if the transgression is not considered serious. For example, in the last part of Gala of the Gods, if Prismo and Scarab actually did major damage to the Judgement Hall, the Organizer would be sending them straight to the Judge.

Someone on AO3 suggested it and I liked it a lot so I'm including it: The Organizer was kind of Scarab's mentor figure. She was pretty much the only god he really spoke to as he transitioned from mortal to immortal. They stopped talking after Scarab lost his bid for Wishmaster to Prismo. He kind of blamed her for making him think he had a chance when literally everyone else was telling him to not even bother. More on that relationship in the next chapter.

The Observer is terrifying. No one but other Higher Ups talks to the Observer. Even other gods risk going mad by looking upon him.

The Judge is so tired of everyone's bullshit. So is the Organizer tbh. Get them some coffee, dammit.

Golb/Golbetty can technically be considered a Higher Up since their power overrides Prismo's, but Golb is kind of seperate from the cosmic hierarchy. They're a chaotic nightmare, on the same level as the Higher Ups, but not technically one of them.

#prohibitedwish #wrath of the wishmaster #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #worldbuilding nonsense: GO!

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thetrashbagswasteland · 6 months ago

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🍕❤️ for Kuris and Sara?

🍕 - What is their favorite food? KURIS: This asshole is theoretically a cook by trade, alas he eats like a trash compactor all the same; dextro, levo, theoretically packaged as varren treats, he'll eat it all the same. Venna maintains that his favourite food is grease with a side of meat, he protests that he's just a fan of not starving. Tyke knows those two things amount to the same and they just want a reason to bicker. SARA: Cinnamon rolls - cinnamon's one of the few flavours that doesn't have a 1:1 equivalent amongst other levo species and as such, was already hard to find on the Citadel, harder still in Heleus. She goes nuts for it when someone DOES figure out how to cultivate cinnamon trees. ❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories? KURIS: Tykse's thirtieth birthday. His daughter caught the flu and an unseasonable cold snap grounded all travel to and from the town whilst hitting the generators, leaving them entirely without power. By the third day, Tyke managed to shuck her lurgey off to Venna too and any plans to invite people around for a keep-warm party devolved into the three of them flat out on the floor of their living room, eating the rapidly defrosting commercial tubs of ice-cream from the bar's freezers because it was about all Venna and Tykse could stomach. He meanwhile got to play space heater, pillow and entertainer for them. Unconventional but it was a moment of perfect togetherness he cherishes. SARA: Rock climbing with Vetra - a recreation of their first date, but instead climbing one of the tallest volcanos on Aya together to commemorate five years together. It wasn't the easiest time in either of their lives but that moment of peace together reinforced that they wanted to put in the effort to make their relationship work and served as a moment to draw strength on even in the dark times ahead.

#ask meme

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septima-severa · 8 months ago

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Before the last chapter is out... A little Thrawn teaser

I need to buy myself some time to finish the behemoth called the Act Six of "I Have Fallen in Love with the Villain". This chapter is currently undergoing a heavy revision (and don't let me start on that, I have finally reached page 100 in the book Thrawn and now have this nervous twitch to rewrite the whole story, which I will of course not do). I need to connect some snippets with further writing. But most of it is finished.

Oh, and there will be a tiny chapter 7, just an epilogue, really. Or maybe it will remain as the end of a very long chapter 6. Anyway, two NSFW scenes incoming.

I was also thinking... for all those insatiable creatures out there, to extract all of the sexual scenes in a separate "work" on AO3, so you all can... enjoy yourselves later. How does that sound?

But here is the teaser I have promised:

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“I see that my gift has arrived safely,” Morgan Elsbeth remarked when she noticed a civilian ship docked deeper within the main hangar. She was trying to match the Grand Admiral’s slower stride, being carefully watched by Captain Enoch.

“Do you consider Sabine Wren another of your… as you call them… gifts, then?” he asked cooly.

“Her capture was unplanned for, but I deemed her useful for our mission.”

“It was Baylan Skoll who brought her here, after all. She had an agreement with him, and I honoured it.” They entered one of the chambers within the walls of the Citadel used as a provisional command room while contents of the vast catacomb under the ancient stronghold were transferred on board.

“But what if she does not find Ezra Bridger?”

“She will have the opportunity to find him,” he reassured her.

“How can you –” the witch stopped herself immediately, but too late to be considered wise not to question a warlord’s strategy.

“Because I know he is alive,” you said slowly, emerging from a dark corner, your presence previously gone unnoticed. KX was shadowing each of your movements like a bodyguard – that was what you had agreed on with Thrawn prior to your decision to show up. “Hello, Morgan,” you stopped on the other side of the holo, turning your full attention to her.

“Doctor Lani Kordes. I’m glad you survived.”

“Don’t bother. We both know you aren’t.”

“Fine by me,” she smirked almost imperceptibly.

“Did you get your data?” you had figured that this person had been behind everything some time ago. The financial aid? Her doing. The hyperspace ring manufacturing, adjustments for Kingfisher? It had obviously been a prototype for some bigger scale project. You suspected that she had been involved in obtaining the file about ancient purrgil migration routes, too.

“Your… cooperation was most helpful.”

“Good. Because I would hate to repeat that experiment again. By the way…” your fingers danced over the keyboard, manipulating the holoprojection of the planet’s surface in front of you, “here are the coordinates, in case you would like to collect the black box – that is if the locals didn’t get to it first.”

“A pity, then.” That you didn’t perish upon impact. Morgan Elsbeth wasn’t easy to read. However, this thought was hovering above her head, ripe for picking.

What else was she hiding from you?

Internally, you were seething, pacing around your half like a caged loth-wolf, separated from the witch by the holo. Still, you had to manage guarding your thoughts from her prying in case she would try that with you. KX was watching you two carefully from a safe distance, prepared to interfere anytime.

“I’m surprised and impressed that the Great Mothers haven’t disposed of you.” Another lash from her.

“They’ve certainly tried.”

“You’re no longer useful to our plan.” Morgan didn’t bother to hide her disdain.

“Ask the crewmembers we were growing skin and organ replacements for,” you spat, already turning to go. “Although, you’re probably right. You should have sent a proper surgeon here instead of genetical engineer,” you said as an afterthought over your shoulder. Once you reached the entrance, two troopers loyal to Captain Enoch fell into step with you, accompanying you back to the Star Destroyer.

“Has she been truly so loyal?” the witch turned to the Grand Admiral when you left.

“She is loyal to me, and that is what matters in this game.”

#fanfiction #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #peridea #thrawn

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lunarlegend · 10 months ago

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Hope you don't mind more questions about Stella! The more I learn about her through your blog, the more endearing she becomes :) In Stella's backstory, Ardyn kills her mom and sets their house on fire. Did he have any particular motive to do that? How did he know Stella was his descendent? Did he ever learn of the existence of Stella and Ignis's child? Lastly, did Stella ever tell the boys, or at least Ignis, about what Ardyn did to her mom, or was it too painful for her to talk about?

i don't mind at all! i'm glad you've taken such an interest in her, she's my baby. 😊💜

in my AU, Ardyn's descendants are a line of healers using powers similar to what Ardyn had when he was originally alive, and they access their magic by channeling the Crystal. except, since Ardyn was rejected by the gods, none of his descendants can use their powers without the blessing of the current King.

over the centuries, this caused a bond to form between the two sides of the continuing Lucis Caelum bloodlines, but Ardyn's bloodline no longer shared the last name.

Stella's mom Salvia was a prominent Lucian healer and had been good friends with Regis for a long time. despite being unaware of their actual blood relation through their ancestry, the two had a sibling-like relationship, and that's how Noctis & Stella grew up being told they were cousins.

Salvia was well-known in the region not only for her healing abilities, but also for her charisma and upbeat personality. as the years went on, and the situation between Lucis and Niflheim grew more tense, Salvia became more outspoken in her defense of her homeland and used her favor with the public as sort of a platform to speak out against the Empire. this put a target on her back, but nothing happened until Ardyn noticed who she was.

back up and wandering Eos again after 2,000 years, Ardyn obviously had questions about this mysterious line of healers who worked so closely with the Lucian Kings. once he figured out where they came from, it disgusted him to see his own descendants supporting the Lucis Caelums as they were. he decided to fix the "problem" by murdering Salvia, because he considered it justice and knew it would be taken as a political attack, keeping him anonymous.

he didn't expect Stella to get home from school before he left the house. her grief over her mother only angered him more, so without ever making himself known to Stella, he simply dropped a fireball to the floor and left. Stella should have died, but after trying unsuccessfully to drag her mother's body from the burning house, she luckily had the clarity to run and find a window so she could jump outside to safety.

after Salvia's death and Stella's temporary disappearance, there was a media frenzy. the murder was assumed to be a political attack; retaliation from the Empire, just as Ardyn had predicted. but no one knew that Salvia didn't die in the fire, only Stella saw that she'd been stabbed already. that fact haunts Stella to her core; not only that she had to find her mother's corpse, but the reality of knowing that whoever set the fire did it so they could kill her, too.

Stella keeps the truth to herself for a long time. she eventually tells Ignis about it before the journey while they're still living in Insomnia, but is adamant that no one else needs to know because she doesn't think anyone would believe her. her only focus at that point is figuring out who did it so she can get her revenge.

skipping far into the future, Stella doesn't give birth to Lucina until after the Dawn, thankfully, so Ardyn is already gone by then. her pregnancy is the reason Noctis insisted she didn't come with them into the Citadel for the final battles. had she gone in, Ardyn was planning to kill her when they reached the throne room (and he had Salvia's body strung up with the others, in place of Aldercapt in my AU). he sent a Red Giant after Stella outside instead, but she was able to fight it off thanks to Nyx's spirit, which rose up to help her.

the fact that Stella, another member of the Lucis Caelum bloodline, was still alive, is what prevented the prophecy from coming true and allowed Noctis to survive the Dawn. in canon, Noctis and Ardyn cancel each other out at the end, but in my AU only Ardyn is laid to rest. the bloodline is able to continue without the weight of the Crystal or the interference from the gods, and Noctis & Stella get to live in harmony in the rebuilt city with all the people they love, the way Somnus & Ardyn should have.

#AU Stuff #Stella Maris #my OC

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liminalpebble · 2 years ago

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The Refugee: Chapter 22

Masterlist Link

Loki had already planned a celebration in her honor before the events in the reading room, and when the announcement found her, she chuckled bitterly at the ridiculousness of her situation.

She was packing her life up, yet again, the flat wheel of her fate creaking into its interminable motion. Lenora's few precious items were neatly laid out on the huge bed, seeming small and insignificant on the vast spread of the duvet. Is this all she had accumulated of her own in this life? She scanned the inventory; a small tin of rare Morhari tea, her stack of books, the silky fabric of her neatly folded costume, her headdress, a tray for candles, the ore from Noa's family, a bag of coin, a small bag of toiletries, some changes of clothes. Was this it? Was this her whole life in summary?

She packed yet again, in nearly the same way she had every time before. She stared for some time at the golden jewelry pieces Loki had painstakingly commissioned for her. For a moment she thought of hurling them off the balcony, but she couldn't bear to. In spite of all his ulterior motives, she knew deep down that it was a gesture of love for her; his furious, jealous, intoxicating, euphoric, tragic, beautiful, terrible love. She placed the pieces carefully in a box, then reverently placed them in her bag. She got lost in her memories for a moment, remembering Loki fastening the barrette into her hair, lacing her gown, teaching her to dance, clasping the necklace around her throat, stroking her hair, smiling at her and telling her she looked lovely, then her memory hurtled forward into every kiss, touch, gasp, cry, scream, and moan she had with him. Her memory traveled on to Magnus' lips and kind adoring eyes, their first and only passionate kiss, the touch of his hands when he healed her, dancing with her head on the doctor's shoulder, laughing drunk down the empty hallways with him, falling asleep with her head tucked into his pale blue uniform and his scent of lemon trees in the sunshine, the sandwiches and tea he shared with her, his wide incandescent smile, the soft texture of his fiery hair. She swallowed the lump in her throat, telling herself there would be time to mourn later, but not now.

She needed her scimitars from the armory. After the party tonight she would sneak away for them. Lea hoped that with her new magic abilities she would be able to get past any enchantments and escape the citadel. She would be brave this time. She would decide. But where will you go? Asked a frightened voice in her mind. Lea had no answer, but she knew how to run for her life. Perhaps Queen Nadia would give her sanctuary? She would head south then, she decided, into Vanir territory.

Lenora arrived to the party exactly when summoned in an elegant gown, looking the part as Loki always hoped she would. As she parted the double doors and the light of the room spilled over her, she was greeted with thunderous applause. She smiled and curtsied politely and graciously as she was taught, hiding the cannon ball of sorrow which was barreling through her. The real Lenora hid in the back of her mind finishing her plan of escape. Loki and Magnus were there, of course, pale-faced and sheepish but dressed in their finest uniforms and armor, respectively. They both had so many words crowding the tips of their tongues for her, but none could be spoken now. Instead, they took turns with the others bowing and kissing her hand, and she responded with the appropriate replies, like a charming automaton. They wanted an obedient doll, she thought bitterly, then that's what they shall have.

She left the party early but politely. Neither Loki nor Magnus dared to offer her a walk back to her quarters, thankfully. As soon as she closed the door to her room, she changed into her traveling clothes and slung on her pack. She took one last look around the beautiful tower quarters that had been her almost-home for months now, raising her eyes to drink in the sight of all those beautiful books and the night sky shining its beams of silvery moonlight through the glass ceiling and huge window. No longer the princess in the tower. Just a refugee peasant again, she thought. Quietly closing the door to the room and her life here, her heart ached as the knob clicked into place with the familiar, delicate, distinct sound she would now recognize eternally from hearing it so many times. Her face felt tight and hot. Her throat ached. Her jaw clenched. She ignored it. She had to go.

It was surprisingly easy to fetch her swords from the armory on her way out. Everyone had come to know her face and habits and expected her occasional visits to practice (even at night if insomnia haunted her), so she simply nodded and waved to the usual trainers and servants as she passed. She found her weapons, and now with her new magical sight inspected them for enchantments, still not entirely sure how she was able to do it. There was no spell preventing the swords from leaving the keep, but there was still the spell making them non-lethal, like a protective sheath over the sharp edge of each blade. She fumbled with the magic a little bit, but it was one of Loki's own very strong enchantments. Since he had had a few thousand years of being a sorcerer and extensive training, and she hadn't, she couldn't remove the hex. She decided she could solve this problem later. I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. Burning one at a time is enough for now.

Arriving at the great gaping maw of the black granite arch, she took a deep breath to prepare herself to cross the threshold. She could see there were emerald green sigils of a spell on both of her wrists to alert Loki if she attempted to leave, but it would not injure her if she did. It must have been there since the beginning but she didn't have a way to see it. That unsettled her deeply; how easily and secretly he could mark her, in so many ways. Again, Lea took valuable time fumbling in the dusk with the perfectly crafted spell. Time was of the essence so she decided to abandon the futile attempt, run as quickly as possible in the leeway she might have, then hide when Loki's forces descended upon her. At least it was dark and at least the terrain was steep and rocky. It would slow down the soldiers in their armor a bit more than it would delay her.

So with a final deep breath, Lea braced herself and began to run, skidding down the rocky terrain toward the treeline of the southern forests, hoping she wouldn't twist an ankle on the jagged trip downhill. It was mere moments before she could hear the thunder of hooves, clanking armor, and shouted orders behind her. She sprinted around the rocks for the trees of the south, which she realized were much much farther away than they seemed. In seconds she would be snatched up. She felt the cold splash of despair just before a warm golden light enveloped her and she tumbled to the polished intricate floor of Queen Nadia's throne room.

Lea struggled to right herself as her eyes scanned upward to the monarch's tall and lovely form, yellow silk gown billowing around her. The refugee adjusted herself into a kneeling position as her breath and heart still pounded in her chest. She was surprised when the queen's own dark graceful hand reached down to lift her from the floor. As Loki had done so many times before, Queen Nadia lifted Lea's eyes to meet her gilded ones.

“Welcome again, Lenora of the Morhari. I grant you sanctuary here.”

Nadia, reached down bathing her wrists in golden light until the green runes dissolved before their eyes. She then did the same with Lea's swords.

Lea stood wide-eyed in disbelief. “Thank you, Your Highness, but doesn't my presence here complicate your agreement with Emperor Loki? I don't want to cause a civil war.”

She laughed low and soft. “My dear, he fears me more than you'd think. Some boundaries he wouldn't dare to cross, despite my reign being under his. I have prevented him from transporting himself into my realm for the time being. We'll see how he behaves and decide if he shall be permitted an audience with us.”

“Forgive my curiosity, my lady, but why do you bestow such kindnesses on me, the magic most of all?” Lea asked, utterly disoriented and confused, her voice still halting and breathless.

“Because I respect you, Lenora. You have great potential, and I have given you even more. You now have the same raw magic power as the king, himself, and if you are amenable to it, I should like you to stay here for some time so I might teach you to harness these abilities...and not as a prisoner, or as a servant to my realm. You will have true freedom here.”

She stepped forward and held both Lea's hands, “You have spent far too long as a pawn of men and a prisoner. Here you will have your power and your freedom, forced to no man's side.” Lea looked around and saw that every guard in her throne room and every adviser by her side was a woman. Lea heaved a sigh of relief. Nadia smiled, “ We'll settle you to your quarters, and after you've rested for as long as you desire, we can begin your training.”

Lea looked utterly fearful, panicked. “What if he tries to take me back? What if he is enraged and does something terrible in retaliation?”

The queen smiled, unperturbed. “Then, my dear, he will very much regret that he has. These boys must learn some manners and patience. Don't you agree? Besides, he'll have his hands very full with the battles on the Jotun front. He needs our forces far too much to compromise our accord.” Lea nodded and smirked sheepishly. “Welcome, on behalf of the Vanir.”

Lea exhaled in a long, relieved sigh. “Thank you, Your Highness. I'm forever in your debt.”

@lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @unlucky-number-13 @sweetsigyn @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration

(Thank you, thank you, thank you again!)

#loki fanfic

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hotd-brainrot · 2 years ago

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On thirteen children of Jaehaerys and Alyssane and why I think they were shitty af

I want to preface this by saying this is only my opinion on the matter and you are free to disagree. Also that I do think they were decent rules but they were pretty bad parents, specifically to their daughters. However while I do see a bit part of the fandom hate on Viserys(rightfully), I feel like many people forget/don't know much about Jaehaers and Alyssane. So let's break it down, shall we?

So, their first child Aegon, dies merely days after being born, so he isn't relevant to this discussion. Daenerys, their second child, while she also died young, at only the age of 7, Jaehaerys already started showing his sexism towards her. Alyssane considered her an heir to the throne since she was their eldest at the time, but Jaeherys did not, preferring Aemon as his heir, through the male line.

To appease Alyssane, he he suggested they marry them so they could rule together, rendering Daenerys to queen consort. It did not come to pass because of Daenerys dying of the shivers.

Now for the topic of Aemon and Baelon I will say that for the most part, their parents seemed to have treated them fairly. Do I suspect it was because they were men? Yes. Will I give them some credit for it anyway? Sure. Non trumatized children were hard to come by in Targaryens it seems.

Next, we have Alyssa, who was also Baelor's wife. By Targaryen tradition, she should have married her brother Aemon, but due to how much she trailed after Baelon, Queen Alyssane decided she was going to let them marry. It is also important to note Alyssa was the only one of their daughters that was allowed /able to ride a dragon.

I do suspect Jaehaerys didn't think his daughters needed to learn how to ride a dragon and because they planned on marrying them off, to not take the dragon with them. -insert bombastic side eye-

Maegelle was another one of the "easy" daughters for them to deal with. She was descirbed as very pios and later became a septa. She also bridged a gap between Jaehaerys and Alyssane during their Quarrels.

Vaegon was...well. He was certainly not described to be a pleasant person and while it was planned for him to marry his sister Daella, he never seemed to be interested. Here we see first sign of neglect on Jaehaerys's part imo. While Alyssane said it seemed Vaegon and Daella don't seem to be well match, he continuously shrugged her off. Until Vaegon insulted Daella to tears by saying she can barely read and all she is good for is giving some lord dumb children. After that bethroal was broken.

He also never claimed a dragon of his own, which I find interesting with how only two generations later we have so many dragons, even with "less Targaryen blood". But I digress. He went to the Citadel and refused the title of the Prince of Dragonstone after Baelon died.

Now, Daella. She was pretty heavily autistic coded and likely had some developmental disorder as well as anxiety. (Which considering the amount of incest is probably a wonder it's that rare but I disgress) This is where I believe showrunners got the idea for how they wrote Helaena in the show. She was described as shy and often frightened. Her sister Saera loved to prank her and leave a cat in her room, of which Daella was deathly afraid of.

Now, Daella is one of the reasons I truly began to hate Jaehaerys and Alyssane. After her disastrous engagment to her brother, it was "difficult" for her to find a husband. There were several suitors but she didn't like them for one reason or the other.

Once she turned 16 though, Jaehaerys put his foot down. He told Alyssane to give her a choice of who to marry but that she must get married by the end of the year.(Because god forrbid she actually waits for the age when she may survive childbirth)

In the end, Daella choose Rodrik Arryn out of three suitors. Rodrik was 36 years old and Daella who was 16, was his second wife. She got pregnant two years later, in 82 AC and died giving birth to Aemma Arryn. (Daella also knew she was going to die as soon as she became pregnant which is why some speculate she was a dragon dreamer)

After that, Alyssane and Jaehaerys had their First Quarrel. Alyssane didn't understand why Daella was forced to be married so young despite clearly being such a sensitive child. Which tells you how fucking bad that was.

Next up was Saera. And oh boi, was she a lot. It is said her first word spoken was no and that she continously used it after that. It also seems she wanted more attention than Alyssane wanted to give or be able to provide because she often screamed until she got the attention. Alyssane even remarks on how difficult she was even as a child.

It seems that with all the children running around most of them were left with wet nurses and servant so they most ran around. Saera's pranks and jokes were often cruel, especially concerning her sister Daella, who was already often scared. Instead of addressing it properly or considering "oh shit maybe we should pay more attention to our 'problem child'" Jaehaerys and Alyssane ignored it.

Until she was revealed to have slept with three of her favorites, Ser Braxton Beesbury, Lord Roy Connington, and Jonah Mooton and declared she could marry all three of them like Maegor.

Jaehaerys' brilliant solution was to lock her up in her chambers and tell Alyssane he is disowning her. When Saera tried to escape by claiming a dragon, he improsoned her in the tower and later sent to the Silent Sisters as a punishment. (I do find it interesting that was enraged him the most was her trying to claim a dragon). And like. Yes, she was obviously wild at this point but for someone to be this wild at age 17, you must have really, really done something wrong.

Saera ended up escaping from Silent Sisters, and her time there sounds like torture, including shaving her head, beating her for when she broke the rules, etc. She killed a septa during her escape and became a prostitute.

Jaehaerys' answer to all that? "She has always been a whore." Wonderful parenting. I wish Alyssane had poisoned him right then and there.

Then, we have "problem daughter" number 2, Viserra. She was described as very beautiful, vain, and while also being very high spirited like Saera, she didn't scream for attention but got it in different ways.

She liked to make boys fight to her attention, one time notably telling two of them that whoever put a head in dragon's mouth could have her hand in marriage. Thankfully, dragonkeeper intervened before anything happened.

The only one she wanted to marry was her brother Baelon, though, who was widowed after the death of Alyssa. Alyssane thought she wanted to be queen rather than truly love Baelon. So she made a match for Viserra when she was only 15, to Theomore Manderly. I couldn't find his exact age, but Viserra would have been his 4th wife and 14 years prior his daughter was one of Alyssane's companion. It's safe to say he was not of appropriate age for a 15 yeat old.

To try and stop the betrothal, Viserra snuck into Baelon's room and laid on his bed naked. When he found her, he sent her away.

A day before she was supposed to be shipped off to her new husband, she snuck out again to have "one more night of fun and laughter". She and her friends had a horse race, in which she collided with another horse, fell off her saddle and broke her neck.

It seems Alyssane hated her daughters being even a bit ambitious, to a point where she marries them off waaay too young just to get them away from court. And I genuinely don't understand? Especially in terms of Viserra. She was only 15. The only explanation to me is that Alyssane was really scared she'd suceed and replace her as a queen one day, which is fucking ridiculous.

I will also take a moment to give Jaehaerys another point for being shitty here, since after Viserra was born, Alyssane told him she doesn't want to have any more children. Due to her health being influenced after giving birth 10 TIMES! Jaehaerys' answer? Our mother gave birth in her 40's! Their mother, who died in childbirth after giving Rogar Baratheon his second child, against advice of maesters. They also literally watched her die so. Extra point! Really, someone should have murdered this guy at this point.

Next, we have Gaemon, who was born prematurely and died only three months later. Which is not surprising considering my previous point. But did Jaehaerys stop trying to impregnate his wife? No!

So, next child was Valerion, who was another premature baby and died before his first nameday. Alyssane was left bedridden for 6 months after giving birth fo him.

Did Jaehaerys stop here? Also no folks! Because their mother gave birth at 46 years old before she died so surely Alyssane can too? Despite being pregnant for almost 12 years of her life at this point?

Their last child was Gael. She was described as "winter child" both because of being born in the winter and because the Queen was well past her spring years when she gave birth to her. She was frail and followed her mother everywhere. When she was 19, she disappeared. Some say ahe died from the fever, some that she had her heart broken by a traveling singer, who impregnated her. In that version of the story, she drowns herself after giving birth to a stillborn.

And that, folks concluded 13 children of Jaehaerys and Alyssane! It seems to me they did an okay job up until Alyssa and then things went more and more downhill. The sheer amount of mortality rate is insane, even for medival times. Like infants died yes, but grown children? The fact that Saera lived the longest simply by running off to a brothel is insane.

If you read up until this part, I appriciate it. God knows how fucking long this is. If anyone has any more question on any of them, my asks and dms are open

#13 children of jaehaerys and alyssane #jaehaerys targaryen #alyssane targaryen #I am absolutely not tagging all of the children #this post took so long bc I kept cross referencing the book so I don't fuck up stuff #if anyone actually reads all of this you are a saint #f&b rant

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believerindaydreams · 1 year ago

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I'll have Bad Things Happening to Doctor Who Characters for two hundred, Alex

*ahem* palatte cleanser as a treat for me before i get on with the Novel Wot I Am Doing

"You know, this is exactly why I didn't want to bring humans to Gallifrey," the Doctor huffs. "I mean, it's all very well and good being proven right, but being locked up in the Citadel's highest tower is precisely why I said this wouldn't end well!"

"Ah," Harry says sympathetically, and finds the syllable overriden by what turns into a monologue on Sarah's part, about wretched Time Lords and jails and things, the which he can't be sure if she means as encouragement or as an incentive for the Doctor to get them out of here. It can be difficult to tell the difference with these two.

Here is far from the worst place they've ever been locked up; it's an airy sort of glass bubble, there's a terrific view of an amber-coloured sky, but they are still locked up and the Doctor isn't at all happy about that.

He strides back and forth across the room, arms folded over the thin billowy shirt that's apparently Gallifreyan prison issue, quite as though he's doing the usual reccy thing that Harry's already come to accept as the Doctor's modus operandus- only there isn't any futuristic technology to operate, and no sonic screwdriver to work it if there was.

"It's like being in a fish bowl," Sarah concludes, holding her chin up at a determined angle. Harry's learnt to associate that with trouble for someone.

Only she stops there, and Harry realises, in a rather startled way, that nobody appears to be talking escape plans yet. Well. If it's up to him, it's up to him.

"We are escaping though, aren't we?"

The Doctor unfolds his arms and looks down at him, and even allowing for the fact that he's sitting on the floor and the Doctor's standing, the Time Lord does just seem ridiculously tall at times. "You haven't been paying the slightest attention to any of this, have you? Just muddling along and trusting I'd get us out of it?"

"I mean, you generally do," Harry says: in what he hopes is a reasonable fashion.

"Well, this time I'm not," the Doctor says petulantly, and all but throws himself besides them. "Most planets have the courtesy to make their prisons very complicated. The more complicated a thing is, the simpler it is to break. Whereas a Gallifreyan prison is generally a wretchedly simple affair, like a fish bowl umpty-ump fathoms above the ground."

The sailor in him can't let that one pass. "Fathoms?"

"Acres? Firkins? All the time I've spent on your little planet, I can't say I've ever attempted to make sense of the measurement systems. It sounded infinitely dull." He flops down at full length, staring up at the iridescent ceiling. "Of course, I suppose we've got the time now. Go ahead, Harry, tell me all about furlongs."

"Come to think of it, I've never understood fathoms," Sarah says warmly.

"Well...a fathom is about this long," Harry says, stretching out his arms.

The Doctor groans and covers his face with one arm like a swooning Victorian heroine. "Most Time Lords regenerate out of sheer boredom, in the end. I can see it happening to me already."

"What, really?" Harry says, his professional instincts activated.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "You musn't be so trusting, Harry. Look. How hard can it be to break- literally, to break out of a prison made of glass?"

"Oh, breaking isn't the problem," the Doctor agrees. "Neither is the fall. The problem, you see, is the ground, and that one's devilishly intractable."

"It'd be a start," Sarah persists stubbornly.

"We are also being watched, which is the point of the glass," the Doctor says. "What did you expect from a planet that invented the panopticon?"

"I thought that was Jeremy Bentham," Harry says slowly.

"Same difference," the Doctor says, and abruptly sits up again. "It's worse for you two, though. I've only got to spend a few dozen decades being bored to the point of insanity, but you'll be long dead by the time anybody gets round to letting us out."

"That doesn't sound very fair," Sarah says; which comes as a relief, because otherwise he'd have to say it.

"I don't know what makes you imagine that fair has anything to do with this," the Doctor says sullenly. Sarah sighs, runs a small hand through his mop of curls; his expression shifts to something distant and rather pained, in a way that makes Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable to witness. This really can't be how it ends for them.

Can it?

"How many Time Lords do you suppose are watching?" Harry asks.

"It'll vary. Probably quite a few taking a peek right now. Public humiliation is the point of the thing, after all- for your average Time Lord, the mere notion of sharing a punishment with another species would be the most embarassing part of the whole affair."

"I hope that doesn't go for you," Sarah retorts.

"Of course not," the Doctor says, clearly offended. "I'll be as unfashionable as I like-"

"On second thought, never mind," Sarah says; and wraps her arms about his neck to pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. Harry finds himself quivering slightly- he doesn't like to barge in on their intimacy until he's been invited- but the sight of the two people he feels most strongly about in the whole universe does always give him a rush.

The Doctor, eyes shut, nevertheless manages to pluck his sleeve with his free hand (the other one is slipped up Sarah's blouse), which is his signal; Harry lets out a quick little moan and hugs the both of them tightly, feels Sarah's kisses dancing down his shoulder.

"You're both terribly cold," he can't help pointing out.

"Same as usual," Sarah observes; "No coat," the Doctor points out; and Harry can't help feeling an awkward mixture of protective and anxious and loving all at once. He can't sprawl over both of them simultaneously, but he can certainly make the attempt; and they each try to help by squeezing closer together, which doesn't actually succeed because somebody loses their balance and they all tumble down together.

Not that that's such a terrible thing, come to think of it. Being horizontal has certain advantages on the vertical, although...

"I say, are we making love in public?"

Sarah is teasing the Doctor by pulling her hair over his face, so it's a moment before he can reply. "Certainly. Would you rather remain celibate for the remainder of your existence?"

"I suppose not," Harry says, and dives in-

*****

"Hold up," Mike Yates says, rather drunkenly. "Thought we agreed this was about who had the best cockblocking story."

"I mean, it was," Harry says, fixing a severe grip on the table before he falls off his chair; the next time he lets Lethbridge-Stewart invite him 'round for homemade scrumpy, he'll beg off if he has to rejoin the Navy to get out of it. "The Time Lords realised that they didn't particularly want to watch the Doctor making love to aliens within sight of their entire Citadel, so we were bundled back into the Tardis in two shakes of a lamb's tail. I hadn't even pulled that lovely shirt off him yet."

"Can't say as I'd have thought you had it in you," Benton slurs, cheerful even at this stage of intoxication. "I mean. You always seemed to be a gentleman and such."

"What's not gentleman- gentle- ish about failing to commit intercourse?" Harry asks; to which Benton nods and collapses on the table with a thump.

"My turn," Lethbridge says. "Now, this was when Miss Grant had just left UNIT-"

"If this one ends with the Master interrupting, I will run you through with the cheese knife," Yates warns.

"Insubordination. Wouldn't you call that insubordination, Sullivan? Hum. Looks like he's passed out too."

He hasn't; but exactly what had happened after they reached the safety of the Doctor's blue box is not, Harry feels, anybody else's business.

#fourth doctor #fanfic #i will put it on the A03 if I remember

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